Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  “That’s not helping,” Sil chided, but Breana cracked a smile.

  “Hey Breana, my friend has a question for,” Markus added. “Can she ask it?”

  Breana nodded quickly with her head still ducked down.

  “Go ahead Sil, what’s your question for little Breana again. She’s a busy girl, you know. Lots of bosses around here.” The way Markus handled Breana made it seem more reasonable that he was a father. Maybe that part his story was true. Maybe the rest of his story… Sil put it out her mind.

  “Breana,” Sil said. “Why are you so shy of me?”

  “I am not shy,” she pouted, crossing her arms. “You don’t scare me.”

  Taken aback by Breana’s sudden change, Sil turned to Markus who winked at her. Was he influencing the little girl? “Markus—”

  “She’s a busy girl, Sil, hurry up,” he retorted. “Aren’t you, Breana?”

  The little girl puffed. “Daddies gonna get angry if I wait here too long, so hurry up, boss.”

  Sil fought off a snicker. She’d have to have a long talk with him on the morality of using his blessing on someone so young, but at least Breana felt comfortable enough to speak with her. Sil leaned in. “I’m glad you’re not afraid of me. But I want to ask if you have ever seen anyone that looks like me?”

  She squirmed a bit, but still kept her eyes up on Sil. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Oh? A secret?”

  “No,” Breana replied.

  “A promise then,” Markus suggested.

  She turned to him, and stomped her foot while shouting, “No! No! No!” Markus then straightened up in his seat and Breana rushed off back into the kitchen.

  “What…what happened,” Sil asked.

  He leaned in over the table and whispered. “She isn’t shy of you, Sil. I sensed her emotion. She’s terrified of you.”

  Sil felt her heart fall into her stomach. “Terrified? Of me? …Why?”

  “Your sister,” he whispered. “It has to be. She’s been here. I don’t think we can get much out of her—”

  The kitchen door slammed open. The male owner, Gylur, stormed out with two plates in his hand and an angry scowl on his face. He plopped the plates on the table, the eggs jiggling in place. He folded his arms across his chest, staring down Markus.

  “Did you do your King-Maker crap on my little girl,” he growled.

  Markus opened his palms—

  “Don’t try that crap with me, either. She nearly broke the door back there and now she’s crying on Eah’s lap—”

  “It was me,” Sil spoke up. His hard eyes shifted onto her and she cowed a bit under them. “She was shy of me and I wanted to know why.” He watched her, breathing heavily as though he was waiting for a better explanation. “Uh…she said I looked familiar. That’s all. I suppose someone who looks like me must have scared her.” His scowl grew deeper, but his eyes softened.

  “Eat up and get out of here,” he barked. He then started back for the kitchen when Sil stopped him.

  “Wait! You know who she was afraid of, don’t you? You’ve seen someone who looks like me, haven’t you? Older maybe—”

  “Stop it,” Gylur shouted. “I don’t know what my girl is afraid of. She’s six, for the Seven’s sake. But I can’t have her crying and breaking down walls and doors, so…” He paused. “Eat and go. Don’t bother paying. And don’t come back.”

  “Gylur,” Markus said, tipping his hat further over his face. “Is everything alright?”

  “My little girl’s crying,” he said. “So, no, nothing’s alright.” And he disappeared behind the kitchen door.

  “That was certainly strange,” Sil said, sipping her wine only to spit it back into her cup. “He seemed so amiable before.” Markus turned over his shoulder at the three guests at the far other end. “What, what are you—"

  “Shh…,” he sounded. “Eat quick. We gotta go.”

  “Tell me, Markus.”

  He turned back, sighing. “Don’t look,” he whispered. “But behind me. Those three. They’re wearing gray just like that other man who followed us near the shop.”

  Sil shrugged. “Gray is a good winter color.”

  Markus mocked a laugh.

  “You believe they’re all working together?”

  “I’d bet my runic on it,” he whispered. “And they’re holding this place for some reason.”

  Sil straightened in her chair. “Then we have to help.”

