***
Ed sat at his desk with his arms crossed, nodding in and out of sleep as the early morning light filtered in through the window. A lantern hung from above, the candle whittled down and snuffed out. Open before him was a book, ‘On Military Leadership,’ the first book he had ever read. Tattered, torn, and faded, this book along with other merchandise were sent to his parent’s trading warehouse to be delivered across the mountains to the Demos. But his father never made that particular journey due heavy snow that winter. So the book became a gift from his parents who, without a doubt to Ed, were worried his strength would get him into trouble. His strength did cost him much in those early years, but this little book translated from some long-forgotten language by some long-forgotten military leader taught him that his will always preceded his strength. ‘One does not lose control in a situation,’ a passage Ed memorized read. ‘One chooses to give control away.’
Beside him, glinting light from its glass edges sat a very old bottle from his hometown. Trader House Blue, a red wine, unopened with an empty glass cup next to it.
In between nods, he could already hear his soldiers rising from their sleep, lining up to calls from their Commanding Officers. Ed was on duty today; a paper with a list of today’s objectives laid overturned on his desk. Sooner or later, one of his aids would come to fetch him and another day would begin.
“The deed is done,” Ed whispered, rising his eyes to the bottle. “Now, to go on.” Araa was gone. Maybe she’d make it home, maybe not. Maybe someone would find her body. Either way, there would be an investigation into her escape. Everyone knew he had ripped open her cell door, so the story of Araa escaping on her own was that much more plausible. But she escaped through the back exit of the jails, through a locked door only a few held the key. Predt and Mr. Winters, that strange medic with the scar about his throat, had been the only two to see him there.
When Ed had left Araa, Mr. Winters had been relieved and only Predt remained, giving instructions to the new medic, a woman with a similar scar about her neck. They had seen him leave and so, all last night, Ed had prepared the inevitable testimony he would have to give for whatever investigation he would be charged to conduct. At least he had that going for him. Here in Ruby City, the military investigated and prosecuted while the Central Office acted as the impartial judiciary. Ed would find a way to prolong the investigation until Araa’s body showed up, either in the woods or back on her home island. Glen would no doubt harass him to know the truth, and Ed had already lied to him once. But that lie was his duty, Ed rationalized. This time he would have to truly perjure himself.
“Upon my sacred honor,” he recited his oath. “I will defend, and secure the dictates, laws, and statutes of the Princedom of the Ladress Family under Prince Landrie.” He remembered the pride he felt then; he felt none of it now. In fact, he felt nothing at all. Not even a hint of the terrors, either. He couldn’t judge if that was a good or bad thing.
Knock! Knock! Knock! “Ed!” Glen banged on the door again. “You in there? Please tell me you’re in there!”
“…And it begins.” Ed opened his top desk drawer and slid the bottle and cup inside before closing it. With slow steps, he reached the door and opened it to a frantic Glen rushing inside and smelling of his blueberry flavored wine. His hair dark blond was disheveled, his clothes stained and wrinkled.
“Where were you last night,” Glen asked, his eyes blood shot.
“Here,” Ed replied as he practiced.
“Here? Yea, of course you’d be here. We have a problem, Ed.”
Ed led Glen back to his small study —more like a partitioned nook adjacent to the kitchen— offering a chair for him to sit down. Ed remained standing. “What’s wrong, Glen?”
“It’s Araa,” he blurted out, massaging his forehead. “She’s gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
“Almighty knows!” Glen through his arms up.
“Has Captain Olsen checked the jails?”
“Ed, please. She’s not in her cell; she’s not with the doctor. She’s gone! Vanished!” He buried his face into his hands. “If she tells anyone what she saw here—”
“She won’t,” Ed said, deciding to sit down himself at his desk.
“How…how can you be sure.” Glen wrung his wrists, then messaged his face again, fidgeting like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Sorry, old friend.
“Wishful thinking,” Ed replied, opening his top desk drawer again. Seeing the bottle, he decided against opening it. “Water?”
“Yea, for now,” Glen replied.
