(Draft) Mysteria: The Unholy One - Chapter II

Mercidia could not decide which was worse, the haunting quiet from the temple or the looming dread that her life would amount to nothing.

How could all four of her catalysts fail? She had never heard of something like that happening before. Mercidia knew an immature Origin would lead to a failed ritual. Neglecting the bond with a catalyst also led to failure. There were stories of parents unknowingly rushing their children to inevitable failure, but Mercidia had been prepared.

Even now, she could see her Origin shining within her soul like a calm, distilled lake under a full moon. The center pulsed in rhythm with her heart, sending ripples from the center to the perimeter. Mercidia could fondly recall when her Origin was no bigger than a mug of ale. It had grown, shining brighter with each passing year. It only began pulsing three months ago, not long after her fourteenth name day.

Preparation for today had taken weeks of diligent nurturing. Advancing to Copper and discovering the Origin Affinity required the construction of a Soul Wellspring, a ring that sat comfortably around the center. The Soul Wellspring served a simple purpose; automatic ìlth purification. It made forging ìlth coins easier and allowed greater control over the Affinity.

None of that, however, seemed to matter anymore. Without an Affinity, there would be no clear path forward. Mercidia's dream of advancement ended here unless there had been some catastrophic mistake, and Forge Masters did not make mistakes. Insinuating that they did would be asking for horrific punishment. They might be crafters, but that did not mean fighting was outside their skillset. Quite the contrary, they were frightening warriors.

“You. . .” Mercidia looked up with shaky eyes to see a look of puzzlement on the Forge Master’s blackened features. Only a few moments prior, he appeared to be in a trance, focused on performing his duties as a Forge Master. Now, reality sunk in, and his fiery golden eyes locked with hers. “You are—”

“Cursed!” A voice bellowed. All heads turned to House Memoria, where someone dressed in traditional Matriarch jewels stepped forward. There was an ugly look on her face, similar to the one Mercidia had seen on Cathamir's face when he looked at her earlier. Mercidia recognized the woman as the current Matriarch of House Memoria, and she looked at Mercidia like she was the scum of the world. “Never before would I have believed that I would live long enough to see a child suffer Ar’sha Shal-ellar’s ancient curse.”

The mention of the Dark Lord’s full name darkened the room. The shadows twisted, and an oppressive weight descended, pressing down on everyone like gravity had developed a will of its own. Mercidia wasn’t sure if she could rise to her feet, even if she wanted to. Many of her peers also reflected this burden and sank to their knees. The pressure only vanished when a golden fire erupted from the Forges, erupting into the area before streaming around the room like rivers. The shadows receded, and light returned to the temple.

The Forge Master’s voice echoed with a warning rumble.

“Remember your place, Matriarch. You know better than to mention his name in this place.”

The Memoria Matriarch considered the Forge Master’s words with an unpleasant frown. She wanted to argue, but it was clear to everyone that she had crossed a line. Invoking the Dark Lord’s name in the city was strictly forbidden. With Venär’s distance from The Scar, his presence here was weak, but his power could reach far. Nobody wanted to invite death into the city.

“I will beg the Twelve for my pardons in time, but none of us can ignore what we have seen here today,” her hand lashed out and pointed accusingly at Mercidia. “I may be old, but I am not senile enough to have forgotten the pledge I made to my predecessor. We must take action.”

Mercidia felt a chill run down her spine.

Action?

The last time she checked, the Empty Children was a fable, a story used to scare children younger than her into nurturing their Origins. No one wanted to be one of the cursed – those without an Affinity. What did the Grand Matriarch mean about ‘taking action’?

Gathering her courage, Mercidia found her ability to speak.

“Matriarch, what do you—”

“Silence, child,” the elderly woman replied. There was a hint of anger in her voice, but more than anything, Mercidia heard pity. “It will all be over soon. We will relieve you of this burden.”

She was about to ask what that entailed when Naramor's voice boomed so loudly the temple’s foundations shook, threatening to crumble.

