Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  Cyne licked his lips like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Yes, I do understand. Well, in any case.” He stood, hands again back behind him. “We’ll give you a half a pound of gold to take with you and twenty pounds sent to where ever your ‘drop off’ is” —Drop off? Cyne had worked with others in Mend’s line of work before— “provided you have one within the Empire.”

  “I do.”

  “Good, are we agreed then? Find this Mister Glen Gallegos for us?”

  “Yea, sure…but what do you want me to do when I find him?”

  “Nothing,” Cyne replied. “I believe Miss Gallegos, our Chief Engineer, already spoke to you about a letter she’ll furnish for you to bring to him. I hope your compensation makes certain it gets to him regardless of the trials you might face.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mend said, saluting. Find someone, drop letter off, collect payment. Couldn’t get any simpler. And, Roach probably already knew this guy, Glen. “We —uh, I always get the job done, especially when there’s compensation. And I gotta say. It’s nice you guys go out of your way to help Sera out.” Mend, I’m going to hit you if you keep talking.

  “Yes, well. This whole affair as pained her,” he said, turning away and giving the impression the conversation was ending. Mend lowered his eyes in disappointment, not wanting him to go so soon. He walked back to the door with a sure slow stride, disciplined and relaxed like a natural leader. For moment, Mend wished he could follow him, help him, be led by him. “We treat all those on our side well,” he added, and Mend made a note to fantasy about how well he’d be treated. Maybe a career change would be a good thing for him. “We’ll release you as soon as you’re well enough. I’m sorry there won’t be any fanfare for your involvement in saving our island. You understand.”

  “Yes, I do,” Mend said, masking a sigh of relief. One problem down; no one would see him in a parade. “But I wouldn’t mind a reward…you know…for saving….”

  “Reward? For saving people’s lives?”

  Mend lowered his head, feeling a wave a shame come over him despite knowing it was out of character for him. He never felt shame over money ever, especially when he had done something to earn it. Money was the only thing Mend cared about; it bought food, booze, and one day maybe a small island of his own where he could tell off Roach without getting a backhand to the face. But this was wrong, all wrong. Had he drugged? Hypnotized? No, it had to be Cyne’s skill. He stood by the open door, studying Mend with that stoic indifference of a necromancer preparing his dying victim. Emotions, huh? Was that it? Is that what the King-Maker’s skill does?

  “Make sure you deliver that letter, young Mister Glen, and you’ll have your gold plus a bonus, and perhaps a future here with us.” He then closed the door behind him, and Mend was once again alone….and utterly confused.

  Well, not confused. With Cyne gone, Mend recalled the conversation again from his perfect memory, this time patting himself on the back for asking for a reward. Strange man, very scary ability. No, Mend decided, he wouldn’t do it, too risky making deals with the empire and definitely too risky making deals with Cyne. So what if Mend —with a little of his genius— found this Glen twin. So what if he gave up twenty pounds of gold; he would still have a half a pound. Damn it, that’s a lot. No! Mend balled his hands into fists. Mend, just get out of this! He would never tell Cyne one of his real drop-off points. Nope. He would take the half-pound full of ‘thank yous’ and ‘good lucks’ and be out of here with—

  Mend groaned. Josie. He still had to wait for her. “Please, Almighty,” he whispered. “Give me a break.”

  And as the hours went by with no visitors, it seemed his prayer was answered —a first. Although they probably posted guards outside, thinking Josie was still going to harm him. That was a good sign; it meant she wasn’t in their custody yet. But Mend didn’t feel any better for it.

