“Nun-na-Ha,” Markus shouted, “Can you understand me?”
“It’s…Nann-ah-Hah,” he mumbled. “Ignorant…foreigner.”
“Nann, great! Tell me what happened here?”
“I found her…,” he mumbled. “I had the protection. Why did I still get sick? The Old One is returning, isn’t he? Got to tell Papp.” Sil caught the word’s ‘Old One,’ the Southern Islanders' name for Ragnarok. Her father used to say the Islanders were slaves of the Nation of Ragnarok before the Black Monolith helped in their revolt, and weakened them against the first Ladress Family’s push south. She’d love to pour through the Temple’s archives of old records, journals, and histories and piece together what happened. Of course, any research into Ragnarok was frowned upon —and she wouldn’t have the time anyway.
“Did you say you found her,” Markus asked him. “Who did you find? Gene? Fallingstar? Who?” Markus shook him, rattling his chains.
“No,” the man sprung to life, righting his head with sudden vitality. “My father’s father. Gogg’Nann’Hahh. An Islander just like us! He sailed that night, rough seas, storms; he sailed right to Drakendor, right to those slavers.”
Markus pressed the man’s shoulder against the wall, holding him up for Sil to get a better hit against his chains. “Nann, stay with me,” he said. “Gene, the woman who put you here. Where is she?”
“We don’t know she put him here,” Sil said, breaking through the first chain. The man slumped over Markus’s wounded arm, causing him to yelp. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Just work the other one,” he said through his teeth as Sil shifted to his other shackled wrist. “And let me do my job.”
Nann cried out again. “Papp. Look at us. People laugh at us, but we know our history. We were a mighty nation before the Old One turned us into a nation of slaves” —“Nann,” Markus slapped him, but he man continued undaunted— “We’ll be mighty again one day. Here, I found a knife for you, our heritage…”
As Nann mumbled on, Sil paused to give her aching arm a rest. Despite the cold around her, she had worked herself into a sweat and wiped her brow. “It’s the Chills,” she said, panting. “He’s infected. No doubt now. He’s reliving his past and there is nothing we can do.”
Markus cursed. “Why did she have to do this to him? Take away his dignity.” The other chain popped, and the man fell over on top of Markus. “Work the bottom ones,” he said as he began going through the man’s pockets.
“Have some decency,” Sil hissed.
Markus pulled from one of Nann’s pockets a small stone and lifted it up to the light —a warding stone.
“Sil,” he began, worry dawning on his face. “Isn’t this…”
“That had to be put there after he was infected.”
He looked at her, doubt in his eye. “If…that’s true, why would they after he was infected?”
“I don’t know,” she exclaimed, working on another chain link. “Maybe he put it in his pocket after he was infected in vain hope.” She held back a curse, wiping her brow again; she would melt these chains, but the heat would travel too easily and burn the man’s ankles.
“Papp, my boy,” Nann shouted. “I’ve got great news. I found it and it’s coming next week! Another of our heritage—”
“Keep working those chains, Sil.”
“Shhh, shh,” Nann continued. “That’s why I’m telling you. I wouldn’t dare sell this. It’s going back with you like the others, but it’s big, so you might need help. Maybe that other Islander from Ruby City could help. She’s from the north too, isn’t she? No, no, it’s not another weapon, that’s just a description I gave it in my books. I don’t want any chance a foreigner might find it.”
Finally, the last two chains popped, and Markus laid Nann down on the floor. Sil removed her veil, the cold biting at her scalp, before dabbing Nann’s forehead.
Nann quieted down with his eyes closed and breathed soft breaths as if he had fallen into a deep sleep.
“This makes no sense,” Markus said, pacing. “If he found something, why not kill him?”
“Because my sister is not a murderer. He was probably already infected when they found him.”
“So they chained him up for what? His own good?”
“There’s no cure,” Sil whispered, her heart moved for the man mumbling in his feverous sleep. “And many would rather die than live after death. At least chained up, they can easily find him again and…” She closed her eyes.
