“Are you a religious man, Major?
“No,” he answered.
“Have you ever heard of Randagor the Red Mountain?”
The hairs on his neck raised, muscled tensions. He’d heard of Randagor —one of the supposed Vassals of the Almighty, his Red Mountain Ed had been working to slice up to use against the Empire— but why did his body react to the name so much? Was it because he was exposed to it? Ed cleared his throat to cut off the threat of a terror. “Yes, I have.”
“Has he ever spoken to you?”
“No,” Ed said quickly. That voice in his head, he didn’t know what it was, but he refused to think it was a god. Those Beasts, Red Mountain, the Sea Roar, even the Golden Lady were nothing but a cause of misery for him and his country. Divine? Nothing of the sort. “Why do you ask?”
She mumbled, falling asleep. Strange woman. Why did she ask such a question and about the Red Mountain of all supposed Beasts out there…unless she knew about Ruby City. Had news spread that quickly? Impossible, Blackbrook certainly didn’t know.
And the way she asked, as if it was normal to hear voices inside one’s head. ‘Something inside me doesn’t like you very much,’ she had said, cryptically….
Damn it. Now, Ed was stuck again. Should he wait for her to wake up, or go off on his own? Ed grumbled, sitting back down and staring out into the city. What did he expect her to tell him anyway?
More lanterns came to life over the city as night descended. The tiniest sliver of a moon was out high in the sky, but the stars were washed out by the inside hearth’s light spilling outside. More lanterns appeared, one after another along one particularly dark street, and stopped by one particularly tall building —no, it was a smokestack, but no smoke rose from it.
“My sister’s in danger,” Celeste mumbled. “I have to find her.”
That much was true, Ed knew from last night, but from what? That voice in his head flared that night too; it spoke of Ragnarok as having a body, of a some tyrant woman Sybilia, and the Champion of a supposed nonexistence deity. The words in themselves made sense, but the picture they painted didn’t.
“Celeste,” Ed began. “What can you tell me about Ragnarok?”
“I…I don’t know anymore,” she mumbled. “I’m a monster.” And delirious too, it would seem.
A lantern blazed on top of that distant smokeless smokestack and flared brighter than all the others. Maybe talking to Celeste so soon was a mistake. As Blackbrook had said, she was up sooner than the Doctor wanted; she may not even know what she’s saying. But that left Ed back to his problem. Wait and risk Gene being taken away or go and hope to find— Ed shot to his feet. The lantern on the smokestack flared in repeated bursts. A code, his old unit’s code! Gene? Someone stood beside it, but in the brightness of the lantern, he couldn’t see who. A flurry of short and long flashes amid intermediate pauses spelled out… “‘I…am…here…alone.’ Gene!”
Ed turned—
“Wait,” Celeste shouted, trying to keep her drooping eyes from closing. “That’s her, isn’t it?” She then tried prying herself off the chair, but she could only pull herself closer to the armrest and sagged over it.
“Celeste, wait here.”
“No. Carry me,” she commanded as if she was some damn noble.
Ed bit his tongue, instead saying, “that wouldn’t be wise—”
“I am done being told what do to! No more! Now. Major Omen, if you do not carry me, then I will tell Blackbrook who you really are. He has asked me several times already, and I’ve denied knowing you. And seeing as you haven’t told him, then I assume you wouldn’t want him to know.” Blackbrook already knew he was an officer. The last thing he needed was a city-guild council member realizing Ed was a criminal with a warrant too.
“It will be painful.”
“I’m already in pain.”
“…I see stubbornness runs in the family.”
“It’s help us cope,” she replied.
Cope? With what? Left with no choice, Ed crouched down and pulled her arms around his shoulders. She grabbed her bandaged arm with her free hand around his neck, and he rose back to his feet, lifting her up. Her feet dangled behind him like an overweighted cape. She was light enough but awkward with the center of gravity now behind him. “Give me you legs,” he ask.
She lifted them as high as she could, and he grabbed her under her legs to keep her up on his back. That was much better, but if trouble came, she might fall. “Are you sure about this,” he asked again.