“You will do no such thing!” Naramor strode forward with Ascalon unsheathed. It shone with Holy ìlth so bright the blade reminded Mercidia of the sun. “You dare speak of such things in my presence, to my granddaughter!?” Ascalon seemed to mirror the man’s rage, glowing even brighter. “The nerve of you, Grand Matriarch.”

“You forget yourself, Grand Marshal,” the elderly woman all but spat. The venom in her tone had Mercidia flinching at every word. “Need I remind you of the oath you swore to this Kingdom? Will you shirk your responsibilities now that personal feelings are in the way? I took you for a stronger man than this. You of all people should know how dangerous—”

“One more word…” Naramor warned. “One more word and I’ll carve out your tongue and feed it to sewer rats!” In the blink of an eye, the Matriarch was flanked by Memoria Irons. Naramor didn’t so much as glance in their direction, but he addressed them directly. “I could cut through all of you while blinded with one hand bound behind my back!”

“This is not a fight you wish to start,” the Matriarch said. “Stand aside, Grand Marshal.”

“Now, now! There’s no need for escalating to violence,” Cathamir strode forward. Mercidia noted the way the Matriarch’s disgust deepened when the Wizard’s voice reached her ears. “I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. I don’t see the patriarchs of Haldrim and Asteri rushing to your side. Perhaps there is a detail you have overlooked?”

“And what, pray tell, am I missing, Wizard Cathamir?” The Matriarch hissed. “They may have forgotten the pledges our predecessors swore to the First King, but I have not. This child–” she gestured to Mercidia. “–is one of them. We must act!”

“Act?” Cathamir’s bushy brow rose significantly. “I do not believe this is a case for such hasty decisions. Mercidia is still young and there is plenty of time to see where her destiny lies. Another catalyst can be made,” he lectured, eyeing the Matriarch with a wry smile. “I seem to recall your time in this temple. Two of your catalysts failed.”

“I succeeded on my third. This girl has failed four. I see no reason to allow her the false hope of a fifth.”

“That is not your decision to make,” Naramor growled. He turned to Mercidia and helped her up. She stood on shaky legs, her gaze locked on the space between her feet. After today, Mercidia had no courage left to summon. “Cathamir will take you home, Merci. I will clear things up here. Do not despair.”

Do not despair.

Mercidia wanted to laugh. There was nothing left to do but despair.

“Come now my dear.” Cathamir’s arm pulled her close to his robes. “Let's see you home.”

The Wizard guided her toward the temple's exit as arguing erupted behind her. The Memoria Matriarch continued to belittle and verbally combat her Grandfather. None of the other noble houses seemed eager to get involved, but that didn’t stop them from glaring at her. As they came upon the exit, a figure blocked their path, and they slowed to a halt. Cathamir’s expression turned grim, while Mercidia swallowed a lump of fear.

Princess Lisanna's piercing gaze seared into Mercidia’s eyes.

“My Lady,” Cathamir inclined his head in respect. “As you heard, I have been tasked by the Grand Marshal to see his granddaughter home. Politely, of course, I would request that you stand aside.”

Princess Lisanna did not move. She did not seem to even register the Wizard’s words. Instead, Mercidia took up all her focus. The grip around her spear tightened, and Mercidia could have sworn she saw the Princess’ jaw tighten. Cathamir’s grip on her shoulder tightened, and suddenly, the atmosphere filled with a hint of violence. Mercidia did not doubt the Princess’ ability, but the Isa Wanderers were legendary for their limitless power.

The Princess lifted her spear and tapped it against the marble floor. Then, she stood to the side.

Cathamir’s expression brightened.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to visit the King and Queen later and regale them of your boundless generosity!”

As they strode by the Princess, she spoke, the word no louder than a whisper, but Mercidia heard it all too well.

“Abomination.”

It echoed in her mind all the way home.

Cathamir stayed true to his word, seeing Mercidia through the bustling streets of Venär toward her home. The residence was nothing to boast about, but the luxury was above average. Compared to the common folk, Mercidia’s family lived comfortably due to her Grandfather’s achievements. As a Grand Marshal, he commanded a degree of prestige that even the noble houses could not. He was a Steel with the only Holy Affinity in Venär. That demanded respect, which led to him receiving a generous house in the residential district.

