Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  He yawned, stretching out his arms. “Happy to see you standing, but—”

  Little Roe slipped, muddying her trousers and hands in some kind of tarry grim. She was inside a cave, dank musty air made her breathing difficult. Beside her stood a line of very tall people, the subjects from her village.

  One turned and extended a hand. “Quick, Roe. Get up.” She reached, confused for a moment on how small her hand was, but of course they were small. She was only six. Reid took her hand and pulled her into mid-air, before she landed on her feet. “What’s with that shocked look? You’re still no heavier than a bag of potatoes.”

  She pouted. “Ever see a bag of potatoes, Reid?”

  “Shh,” her brother said, straightening himself in line with the row of people. “Commissioner’s coming. Get in line. Remember, you’re dumb, weak and useless.”

  She stuck out her tongue behind his back but obeyed. She had to. It was her brother’s and her turn again to come to the caves for the Commissioner to check them over. Ever since she could remember, her family told her of the dangers here and the bad people who came to see them. The way the Commissioners looked for the strong and smart to do their work, their foremen lashing it out on lazy people. They had the power over life and death, she was told, the power to decide whether she could stay with her family or be brought like other girls and boys to the nobles’ houses. They could do anything they wanted so long as the One-King allowed it…and the One-King allowed almost everything. But she wasn’t afraid. Sure, her parent’s weren’t here —it wasn’t their turn— but her older brother Reid was here, so she felt safe.

  He crossed his fingers for a moment, giving her the signal that the Commissioner was almost there. She stood straight beside him and went to hold his hand, but he patted it away. Right, she thought. Don’t remind them we’re family.

  Before long, Roe saw a tall thin man with a funny black hat and really clean clothes walking down the line. He had a thin mustache and on his other side was another girl, maybe a few years older than Roe, writing down what he was saying. She had clean clothes too and looked really pretty. Roe looked down at her grimy hands and hid them behind her back.

  The Commissioner grabbed a villager’s cheek —it was Hulgar from mill house— and looked closely into each of his eyes. Then he had Hulgar open his mouth and peek inside. He then said something, and the girl wrote it down. Roe noticed the girl’s feet were shackled and Roe was, for once, glad she didn’t know how to write.

  The man eventually came to Reid.

  “Name,” he said.

  “Reid,” her brother replied.

  “Last named,” he asked.

  Reid shuffled in place. They never asked that unless they wanted something.

  “Lions,” he replied.

  The man nodded. “Lions family,” his monotone voice spoke as he tapped the girl’s book. “How long have has he been here?”

  “All my life.”

  “I wasn’t taking to you,” the Commissioner replied, going through the same kind of examination on Reid as he did on Hulgar.

  The girl shifted through the pages before stopping on one and reading, “sixteen.” Her voice sounded small and frightened. Roe shuffled a little closer to her brother.

  “Open your mouth,” he told Reid. “Have you noticed anything you can do other can’t? Strength? Magic? Heightened senses, perhaps?”

  “No, nothing.”

  The Commissioner frowned. “You’re young and strong. What do you do for your household?”

  “I plow for my village…with the oxen,” Reid said with a winch.

  “Oxen,” the man repeated, ripping the book from the girl’s hands. “Yes, I see that. They were gifted by Count Allen and Beatrice Von Algred five years ago, two 10 year olds. They can’t be of much use now?”

  “We know how to get most of them in their old age,” Reid said with a hint of growl.

  “Yes, so do we,” the mustached man replied, staring down Reid with a sneer creeping on his face. He then handed the book back to the girl without breaking stares with her brother. “I’ll be frank. Your work here is a waste, Mister Lions. Ever consider doing more for your country?”

  “I’m already doing all I am capable of.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, gripping Reid’s shoulder and pumping his arm as if he wasn’t sure Reid was all that strong. “With some guidance, training, you can go far. Your family has already shown favor with the nobles.” Roe saw her brother’s jaw tighten, and she panicked, shuffling closer. No, no. Don’t get mad! Don’t let them take you. “We’re a prosperous nation, young Lions; our numbers keep growing. And with our numbers, new foremen positions might be soon available. Don’t worry. Foremen don’t work with their own villages. Count Salvador Von Sago, that should be far enough from here. Would it be something that would interest you?”

