“You mean that metaphorically,” she whispered, slowly understanding his words. Yes, she had buried it down; that’s how she visualized it. But what did that mean about her? To be angry all the time. At what? To have given up her life because her sister wouldn’t? No, it was something deeper than that. “Ragnarok isn’t one of the Seven, Markus,” she added.
Markus snorted. “Can’t help yourself.”
“Your daughter. How old was she when…”
“Eighteen.” A couple years younger than Sil.
“How did they get infected?”
Markus faced away, leaning against the building on his slung shoulder. Perhaps it was insensitive to ask.
“I went off on a journey to the Southern Snows,” he said softly. “While I was away, the King-Maker had decided to make a new king. This Prophetess, she called herself. Iselia Monteroso and her Knights of the Ascension. When I got back, she reigned over whatever parts of King-Maker lands she could brutalize into submission. …My family was in those lands. She sentenced them to death by Chills infection for treason. Then sold.” His voice went cold and accusatory when he said ‘sold,’ probably implying the Temple bought them. Sil reserved judgment this time; there had to be an explanation. Even one she might not like.
“How dreadful. I’m sorry. I’ve read about that revolution. Ended the Amerand dynasty, hadn’t it? Did they resist the new authority?”
Markus sighed deeply, readjusting his hat. “It was me. My journey to the Snows. I was instructed to sneak the crown prince out.”
“You were employed by the Amerands? With a task like that? But than that would mean…”
He turned over his shoulder at her, a weak smirk forming on his face. “Yea, my title was Baron of the Monts’ Peaks—
Sil gaped, stuttering, “You’re…that would mean you’re…”
“Was. Being a baron is only good if your friend still sits on the Steppe. I had all my lands, everything taken away. Spent the rest searching for my family.” Now, Markus made sense: the way he carried himself so confidently, his imbued hand-cannons —marvels in themselves, his ease of conversation with people, the way he slipped into that frightening lord persona when those brutes tried to attack them this morning. “I hope you’re happy; now, we both know something honest about each other.” He smiled at her with a hint of a solemn longing before turning away, expression falling more morose.
Sil knew she shouldn’t ask; she had pried enough, but if she was going to be forced to steal Gene away from him, from what’s he’s worked so long for, she had to know —for her conscience’s sake. “You see your daughter in me, don’t you?”
“You’re kidding,” he said with wry grin, but the creases around his eye made him look genuinely pleased. “You’ve got to watch your pride, young lady. You actually believe you can compare to one of the Montgomerys? With pale skin like yours?”
“My skin is lovely the way it is, except maybe for blemishes of soot here and there. I’m…I’m only making an observation. I am not prideful.”
“Meek, right?”
“Well yes—”
“Shh.” Markus jerked his head back suddenly; he must have heard something. He rose a finger to his lips.
Sil leaned her head back too and focused her hearing, as bad as it still was. There were two voices she could barely make out muffling out of Gylur’s parlor. Gene, if she was either of them, sounded much different than Sil remembered. One voice was clearly male. The other held too much of a curious melody to it, as if inquisitive and confident. Wise, Sil concluded. That certainly wasn’t Gene. She always spoke with a cold edge that made her seem like she was in perpetual moodiness or melancholy –or presumed authority of an older sister, Sil would better describe it.
“Ah. Thank you for looking,” the man said. “But if you can’t find her, where should I look?”
Markus’s head sunk. No, she wasn’t there.
“I didn’t say I couldn’t find her,” the wise voice answered, and they both perked up. “We first need to be sure you are who you say you are.”
“Reasonable precaution,” the man replied. “But I don’t know how I can prove—”
“You don’t have to,” a woman’s voice sounded, cold and calculating with a traitorously compassionate tinge to it. That was her voice and no other. Gene.
Sil jumped ahead only to be grabbed by Markus and pulled back.
‘She’s there,’ she tried communicating with her eyes before craning her neck toward the window.