  He pointed his fork at her. “We don’t have to do anything. You heard the man; I offered help, and he didn’t take it. This could just be some local robbers’ protection thing. We don’t have to get involved.”

  “Gylur and Eah are your friends, aren’t they? And this is how you treat them? No wonder you always have to use your blessing—.”

  He slammed his mug on the table, ale spilling over. “No, Sil. This is how I stay focused on my goal.”

  Suddenly, the kitchen door creaked open. Sil expected Gylur to show up again, but it was Breana mouthing ‘help,’ to Markus. Once she caught Sil looking at her, she scurried behind the door.

  “Well, boss,” Sil said. “Can you still say no?”

  Markus closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You know, I’m really fond of saying ‘no’ to you, but to her…. Alright, I have a question for you,” he leaned in and whispered. “I know you can use magic, but if things go badly, this’ll be your first time in a fight, won’t it? In doors, I mean.” In doors. Yes, that would be challenge; she’d have to focus on narrowing the scope of her magic. Fire was out of the question, maybe wind too. Lightening? They would all go deaf, and it would cause a fire too. Organ Compression? Hard to do without killing the person. If only they were outside, she wouldn’t have to worry. Why did she always use fire as a crutch for her martial magic? Just because it came easy? Well, it did; it was so natural to her that it became one of her first self-discovered spells —with horrible consequences. Damn it all. Maybe her sister was right about her that one time. But here, she couldn’t let her smothered anger get the best of her. Oh, how she wished she spent more time practicing the subtler spells. She could ice only their clothes, or bind them to the ceiling by inverting gravity, or make them pass out by drawing the air from their lungs. No, no, no; if she lost focus they’d all be affected. Still, she refused to be useless. “Sil, you’re worrying me.”

  She swallowed a gulp of wine. “I’ve trained to become one of the Golden Lady’s Valkyries, haven’t I,” she said, steeling her confidence. “I’ve sparred with the best; I know how to use magic.”

  He flashed his eyebrows in mock surprise before slowly standing up. Sil stood with him. “Aren’t the Valkyries supposed to be dead saints,” he asked.

  “Generally, yes.”

  “Then no, don’t become a Valkyrie yet.” He opened his hand toward the three sitting at the far table. “Well, you’re the one filled with a zeal for justice. Introduce me.”

  “All this stalling,” she grumbled before storming over to them. “You three,” she said, chin up, her arms down by her side and palms facing behind her to hide initiating spells. She looked down on each of them as they turned to her with bemused smirks as if she had interrupted an amusing conversation.

  “Yes,” the woman said, older with brown hair, giggling on the edge of laughter. “You need something? Just overheard the owner kicking you out.”

  “Uh, well,” Sil stumbled, expecting them to be more aggressive. Not laughing. “No, he didn’t kick me out.”

  The man to Sil’s left pointed outside with his thumb. “There’s another tavern across the way. Go with your man and get out.” Sil blinked a few times, unsure of what to do. “Well? You’ve got ears and legs. Go.” He then turned back to the table, removing from his shirt pocket a deck of cards. “Let’s play for the next round of drinks.” He began dealing. So, they want to be coy, do they? But Sil wouldn’t let them get the better of her.

  She cleared her throat. “Are you three harassing th
e parlor owner? That little girl is so frightened—” They erupted into laughter and behind her she swore she could hear Markus chuckling too.

  “That big fella with his freakishly strong little girl,” the woman said between chuckles. “No. We’re not threatening no one. Just playing a game to bid our time…but, you know,” She tapped her chin a few times. “You look familiar.”

  “Do I,” Sil shot back. “Who? Think, please.”

  They each paused for a moment to look at her, dull expressions all, before returning to their game. “No, my mistake,” the woman said.

  “Foreigners,” the dealer muttered. “So many people coming to town now, they all start looking the same. Seven card game. Ragnar trumps. The Golden Lady’s poison on this one. All else, the same.”

  Confused, and feeling her face flush, she walked back to her table. Markus watched her, smiling ear to ear, so she hit his shoulder on her way to her seat.