  Being alone, he took the last few hours to think things through. There was no way Roe would get back in time before they snap that trap on Josie. And with her in their hands, they would find out Roe worked for her; that they were a team. But there was nothing he could do! With emperors who could read minds and ‘masters of servants’ who could twist him around his fingers, Mend was out of his league. A hard thing to admit, but at the very least, it was too much of a risk for him to help her now. Yes, that was it, too risky to ruin a good thing. The empire was going to let him go, walk him to the door, and Mend would waltz back to Roach’s with a half-pound of gold to smooth over a botched job. Perfect, but why did he feel so terrible about it? It’s a cake-walk, Mend! Don’t screw this up! No, he wouldn’t blow his cover just to save a Shadow Agent. Shadows never wanted help. They didn’t need help! Cocky, ‘all-the-for-mission,’ bastards. They’ve killed for their goddess; served Josie right. She probably killed babies before, ate them or feed them to dogs or something.

  A knock came at the door. “Mister Glen Tellerson, time for your exercises.”

  “No, go away,” Mend whined.

  Of course, the door opened anyway, that same mage with that same obnoxious smile and pleasantries. Why couldn’t it have been a beautiful girl instead?

  ***

  Since leaving Rochelle’s tavern, Papp had become reserved, quietly driving his carriage outside while Roe sat inside, mulling over how she was going to leave him without him following. She sat up on the edge of a very stiff springy seat with only a stray muscle quivering here and there but otherwise feeling much stronger, but that didn’t alleviate her worries. She had slipped into two ‘dreams’ already, and they seemed so real, natural, like she belonged there. Rochelle told her they couldn’t wake her, either. The thought of losing herself completely into one of her dreams filled her with dread; all those stories of exposed people going insane made more sense to her now. She’d become one of them soon, detached completely from reality before being ‘mercifully’ put down. Hopefully, Josie would be the one to do that, and maybe her last relived memory will be a happy one, though she didn’t think she had many of those.

  She closed her eyes, reclining into the creaking seat, its springs poking her body through the fabric with every jostle of the carriage. She rested her head against the headrest, covered her eyes with her hand, and let tears rolled down her cheeks. How would she ever make to the Golden Island before she succumbs? Sig had a treatment for exposure, a damn cure for her. But she was still days away, even with Papp pushing the horses so hard. Even if she did make it, she might slip into one of her dreams and what would they do then? Would they know the difference between a Chills infection and exposure? Would Sig’s remedy even work, or would it be too late? What was it about being so close to the Shards of the Almighty that made people relive old parts of their lives? What was it that made those gods come alive in the first place? Answers like that were impossible to know, at least for her. It wasn’t the Red Mountain’s intention to harm you. But I cannot help either. Everything is wrong this time, and I don’t know if disaster can be averted. Seek out the Sea Roar’s help on the island. If anyone knows, it would be him. Roe laughed, wiping her tears.

  “I always thought,” she whispered, half to herself and half to the voice in her head. “That people who lost their minds wouldn’t make sense even to themselves. But you still make some sense, Roe. Go back to the island. Get Siga to cure you.” Then the runic suits would be theirs and the Veiled Goddess could be awakened safely. Just how they were going to do that, she had no idea. Even the Night Matriarchs and Patriarchs kept their plan to wake the Veiled Goddess a secret. Once, on a mission to the Snow Deserts, Roe had whispered to Josie that she thought the Nocturnal Council didn’t really know what they were doing, that they were just buying time and making it up as they went along. Before they got back to base, a reprimand of doubt waited for her, so she knew, whichever of the Matriarchs and Patriarchs made up the Nocturnal Council, at the very least, their blessings were powerful. Still, none of that mattered now. Like the voice in her head had said, all her efforts must be focuse
d on getting back and dumping Papp along the way.

  He had become so silent since they left yesterday afternoon, making no stops except to relieve themselves. She tried to get him to stop more often, but he’d just shrug and in his usual pleasant tone saying, ‘you’re in a hurry, aren’t ya?’ As much as she appreciated the speediness, his sudden change made her worry. They didn’t even stop to eat, either; she ate jerky and apples with a canteen of water inside the carriage while he ate up on the box seat, saying he preferred to be alone.

  He rode the horses hard too, she knew. She could hear then panting even from inside. They wouldn’t make it long. Damn. Rochelle must have told him something about her, or did he recognize something she said when she was under? His overall demeanor hadn’t change; he was still pleasant and amiable, but that’s the Islander way. An Islander could be angry over the death of a loved one and no one else would know it. He just didn’t seem as interested in her as before.

