Sil closed her eyes. “I…suppose I should apologize,” she said. “I should have realized.”
“You didn’t know,” he replied, his voice sounding exhausted, but calmer.
“You’ve been encouraging bravery in me all along, haven’t you?”
He lifted his head and grinned, the corners of lips quivered. “A braver you helped me out too.”
Sil rested the back of her head again the wall. “I’m sorry for being difficult,” she said. “I…I just have to find my sister. You don’t know what she’s put me through.”
“Put you through?”
“The Temple, us, I mean,” she corrected herself.
“What will you do when we find her. Get her to go back to the Temple?” He lifted his head, his teary eye glancing at her hip, the knife underneath.
She covered her lap with her mantle. “You want to arrest her, don’t you? Bring her back to the Empire?”
He lifted his head up higher, his eye red but no longer tearing. He took in a few long breaths. “We both want to find her,” he said, nodding. “Let’s start with that.” e then hoisted himself up before extended a hand to help her up.
Taking it, she asked, “Ignoring the problem, won’t help us. She can’t go with you and with me at the same time.”
Markus smiled, his joviality returning. He then swiped his hat from the ground and after tapping it onto his head, he added, “the cart goes before the horses. Don’t they teach you that much in your Temple?” He then strolled on down the alley, leaving her frustrated. She’d have to figure out some way of dragging Gene off with her without Markus interfering. He couldn’t take her away.
The other side of the alley opened up to the same busy street they previously crossed with all the bustle of morning growing: more people, vendors, and store criers calling out for business.
Sill caught up with him. “Our teachers teach us that we need to plan ahead for inevitabilities.”
Markus lifted his finger. “I’m starving and I know just the place, if it’s still open. Let’s eat, relax a bit and tonight, we’ll break into that shop. OK, Lady Casmarus of the Order of the Short Hair?”
Sil rolled her eyes. “Very well, Lord Montgomery of the Order of the One-eyes.”
25
Celeste Casmarus: The Islander Trader
“My dear Doyenne, you of all know how busy we are preparing the poor for winter. Why have you convened a Synod?”
“Because of this! Here, I’ve brought them before your eyes! Runic metallurgy. Binding rituals. Sacrificial Magics, Runes, and Ragnarok Ritual Imaginings. Evil, cursed, forbidden—”
“Oh Goddess, we haven’t given our allegiance to the Cults; don’t be absurd, Your Holiness. But we had to learn how to offer Gene’s body to Zandagor by way of an intermediary —the knife we gave Celeste. Why else would we give it to her to use?”
“Necromancy is a dangerous discipline! Especially when so little is known. Look here at your notes! Do any one of you realize what will happen when Lady Celeste uses her knife? The knife will draw upon the innate healing magic of the living surrounding it and the runic alloy will heat and explode, sending shrapnel everywhere, killing everyone—”
“Offering everyone to our Goddess! Yes we know. Most of all those two devil sisters, Celeste and Genevieve.”
“Devils? …What do you mean?”
“Mother Fea told us where to find those Cultist materials years ago. They were buried with the parents of those two—”
“You had no right to desecrate a grave—”
“They were Ragnars, Doyenne! Descendant citizens of that abdominal Nation! There is nothing sacred in them!”
“I…I should have been told.”
“For that, we apologize, but we thought it best because of your friendship with Princess Za’nina. If word spread among the people two Ragnar, two cultists, were among us, and far worse, High Priests in their Offering Office, the city would rise to a hysteria or isn’t that what Mister Conner implied? We didn’t tell you to protect your ignorance.”
“Ignorance isn’t something to be protected, Mother Gracie! I am the Doyenne here; it is not for any of you to decide from whom or what I should be protected! These are incredibly grave matters you all seem to be so comfortable—”
“Comfortable? Comfortable! Mother Stella, do you recall the numbers on the Chills infected we have admitted to our hospice care last year and this year to date?”