  “I’m still waiting for you to introduce me,” he said wryly.

  Sil frowned, taking another large gulp of stale wine. “They ignored me,” she shouted, hoping the three would hear her.

  “No,” Markus said. “They sized you up. Don’t look, but the woman has a mantle on, right? Covering her hands? Gotta watch out for her. They’re playing cards now, but she’s taking the cards underneath her mantle and probably passing knives back to the other two. They laugh to disarm us. I think they’re planning to take us on.”

  Sil tensed her muscles. “If so then—”

  Markus batted his hand at her. “I’ve never met someone as angry—” She glared at him, and he straightened in his chair. “You see, that’s the anger that almost killed that coachman.”

  Sil snickered. “I have a right to be angry—"

  “Hey, you two,” one of the men shouted. “If you’re not leaving, come play with us. Lowest buys next round.”

  “Let me,” Markus whispered, standing. “I don’t think we can,” he told them. “Sorry. You see, my friend here is really worried about you three, almost panicking—"

  “No, I’m not.”

  “She recognizes you guys from this criminal crew that held her up while back. Stole everything she had, even her hair—”

  “Markus,” Sil warned.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the woman said. “But your friend’s mistaken. Pull up two chairs. Let’s play.”

  Markus laughed, his hands going to is belt and pushing open his coat. “You know, I don’t think she is because I recognize you too.”

  “Then you’re mistaken,” the woman said, humorlessly. “We’re not part of some lawless crew. We’re bigger than that.”

  “Bigger,” Markus asked with surprise.

  “Yea, bigger. But I do recognized her. You even sound like her, priest.”

  “Gene,” Sil shouted. “Do you know a priest, Whitewave Fallingstar? She may also go by Genevieve Casmarus. I’m…looking…for….” Markus hung his head. “What’s the matter with you.”

  “Sil, please shut up,” he said.

  “Don’t be rude with me!”

  “I said ‘please,’ didn’t I?”

  The woman and the two men stood, and it was clear now how dangerous they were. The woman wore leather pants, small daggers hanging on her belt only visible where her mantle separated down the middle. The other two revealed a sword and a short ax each.

  “What made you want to travel here to search for her,” the woman asked.

  Sil readied her magic, resisting the impulse to use fire. So she decided on wind again and hoped the room wouldn’t become a whirlwind of flying chairs and tables. “I’m her sister, and I’m here to bring her back to the Temple.”

  “Sil,” Markus groaned. “Would you please stop telling them everything.”

  “Another one looking for her,” the woman said with a sigh, her hand out in a stopping gesture to the other two. “We heard her priest sister might come looking for her. She’s a magic user, fellas. What’s your name, again? Sil, he called you? I suggest you run back to your Temple.”

  Markus cocked his head. “Another one? Who else is looking for her?”

  “Who are you,” the woman grunted at him. “Her body guard?”

  “The more important observation is: if you’re here, then Gene’s somewhere in the city, isn’t she? Take me to her.”

  “Like hell we will,” she replied.

  “I don’t suppose ‘please’ would work any better?”

  Gene’s in the city? And these three worked for her? What could she have done to put such terror into a little girl and hire thugs to harass a business owner? “What could be so damn important, Gene,” she whispered. Rediscovering our family’s shame? Is that what you’re after? Go with them. Use your knife on her. Father and mother trusted us to make amends! “Did Gene murder those people outside the city,” Sil demanded. “Did she do all those atrocities the Empire accuses her of? Tell me!”

  The woman broke her practiced cool expression, then smirked. “If you’re her sister, you should have found her warning back in Sato. If you didn’t, consider this your one warning.” Then she turned Markus. “But you, you get no warning.”

  Markus chuckled. “Aw, it’s OK, I don’t really need one.”

  “Kill the imperial,” she commanded. “Don’t touch the mage—”

  Pop! Pop! The two men collapsed to the floor, blood leaking from their heads. But the woman had thrown a dagger, already in midair. Sil tried summoning her strong wind, but she’d never make it in time— She suddenly felt the wind spell dissipate from her palm, even her initiation spell fizzled out. In that moment, the dagger brightened and smoked a fiery red before stabbing into Markus. He grunted, falling back into a chair. Runic weapons? Sil knew what to do; she trained for this!

