Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  “No,” Sil said, failing to resist winching from her burns.

  Markus sighed. “Burned yourself badly, huh? Just watch my back.”

  “If you un-restrain me, I can defend your back.”

  “Probably burn it too,” he muttered, skulking to the kitchen door. With his hand-cannon, he pushed it open, and peeking through, he whispered. “Nothing—”

  “Your friend obviously knows about us,” Da’kraven’s voice boomed from the adjacent dark corner of the room. Markus pressed his finger against his lips before edging across the wall toward that darkened recess. “Besides, he has Randagor’s blessing of strength. We can use him—”

  “I’ve told you,” Gene retorted, anger slipping in her voice. “Ragnarok’s body isn’t made of flesh. Our people were wrong back then and you’re wrong now.” Our people? Ragnarok’s body? No, Gene, please, Almighty no. Despite the burns, Sil grabbed hold of the knife’s hilt by her hip.

  “We don’t know what our people thought,” Da’Kraven shot back. “Until you find them. And now we see one of your comrades has suddenly taken an interest in history and sought you out? That is not coincidence. It must be the other Six interfering.”

  “’My ‘comrade’ can’t know about the Ragnar Capital. I’ve never come across it. There was no danger in letting him go, but now what will he think when he wakes? He’s an officer in Prince Landrie’s military. He’ll know he was poisoned.”

  “I found a door here,” Markus mouthed, pointing to shadowed nook.

  “Someone had to do something, Lady Casmarus,” Da’Kraven answered. “We’re moving far too slowly. And the One-King isn’t going to favor our cult over the others forever. I don’t want us making that trek to his Black Crown again, and the Islander isn’t doing very well either. We don’t have many more vials left and someone with Randagor’s strength could withstand the mental sheering. Who knows. Maybe he’s one of us. It would be illuminating to our research if Randagor’s gift of resilience can help him stay awake in our true form.” Serum? One-King? True form? Research Ragnarok’s body? Experimenting on innocent people? She did commit those crimes, didn’t she? Gene, a priest of the Golden Lady, had committed those crimes.

  Markus gave her an apologetic shrug, but hot rage flashed onto her face. Gene really didn’t care about her parents, their struggle to bury their dreadful legacy, their tears in explaining their shame to them and why their daughters had to chose a holy life. It was one thing if she had abandoned the priesthood, but to murder, to infect people, to experiment on them? To talk of Ragnarok’s body so openly? So then. Was that why she never came back? My sister has joined the cults, joined the Ragnars? You know what you have to do. Gene knew to be more careful! She knew what her parents had told them. How they were direct descendants of that butcher Sybilia. She committed horrendous crimes with her necromancy. She formed Ragnarok his body. Started the Deity Wars. Sundered the Isles. The Withering Catastrophe and the exodus to the north and south. How many millions died? Hundreds of years, humanity had to survive in the cold tundras of the north and south until the land saw life again. And now Gene wanted to repeat it all and bring Ragnarok back onto Gen Shemver?

  “Sil, Sil,” Markus whispered from the dark. “Stop, damn it. You’re going to hurt yourself again.”

  Go on. Be my Champion. Send your sister to me, and I will make you a Queen among men. I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t for you.

  “Mister Montgomery,” Sil said, not caring if those two devils heard her or not. But she guessed they did for they went silent. She rounded her shoulders and rose her chin. Her left hand flared with an initiation spell while her burning right hand drew out the imbued knife. One way or another, her parents’ sacrifice wouldn’t be shamed. “Move out of my way!”

  But, before Markus could move, the door opened. A yellow palm-light shined across his face.

  “You?” Gene’s voice.

  Markus’s eye shot open with terror. He fired. And fired. And fired, again.

  Sil heard a subtle growl before what looked like an enormous bear’s paw with finger length claws grab hold of Markus’s head, slamming him into the floor; the floor boards broke and splintered around his head. His hat flew into the air, sliced in three pieces.

  The beast snarled, licking its finger long fangs before snapping its black elongated serpentine head at Sil and drilling its red orbed and hungry eyes into her. Sil’s blood ran cold; her spell flickered out, and her right hand clasp tightly onto her knife. It wasn’t a bear; nothing remotely mammalian. What she thought were claws were in fact talons, for the beast had large bat-like wings that relaxed by its shoulders; its pulsing veiny mainsails folded by its side.