  “All I know is farming,” Reid replied flatly.

  “I’ve watched you, Reid,” the man whispered. “You’re not as dumb as you look.” He turned suddenly to Roe, who slunk behind her brother. “You must be Rowena. Hello little Rowena. I’ve been watching you too, growing up fast, I see.” The man smiled a toothy smile, a smile too perfect and straight; it had to hide evil behind it. “And your family,” he turned back to Reid. “Where are your parents?”

  “Field work,” Reid said quickly, but that wasn’t true. Roe knew her parents went scouting sometimes, but they always came back with food. It was illegal and a secret so Roe pressed under brother to hide her reddening ears from the Commissioner.

  “Field work is hard work,” he answered, thoughtfully. “You’d want a better life for them, would you? You’d all live much better lives, away from...all this.” He waved to the others in line while making a disgusted face. “What would you say if you were offered?”

  Reid’s hand tried balling into fists, but Roe grabbed them, balling her hands into them.

  The commissioner sighed. “Yes, yes, I understand. Not here with all your dirty peers listening. Fine, later. I’ll send someone.” He then patted Roe on her head before moving on with the other girl’s sad look following behind.

  “Dirty bastard,” Reid muttered once he was far down the line. “Prosperous, my ass. Now everyone’s going to be gunning for me.”

  “You’re not going to do it, are you,” Roe asked, grabbing onto him with her eyes tearing. “You won’t leave us, will you?”

  He rolled his eyes, pushing her off him. “Goddess, you’re such a sissy,” he said a cheeky grin. “I don’t work for bad people.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. I saw you yesterday with some scary people who can turn invisible. They want you to go with them too.”

  “You sneak. You heard that, huh? Well, don’t tell mother or father—”

  ***

  On his way to Central Office, Ed decided on riding his horse through the busier streets of the city. Hiding from public wouldn’t send a good message, and besides, he wanted to hear what rumors were floating around the city, and if Glen’s worries were warranted. His work on the Beast project took so much of his time that he hadn’t been in the city since Araa’s release. How he’d be able to conduct the investigation and perform his duty would have been impossible; he was almost thankful Glen took it over…almost. No doubt, he’d have to wrestle his authority back from Central Office at some point in the future.

  Riding across the city, nothing seemed to have changed much. From Glen’s hysteria, Ed had expected to be swamped by residents. But, life had to go on; work had to be done; a metropolis had to be built. He came upon some of his soldiers standing guard outside the building called ‘The Town Crier,’ an eatery, dance parlor and theater for the more ‘refined’ subjects, usually court attendants of the lesser nobles who wanted a presence in Prince Landrie’s favorite investment. Arrogant would be a better word. Though a popular place for those from Central Office and even his own officers, Ed refused to go on principle. To pretend to be ‘friendly’ with those who w
ished to put the military at their heel like a pet —a ‘beloved family’ pet, he heard Magistrate Vernice say once— was enough to have him never set foot inside that place. Ed’s jaw tightened. Or maybe he never went there because he knew, he’d definitely lose control. Arrogant bastards.

  But seeing his soldiers standing guard, Ed thought of stopping, but one of them held someone in their custody, that lanky man who had served as one of Glen’s clerks, so Ed decided not to interfere and keep riding. An incident at The Town Crier? Central Office would make sure he heard about it before he heard anything new about Araa. But it still marked him as odd. Except for the occasional drunken brawls and illegal duels over honor, crime in Ruby City was astonishing small compared to other cities of her size. And that was thanks to the extensive process everyone had to go through to live here. No criminality, prostitution, gambling; nothing that would distract from the work to be done here. Of course, if one was so inclined, those things could be found over in the next city, but here, the future of Ruby City depended on industry, hardworking —and well connected— people; people who were promised a prosperous trade with the Demos over the mountains. So, to see anything more than a passionate disagreement over bruised knuckles and broken teeth was rare. Anything more than that, and the subject could risk being expelled —and loose possible future fortunes for themselves and their financier lesser nobles, a threat that seldom needed repeating.