“Well what do we know,” Ed asked, fetching Glen his water.
“This morning, a military medic, one of yours, Garner—”
“A third-year man, non-mage surgeon track, yes I know him.”
“He came to relieve the early morning medic, a Miss Summers, but he only found Predt there. No one else. And no other forced exits, broken doors…except for the one you reported. Ed, all the doors were locked. Araa isn’t some lock pick. She’s an Islander, for Almighty’s sake. Sick too. How the hell did she get out?”
Ed handed him a glass of water and Glen drank it all down in seconds.
“When I was there last night, there was a civilian medic, Mister Winters,” Ed said, clasping his hands behind his back. “And then I saw a woman with Predt. That must be Miss Summers.”
“Yes, yes,” Glen said, holding out his cup for more water. “We’re trying to hunt down Miss Summers right now. But Predt fell asleep and doesn’t remember anything after you left.”
Ed straightened up. He took Glen’s cup but didn’t go for water. “He fell asleep guarding the jails?”
“He’s old, Ed, older then us. He’s been hurt bad in the war—”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
Glen stroked his beard, hands shaking, though Ed couldn’t be sure if they shook because he was anxious or sober. “An investigation has started,” Glen said, quickly. “You’ll have to testify.”
“What about Predt,” Ed demanded
Glen closed his eyes. “Depends on what Miss Summers has to say. But if we establish that he was the only one there, and he fell asleep…”
“Araa’s escape will fall on him,” Ed finished the sentence. He sat, feeling a tingling on his skin and that familiar fear rising him. “It’s not his fault.”
“He has a key to the back door,” Glen added.
“He didn’t let her go.” I did!
“Who knows!” Glen shouted.
“I do!”
Glen pointed at him. “Ed, when you left. Everything was fine. Araa was there, right? That medic woman was there, wasn’t she?”
Ed nodded a ‘yes,’ answering the second question.
“Well, Araa didn’t float through the walls with her mantras.”
“Find that medic,” he suggested.
“Yea, you’re right. Getting ahead of myself. Gotta find Miss Summers.” Glen sank into his seat, stroking his beard for a few moments. Then he burst up, standing. “I’ll need access to your people, Ed. I’ll need to start a search for Araa. We don’t have enough people in central office to investigate and I can’t hire civilians on this one. Then I’ll start interviews—”
“Glen…,” Ed said with a tight grin. “It’s the military job to investigate and prosecute here. Predt is one of mine. Central Office just has to judge the evidence and pronounce judgment.”
Glen locked eyes with Ed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. But, it’s out of your hands.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The other magistrates won’t touch this,” Glen said, looking away. “I…They think it’ll go smoother if I do it, since we’re friends.”
“Do it? Do what? You’re using this to take over the military here?”
“I have no choice,” Glen roared, causing Ed to straighten his back in surprise. “By the Beast, Ed; Araa is gone. If she dies out there and we find her body, all hell is going to break
loose in the city when word gets out. There might be a mob. They’re already suspicious on how safe our ‘mining’ operations are. They might storm the mines! If she makes it to Faf’r and starts rattling off what we have here, you know what will happen then.” Ed didn’t know what to say. He only stood there, watching Glen move to the door. “I…I’m sorry. But, we’ll take over the search, investigation, prosecution and mete out the sentence. The whole thing.” He opened the door but paused, letting out a long tired breath. “Is there anything, anything at all you can remember that might help us figure out how this happened?”
Ed’s heart thundered, his palms grew sweaty, even that old headache threatened to return. He could confess everything. General Order One. Araa trying to reach home. Her promise not to tell anyone what she saw. Ed’s role it in. He could save Predt. “No,” Ed finally said. There was still time. She’d likely be dead by evening beside some brook.
Glen nodded. “I’ll…trying to make this easy. Almighty help us if we don’t find her, or if we do.” And he left.
Ed stayed there, standing, his heart racing, his mind numbing. What had he done? Saved someone.