  It had no fur, but obsidian black scales of various sizes that reflected the weak lantern light like rivers of gold upon a sea of black. Suddenly, the beast rose on its hind legs, and hid its head in the shadows of the open ceiling, but its red eyes still shone. Sil couldn’t pry her eyes from them; she tried to turn away, to check on Markus, but she couldn’t. Was she entranced? Or panicking? Neither, for even though her breathing was shallow and heart beat loudly in her throat, she knew what stood before her. She’d seen it in her dreams. A dragon…and it was both beautiful and powerful.

  “Sil,” Markus coughed. The dragon sniffed, turning back to its prey. Sil broke from the spell and saw Markus, motionless, his head hanging down into the hole the dragon made in the floor. No you loaf, she wanted to say, but fear stole her words. “Get…out.”

  “I told you, didn’t I?” Gene’s voice again as she walked into the room, looking down on Markus. She wore the same gray color as the others, except she wore a full length cloak and hood that covered her head. On her face, she wore the black mask —the mask she left with all those years ago. Sil noted a crack that spread along the jaw line. “How many warnings do I have to send before you stop coming after me?”

  “My…Fa…mily,” Markus wheezed.

  “I’m sorry,” Gene whispered. “What was done, was done. But maybe now you can rest with them.” Gene was going to kill him? It was Sil’s fault he was here; her fault he was going to die. She shouldn’t have rushed this; they’re weren’t ready for this. No! Sil had to do something, but she was still frozen with fear; even the voice in her head was absent. She tried shrieking, but her body wouldn’t move while in the sight of that creature, its black body pulsing with steaming oil dripping from in between its scales. The oily liquid splashed on the floor and sizzled. “I’ll make it quick for you—”

  “No,” Sil screamed. But her whole body, her mind, her thundering heart, every part of her begged her to leave, to run or she’d be devoured. She ever part of her told her she couldn’t do anything against that! But that was a lie, wasn’t that what Markus said? She didn’t have to believe it! She just had to find that— Anger. “Genevieve Casmarus,” Sil growled, drawing out her knife and pointing it at her sister. She ignored the pain of the cuff dangling from her seared wrist.

  “Celeste,” Gene sounded confused at first. “Is that you? You’re here too?”

  “My hair,” she laughed, realizing after that Gene hadn’t said ‘hair’ but ‘here.’ “Is that all you can say?” Sweat condensed on her face or was that from the shackles? She didn’t care anymore. She stood before her sister now, an inhuman monster hidden behind a black mask consorting with devils. The first question came to her, “why didn’t you come back?”

  “Silly Sil, I—

  “Don’t call me that!”

  Gene paused. She always did that, gave her time to think, time to manipulate the conversation. So, instead, Sil added, “I’m not ‘Silly Sil’ anymore. I am not that little sister you left behind all those years ago!”

  “I suppose you’re not. Celeste, please put that weapon down or Da’Kraven might attack you. Please…sister—”

  “Answer my question, damn it!”

  The dragon turned its attention back on Sil, lowering itself on all fours as its talons easily crunched into the wood
like a bread-cracker. She turned her knife at it, but the dragon didn’t react to the weapon. It reacted to her, locking its red eyes on her while sniffing the air like a wolf sniffing for a scent. It’s jaw slowly dropped, revealing a row of finger-long teeth, a black mouth and black tongue dripping with that vaporous oily film. It’s tongue licked its incisor when its head tilted suddenly as if confused for a moment before stalking closer, still sniffing.

  “Da’Kraven, if you can still understand me, this is my sister,” Gene said. “She’s also a descendant of Sybilia. She’s one of us.”

  “Yes, I can still understand you, but I…can not hold onto myself for long,” a growling voice vibrated up the beast’s throat. “Not well. Not well. This is Celeste? Wed to Zandagor? There is no saving her. I will lose myself soon. You should leave.”

  Gene closed her eyes. “Sil…I’m..,” she whispered.