Their home was a three-story building made of refined and reinforced stone, polished to resemble white marble. Even without an Affinity, Mercidia could feel the ìlth layered into the materials to prevent decay against the elements. Naramor often spoke of his additions to the house, reinforcing defensive scriptures with his Holy ìlth. He had still been Bronze when he received this place, and when advancing to Iron and Steel, he rebuilt those scriptures, making them stronger and more potent each time. He wanted the home he attained for his family to be safe and everlasting.

Carved into the wooden door was the symbol of his family – his legacy. It depicted his sword, Ascalon, with a bright sun behind it. While not considered a noble house by any means, his deeds throughout his life had earned him a title, which he had taken and turned into his family name – for Naramor had been born with nothing.

Naramor told this story with pride and verbose throughout Mercidia’s childhood, the day he knelt before the King and Queen. They named him ‘Oathkeeper.’

Mercidia had always liked the ring it had. It made her feel more important than she was. Thinking about that now only made her feel hollow like she had let everyone down. In her opinion, the dirt beneath her feet was more deserving of the name than she was. She couldn’t be Mercidia Oathkeeper anymore. She would be Mercidia, the Empty Child, the Hollow One – or whatever blasphemous name the people would create in time.

Cathamir strode up to the door and placed a hand against the sigil. It glowed briefly before dying, eliciting a string of frustrated grunts to spill from the wizard’s mouth.

“My dear, are you able to open the door?” He asked with easy cheer. “It appears your Grandfather has added a few more countermeasures since my last visit. I am no longer recognized as a guest, unfortunately.”

Mercidia weakly lifted a hand, placing it against the wood. Channeling a trickle of ìlth to her hand, she directed it into the door. The sigil glowed once again, and the door clicked open. Beaming, the wizard inclined his head and gestured for her to go first. Miserably, she stepped through and shuddered as the house’s defenses swept through her, scanning her spirit. When it tried to perceive Cathamir, the atmosphere inside the home became hostile. 

“I am Cathamir of the Isa Order, friend of Naramor Oathkeeper. Hear my truth.” With a clap of his staff, the wizard banished the defenses. Grumbling, he removed his hat and placed it on a wooden rack. “That boy… scripture and boundary fields never were his strong suit. I’ll have to speak with him later about him forgetting to add my spirit as a recognized guest.”

His light, cheery tone did nothing to elevate Mercidia’s mood. Nothing realistically could, and the wizard knew that. He thought he would try anyway.

“Tea, my dear?” Cathamir offered. “I’m assuming you have many questions, unless you do not wish to speak about what happened.”

“What is there to speak about?” Mercidia replied hopelessly. “My destiny is clear. I am cursed, destined for a life of mediocrity. I’ll age and wither to dust well before Mother and Grandfather,” she thought about what the Memoria Matriarch said earlier about relieving her burden. It hadn’t clicked because Mercidia’s mind was drowning in chaos. Now, it seemed clear. “The Matriarch had a point. She wanted to spare me the humiliation— Ouch!”

Cathamir’s staff smacked the back of her head.

“Foolish thoughts deserve foolish punishments,” the wizard mused with a twinkle in his eye. “Speak no more of execution, my dear. I know you are stronger than this. Hopelessness does not suit your family. You would do well to learn this lesson now.”

Mercidia was at a loss for words. Four catalysts had not been enough to unlock her Affinity. Not once had she heard of a similar story. She was the first to fail so catastrophically in Venär’s long history. There was no doubt about it. She was one of the Empty Children, and to be empty meant advancing to Copper would be impossible. Her road ended before it even started! All she could do now was despair about a future she would never have.

She looked at the wizard with sad eyes.

“I do not understand.”

“Every road has a beginning, and some roads are longer than others,” he guided her to the living room and gestured for her to sit. Sitting across from him, Mercidia watched as he – once again – removed a pipe from his robes and lit it with a snap of his fingers. “If what you seek is comfort from today’s events, understand that I have lived a long, long life, Mercidia Oathkeeper. I have seen many things that your mind could not begin to comprehend,” he coughed out a few clouds of smoke and waved them out of his face before composing himself. “This curse you speak of is nothing but a fable – a fabrication if you will. You have a destiny, my dear, and it starts today.”