  A knock came from the carriage driver’s box before Papp slid open the door.

  “Hello, Papp,” she said as cheerfully as possible, trying to goad him into a conversation.

  “We’re passing Sat’r on our left, so we’ll be at the shore tonight—”

  “That fast? Wait, which shore?”

  “Lady Davenance told me you were headed to about three miles south of the Lighthouse Point. I’ll knock when we get there.” He then quickly slid the door shut before she could ask anything more. Three miles south of the lighthouse? How could Rochelle have known? Roe should have guessed, though. This was her territory, after all; it would be safe to say she would know if people were loitering on an empty beach. If Rochelle knew, her people were probably there too, observing. She had to stop Papp before then.

  “Hey Papp,” she called out.

  The door slid open. “Busy,” he replied before sliding the door shut again.

  She cursed. Rochelle must have poisoned him against her, but it was for the best; it’d be easier to get rid of him if he hated her. But did she have to tell him where the rendezvous was? That woman, Roe only met her a few times before when the two crews needed help from one other. Rochelle was always so…demanding, ordering everyone like she was above everyone else. ‘No killings,’ she’d always insist as if the Shadows preferred to kill. The jobs were paramount, but Rochelle didn’t have that kind of dedication. Who would when her only goal was more wealth and influence? That made sense; those things weren’t worth killing for. She didn’t have a goddess to awaken and a home to liberate. The Coming Shadows had to always finish the job at all costs, no exceptions.

  Roe closed her eyes again, resting her head on a particularly uncomfortable spring. The afternoon sun streamed in through the window, warming her body where the rays fell. Not much to do, but wait, and think. If she had some thread and needle, she could sow her discovery into her clothes and even if she went crazy again, her crew could still fulfill the mission. Now she just had to hope. Hope wasn’t very comforting, especially when it usually led to disappointments.

  Roe grumbled, anxiety rising in her. So she decided to look out the window. Nothing, but flat dry plains of rocks and grasses. n the distance, she saw smoke rising but couldn’t see where it rose from. She leaned forward and banged on the carriage driver’s box door.

  “Papp, you see that smoke?”

  He slid the door open. “Yep. I see it. We gonna avoid it.”

  “Can I come up there and see what it is?”

  He shrugged. “If you feel well enough and if you can fit through the door. I don’t like the look of what I see, so I’m not stopping.”

  Though the door hole was small, she managed to push her way through and take an empty spot next to him on the driver’s seat. Wind buffeted her face, hair whipping around her head. Papp managed the reins, driving the horses harder. The horses swayed in their gallop, panting and sweating.

  “Uh, Papp,” she said, her voice competing with the wind and carriage. “The horse’s need rest.”

  “I’m not stopping,” he urged, worry etched into his face. “Are they following?”

  “Following? Who?” Roe’s stood, one hand on Papp’s shoulder for balance. She saw the smoke more clearly now, and it rose from a caravan of carriages. And a little while away, there were horses —mounted horses galloping toward them.

  “Yea…they’re following.”

  He glanced to his left. “I don’t think we can out run them in this.” He whipped the horses again, but they didn’t go any faster, only swayed more widely. Roe counted seven horse riders, all in gray, with one in the lead. They were gaining, but slowly.

  “We have some time, maybe they’ll…” He handed her the knife.

  “You want it? Just in case.”

  “What about you?”

  He snickered, frowning at her for a moment. “I’m just an Islander, right? What do you care as long as you get to where you’re going?”

  “Then…she told you?” Roe took the knife, weighty and unwieldy in her hand with its gray mesmerizing glow.

  “Yea,” he said. “I owed her a favor, so I’ll get you to the shore as fast as I can.”

  “What exactly did she tell you about me?” If Papp knew she worked for the Coming Shadows, she’d have no choice but to end him. He’d seen what she looks like; he could become a liability. Would Rochelle be that stupid? How was Roe going to not kill him?