  At a busy intersect, Ed slowed his horse to a stop as a large open wagon with a tarp on top slowly slogged through, the horses whining and huffing as they pulled.

  “This fertilizer better work,” said a young man who stood beside Ed with his hands making guiding motions to the wagon driver. Ed sniffed and, yes, he smelled that unmistakable warm musky, minerally, and sulfur odor. “Last try this year.”

  “The crops are still failing,” Ed asked.

  The man glanced up, twice. “Oh, Major—”

  “Pay attention to what you’re doing, son,” Ed said, nodded toward the wagon.

  “Uh, yea,” the young man stumbled. “But, uh, yea, the soil’s too thin here to grow anything.” —Ed chuckled— “Uh…sir?”

  “I grew up on these mountains. I know how difficult it is.”

  “Well, with Prince Makim’s help, we can make this place self-sufficient yet—”

  “Major,” came a voice behind him along with others shouting for him. Ed tried to turn his horse around, but a crowd quickly swathed him and his horse, pushing the young man away. “That is you,” said another.

  “Can I do something for all of you,” Ed asked, scanning the crowd, fifteen, twenty people of various ages and professions, all will pensive and concerned looks on them. Concerned, but no where near what Glen was afraid of.

  “Well,” started a woman with an apron dirtied with flour. “We wanted to—”

  “What the hell happened to Araa,” a man in the back of the crowd shouted to ‘ayes and yahs’ in response. Ed frowned. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? To know what the rumors were? Happily, Ed had an excuse.

  “I don’t know,” Ed replied. “Central Office has taken up the investigation.”

  “Come on, Major,” another voice, a woman with braided silver hair, fine clothes, ears filled with small studs and a half a dozen necklaces hanging from her neck. “You have to know something. People don’t just evaporate from your jails, do they?”

  “I heard she’s dead,” came a hushed whisper.

  “Why wouldn’t that surprise me,” the braided silver haired woman jerked her neck and grabbed her hips “Too embarrassed to admit the poor girl died in their custody.”

  “She did not die in my custody,” Ed urged to which all the heads turned back on him. “I…I would have known—”

  “Maybe one of the soldiers,” said a bearded man in the back. He held a long hammer which stole most of Ed’s attention. “They’re always over worked, drinking too much. They head over to Sat’r for their games and come back half-dead. You see them sleeping everywhere—”

  Ed rose his hand. “That is not true—"

  “My money’s on she died in the mines and now they’re protecting the lazy bastard who could have saved her.”

  “Protecting?” That same silver haired woman cocked her head back and blinked a few times. “Who are you protecting, Major?”

  Ed stifled a profanity. “I am not protecting anyone,” he answered, not keeping the hard edge out of his voice. Still, the crowd continued gossiping among themselves and pressing in on him. The horse neighed, sidestepping to make room. “Please, everyone,” Ed called, but they continued with their own speculations, murmuring to themselves. As soon as the fertilizer wagon made its turn, Ed spurred the horse lightly to maneuver through—

  “Wait, Major, well, what can you tell us,” said someone from the crowd.

  Ed stopped. “You all know what I know. Araa was hurt. She was isolated for treatment. Now, she’s missing.”

  “Then we’ll just have to go to Central Office for answers—”

  “No, don’t do that,” Ed shouted, closing his eyes in frustration. “Please. Central Office is busy enough with our city planning and now with this investigation, they will have less time for trivial inquiries. We all have our own jobs to do if we’re going to be ready for winter. I’m sure they’ll release a statement when they have something. Please be patient.”

  With a few jeers, some mumbling and grumbling, and plenty of unsatisfied faces, the crowd slowly dispersed, each going their own way. How could one little girl have this much impact? She’d been here a little more than half a year. Would anyone else generate so much interest? No, there had to be more to it, almost as if she went out of her way to befriend all these people. Ninn was never like that; he was more reserved and aloof. Maybe it was another example of Ed’s woeful ignorance of Islanders? Were northern Islanders so sociable?