“Yes,” she whispered, resting her head on the back of his neck. She could just as well fall asleep there.
“Very well,” he sighed before turning for the door when Celeste stopped him.
“Back,” she said. “Railing.” He went back to the railing, watching the flashing of light continue. I’m on my way. Celeste reached down and grabbed hold of the mug of ale. She then downed it, spilling most of it on herself and down Ed’s back, the sudden damp chill sending shivers through him.
“Was that really necessary,” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I…have to be brave.” She then mumbled herself to sleep. Bravery by alcohol?
Celeste Casmarus
Major Omen jogged with Sil jostling on his back, even still, she dozed in and out of sleep. The ale she drank wasn’t nearly enough to mask how terrible she felt. As Magvors promised, her spells wore off and the pain and fatigue made their presence known. Pain, she expected. Her hand burned and tingled so much seldom anything else entered her mind, and her wrist would spasm with a painful sensation of grinding glass inside the joint. Maybe the old hag had actually put glass in there to teach her not to wear runic bracelets. Everywhere, she ached, reminding her of how she felt after being exposed to the Golden Lady, except this time while Blackbrook’s nurses helped her wash, she found bruises and stinging stitched wounds on various places on her body. Still, what surprised her the most was how awfully tired she was. Yes, Sil knew using healing magic was essentially speeding up the body’s own natural healing, causing the patient to become fatigued, but this was borderline intolerable. Even with the bouncing and her jaw occasionally whacking shut by Major Omen’s muscular shoulder, she must have dozed off three times already.
And Major Omen, for his own part, was obviously blessed by Randagor as Ragnarok told her. She had no doubt about that. He jogged down the empty orange lantern-lit streets as if he carried a feather on his back instead of a grown woman…. Grown woman. A few days ago, Sil would have been embarrassed red to be carried like this, and for wearing men’s pants instead of a dress, no less. Now, she simply wanted —needed— to know the truth about Gene and the cult that surrounded her. It didn’t matter anymore that she never returned to the Temple. Though she’d get that answer to that soon enough. What did matter was what she was doing with the Ragnars and how she was ‘betraying’ Ragnarok.
“How are you doing back there,” Major Omen asked, breathing easily as if he was on a stroll.
“Exhausted.”
“Your sister said she was alone. Might be a trap. If I have to defend us, I’m going to need use of my hands. You might fall.”
“I’d prefer more bruises to death, Major.”
“Don’t call me Major, Celeste. My name is Edgar. Ed, would be fine.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ed. You may call me Sil.”
“When I first asked Gene to join my team, she went under her religious name, Whitewave Fallingstar, but she eventually gave us her real name. May I have yours?” Sil closed her eyes and rested her head against his back. That was her real name. Did it matter anymore that she was defrocked? Her parents struggled in vain for her and her sister to be free from the cults, and Ragnarok still found them. In fact, they were led right to him. If it was all for nothing, why even believe in Zandagor of the Golden Lady anymore. “Sil, it is then.” Ed added after a time.
“MaCa —Blackbrook’s people. Are they following us?”
“His people? You mean the
local guard?” Local guard? Just how many lies had Blackbrook been circulating?
“Yes, the local guard. He’s…taken responsibility over us till we recovery. Probably wouldn’t appreciate us disappearing.” Sil told her own lie, a half-truth, really. But what did virtues even matter anymore? Those who practiced virtues —her ‘friends’— had sent the Coming Shadows after her. And those who practiced vices —Blackbrook and Markus— took care of her. Blackbrook even told her that she was being shadowed, and offered to protect her despite Magvors warning him not to try. Another thing Markus was right about. The Coming Shadows were after her, sent by ‘holy priests.’ How stupid was she believe them, for not listening to Markus.
“No, I haven’t seen them. I hope they don’t; Gene may as well leave if others follow.”
“Hurry then. How much longer?”
“Half way there.”