  “You lied about being one of us Islanders. That you’re a spy for the empire,” he said in a soft and rough voice. But Roe sighed in relief. He didn’t have to die. “That lie I can get past,” he said, whipping the reins again. “But why you chose my people to impersonate. That I cannot forgive.”

  Roe turned back to the horse riders, still in the distance, but gaining. She understood what he meant. No one thought of Islanders as ambitious or smart enough to be suspected of anything greater than maybe stolen produce. She pretended to be one —and pulled off the act— precisely because it made her seem above reproach to so many.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  He shrugged.

  “It’s best you don’t see me to the shore.”

  “And have you go rabbling off somewhere again? How could I face Lady Davenance then? No, I’ll see you till you meet your friends.” Damn it.

  One of the horses peeled away, suddenly, giving up the chase. Then another, and other. Good, they’re giving up.

  “Trust me, Papp,” she said. “I owe her too now. You don’t want to be there with my friends.” Another rider turned away, then another, until finally only one remained. This one lifted a bow and notched an arrow.

  “Papp! Arrow, get you head down!” The arrow released, quickly thudding against the back of the carriage, hidden from view. The rider in gray then slowed and stopped pursuit. “Huh? Just one harmless arrow?”

  “What is it? Did it miss?”

  “Yea, it missed,” she said, sitting down beside him. “Hit the back somewhere.” He nodded in reply, his hard expression focused on driving the horses. It was strange to see him like this, so intense and determined, after considering him a fool for so long. A few days ago, he was that lost puppy enthusiast she couldn’t get rid of back in the city and now…. Roe crossed her arms. Well, he was still stubborn; that didn’t change. He had to know what dangers transporting an ‘imperial spy’ would bring on him. And just to return a favor? Roe tightened her arms around her. Idiot. When they get there, she would have to be quick to explain to her crew the whole empire espionage rouse. She didn’t know which of her crew would be waiting for her; they were supposed to be rotating monthly shifts until she was done. But if it was Zeth’s turn, he wouldn’t take chances. That maniac would just take Papp out from a distance. She groaned. Why is it so hard to have a perfect mission?

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About the fact you haven’t used a mantra in a while.”

  He shook his head. “We
’re not all the same, Arr—whatever your name is.” Good point; a point she made to the Major a few days ago. She handed the knife back to him. “Just stab it on the seat. I’m gonna slow down now, give our horses some rest.” She did so, and the blade seemed to melt into the wood up to the hilt. He glanced over at it. “So that’s its magic?”

  “I…don’t know. Haven’t seen much magic use.”

  He shrugged. “What should I call you now? I don’t want to use an Islander name.”

  Roe paused. She had been many women before, sometimes boys, but one persona popped into her mind. “Zoey,” she said. “I’m actually from—”

  “Drakendor,” he said. “Don’t want to make you lie again.”

  She slouched in her seat. “Rochelle said she didn’t tell you that.”

  “She didn’t have to,” he replied. “I’m from the northern islands. We have a lot of trouble with that One-King poisoning our oceans, raiding our ships and stealing our people. We know what goes on there. What you were dreaming of. I knew. I’ve seen it.” He glanced over to her. “I’m sorry about Reid. Who was he?”

  She looked down in between the seat boards, watching dirt, rocks, and dry grass blur pass. “My…brother.”

  “Brother huh. I lost an uncle to the Black Crown too. He was a mage, a weak mage, but they took him anyway, from his fishing ship.”

  “I’m…sorry.”

  He shrugged and grunted. “It’s alright. Happened along time ago.”

  Silence grew between them with the whipping wind competing with grinding of the carriage wheels and the panting of the horses. The One-King hurt more than just her own people, she knew, those foolish enough to sail close to his shore or cross the borders. Would Papp understand that if he followed her, he’d have to die for the chance to bring down the One-King? Probably Not. But what was one more person’s ill-fate added to a country’s lifetime of oppression?