Mercidia couldn’t help but frown. The only thing that happened today showcased that she had no destiny. Still, the Isa Wanderers weren’t known to be liars. Whatever tale Cathamir was spinning had to have some merit to it.

“Do you—” Mercidia stopped herself as uncertainty gnawed at her. The question popped into her mind, but she feared any answers he might give. Regardless, she had never been good at crumbling to fear. If anything, it only gave her pause. “Do you know why my catalysts failed?”

“There are countless reasons catalysts can fail, my dear. Consider the nature of the bond you had with them – who they represented,” he waved lightly with a hand. Misty, transparent images of her catalysts made of smokey vapor appeared before her. “They represent a bond you have with the most important people in your life – a particularly normal tradition for your people.”

Mercidia listened intently.

Her Grandmother’s Affinity had been Lightning, while her Father’s was Arcane. Those two had been the first to fail, and while her connection to them had been strong, she considered those catalysts to be the weakest of the four. The two that left the biggest impression on her were the scarf her mother had made and the wooden toy sword Naramor fashioned for her. 

They had all failed.

So what did that mean? Was she an Empty Child?

Cathamir didn’t seem to think so. Back in the temple, he suggested the creation of a fifth catalyst while coming to her defense. It was embarrassing to admit that she needed a fifth when the majority who advanced to Copper needed only one catalyst. Only children from noble houses managed to develop bonds with two or more. Mercidia had thought herself an outlier that she had four, but clearly, that had been a detriment.

“Did I make a mistake? Did I have too many?” Her brow furrowed as frustration burned through her. Naramor and her mother had been aware of her plans to take four. They had no objections to the idea. If it was detrimental, why hadn’t they warned her? “Did… Did I do this to myself? Is it my fault?”

Cathamir chuckled warmly.

“No no. Do not fret over such things. It is admirable that you managed to develop a powerful bond with four catalysts. Very few children are capable of such a feat. Your failure only means that your Affinity requires something more specific to coax it out,” the wizard explained. “Now is a unique time for you to discover what you truly resonate with. The creation of a fifth catalyst will be needed, and it’ll take some time, but—” his head turned toward the house entrance, his expression brightening. “Ah, she got my message.”

Mercidia was about to ask for an explanation when the door opened. It was only a few moments later that Apatha Oathkeeper appeared at the entrance to the living room, dressed in golden silk that bore the symbol of their family, along with the crest of a healer.

“I apologize for my lateness. I came as soon as I received your message,” Apatha inclined her head to Cathamir in a show of respect. “Thank you for informing me of today’s events, Archmage—” Cathamir’s staff appeared behind her and whacked the back side of her head. Unlike Mercidia, Apatha only flinched at the hit. “Cathamir,” the woman corrected with a weak smile. “Forgive me, I forget you despise formalities.”

“One day I will knock some sense into your heads,” the wizard grumbled, summoning his staff back to his side. “Humans and their groveling toward superiority. All that is required for a show of respect is a comfy chair, tea, and a nice meal.”

“I’m sure,” Apatha smiled diplomatically, her gaze and expression shifting to her daughter. Immediately, she surged forward, embracing Mercidia. “You will be okay. I promise we will figure things out. Do not despair.”

Mercidia laughed weakly.

“Grandfather said the same thing. Thinking about it, I’m glad you were not there to see my embarrassing failure.”

“Banish the thought!” Apatha hissed. “I do not care for your failure or success. I only wished I could have been there to support you. I am sickened that I could not be, but my—” she choked out a small regretful sob. “As you know, I am bound by my oath as a healer. My responsibilities—”

“Mother, you are a Bronze with a Life Affinity. The city needs your power, otherwise people will suffer,” Mercidia shook her head. “You don’t need to explain this to me for the hundredth time. I understand the burden you carry, and it’s like I said. I prefer that you couldn’t come. The shame is… excruciating.”

