“It’s dislocated alright,” he said.
“I! Ugh,” she scrunched her face in pain. “I just told you that!”
He stood back up, facing the burnt caravan. “It’s not safe here,” he said as if that fact needed to be stated. “Can’t you heal it? You’re a mage.”
She snickered, looking away with her chin up. “Healing doesn’t work like that. It needs to be pushed back in.” That was at least half true; the other half was that she didn’t know how to cast healing spells. She wasn’t supposed to be a healer! She was supposed to be Valkyrie! She was supposed to be a warrior! All she knew about healing was that it only aided and accelerated the body’s own healing. A dislocated shoulder would remain dislocated. As if that loaf would care.
“Damn it, you’ll just have to wait then. There could be more of—”
“You will do this right now!” She shrieked so loudly her voice cracked.
He turned over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow with an irritatingly bemused grin creeping on his face. “I’m think I’m beginning to understand why your superiors defrocked you.”
“I. Can. Not. Function like this,” she said through gritted teeth.
Markus sighed, before crouching back down. “Just keep an eye out for me,” he said as he positioned his hands on her shoulder and elbow for support. “Alright, brace yourself,” he said. “Sometimes the socket breaks…so I’ll have to be careful—"
“Wait, give me something to bite on.”
“How about your tongue?”
She gave him another cold stare.
“You know, when you’re angry, you remind me of a young woman I once knew. But she had plenty more feminine grace.”
“Would you like to spend the rest of your morning on fire? …Wait, what do you mean ‘once knew’—" She felt a widening insider her shoulder and then a graceful pop. She exhaled in relief, feeling her shoulder more stable. Not as painful as she thought it would be, but her shoulder still throbbed, and pain still shot down her arm when she tried moving it.
“You’ll need a sling.” His eyes went up to her head.
“No,” she squealed. “Not my veil.”
“Wouldn’t dream of hurting your pride anymore,” he said, bringing his hands behind his back before revealing a long brown handkerchief.
“I am not proud,” she objected. “I am meek.”
“Oh, I get those two confused.” He wrapped the cloth around her arm and around her uninjured shoulder, keeping the immobile arm close to her chest. “There, all done.” He stood, drawing out his cannons again. “Ice it. You can do that, right?”
“Yes.” She hovered her free hand over her throbbing shoulder and sent an icy wind against it. Immediately, it felt better. Standing up —awkwardly with her arms so close to her— she mumbled, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Come on. Stay close. I want to know what happened here.”
“Was that man infected,” she asked, following close behind.
“Yes…but. Strange thing is, it seemed to be purposely attacking me, like it knew what it was doing. I’ve never seen anything like.”
“Infected people act randomly, don’t they? Saying and doing odd and random things. Half instinct, half gibberish?”
“Yea…they do.”
“Coincidence, then. Given enough randomness, the illusion of order might be perceived.”
“Sounds like something you read from a book.”
“Well yes—"
“Shh,” he said. They stood before the first carriage, and in the darkness of dawn, it appeared completely burnt black with the sides so brittle, they might topple over. The roof was open already, probably collapsed inside.
“Horses,” she whispered. “No horses. Maybe some of them rode into town.”
Markus widened his elbows out, forcing Sil to move away. “Give me some room, Sil,” he said, aiming his cannons at the carriage.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t give him that much more room. If more of those crazed infected attacked them, she’d rather not have to use her magic. That one before was fast and aggressive; she’d probably react too quickly and blow out her other shoulder. Yes, that was the reason. I am not scared, she told herself.
Markus grunted toward the ground where she found a line of small warding stones encircling the first carriage and receding back on both sides along the caravan. In the cool pre-dawn, she could feel heat radiating off them.
“There are Chills nearby,” she gasped, becoming conscious of her necklace, still cool against her skin.
“Now we know where the nearby warding stones went,” he said. “Hmm…this was done on purpose. Horses gone. People robbed, then forced to stay inside. The ring of warding stones created a barrier to keep the Chills inside with them.”
“What horror,” Sil whispered. “Who could have done such a thing?”
“Only one person I know has been this callous,” he said with unsettling anger in his voice.
“My sister.” Markus gave a quick nod. “But why?”
“Information maybe,” he answered, rounding the first caravan. She followed closely, still icing her shoulder. “When you’re infected by the Chills, you said they talk gibberish, coming down with a delirious fever, but that’s not true. It’s not ‘gibberish’ at all. You begin reliving old memories until you can’t tell the difference between real life and the past. Before long, you die from the fever and the Chills own your body. Only after that is it ‘gibberish.’”
“Sounds very much like being exposed to one of the Shards of the Almighty. How do you know so much—”
“In that period before the Chills fully possess someone,” he continued, narrowing his eyes on the next carriage. “They might reveal something from their past, especially, if someone was leading them on. They then burn everything.” He cursed, spitting on the ground. “This wasn’t an attack. This was an interrogation. She could have at least ended their suffering.”
“Gene…what happened to you,” Sil whispered, still doubting her sister could have done this and the other atrocities Markus mentioned. Yes, she was single-minded in her selfish goals, but to go this far…. Nothing could rationalize this. The knife on her hip came to her mind. Yes, Gene, I have a long list of questions for you.