“Go on, Sil,” Markus said, adjusting his hat. “Finish what you were going to say.”
Sil drew her lips to a line, lifting her chin. “He will already be dead—”
“No…no,” Nann murmured. “I’m still alive. I’m alright.” He coughed, ragged and wet. “Who are you?”
Sil dabbed the man’s cheek. “I’m—”
“Gene,” Markus interrupted. “She’s Gene Fallingstar, back to check on you.”
“No I’m….”
Markus put his finger to his lips. Sil didn’t want to lie, but…her quest. This could help; besides, Markus lied. Not her.
“Your priestly name,” Nann laughed himself into cough. “Never thought you’d call yourself that again. Never thought you’d do this to me either. Never thought a lot of things….” He grabbed Sil’s arm. “Alright, priest, I’ll do it,” he whispered. “I’ll drink her black blood.”
Sil and Markus both turned and eyed the vials of black liquid on table, five of them.
“Blood? Black blood.” Markus grabbed one of the vials. “Sil, you know anything about this?”
Nann’s breathing quieted into a fitful sleep as Sil laid his head down on top of her scrunched veil. She stood, the cold through her stubble haired head making her shudder. Markus tossed her a bottle. Sil flinched but catch it. “No,” she answered him. “It’s….” Shivers ran down her spine as she watched the black liquid settle inside the vial. Like nothing she’d ever seen, the glass was oddly warm in her hands and the slouching liquid danced between visible and invisible until settling into its still blackness. She shook the vial and the dance between visible and invisible exploded back to life. It would have been beautiful, if not for what Nann had said. Black blood? “I’ve read some animals have dark blood, even green blood. Maybe this is some antidote Gene was working on,” she suggested, not believing her own words.
“Her blood,” Markus added doubtfully before pocketing two of the vials. “I’ve never met anyone with black blood like this,” he said, walking to the wall by the stair and leaning his back against it. He pushed down his brim hat lower over his eyes and folded his arms by his chest. “That caravan outside the city. Interrogation, I first thought, but it reminded me more of what I saw inside your Temple. Observations. Experiments. They were watching those poor dead, probably recording what they said…like what that crawling infected said to us. Now this man, Nann. An islander. Vials of a female blood. Crazy, impossible blood. And your sister working for a very capable crew.”
Sil caught him staring at her from under his hat, making her resist squirming, or was he purposely making her feel defensive? “You have a suggestion? Let’s hear it.”
“Years ago, hundreds, before the the First Settlers came down this way from the north, there was a story of another group of explorers, Islanders, I believe, who, after winning freedom from some oppression on their island, left Guthsmoth Harbor.”
“Guthsmoth Harbor,” Sil asked, lifting her chin. “I’ve never been—”
“I have. It’s under Sig’s rule now, called Winterwind,” he continued, his voice growing hard. “They went southeast across the sea and eventually came upon the Sands and then discovered the King-Maker. But their travels had worn them to starvation and desperation, having to depend on cannibalism and other unsavory means to survive. So they prayed to the King-Maker they found, but got no answer. Desperation turned to madness and they returned to their old oppressor’s ways. They started human sacrifices, mortification tortures, blood rituals. T
hey thought in their depraved ‘ecstasy,’ even a god wouldn’t ignore them. And make them stronger than thirst and hunger, transcend their physical needs. …They wanted a drink from the Dark Well—”
Sil felt her face flush; she couldn’t hear this anymore. “My sister is not apart of those damn cults,” she shouted, balling her hands into fists.
Markus cocked his head up, narrowing his eye on her. Calm yourself, Sil, she told herself. He doesn’t know. “Sil, you can’t keep denying what you’ve seen,” he said. But Gene wouldn’t never join them. For all her impulsive, self-centered, self-justifying way, she —both of them— would never repeat their family’s past. For what? Why could she possibly want with their horrid legacy? Remember the caravan. Those people fastened to the charred remains of the carriages, the ring of warding stones around the caravan. And Nann, here, accusing her sister of administering a woman’s ‘blood’ to him, blood that had been transformed by some process. Sil closed her eyes, taking in a sharp breath. Their parents fled north to get away from their old life, for a peaceful life. They survived the purge so her and her sister could be safe. Why would he sister risk all that?