“No, not now,” he said as chills ran down his spine, igniting a wave of terror cascading through him. His legs shook, his knees gave out as he slipped to the floor, staring at the wood grain while the sense of impending doom crushed upon him. Please, stop fighting me. The Veiled Goddess hasn’t awoken. I met one of Eventide’s blessed. She must still be alive then. Her and that traitor remain. We have fallen too soon and Ragnarok’s poison is spreading. I can feel it even here. Find his Champion if he has chosen one—
Another knock came at the door. “Major, it’s me Mendal. I’m assigned as your aid this morning.”
“Mendal,” Ed whispered, focusing on the name, the person. A young man, one of his runners. He lived in the north by the border with Prince Makim, likes reading, chews his nails, bad habit, bad discipline. Ed found himself breathing easier now, his heart slowing. Taking in one deep breath, he lifted himself up.
“Come in,” Ed said, trying to hide his strained voice. He leaned against the wall with his hand.
Mendal entered. “Are you alright, sir?”
Ed straightened, feeling that eerie foreboding lingering. “Yes, Mendal. I’m fine. I haven’t had my breakfast yet. Would you care to join me, and we can go over today’s objectives?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ed waved him into his study. “Someone with breakfast should be coming soon.” He picked up his itinerary from his desk with his daily tasks. Most were mundane, routine status checks he’d seen listed for that day of the week for months, but a new one had been added. ‘Final Review and Assessment of Dismantling Project A.’ The first ‘production’ cut of the Red Mountain Beast would be broken off soon and used to make a functional steam-driver prototype. “Is the Chronicler Corps settled?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alright, we’ll start with that.”
18
Mend on the Mend, Araa’s Ordeal, and Ed’s Trials
“It’s said the One-King is over a thousand years old—”
“Impossible. Don’t believe it. Stories like that are told just to make him seem immortal and impossible to overthrow.”
“Or her.”
“Or them. For all we know it’s just bunch of Counts, jerking themselves for the crown.”
“No, I for one, believe it. Matriarch Alicia Von Aster saw him, and you can see her writings yourself. From the time she could remember till forty-four when she escaped, he always looked the same. Man, eight feet tall, built like an iron-worker. Black armor, never scratched.”
“You believe what she wrote? Come on, she split us into sects. Maybe our Goddess would have awoken by now if we hadn’t listened to her. And she escaped the One-King’s Black Crown too? We can’t even escape the scent of his Stone-hounds.”
“She had the Goddess’s gifts, you idiot; that’s how she escaped the Black Crown. And the idea of splitting us into sects is what saved us.”
“Shut up, all of you. None of that matters. Even if he’s the Almighty Himself, we’ll cast him down and free all of us from his tyranny.”
-A conversation among Shadow Agents
The night passed uneventfully with Loyt helping her walk —more like carrying her— most of the way, but as time went on, her legs strengthened. And her spirits lifted. If she could regain all her strength, she could just steal a horse in Faf’r and leave Loyt wondering and wandering for her. Better for him if he didn’t follow her to the shore. If he got too curious, her waiting crew might end him as a precaution.
She watched him sleep in the brightening dawn curled up against a knoll of grass. He’d been so helpful to her the past few years, helpful to Araa. All this time, she thought he had fallen for her, the chump. But it turned out he just wanted some companionship from a fellow Islander. She had to be more careful not to talk about herself as much. The less he knew, the less he could find some hole in her story.
She faced east, toward the rendezvous at the shore. And she had to get back before she lost her mind —however it manifested. She had only that one episode back in her cell, but if she were to slip into one again, Loyt might figure out what was really wrong with her. Even if he was just an Islander, she had to be careful.
She turned to him, feeling unexpectedly troubled. Damn Islanders were that helpful. He’d follow her to the shore, alright, just to make sure she’d make it. And there waiting for them were two of her sect’s agents. She —they’d— have to end him. His own fault, she growled. Loyt shifted to his back, mumbling something about stew. She fought off a chuckle. Yea, that’s what I’ll do, she decided. At Faf’r, she’d steal a horse and escape. He’ll live. Then, she’d ride her horse to death to get to the shore in time. Her hand tightened into a fist. She hadn’t killed anyone on this mission. And she wouldn’t. This would be a perfect mission.