Something slumped onto the ground, a mass of black and char in the shadows. She hid behind Markus, realizing how vulnerable she was. At least, that was a good enough excuse. She was brave, she told herself, but momentarily incapable. That’s all. An arm in a sling and the other hand occupied with nursing her shoulder, it was prudent to hide. She was a warrior mage, after all. She was meant to be a holy knight—
The mass moved, and she jumped. “Easy,” Markus said. “Don’t hurt your other shoulder.”
She would have slapped him if she could, but then she realized that mass was actually the upper part of a torso, head so badly burned, it was skeletal with one arm gone, torn at the elbow and the other intact up to hand, which was missing a few fingers.
“Another one of Gene’s victims,” he said.
Suddenly, the arm lunged forward, and low growl escaped from the mass. “Burn. Brum. Brim.”
“Shit,” Markus jumped, pointing his cannons at it.
“Go on, kill it,” Sil urged, almost shouting into his ear while pushing on him with her uninjured shoulder.
“Don’t push me, damn it,” he said, but he still didn’t shoot. The mass of remains clawed inch by inch toward them from yards away with the skull faced down, dragging along the dirt. “Not yet,” Markus whispered.
“Brine, Broom, Brun,” the mass gurgled, creeping closer; its chard entrails sweeping behind it. “Brawl. Brule. Brume.”
“Well…” Sil gulped. “What are you waiting for?”
“To make sure I imagined something.” Then he whispered, “I hope I imagined something.”
“What—”
A low muffled laughter vibrated from the corpse. “Where are your Champions? Where are your gods? Hav
e they abandoned you?”
Sil’s hand trembled; her shoulder throbbed again. “Statically,” she whispered, voice cracking. “It’s still possible to form sentences even from a random set of—”
It lurched closer. “The Well overflows again. From the center out, they cannot bury us.”
“That is not a statistic,” Markus said.
“No, we are not,” the mass replied.
“Did that thing just answer you—”
Markus’s hand twitched. Pop! A splash of dust exploded near the mass’s head.
“A moment in millennia,” it’s husky voice said, sounding more urgent. “A fortnight in forever. Where are your gods? Where are your Champions now?”
“Tell me again about statistics,” Markus replied, taking aim.
“Give up your warding stones and dig us out—"
Pop! The skull collapsed in and the clawing arm relaxed. Sil clasped hard on her own warding stone about her neck, only then feeling her heart thundering against her hand.
Markus exhaled slowly, and the two of them stood there, staring at the black remains, now completely still.
Sil hesitatingly broke the silence. “Please tell me that thing didn’t answer back to you?”
“Yea, it did. Now I know I didn’t imagine it,” Markus said bitterly as he continued to the next smoky carriage. Sil following behind.
“Imagine what?” In the dawning light, Sil could make out more burnt bodies lined against the carriages, still hard to see in the dimness and camouflaged against the black sooty wood, with some of their arms attached to the wood of the carriages with chains. Pop! Sil jumped. He had shot another one in the head. Then another, then another.
“That one that jumped on me earlier,” he answered, giving quick work to each of the remains. “It attacked me; now I know, which is strange enough for a Chills infection. But it was grabbing at my pockets.”
“Instincts,” Sil argued. “Animal or behavioral residue. What could it possibly be looking for? It’s a dead body animated by an airborne infection.” Sil pursed her lips and exhaled, trying steady her nervous.
Markus holstered one of his cannons and reached into his long coat pocket before revealing his warding stone identification. “This,” he said, waving it. “’Give up your warding stones,’ it said.” He then continued with his work, shooting his cannon.
“Oh no, no. That doesn’t make sense. They…. It… is not supposed to think! There’s been no mention anywhere of them making any kind of sense. The Chills are just—”
“What Sil,” Markus shouted. She jumped. Up to then, she doubted he was capable of any strong emotion. “Well?” He searched her with his one eye with anger twitching the corners of his lips. Her mind blanked, caught off guard. “You’re telling me some cold air can take away someone’s dignity, their innocence and reduce them to…less than an animal after they’re dead? What sense does that make? I would have expected a more superstitious explanation from…. Ah, never mind.” He turned back, aiming his cannon again, with his shoulders slightly slouched.
A more superstition explanation? Ah, so that was it. He was baiting her, drawing her into an argument. Markus was from the Empire and that Apostate Emperor, after all. But Sil wouldn’t allow herself to be phased. No. She stood straighter, rounding her shoulders back and winching a bit from the pain. She’d read about this before; she knew the stories, the myths, and the histories. “So that’s it,” she said. “You want me to invoke the Almighty in all this, don’t you? I’ll have you know we seek natural explanations before invoking the supernatural. And I just so happen to have researched the Chills extensively myself.”
He chuckled. “More books, huh?”
“Yea, so what?”
“Just drop it.”
“You began this, Mister Montgomery. You’re looking for a fight. You want me to give you a supernatural explanation just to argue with me.”
“Sil, I said, drop it.”