“But the Cults of Ragnarok are all gone now,” she said slowly, trying to remain calm. “The Steward-King purged them. Let them die. They need to be forgotten—”
“Did he get infected too,” said Nann’s ragged voice. Sil jumped, covering her mouth. Nann had awoken again, licking his cracked lips. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Markus nodded for her to respond.
Reluctantly, she asked, “Who are you talking about?”
Nann coughed. “You’re friend, that Major from Ruby City. He’ll be next, won’t he? Stupid. Stupid. I should have known it was you. I shouldn’t have gone there. Those people you work with now…now I know I’m not as stupid as you.” He laughed raggedly. “Just do me that favor. Before you end up worse then me, get my wares to the Islands and respect a dying man and don’t let anyone look inside. That’s all I care. I take it back…I won’t drink your foreign medicine anymore. And when I rise again, release my spirit. Don’t let me linger. Gen Shemver be merciful.”
Markus urged her on with a wave of his hand.
“Ah yes, the Major,” Sil continued. “He…uh… wasn’t there yet. But, I’ll be heading there…again, now. Just…uh, do you know…where he…is?” Sil pressed her eyes shut in embarrassment. What kind of question was that? Even Markus buried his face in his hand.
“You never were a patient girl,” Nann answered. “He’s probably still there, alone. Or did Gylur and Eah kick him out—”
Sil locked stares with Markus. Gene was headed to the same eatery they had just left. They must have barely missed her. Markus raced for the stairs—
“Wait,” Sil called out, but he didn’t stop. She ran after him, up the stairs. Markus grabbed hold of the hole in the door where the knob used to be, but Sil threw herself in the way before he could open it. He pulled on the door, but Sil made herself heavier, an odd spell she never thought she’d ever use. Heavier and heavier; the floor boards creaked and cracked under her weight. Please don’t collapse. With the door firmly closed, Markus tried shoving Sil out of the way with his shoulder, but she had become as immovable as a mountain.
He stood back. “Move,” he commanded.
“Wait,” she exhaled, out of breath as the spell drained her.
His eye drew to a slit. “Why? You heard him. She was there. She probably saw us leave. She might still be there. I have to hurry.”
“I?”
He frowned, shaking his head. “Did you really think I’d let you take her back to the Temple? She has to come with me to face justice for what she’s done.”
“I need to take her back.”
“Why? To become a priest again? After all she’s done? She gave up that life, Sil! And so have you.”
Selfishness, shame, embarrassment; a flood of emotions welled up inside her, making her feel small and want to hide away. Such a sudden onslaught that could only be coming from Markus. But she wasn’t going to give up this chance of find her sister. She still had one genuine emotion that was all hers: resentment. Resentment for her sister’s freedom while she stayed ‘cooped’ up in the Holy City to clean up her mess. Resentment that in all her sister’s adventures, she had never visited, wrote, or even came to defend Sato or her family or even took the time for their burial. Resentment that her sister blamed her for everything while never concerning herself with anything other than her own self to lift one damn finger to help. Resentment that Sil had to die on the altar of the Golden Lady because her sister wanted to live! Take her life and you will live.
“Because, I…hate her,” she growled, allowing herself to slide to the floor. Tears flowed down her cheeks when she heard herself say those words. Like a cloud too burdened with water and finally able to release, her tears rained onto her clothes. “Because, I hate her so much. I hate that I have to die because of her.” Like an afterthought, she felt Markus’s influence fade as she was now overwhelmed by resentment, regret for not holding her sister accountable, and sadness for a missed life she’d lost. And anger too; a smoldering fire in her stomach she kept from flaring up.