Markus rolled his eye, whispering, “Three against one? Or more? I want to know who that other guy is first. Besides, I’m not going to confront her tonight, not on her terms, and not with you so moody.” And he returned his ear to listening inside.
Moody? Sil wasn’t moody. How would he feel shackled where every other thought sent a hot warning to the skin of his wrist. But Sil was relieved he wouldn’t try anything tonight. That gave her time to decide how she was going to complete her task. She still had her knife and that magic would still work, though the longer she waited, the less effective the magic became. It should have bleed into the sheath, but in all this time, it hadn’t warmed against her thigh. Very strange, now that she thought about it. How was the magic being stored so efficiently? Her priest sisters’ skill, she presumed; priest sisters whose motive she was beginning to doubt. And that symbol on the sheath that resembled something out of her parent’s old books? Could it be a true Ragnar necromancy? No, she wouldn’t use the knife. Instead…
She looked up to Markus, that imperial investigator with his one eye and scar and patch that made him look more villainous than anything else. Hard to believe he had ever been a husband and father. Yes, she could use that, and her handcuffs. She would feign capture, and maybe Gene would ‘save her’ from him, and the two could talk afterwards. She’d have to act quickly. She didn’t want Markus hurt, but neither would she complain if he received a whack to his noggin for all the trouble he caused her…. No, he didn’t deserve that either. All she had to do was wait for the proper time. Taking in a deep breath to calm herself, she titled her head close to Markus’s shoulder to listen in.
“Still wearing that mask, crack and all,” the man said. “Good thing Glen isn’t here.”
“Yes, I’m happy he didn’t join you either. I could only imagine his salivating quips over my ‘fallen priest’ moniker I’ve received,” Gene’s voice grew louder as she neared the window. “No…, that’s not true. Don’t ever tell I said so, but I do miss…his wit.” Then she whispered, “sure have needed it too.”
“No, he wasn’t ‘salivating,’ Gene. He was very concerned, actually, when he heard that rumor you left the Temple for good. We both were. Meant he might have won and there’d be no more brawls between the two of you.”
“Brawls,” Gene questioned, a brief levity in her voice so strange for Sil to hear. “Is that what they seemed to you? They were debates.”
“Yes, I can understand how shouting and threatening to burn each other to cinders can be easily confused for a pair of genteel philosophers’ debates.”
Gene laughed softly. Laughed, Sil hadn’t heard her sister laugh since they were little. “How is the old Chronicler? Still trying to entice women with his extensive encyclopedia of blasphemes?”
“No, he’s…,” the man’s voice turned somber. “The war changed him.”
“I understand,” Gene replied, matching his somber tone. “War changing everyone.” Not an excuse, Gene! “So, what can I do for you, Colonel? Oh, I’m sorry, Major now.” Colonel? Gene fought under a Colonel Omen during the war. Was that him? I smell Randagor the Red Mountain on him. You will show him to me. “Here on leave? I still don’t drink I’m afraid, but neither do you if I recall. Perhaps dinner?”
“I’m looking for work,” the Major answered.
“Work,” Gene’s voice rose on the letter ‘k.’ Was she stringing him along like she did with Sil so many times when they were young? No, that was resentment talking. She didn�
��t have to believe that. In fact, if Sil pretended she wasn’t listening to Gene at all but someone else, her voice sounded worried.
“I…made a terrible mistake, Gene, and I’ve lost my command. But I’ve heard of your mercenary group against the Empire. I would like to join. You know my capabilities—”
Gene laughed, a flighty back of the throat laugh that seemed half forced to cover up her nervousness, a strange thing to hear coming from her. Had she always sounded like that? So unsure of herself? Sil had always thought she was the timid one of the two. Maybe Markus was right; she didn’t have to believe what her feelings told her. “A terrible mistake? It was only a matter of time, Major. You always fought for your sense of justice. I admired that in you.”
“But it‘s cost me, too much this time.”