She lifted her head and saw a large darkened building looming in the distance, and behind it stood its smokestack standing like a thick spear stabbing into the starry sky. And Gene presumably on top. Shrouded in darkness, she couldn’t see much detail; if it was still in use or abandoned, or in a neighborhood much like those inns for workers she and Markus had trouble with yesterday.
That was when Sil noticed a deep surgical scar underneath Ed’s short hair on the right side of the back of his head. It wound to the top, and she remembered a similar scar in front too, just about his right eye. It reminded her of Markus’s wicked scar, except he lost an eye. She remembered Magvors saying a surgeon had opened his head before. But, back in the Holy City, the most common reason to do that was to remove tumors sensed by mages looking for abnormalities in the shape of the brain. Mild exposure to an awakened Shard often caused brain tumors, the cause of one’s insanity, many presumed. She’d seen the operation done a handful times in her life for accidental exposer to the Golden Lady when a runic suit tore or overheated. None she saw left scars like Markus, but Ed’s scar, she certainly did. But which Shard was he exposed to?
“Have you been to the Holy City,” she asked, trying to tease the answer out.
“A few times as a boy.”
“Have you seen the Golden Lady?”
“No…I haven’t.” Not the Golden Lady. Sil would be safe assuming a major in Landrie’s military wouldn’t have the time to travel to the King-Maker. At least unlikely. The Sea Roar in imperial hands seemed even less likely. The Black Monolith hadn’t awakened and rumors of Veiled Goddess’s discovery sounded as if it hadn’t awakened either. That left the Red Mountain and the Impossible Tower if there were Seven. Could she at least trust to know that much? But the Impossible Tower was unreachable, unless it had fallen. No, she would have heard about that. That left the Red Mountain.
Ragnarok, are you sure Randagor speaks to Ed? But he didn’t answer, probably not appreciating the way she spoke to him. And she probably shouldn’t being speaking to him like that if he really was the god of the Ragnars. But for the moment, cynicism protected her from being afraid of him. It wasn’t as if he possessed her like the Chills possessed a corpse. She was his chosen Champion, he said? What exactly did that mean to her? Was she given some authority or privilege? Could a god compel one to serve them then?
“Ed.”
“Yes?”
“Where did you get this scar from?”
“Several months ago,” he said, darkly.
“I asked where.”
“In a few months, you’ll know,” he answered cryptically. That didn’t help very much, but Sil knew how much Ragnarok was apprehensive about this man, and Ed knew things about the Ragnars that weren’t common knowledge. Sil snickered. A god being apprehensive? How was that possible? But it gave her hope that maybe he wanted her and her sister dead not so much for running away and betraying her kind, but for what they could do to stop them. A delusion, maybe. But it helped her cope.
“I apologize for not being direct,” Ed said.
“No, I wasn’t snickering at you.”
“You’ve had a trying time, haven’t you? After here, might be best if you return to the Holy City.”
“I can’t return.”
“You’re exhausted, Celeste.” Exhausted? Confused, anxious, afraid, cynical and all of those things twice over. Exhaustion was just the cusp of the whirlpool of despair she found herself circling. If her emotions had any say, she’d just go home and resign to whatever horrid fate her ‘friends’ had planned for her. But I’m the one who decides what to do, huh, Markus? But she didn’t know what she had to do? What did she expect to learn from Gene? At least Markus’s gift allowed him to feel brave whenever he wanted.
“I…don’t know who I am anymore,” she answered him.
“You’re young. Try things. Find out,” he said, matter-a-factly. She laughed, the cold logic of a military leader. As if he could understand what it meant to realize one was no longer human…and felt…more at home about it. But, she still looked human, certainly felt human; her aching body reminded her of that. But seeing Da’Kraven’s dragon form yesterday made her feel…a ‘longing.’ The best she could describe it half asleep on Major Edgar’s back— “Keep your eyes open,” he whispered. “I don’t see anyone, but…” He let his sentence linger as he slowed his pace, shying away from the lanterns on the road. Ed had turned onto a private road that led to the building and smokestack. On either side, Sil saw boarded up one-story homes with darkened verandas, some with collapsed roofs, broken columns, while others had their boarded windows torn open.