  “This thing,” Sil spat at it as it strode closer, each step poking holes into the floor. “This thing is…thing is…”

  “Yes, you’ve seen it before,” Gene said, sadness in her voice. “I’ve seen it too. In our nightmares when we were little. Da’Kraven and those I work for are the surviving Ragnars. And so are we, Celeste. This is what we are; this is what our parents tried to forget.”

  “Don’t you dare bring up our parents!” But her resolve had lessened. The beast inched closer, appearing subdued, regarding her with its deep red eyes like rubies with flames alight in them. The dragon, …he…was beautiful…and Sil knew why. Her heart sank at the truth of Gene’s words. Her parents, her. They were Ragnars; that much she knew already. But the reason why their family was so different than the others, so foreign, was because this beast before her seemed more like…home. That’s what she was, her sister, her parents. What Ragnars were gifted for service to Ragnarok: they were all dragons.

  The dragon bent its head down over Sil’s shoulder, its hot musky breath sending comfort to her bare neck. Sil’s hold on the knife weakened. Her people…she never imagined them to look so graceful. She had envisioned them to be monsters, bulbous tumor masses of contorted limbs from their dark arts, stone of heart and black of soul. Selling both and more for a little more hidden knowledge, trading all for Ragnarok and in turn given this…majestic form. At least, that’s what her parents told her. Her parents, they sacrificed everything to get away from that life! They put all their hope into the Golden Lady to save their daughters! And, Gene —she betrayed them!

  Sil drew a cold stare at Gene, straightened her back, rolled her shoulders, and rose her chin. The beast flinched its head backwards but then glided closer, sniffing; its neck exposed. Sil tightened her grip on the knife. I will not forget what out parent’s sacrificed for us, Gene. Do not interfere now.

  “Genevieve, I will only ask once,” Sil said coldly. “I was sent here by the Synod to find you. Will you come back to the Temple with me to fulfill your priestly duty?”

  Gene turned away—

  The dragon snarled suddenly before turning back to Gene, exposing its neck further. But the scales were too tightly packed; the knife would break if she missed.

  Gene stumbled back. “What…what is it?”

  A low rolling laughter vibrated up the creature’s pulsing neck, rippling its scales in waves of rising plates.

  “We have found her,” the dragon said with a lilt growl. “We have found Ragnarok’s Champion!”

  With one quick swing —No!— Sil jabbed her knife in between the plates and into the beast’s throat—

  ***

  “I…did what I could for him,” an elderly woman’s voice reached Sil. Was that her sister? No, too much compassion in it. “Considering the trauma and that another surgeon had opened his head before, it’s a true miracle he’s still alive.” Sil was laying down on a bed, her eyes bandaged. She felt neither pain nor hot or cold, only numbness. You have greatly disappointed me. That voice. Once beautiful, tranquil, and comforting like a idyllic countryside lake by a homestead, now, a harsh, cold taskmaster. Although she couldn’t feel anything, she knew tears welled from her closed eyes. How mistaken she was. You should have struck your sister. Who are you? How are you in my thoughts? You know who I am. You heard my servant, Da’Kraven. You were exposed to the Golden Lady, but Zandagor wasn’t the one who resided there. I was. Now, it’s time for your race to repay their debts to me. Am I like her…like that —she forced herself to say— thing? You are mine.

  “Damn idiot,” a familiar voice barked then sniffled. “Damn lucky I had two of mine scooping out the place. That explosion…. They all would have been burned alive.” Explosion? Her knife, but it couldn’t have done all that. It was meant to burn unless… Markus was right, wasn’t he? The Synod, they meant for her to use the knife to kill both her and her sister. They knew she and her sister were from the cults, didn’t they? You told them, didn’t you? You told them Gene and I were Ragnars? They believed you to be the Zandagor. Yes. Your father and mother ran from me. They believed by giving you up to Zandagor they would protect you from me. No one can. The treachery of the daughters of Sybilia, I cannot allow. Daughters? Gene’s a traitor too? That didn’t make sense unless Sil was wrong about that too. But what was she really doing with the cults, then? How many more things was Sil wrong about? How many more things had her emotions lied to her about? Sil tried to sit up, but she couldn’t move. She wasn’t so much as tired or in pain as restrained by…. There’s a powerful mage here. Yes.

  “What is it,” the elderly woman asked.