Markus stepped back quietly, giving her space. Thankful as she was for him stepping away, now wasn’t the time to indulge in self-pity. Gene was so close; she had to hurry. And Markus wouldn’t understand; he had imperial sympathies, after all. Only a little while longer. She had to be strong for a bit more. Please, Almighty. Sil stood back up, wiping her tears on the way. She narrowed her eyes on Markus, frowned, lifted her chin and rolled her shoulders back.
“She will not go with you, Mister Montgomery,” she said, steeling her cracking voice. “Because she has to answer to me!” She dug her heels against the wood planks, ready for whatever Markus would do. Would she have to fight him? An agent of the Empire? What crime would that be? Whatever would happen, whatever he would do, she would not let him take her.
Markus closed his eye tightly, and then relaxed the tension in his face. Sil eyed his hand as he tipped his hat down lower over his face and leaned back on the counter. He took in a heavy breath through his nose.
“You were right,” he said with an exhale. “We should have decided on this before now.”
“Let me take her home. You’ll know where she is at all times—”
“What did you mean ‘you had to die’ because of her?” Sil‘s breath caught in her throat. She had said that, hadn’t she? The sacrifice, she can’t let him know. People wouldn’t understand; they’d believe more in Ragnarok cult sacrifices than offering up Valkyries for the Golden Lady. “Did your priest sisters say they’ll kill you if you don’t return with Gene?” Sil’s frown deepened. “No, that can’t be right. I’ve warned you not to go back plenty of times and never once did I sense fear from you. And you still don’t believe me when I say your friends shouldn’t be trusted. So, what then Sil? Why do you have to die because of your sister?” Sil snapped her head to the side. “Talking’s over huh?
“I don’t have to answer to you.”
“No, you don’t have to,” he said. “Everything else speaks for you. You’ve got that knife you covet so much. Even when I offered better blades. You’re always defending your sister, yet you hate her so much. You’re always saddened by luxuries around town, even the people outside. Seeing those walking couples almost put you into a depression. Yet you’re proud and resolved like someone…. If I hadn’t had experience in it before, I wouldn’t know what to make of it.” Sil turned back, watching him nod his head, his hat obscuring most of his face. “Somehow you think you’re going to become a martyr.”
Sil snickered. “You don’t know whats she’s done to me.”
“Sil, I promise you. She’ll see justice. That’s what you priests want right? Justice. I will make her pay for what she’s done. Let me take her. You can come with me. Hell, you can testify against her.”
“No, she has to come back with me so we both c
an be—” Sil stopped herself. Too much information.
“Yea…,” Markus aided. “Can be…what? Executed?” He chuckled. “You priests would doom her to a life of luxury behind those walls. Is that what you really want?”
Sil frowned. “All I can say is that if you let me take her, she will be punished.”
Markus jerked himself off the counter. “No deal, Sil. Now, I’m not going to hurt you, but you are going to move.” He swung from behind him manacles that looked identical to the ones he used back in Sato.
“Runic,” she asked.
“Yup.” He stepped forward.
“You have only one arm.”
“Only takes one.”
She doubted he could get those cuffs on both her wrists, but she supposed he didn’t really have to. Just one would do, and judging by how he held them, he was probably going to aim for only one of her wrists anyway. Once locked, it didn’t matter if her other hand was free, any magic she’d cast, would burn that hand.
“You going to take her in with that one arm,” she said, eyeing the cuffs.
He stopped. “I could really use your help.”
“I need her for the Temple”
“I need her for the Empire,” he answered, inching closer.
“You don’t care if she’ll kill you.”
“You don’t believe she can.”
“Those she’s with certainly can kill you.”
“I’ve been dead a long time, Sil.”
“Alright, alright,” she shouted, stepping aside. She wasn’t going to lose her magic if it meant she could just run after him. “Go, get on going.” He glanced between the door and her with a puzzled look on him. “I need my magic for after she kills you.”
Markus smirked with what seemed like a small gesture of gratitude or maybe surprise at her shrewdness, and then he bolted out of the door. But Sil wasn’t defeated yet. She ran after him.
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 65