A ray of sun pierced through the forest, winching her tired eyes. She rubbed them, massaging the fatigue off her face. She was supposed to be sleeping too, but couldn’t. Her training didn’t allow it, not while dependent on a stranger.
“Hey,” she said, her voice weak. Damn, he’ll still probably have to carry me today too. “Loyt! Wake up.” She picked up a pebble, haphazardly throwing it at him from her weak hand.
“Uh what,” he sprang up, before yawning. “It’s dawn already? You sleep?”
“Yea,” she said. “Let’s get going.”
Loyt stretched his muscles, yawning again. He then rose his hand to shield his eyes from stray rays of sunlight as he peered into the forest around them. He sniffed a few times, narrowing his eyes.
“What are you looking for,” she asked, trying and failing to get up on her own. She gave up, relaxing where she sat. Damn it, get stronger!
“See how far we went last night,” he yawned. He then lifted her back up, as before, her arm around his shoulder. Her legs did seem stronger, so at least they could move faster now. “Ready?” She forced a smile, making sure he noticed this time. And they began again with her legs complaining less. “Sleep much?”
“Not much,” she said. “You?”
“Eh, a couple of hours, I’d guess. Sun’s up but we’re so far south, it’s hard to know.”
“So, you’re from the north?” She winched as she asked it, not the conversation she wanted to have.
“Yea, just like you,” he said. “Which Segment are you from?
“Ankyres”
He scrunched his face in thought. Oh, no. If he recognized the island, he might know she’s lying—
“Why did you lie,” she interrupted, quickly changing the subject. “And how did you get away with it. The Major and all of them check our stories, you know.”
He frowned. “You know why, Araa.”
“Because they don’t trust us.”
“No,” he said. “Because they think we’re stupid, uncivilized.” —She suppressed a snort— “Just because we use mantras a
nd some of us still worship the Old One their priests say doesn’t exist. The Holy City worships their Golden Lady. What’s so different about us? We, in the north, have our Black Monolith…if we can just keep it ours, maybe the Southern Isles would give up on the Old One and join us.”
“You know, you’re right,” she aided the conversation away from her. “They always thought I needed a chaperon.”
“Not for long,” he said, his voice hardening. “They’ll think differently when we’re all together again. One Island. One voice. Our way. We weren’t always broken like shards of glass upon the sea.” He met her eye to eye, but quickly turned away, his cheeks reddening. His talk sounded ominous, but…really, Islanders coming together? They stretched from the Northern Ice Shelf to the Southern Sands, countless islands, countless cultures, and countless leaders. They were all too different, but Roe wouldn’t dare argue with him. So long as he’s happily leading her to Faf’r, he can entertain any crazy dream he wanted.
“So, I’m guessing your name isn’t really Loyt, not really an Islander—”
Startled, she pulled herself back, her free arm clasped her chest as her heart quickening. She hadn’t noticed they were almost to a clearing, the forest thinned to a rough country of boulders and warding stones, thickets, bushes, and wild grass, probably filled with small rodents and larger prey. Nowhere to hide. Everyone would see. Exposed.
“You alright,” he asked.
Roe stared for into the horizon and saw a smudge of green tree tops propped up in contrast to the reds, browns, and grays of the rough country in between. The other side looked so far away.
“Do we have to cross this,” she asked, keeping her eyes on the horizon and chastising herself for being afraid of nothing. Literally nothing. So what if anyone could see them from miles away, plan their attack, and ambush them on the other side? No, that wasn’t rational at all. Yet, her heart wouldn’t slow. Why am I so afraid of this! Stay hidden! One of us found you? Randagor in the Red Mountain? But you smell of Lairgor the Sea Roar too. How is that possible? Is his plan still in motion? Don’t go back home. Don’t come to me. Don’t let him find you. Stay hidden—
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 43