“Yes. I do, Mother Gracie. Twenty-seven last year. And this year. We’ve taken in one hundred. And five. Nearly four times more. And eight times from two years ago. You know this too. Doyenne.”
“You see there, Your Holiness. Comfortable is something we can no longer be. You have always said yourself that there’s something a miss, something wrong with the sacrifices, with the world. Well, there is. Gene and Celeste, they are descendants of a powerful matriarch, a necromancer empress who ruled the Nation of Ragnarok for hundreds of years. It was a mistake letting Gene in here in the first place, doubly so for her sister. Now we are surprised the Golden Lady is abandoning us?”
“Matriarch? Necromancer? Empress? Mother Gracie…how…could you possibly know all of this?”
“We have heard it, Doyenne.”
“…Mothers…all of you. I have a very important question for each of you. When you commune with the Golden Lady. Does she answer you?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“And you, Mother Lyn?”
“Uh, yes, of course.”
-A meeting of the Synod of the Golden Lady.
Evening came as Sil waited downstairs in the parlor of a public banquet hall Markus knew, an establishment sympathetic to the apostate emperor —if that could be believed in Landrie’s lands. More likely, Markus paid a large sum for the owner to allow them to use their upstairs home to refresh themselves. And for that, Sil would have happily paid plenty too. She finally had chance to bath, which after so much walking outdoors, seemed like a stay in heaven. She never wanted to leave, but her thoughts always settled on her sister and what accusations she was going level on Sil when they meet. Gene always did that: projected her vices onto her. Blamed her for disasters that Gene couldn’t be bothered to prevent herself. So selfish.
Sil snickered to herself, trying to pick up a piece of black lint from her brown mantle only to realize she had smudged black soot deeper into the fabric. She lifted her brown mantle up to her nose, still smelling of metals and dust, but at least she felt clean. She could have washed them and hand dried them with her magic, but she was too exhausted —having to pry herself out of the bath took a herculean effort in and of itself. At least she cleaned the grim and dust from under her fingernails and smudges of dirt on her face and hands. And no way in the Seven Heavens was Markus going to get her to plaster white powder on her face again, for all the good that did.
Checking herself over, she found that her ankles weren’t as badly cut as she thought from all the undergrowth scrapping at her. Even her head, still covered by her brown veil, at long last sprouted out a healthy budding growth of silver hair. Though as short as it was now, her hair looked whiter than silver, making her appear four for five times her age.
Sil lifted her chin. There was no use in complaining. She had come this far, she wouldn’t turn back. Still, what was keeping Markus so long? She had gone to refresh herself first, and admittingly, she took her time. Was he taking a longer time just to spite her. Probably.
The daughter of the owners, a young girl of six or seven named Breana, pushed through the kitchen door and whistled her way to Sil’s table with a mug in each hand dressed in blue overalls and a red shirt with pink flower patterns.
“Hello,” she said, brightly. “Thirsty?” She placed the mug in front of Sil with some brownish bubbly liquid inside, probably ale.
Sil frowned. “Do you have water instead?”
Breana tucked her head
down, her ears turning red. “Waters no good here. Too bitter.” Bashful girl?
Sil put on a friendly smile. “Wine then?” Although stronger, ale was a brutish drink for brutish men like those who tried to accost her and Markus earlier. Hopefully, the wine wouldn’t make her drowsy.
Breana skipped away to another table without an answer, singing a song about lilies and rain, leaving Sil to wonder if the little girl heard her order at all. At the other end of the parlor two men and a one woman of notably higher station judging by their clean faces and clothes, sat around the same table sharing a drink. Gray clothes had to be in fashion, too; the men wore gray hats and the woman wore a gray mantle much like Sil’s, but larger and hanging down off her seat. I should have washed my clothes, she groaned to herself. But she did notice she was given the farthest table from them, by the kitchen and opposite the public latrine and wash rooms. Privacy, it was prudent of them.
“Allo Sil,” Markus appeared from the kitchen door, already munching on something. “I see you’ve already got a drink in front of you. Breana, bring me one when your free.”