“And Glen? Last I heard he was rising high in the judiciary. Couldn’t he help?”
“No, Glen and I…. I’ve become a bit of an orphan, Gene. And for the first time in my life, I’m not sure what to do. But, I do know I want to fight the Empire.”
Silence drew out before Gene continued, “My fight with the Empire isn’t my primary focus anymore. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Then what have you been doing?”
“Archeology.”
The Major laughed. “Archeology? With people like this —No offense, sir. Gene, this elderly man is armed with runic weapons. Well crafted ones from what I’ve seen. They all are. Unless you’re going to hostile lands…. The Empire? Are you going there? Then, yes. I want to come too—”
“Please, Colonel,” Gene’s voice barely hid the desperation in it. What was she hiding? Again, silence fell, but Sil could feel tension rising with each passing second. Markus shrugged his shoulder to ward her off, but she pressed in closer. “Do you remember the battle we fought inside the Ladress Gorge, stealing that steam-driver?”
“Yes, I do. For all the good it did us. We had to return it.”
“Do remember Glen, what he did that day? You don’t have to say what it is.”
“I…do,” the Major sounded uncertain. “I was very angry at him for disobeying our plan.”
“But he saved us. We would have been killed before we reached that steam-driver because of what he did.”
“You don’t know that, Gene. He took it upon himself to assume all the risk without consulting his superior. If he had died—”
“Major. We all die. We must, while we live, be responsible for our consciences.”
“I may not be as articulate at he is,” the Major’s voice rose. “But I think he would say you’re doing quite a bit of rationalizing yourself.”
Gene laughed with a hint of sorrow. “And he would be right,” she said. “Now, Major. I’m sorry. I can’t help you, and neither can you join me.”
Sil pushed against Markus’s shoulder with her cuffs. “Are you making any sense of that?”
“No,” he answered. “But, I think they’re speaking in some kind of code. I’m sensing the same mix of emotions in her that you had. Damn Casmarus sisters and their martyr idolatry.” Gene, martyr? For what? What could be more important than dying for the Golden Lady?
After a few moments, Gene spoke again. “Da’Kraven, can you please see the Major out to the reception room and ask Mister Gylur to feed him. After he’s eaten, see him out.”
Sil heard shuffling of feet before, “you know, Gene, you don’t make it easy either,” the Major said.
“Are you implying Glen and I are alike?”
“I don’t give a damn what I’m implying. You two never give an inch in your ways.” —Markus nudged Sil. Yes, yes, I know; like me. She is my sister, after all.
“And how exactly did you lose your command, Major?”
“I…did what I thought was right —still think was right.”
“Then I suppose ‘never giving an inch’ is a trait the three of us share because so do I.”
“Gene, all you have to do is ask. I have the time now.”
“Major, it’s time for you to go.”
“I’ll try Alecka then. You know where he lives now?”
“West of here, in the mountains. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll find him. …Oh, there’s one more thing. What do you know about Ragnarok?”
Sil’s heart jumped. Show this man to me.
After a brief pause, Gene answered, “Ragnarok was a barbaric nation comprised of many cultures. They ruled here sometime—”
“I know that,” the Major interrupted. “I know you don’t believe Ragnarok was some god, but was there ever a person Ragnarok? Or maybe a title of some kind?”
“The Ragnars of the Nation of Ragnarok anthropomorphized what we would call ‘evil’ as their deity, Ragnarok, who believe exists deep within the Dark Well,” Gene said and Sil noted she didn’t answer the question. “The truth is that there are only seven deities, Vassals of the Almighty. But over time, Ragnarok had become mythologized as an evil deity even to our people, as the one who slue the Almighty. It’s heretical teaching and the Nation of Ragnarok was destroyed for it. The Almighty died because we killed him with our choice of selfish love over selfless love. Ragnarok is only a symbol of that, as poets have said ‘a piece of Ragnarok exists in all of our hearts.’ Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, as well as I would expect from you. I’ll have to think that over.”