They were being led in, she realized; the lit lanterns weren’t the usual ones she saw constructed onto the buildings above the doors, but were loose handled lanterns laid out conspicuously in the middle of the muddy road.
When they neared the building —a grimy bricked building with cracks and chunks of stone broken off— Ed trailed around the side, hugging closely to the wall. Sil sighed when she saw that the smokestack had a metal staircase encircling up to the top. Ed wouldn’t need to use his hands and have to let her go.
Without a word he made the climb as quietly as he could, but the stair still groaned under their weight. Sil could have helped with that, but she was too exhausted, having a hard enough time staying awake. She’d be useless if this was a trap, and make the same mistake again. Markus —she should have listened to him.
“Edgar,” she whispered. “If this is a trap—”
“I know. They would have heard us coming by now. But I trust Gene.”
“Trust her,” she said, holding back a chuckle. “Why?” How absurd. Even if she was fighting against the cults from the inside, Gene was still selfish; she would only be doing it to get something out of it. Most likely, knowledge or access to knowledge for some personal project she was currently infatuated with.
“She wouldn’t lay a trap for me without a warning.”
“And you know that how?”
“I’ve worked with her long enough to know what kind character she has.” Character? Sil rolled her eyes. Good character wouldn’t have been getting herself mixed up with the Ragnars. Good character would not have refused her summons back to the Holy City without even so much as a letter in all the time she was gone. …Maybe she couldn’t come back; maybe she couldn’t write. The Doyenne expressed such doubts Sil didn’t want to hear at the time. Maybe they both suspected something was wrong. Maybe they suspected the voice of Ragnarok was being mistaken for Zandagor. ….The sacrifices. …The Valkyries.
“Oh my Goddess,” she whispered with dawning realization. “I was all wrong. Everything. Everything’s all wrong.”
Thankfully, Ed said nothing with his attention elsewhere as he climbed to the top of the winding stair to a ladder that reached up to the summit of the smokestack. Although refreshingly clean, the cold air bit at her nose and cheeks, causing her to sniffle; at least that was good enough excuse she told herself. Her body shivered and begged to be let down, but she wouldn’t be left behind now.
“I’m going to have to let go of your legs to cl
imb this.”
She gripped her wounded hand, sending hot stabbing pain through her hand and arm. “I can hold,” she mustered.
Ed released her legs and her sudden weight felt like her hand would tear off again, but she gritted her teeth and held on. Ed ascended with each bounce forcing her to clench her teeth tighter.
But soon, they reached the top and Ed grabbed her legs again. They stood on a serrated platform that ringed the top of the smokestack with ropes dangling from the railing down into the pit, and a figure on the opposite side, an extinguished lantern by her feet.
“I knew if you were together, my sister would force you to bring her,” Gene said, wearing the same garb she wore the night before, black mask still intact. She didn’t seem injured at all, but she was right there with Sil when the explosion happened! She must have had time to cast a warding spell. But that quickly? Was she that good?
“Gene,” Sil croaked out. “What in the Goddess’s name are you doing? Have you gone insane? Don’t you know what are parents went through for us to be safe! And you go work with—” She stopped herself, not waiting the Major to know. “Did you really commit all those atrocities?”
“I…know,” she replied, softly.
“You know? That’s it? The only explanation I get?”
“Markus…,” Gene asked. “They didn’t find his body. Is he…”
“Alive, but…,” Sil felt a lump form in her throat. “He may not wake up again.”
“I see. If he does, please tell him his wife’s last words were about sending a statue to the Impossible Tower. She couldn’t keep it safe—”
Sil gasped, hearing the truth come from Gene herself. “They were still alive when the Temple bought them? …What in the Almighty’s Name is—”
“He told you then? Yes, some of them were still alive,” Gene answered with shame in her voice.
“Then you have to tell him. Gene, you have a lot to answer for!”
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 70