  “The priest is awake.” Priest? Now she recognized the voice, MaCathy.

  A wrinkled hand gripped her arm. “Are you in pain, dear,” the woman asked.

  Sil couldn’t move to reply, but she didn’t feel pain. She didn’t feel anything at all.

  “Blackbrook, see if she’s—”

  “No, I don’t read minds. No exceptions. You’re the doctor here.” Blackbrook? Was that the name MaCathy was using now? She should have known he lied about his own name.

  “Don’t read minds? Is that a new policy? Or, are you afraid she’ll lose her innocence seeing the filth inside your head?”

  “Filth? Why couldn’t Rochelle send someone who was born this century?”

  The hand left her. “About that.”

  “Payment? You’re saving lives here!”

  “You know the Night Lady doesn’t do anything for free.”

  Blackbrook laughed. “A woman after my own heart. Alright, let’s see now, you helped out that imperial agent.” —Markus? Sil felt relieved, but MaCathy —Blackbrook— obviously pretended he didn’t know him.— “And you took care of the owners and their little broodling.” —Gylur, Eah and Breana? That’s wonderful. They should have been sent to me— “Took good care of her. And you came quick enough when I sought you. Alright! Ten percentage my next haul? Five? How about a fine meal prepared by an artisan chef? You look like you can appreciate the finer things in life.” No Gene? No Major Omen?

  Sil heard papers rustling. “Six people, Blackbrook.” the woman stressed.

  “You’re going to charge me for that heavy fella? He slept through the whole damn thing! He’s fine—”

  “He was poisoned,” she calmly interrupted. “And I’m surprised you didn’t quibble over the little girl. She dug her parents out of the rubble herself and needed little treatment.”

  “Yea, well. I don’t mind paying for them. My fault my guys didn’t recognize they needed help.”

  “Oh? Is that compassion I’m hearing? Have I actually found a soft place in your heart?”

  “Will admitting it reduce the charge?”

  “No.”

  “My heart’s as hard as diamonds, love. Now, give me that. Paperwork, Almighty on high, Night Lady’s turning extortion into a legitimate business?”

  “We need more than payment, Blackbrook. It’s a contract to join us. Our two organizations.” There was a pause. “You don’t have to read my mind. I’ll tell you plainly why. You saw what we dragged out of there and
what happened to those pieces. …And no, I’ve never seen anything like it either. Those Cults have been coming up from the south ever since the Steward-King’s purge ended. They’re all over Sat’r and in Faf’r too. We’ve even seen them as far east as Sosh’r and as far north as the Holy City. And the presence of that imperial investigator suggests the Empire knows of them too. The Prince brothers are too troubled with their new trade city to hear our warnings. This is all beyond what we alone can prepare for.”

  “A hell of time to believe in superstitions,” Blackbrook’s voice turned grim. “I’ll…think about it.”

  The elderly woman sighed. “One week. I’ll be back. You shouldn’t have to worry about the priest. Priest, if you’re awake, listen to me. Your wounds are mostly superficial. But your right wrist was severed, the skin burned, the muscle and bone cooked. I can only assume you were wearing some runic bracelet. As a gifted mage, you should have know better. Though, whatever magic exploded the market street much of it was absorbed into the bracelet. Possibly saving your life. I did my best to save your hand. Reattached it, accelerated skin and muscle growth, but consider an intercession of the Golden Lady herself if you can ever use it again. Don’t try to now. I’ve immobilized you and numbed all your senses except hearing. My spell will fade by evening, and you will begin to feel pain again. Blackbrook, give her some—”

  “Say no more, I have fortified wine by the gallons—”

  “No alcohol. Give her my medicine if she can’t bare the pain. I’d rather her bare it. Numbing slows healing.”

  “And the others?”

  “The family can be transported to the local hospital at any time. The poisoned man will recover by the afternoon. The imperial investigator…. Time. If he wakes or not. If he doesn’t…. I’ll be back in a week to see if anything more can be done. But you can read his mind and see if he’s improving by then.”

  “I…I will.”

  “Two more things, Blackbrook. One, you should tell the priest what I saw. You don’t have the ability to protect her from them.” —Protect Sil from who? Was that cult after her now?