“Well, I’m not going to ‘drop it.’ We go to great lengths to rule out natural explanations before resorting to spiritual—”
“That’s not the point! You heard what that thing said, didn’t you? Have you already forgotten or do you want to forget? That think is not natural. The one time we need you priests for something, you throw nature back on our faces and tell us to go along.”
Sil blinked a few times, unsure of what he meant. “But…it’s old memories in the brain flared into life by the infection,” she recited from a book.
He mimicked her blinking with a bewildered expression. “Unbelievable. Here am I, arguing for your side.” He shot a few more corpses.
“There are no sides,” Sil said.
“Forget it; it’s over. Believe what you want, priest,” he said. “What I know for certain is that these victims knew something Gene was after.”
“You wrong about my sister too. She couldn’t have done this.”
He snorted. “Trust me, I know. This is her work.”
“Her work? …how long have you been searching for her?”
“Six years,” he said, finally holstering his cannons. “I think I’ve got them all. Come on, let’s get to Sat’r as fast as we can. I need to recharge my cannons.” He then sized her up with his one eye, frowning.
“What?” She straightened her back and rose her chin defiantly, but she found it hard to hold herself still. Her icing hand still trembled over her hurting shoulder. Her heart still galloped inside her and her ankles threatened to give out. That thing, those people. Could her sister really be capable of this…cruelty. No, Gene couldn’t; she wouldn’t be able to do her priestly duty anymore if she did. All this would be for nothing.
Breath, Sil. This was all too much, too soon. Out here, in the world she hadn’t been in since she was a child. With dangers like this? First trouble she met and what did she do? Injure herself! She couldn’t keep acting strong. Couldn’t find her sister alone. Couldn’t face her sister. And worst of all, Markus was beginning to see it too, looking at her as if he regretted asking her to come along. He probably had a snide comment ready at the tip of his tongue. But, she had to do this… Golden Lady, please—
“I don’t suppose you can recharge my cannons with magic,” Markus asked, surprising her.
“No,” she answered, fighting back a sniffle. I just have to do this.
“Come on,” he said with a sigh and a wave of his hand westward. “Let’s get back to civilization.”
He started west again under the brightening sky with its fading stars and Sil followed, eager to move away from the smoking carnage.
“So is that what your weapons are,” Sil asked, her confidence quickly returning. Maybe it was the walking, or just getting away from that terrible caravan, or the promise of a clear morning, but her worries evaporated. She let a smile form on her face. Thank you, Golden Lady. She almost scolded herself for breaking down a moment ago. “Your hand-cannons. I noticed no hammer on them. Does it have a trigger?”
“Yup,” he answered, the cheerfulness in his voice returning. “It’s got a trigger.”
“And…”
He glanced at her sideways. “If you don’t know how to recharge them, don’t worry about it.” She could try anyway, but she would probably end up melting or warping the metal. Imbuing magic was a very difficult discipline, combining metallurgy —the right portion alloy of runic and other materials— and the magical technique itself. She had no need to learn it. “It’s fine, Sil. I’ll get them recharged in Sat’r.”
“Imbued,” she corrected him.
“Huh?”
“You don’t ‘recharge’ your cannon. No one goes around recharging a cup of tea. You heat it up. It cools down. You heat it up again. You must imbue your hand-cannons again.”
“So…I can’t re-heat a cup of coffee?”
“No —well, yes, you can, but my point is, magic is much more personal than applying heat or simply loading more…bullets or whatever it is you use. Every mage puts themselves into their mag
ic like every painter puts themselves into their painting. There’s no doing the exact same spell twice. It may seem like semantics from the outside, maybe, but to a mage, we can tell the difference.”
“Ah, I… uh, thank you. That makes perfect sense to me now,” he said, whether genuine or not. “Read that in one of your books, did you?”
“Well, yes I did.”
“You don’t really take after your sister, you know that,” he said flatly, probably hoping to get a rise out of her, but it had been along time. How much the two of the must have changed; she certainly did —and for the worse, it seemed. They were good friends back then, weren’t they? Well, for the most part. There had to be an explanation for all of this.
“You said you’ve been chasing her for these past six years,” she asked.
“I said that?”
“Yes, you did. Did you ever catch up with her?”
“A few times. Once I had her, runic traps on her wrists and everything.” He smiled with a fist over her chest.
“What happened?”
“She’s a cunning little bitch, that’s what happened.” He shot a look over his shoulder. “Pardon my language.”
“I wasn’t raised in a closet you know,” she said, trying to make up for her fluster earlier. Besides, growing up in Sato, she’d heard worse from the miners in her hometown. The women, too, were often more creative linguists when the anger struck them.
He laughed. “Good, I can loosen up a bit. Then. Tired of being so proper. One day and one night is all I can handle.”
“I’m tired of you being so jovial too,” she found herself saying.
“That, I can’t do.”
“It makes you seem insincere.”
“Good,” he replied.
She huffed. “You don’t care others don’t trust you? Wouldn’t you need trust in your line of work?”
He tapped his pocket, a clunking sound signifying his warding stone identification. “From here on, no one trusts me.”
“Maybe if the Empire didn’t give you such wide powers, people might open up.”
“And if you weren’t so pretentious, people might think you had something important to say.”
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 39