  His horse lowered his head, impatiently pawing his forelegs on the dusty road, so Ed rode on with doubt rising in him, or maybe a worry. At least he got what he was after, and now pleased with knowing how the public thought about the investigation, Ed decided on taking the shortest route through the city, keeping his horse at slow trot to keep people and other traffic from blocking his way. Regardless of his hurry, people still tried to stop him. Shop owners, blacksmiths, bakers, carpenters, even some of Araa’s maintenance people tried to shout him down. Ed would just nod curtly, pretending he didn’t hear them. Ed had half a mind to pass by Araa’s maintenance camp too, but he’d never reach the Central Office in a week.

  Maybe Glen had a point about the city’s unhealthy concerned about Araa, though Ed still thought Glen was overly worried about them. These people seemed more ‘mothering’ than rioting. Time, that’s what everyone needed. Time for Araa to pass in whatever peace she could find. Time for her body to be found. Time for the powers on high to see that their world wasn’t coming apart. In time, everyone —including himself— would see nothing at all would come of this. I just have to keep Predt alive for long enough.

  As he neared the Central Office walls, he could see a crowd of people gathered at the closed portcullis, waiting for the Office to open. Shouldn’t the portcullis be lifted and people gathered inside the yard? It was late into the morning now, and Ed could see by the food carts selling to a large crowd that they had been there for a while. Some sat on side boulders that lined the road’s edges, while others stood huddled by the lowered portcullis, conversing in harsh tones. Ed couldn’t make out what they were saying yet, but they couldn’t all be here for the same reason.

  Off to the side, Ed spotted Taylor and J’rek, spears in hand and hand-cannons by their sides, waving him over. Ed reached them and dismounted, allowing J’rek to take the reins.

  “Morning, gentlemen,” he said, but J’rek only made a quick, subdued salute, while eyeing crowd. He then left quickly, leading the horse away from the road.

  “Where is he going,” Ed asked.

  “Stables through the Back Wood,” Tayl
or whispered. “Please, Major, following me.” And he led him along the wall, away from the crowd. Ed noticed Taylor’s white-knuckled grip on his spear, and his left hand never left the grip of his side arm hand-cannon.

  “You seem awfully tense, guardsman,” Ed said. “Has there been an incident?”

  “No, sir, but the Office has received threats,” he said. “And now that we’re undermanned to keep up with the new work, things have become tense.”

  “Threats? Kind? Reason?”

  Taylor glanced over his shoulder. “Can’t speak about it. Magistrate Glen Gallegos’s orders. It’s why I’m here. He asked us to escort you by the back entrance.”

  “Prudent of him,” Ed replied, becoming a bit self-conscious himself. Threats? Who would threaten the Central Office and why? Ed had no love for this place, but it was for a personal —albeit shared by many in the military— reason: the tension between getting things done and talking about getting things done. But for everyone else, Central Office was a place for permits, papers, pay, and judicial and criminal matters, a place for correspondences and revealing new city planning. And why now? Maybe, it was related to Araa’s escape? No, it had to be unrelated.

  Quietly, Taylor led him around to a nook in the wall that descended into a darken hall and an iron door. Overhead, Ed grimaced at the murder hole, making this small hall into a murder hall. Perfect place to carry out a threat, he mind churned, if the threat came from inside.

  Taylor unlocked the door and led Ed inside. Once inside, Taylor let a subtle sigh, relaxing his grip on his spear before casting a palm-light. Ed had never been here before, much like a postern to a castle, he imagined this would be where the magistrates and other important officials would escape if the Central Office was under siege. He grimaced again. This would have been nice for Ed —the head of city security— to know. But the Central Office insisted on their own security, which usually comprised of people who weren’t professional soldiers with experience.

  Taylor guided him down the dark hall, a dim yellow light from his hand illuminating the way. All soldiers had to take ability tests —whether magic, memory, or strength— to see if they had been gifted by the Seven. Most were gifted to some extent, though few were gifted enough to hone those skills to any appreciable advantage.