“You can purchase the Zanf’r Catechism on the Buyer’s Way. It may help.”
“I…yea,” he stuttered.
“Are you not feeling well, Major?”
“Fine, fine. Been a long night and day travel to get here. Can there still be a ‘Champion of Ragnarok’ even if Ragnarok doesn’t exist? …a Necro…mancer?” Sil’s face flushed. How could he have known about that? Only the Seven had Champions, only the Seven could. Sybilia Casmarus was a fraud! Randagor must be speaking to him. Randagor? How? Has Randagor returned too? Was the Red Mountain found?
“The Ragnarok Nation had their Empress, of course, who abandoned them,” Gene continued. “But Champions were titles reserved for the Vassals’ chief prophets. As far as ‘necromancy.’ The Ragnars practiced all sorts of abominations; necromancy most certainly was one of them. Major…why are you asking these questions?”
The was a long pause before, “I took up an interest in history lately. Free time now. Maybe I can help you with your archeology after all?”
“No,” Gene said bluntly. “I’m working on another matter entirely. Da’Kraven, we’re done here.”
Sil heard a door close and then a pair of footsteps neared the window again. “Not him, Da’Kraven,” Gene whispered. “I won’t let you turn him.” Footsteps then marched away followed by a door slamming closed. ‘Turn him?’ Were they planning to do the same thing to that Major as they did with the shopkeeper, Nann? Intentionally infect someone?
Sil rushed for the door only to be stopped by Markus taking hold of her dangling handcuffs. The brim of his hat covered his eye, but it didn’t mask his tight frown. “We’re not going in there. ”
Sil pulled on the chain. “They are going to harm that man. If you’re a coward, then take off this manacle and I’ll face her alone.”
“I’m a coward?” He lifted his head to look at her, raindrops dripping off the brim of his hat. “Look at you, you’re getting soaked, already shivering from the cold. No, we have no idea who that Da’Kraven is or if they’re more of them. Gylur, Eah, and Breana might be hostages too. We’ll headed back to MaCathy’s for the night. I know you don’t like that place, but it’s something. Still need to recharge my cannons too—”
“Unacceptable. Let go of me, Mister Montgomery, or I will be forced to do something you might not like.”
“Do what ever the hell you want,” he said, dragging her away by the cuffs. “But, I’m not going to die or let you get killed because of your impatience.” She tried to pull free, but he was too strong. “That major’s not our problem. You can’t save everyone.” You are not doing well. If only I could cast, something
— Sil lit an initiation spell in her cuffed hand, the metal warming her wrist, quickly becoming painfully hot. Still she remained casting, hoping the heat would travel down the links to Markus’s hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for the guy—”
Markus yelped, letting go, but Sil burned herself badly too. She could feel blisters stinging on her wrist. No time to think about that. Now free, she ran for the door and rushed inside.
She found herself in the same room they had eaten hours earlier, but empty. The two dead were gone, and the chairs had all been flipped onto their tables. Lanterns that dangled from the open ceiling rafters burned a dull orange, leaving most of the room in long black shadows. Sil froze; there could be anyone hiding—
The door behind her opened. “All thinking be damned,” Markus hissed with his cannon in his hand. “MaCathy was right. Next time, I’m taking no one.”
“I won’t let that man be harmed.” Though Sil had to admit, that was more of excuse now that she was so close to Gene.
“What’s so important about him? You sister seemed already intent on saving the poor bastard.”
“In the war, he was her superior. Edgar Omen.” Yes, show me this man. Why is he important? I must know Randagor has committed himself or not. Committed to what?
“He’s a Ladress officer,” Markus groaned, inspecting his cannon. “Is that how you plan to keep Gene? Damn two-faced priest piety—”
“My plan is to do what I can to save an innocent man, or are you no better than the criminal you pretend to—”
“Alright! Fine. I’ll sneak around, find that major and see what I can do. You go outside and…get wet for all I care. Just don’t follow me.”
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 67