“Sure thing, boss,” the little girl answered, a phrase she repeated every time someone requested something of her.
Sil pushed the drink away. “You can have it,” she said as Markus sat.
“You look a lot better,” he remarked with a pleasant smile. “Almost human like the rest of us.”
Sil pressed her lips together. “Wish I could have cleaned my clothes too.”
Markus leaned back in his chair. “Me too.” He opened his coat and a whiff of dust popped off. “With any luck, it won’t take much longer. The owner couple here say that store’s ownership we’re going to break into has recently been transferred over to someone named Nahan’Suss.’”
“Whose Nahan’Suss?”
Markus shrugged. “Don’t know, but who ever it is, isn’t afraid of MaCathy.”
“I don’t see why anyone would be. Filthy man and filthy place, there’s redeeming about him.”
“Gods, Sil. I give you one compliment, and you on to insult one of my friends?”
“Don’t remind me he’s your friend.”
Markus lifted his palms out in submission. “Alright, alright. Let’s talk about our plan—”
Breana skipped back with two mugs, one with ale, the other with wine. “Eating,” she asked, keeping her eyes away from Sil. Very bashful girl, she thought.
“Eggs. Potatoes. Thick bacon, cured or fried, however you have it,” Markus said.
“That’s breakfast, boss. It’s dinner now.”
Markus shrugged. “I’m an adult, Breana. I can have what I want when I want.”
Breana wrinkled her nose at Markus. “Not here, boss.”
“Little girl,” Sil leaned in. “Why do you call everyone ‘boss.’” Breana hung her head down, ears ripening a deep red.
“Customers are our bosses,” she whispered.
“Sil, what ya have,” Markus asked. She took out some of the vouchers her sister priests had given her to use —useless now that they were no where near the Holy City. She’d have to exchange them for whatever rate the trading house offered. She thought about rushing over there when Markus chuckled. “They gave you useless paper? Sil, my oh my, they really played you a fool.”
“Going on about that again,” Sil said, making an exasperated sigh. “It is not useless. I can go to that Trader building I saw and get exchanges.”
Markus’s face lit up with a wry grin. “Whoa, look at you, learning so much of the world now. I’m impressed. I wonder what exchange you’d get without an account or even residency here.” He leaned in, narrowing his eye on her. “You do know if you want a good exchange you’d need an account with the city bank, right? Or maybe your priest sisters arranged with a bank back in the Holy City. That works too.” He then creased his eyebrows together. “They did set one up before you left, right?” Sil let her expression grow cold, an inch closer and she might actually follow through with a slap across his face. “No? You weren’t? Hmm…I’m sure that slipped their minds.”
Sil rolled her eyes, instead. “You have no idea about what you’re talking about.”
Markus leaned to Breana. “She’ll have what I’m having.”
“No, I—”
“If I’m buying, I’m choosing,” he said, and Breana swished away, bubbling and singing.
“Why do you have local money?”
Markus leaned back, smiling. “Because I’m always prepared.”
“MaCathy gave you money…isn’t…that…,” Sil trailed off, noticing as Breana skipped to the other table, she would turn over her shoulder to take quick glances at Sil. “That girl,” she said, sipping the wine —overly sweet with a taste of dry raisins. How long had it sat, and how much water was added, Sil could only guess. “She’s very shy around me.”
“Yea, I noticed that too. I never met her, wasn’t born yet when I was around, but she seems to get along fine with me.” Markus gulped down his ale. “Want to ask her why?”
“No…she’s probably never seen someone like me before. I remember being in a town filled with mostly men and boys. It can be lonely, and another girl to talk to can be both welcomed and overwhelming. Sat’r, at least then, was more of the same.”
“This place’s changed quiet a bit since then,” he said, leaning back on his chair with an arm over the top rail and mug in his hand. “Turning into a proper city. I remember this used be an all industrial and business place with satellite villages. Few people were allowed to live here, like Gylur and his wife. Skilled labor would come in, work the day, buy what they needed and go home.”