Even with Cathamir’s reassurance, it didn’t make her humiliation burn any cooler. Mercidia would be known as the Empty Child all across Venär by next week. The noble houses would ensure to spread her condition as far as possible. She didn’t have a clue what would happen to the friendships she had. Would they still accept her, or would they shame her? The more terrifying thought was if they would even be allowed to associate with her. She had no friends in House Memoria, but their Matriarch had been ready to deliver her execution. It was only by Naramor and Cathamir’s hand that Mercidia avoided death. If her family had been lower in the hierarchy, they wouldn’t have been able to prevent it.

Apatha pulled away from her daughter and took Mercidia’s hands into hers. Mercidia could feel her mother’s ìlth radiating off her like a warm breeze. It reminded her of a nice home-cooked meal – a comfortable crackling fire and the softness of a bed during a frightening blizzard all at once. She trained and cultivated her ìlth perfectly to ensure her patients were at ease during their treatment.

“No matter what, you are still my daughter. We will find a way,” Apatha’s features twisted as she tried to think. Eventually, she shook her head. “Still, I can scarcely believe it. All four?”

“All four,” Mercidia confirmed, her voice weak. “I’ve been speaking with Cathamir about constructing a fifth. He believes there is still a chance for me,” she gripped her mother’s hands tightly, greedily trying to capture that comforting feeling. It was addictive, and throughout her childhood, Apatha had used her ìlth to calm Mercidia when night terrors plagued her. “I don’t want to give up.”

“Nor would I want you to,” Apatha looked over her shoulder at the wizard. He sat quietly, watching the exchange. His expression had changed from a hopeful twinkle to something far more neutral. To Mercidia, he looked like his thoughts consumed him, his mind a thousand miles away. “You were present for today’s Origin Ritual? That’s unlike you, Cathamir.”

“I happened to be passing through and heard murmurings,” his vacant expression returned with a hearty smile. “You know me and my wanderings. Always following my nose, and a new generation of Mystical Seekers is enough to catch anyone’s eye.”

Mercidia caught suspicion flash across her mother’s face but disappeared as quickly as it came.

“What do you make of my daughter’s predicament?”

“Ah, we were just discussing one such topic before your arrival. As you just heard, I have suggested the creation of a fifth catalyst,” the wizard said, blowing out another puff of smoke. Mercidia watched the smoke take many forms: a staff, a sword, a bow, a ring, and a crown, before fading to nothing. “The only exception I was going to impose this time, is that she must start with an item that resonates with her, and she must create it herself.”

“You believe this will work?” Apatha questioned with a frown. “It is tradition for family members to create catalysts for their children. It is how our people have done things for generations.”

Mercidia recalled the carefree boy from House Asteri who had used a crumpled, folded leaf as a catalyst. The fact that it had worked for him while her four catalysts had failed only served to fuel her shame. Why did he succeed with such a ridiculous, unimportant catalyst while she failed with four treasures she had bonded with since her earliest memories took shape? It wasn’t fair.

“And yet, this tradition has failed young Mercidia,” Cathamir replied, his tone simple and fair. “If she is to succeed now, then alternative methods must be considered. Disregard tradition and do what you feel is right.”

Those words echoed in her head.

Do what I feel is right.

What did feel right? Better yet, what if this failed just as horribly?

“What if I fail?”

Cathamir inhaled deeply before blowing out another plume of smoke. This time, the smoke didn’t take a solid image that Mercidia could recognize. Instead, she saw flashes within the dark cloud. It was like a thunderstorm had erupted within the smoke. Slowly, the image became clearer, and she saw a silhouetted figure standing tall, shrouded by what appeared to be a cloak.

Mercidia didn’t recognize the figure, but a small part of her believed that Cathamir intended this pseudo-vision to be her. There was a confidence and authority to this strange figure that seemed almost otherworldly. When the figure began to walk away, Mercidia felt every step resonate with every fiber of her being.

It made her feel… hopeful.

Powerful.

It was destiny, and Cathamir was showing her.

“My dear, I have every bit of faith that you won’t.”