  Sil shot up both palms toward the woman, casting everything at her: fire, wind, fire again, in quick succession. Instead of bursts of spells shooting from her hands which would have destroyed the entire building and them inside, she felt her spells tear off her palms, pulling her closer as if ropes were attached to them. Fatigue washed over her, but she didn’t care. If Mother Stella had been here, she would have scolded Sil for not thinking quickly enough. She should have been quick enough! They knew she was a mage; they would have been ready with runics. Her sister would be ready for her too.

  Sil’s target flinched at first but then twisted her mouth into a confused frown. Still, Sil kept casting, quickening her spells with more accuracy; her body took over, anticipating the next spell and protecting against the pull from the runic by making her heavier. Of course, the woman looked confused, Sil’s spells one after an other absorbed into the weapons on her belt.

  One flamed into life, lighting her mantle on fire. Frantically, she tried grabbing it but whipped her hand away, burning herself. Another lit, then another. Metal popped and whistled, and smoke flew up around her. Cursing, the woman tried grabbing at her belt but pulled away melted skin. She screamed, trying to tear away at her pants but the leather blacked and crackled, burning her legs. With horror on her face, she ran for the door and lunged out, the smell of charred flesh following a series of agonizing screams trailing into the street.

  Serves her right, Sil thought, resisting the urge to follow her and finish it. And why not? She was nothing but a nuisance. Criminals, murders, cut-throats, faux souls, ersatz minds, what make them more worthy of life then me? Sil’s breath caught her throat. The Golden Lady spoke…but it was Sil’s words, her thoughts…yet not her words. As if they overlapped one another. Are you there, my Goddess. Kill Gene—

  “Uh, Sil, you done staring into space, I could use some help,” Markus’s voice shocked her. Sil found him sitting on the floor with his back against a chair, his hand delicately touching the pommel of the knife that stuck out of his forearm. His coat sleeve burned and cracked around the hole.

  He cursed. “Too slow. Damn it, I wish I had a third arm.”

  “Jokes? You’re making jokes?” She went for the blade and he winched
it away. “Let me take it out.”

  “You can heal this, can’t you?”

  Sil frowned. “No…I’m not that kind of mage.”

  “Not that kind of mage? How does that make sense?”

  “I told you before, I’m trained to become a Valkyrie. Now let me grab hold and pull it out.” He darted worried eyes between her and the knife. “I served in the city hospital for a few years and administered rudimentary aid on pilgrimages. I know what I’m doing, Markus.” He took in a deep breath and held it before turning his gaze up to the ceiling. He then nodded, giving Sil the signal to proceed. She carefully closed her hand around the knife’s hilt. The hot knife must have burned its way in; pulling it out would tear more skin and muscle. No choice. In one swift move, Sil yanked it out to Markus’s shutting his eyes tightly; his face reddened and cheeks bulged out. “It’s done,” she said, examining the the blade black with chard bits of flesh stuck to it. It was a not a good sign for the future use of that arm.

  “Take off your jacket,” she said. “I want to see the wound.”

  “I’ve only got one arm, Sil,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ll have to work the sleeve —gently.”

  Sil huffed, trying to be gentle, and tugged the sleeve until his arm was free. Surprisingly, the wound wasn’t bleeding, but burn blisters appeared on the skin around the wound. That might be a problem, she thought. Infection. Follow that woman. This is waste of time.

  “Not a waste of time,” she muttered to herself.

  “Don’t worry, Sil. We’ll find your sister. She isn’t going to escape,” he said with a pained expression. “Wound doesn’t look bad either. Don’t really feel it, but the burning around it.”

  “That’s because the blade cauterized the wound it made,” she said, examining the cut for signs of poison. Fowl people, they would poison everything, even her sister.

  “Ah, right. Runic blade. Expensive. I guess they could afford a priest.”