“Yes, I remember,” Sil said, bringing the wine to her mouth, but then lowering it back to the table without taking a sip. “My father used to tell me ‘if Ladress’s heart was the Holy City, Sat’r would be the kingdom’s soul.’ Guards, sentries, metal and smoke everywhere.” She suppressed a shiver. Those memories weren’t as pleasant as she liked to believe.
“Yea, Queen Zana, even her husband too, I think, always had a garrison here,” Markus began as Sil eyed Breana sheepishly scurrying behind Markus and then hurrying through the kitchen door. “This noble, Niklas Doryene ran it. Kept everything running smoothly for the real man in charge, Lord Mionzeg Roz. But you know nobles around here only work when there’s a problem so the fun part of our business was trying to grow as much as possible without creating ‘work.’ It was fun.” A fond longing formed in his eye as did a small grin.
“By ‘business,’ you mean mischief,” Sil corrected him, trying to snap him out his reminiscing. “But I haven’t seen any guards now or city patrols. Have you?”
Markus titled his head. “Yea, you’re right. MaCathy said something about soldiers moving on out. That would explain my warm welcome.” Sil rose an eyebrow. He chuckled. “I tried getting the owners here to let us sleep in their stock back room. But they said we couldn’t stay, and that we should go right after we eat.”
“I suppose we’ve pressed enough upon their hospitality.”
“No, not that. They’re good people,” Markus replied, rocking his chair on its back legs. “Rumors are that tensions between the prince brothers are on the rise again and if someone finds out they let me stay here…” He tipped his mug. “Our hospitable hosts could be in trouble.”
Despite herself, Sil took a drink of the wine and as she brought the mug up to her mouth, she noticed the kitchen door open and Breana peeking out at her. When they locked eyes, she disappeared, and the door swung closed.
“That little girl’s still staring at me,” she whispered, trying to lick the raisin taste out of her mouth.
Markus slid the other mug of ale toward her. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said, tipping his brimmed hat lower over his face. “You do look a lot like Gene—” Sil’s eyes shot open, searching for Breana. “Relax. She’ll be back, but we do have to hurry. We’ve got to scout out a place to sleep and make it to that shop.” Sil lowered her eyes on her
drink, not looking forward to spending the night outside. Still, if Breana recognized her and met Gene, maybe there was hope she was somewhere in the city.
“Try the ale,” he said. “It’s much better.”
She snickered. “That’s not what I was thinking about.”
“I’m getting another round.” He snapped his fingers twice. “It’ll keep us warm when we sleep outside.”
She grimaced. “We can’t be intoxicated—”
The door opened and out came Breana with two more mugs. Keeping her distance from Sil, she placed the two on Markus’s side of the table.
Before she could turn away, Markus leaned in and asked, “So…what’s your name.”
She tilted her head, and scratched her forehead. “You already know it, boss.”
“OK. What’s my name, then?”
“Boss.”
Sil giggled and Breana’s ears flushed.
“You’re not scared of me are you,” Markus asked.
“No.”
“Even with my one eye.” Markus opened his eye wide.
“Lots of people have lots of missing parts around here.”
“Yea, I guess you’re right,” Markus sounded deflated. He then nodded toward Sil. “What about her? You’re not scared of her either, are you?”
She ducked her head down and shifted closer to Markus
“Breana,” Sil said, liltingly . “It’s a pretty name. Why are you so shy with me?”
She didn’t answer, only tip-toed closer to Markus.
“Hey listen,” Markus said in a soft hush while pointing to Sil. “That’s my friend. She won’t eat you —not unless she cooks you first.” Breana frowned. “Don’t believe me? I’ve seen it! This big fat coachman. Poor fellow. She was so hungry, and the coachman got up and on his stagecoach and tried getting away. But my friend, here, wouldn’t give up. ‘Come back delicious piggly,’ she shouted. And she cooked him, the horse and stagecoach whole—”
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 61