Chapter 43: Chaste: Welcome Home

  Chaste wandered through the halls of his old home, eyeing paintings of ancient kin, ranging from his grandparents to his great-great-great-something-or-others. He always suspected that some of these paintings were unrelated to his family, but every winter, his mother thoroughly reminded him of who they were and of their actions to honour the family. It was perhaps the most dreaded tradition of his family’s yule-time celebrations. It was still far off, luckily.

  Paintings notwithstanding, there were memories in these halls he would not want to forget, like he had the names of the subjects on the walls. One armour, made of steel so fine and polished it resembled silver more than iron, had its helmet and left bracer dented after a particular climbing accident when he was just a boy. Further ahead was where he’d darted away from his sister after shoving a spiced pie into her face. He’d slipped on something, crashing into the hard stone wall. He was still certain to this day that his older sister had her revenge by icing the floors from afar with her spells. She’d never come clean about that. Chaste had been out of sorts for days after that, mending a swollen head and cracked skull.

  That was the time he learned spicy foods were not good for one’s eyes. Chaste had healed entirely before his sister’s eyes seemed right. It might’ve been his own regret at his actions that made him see something that wasn’t there, but the two of them had never spoken about the other’s actions of that day. It was their secret. They had both been closer to each other since that day.

  He walked past the entrance to the dining hall, taking a quick peek inside to see if anyone was there. There was only a maid. He’d usually greet those he met, though he was trying to get by unnoticed this time. His mother had a knack for always getting word ahead of his actual arrival.

  When he was younger and had just started his adventuring, he was quite certain she had him tailed wherever he went. Now, he was more highly skilled than most of the people she could send, so he was sure she’d sent no one to spy on him. She just had a local intelligence network within the city that was unrivalled; maids did nothing but gossip, drunkards spoke without filter and noblewomen were worse than both the former combined.

  He headed toward the den, where her mother and younger sister were most often gathered when not occupied by day-to-day responsibilities. His older sister likely wasn’t around, but if he was lucky, she would be. His younger sister was fine, all things considered, but his mother could be ruthless. He was only visiting her since he was in the city, anyway. If she knew he was in town without visiting, she’d murder him. Being the most powerful mage in the world, she could do that easily. Alarmingly easy.

  Like most rooms, the entrance to the den was nothing but a wide arch of openness in the wall. Doors seemed to have been a hassle when this place was built. Luckily, even the architects of this place figured private quarters should have them. Also, the library, though those specific doors were made similarly arching. Chaste figured they had been installed later. He’d spent quite a bit of time there. It was where he thought his curiosity about Arcana and her typical whimsy had arisen. It was in another wing, though. Maybe later.

  Two women, both tall and slender and wearing highly luxurious silky gowns, were seated around a stout table propping up a crystalline set of cups on coasters, two jugs and two folding fans, each one perfectly matching the gaudy dresses they wore.

  The youngest, Chaste’s younger sister, wore a puffy yellow dress with an outer layer of almost glass-like fabric that added a layer of reflective qualities to the outfit. It was filled with frills around the chest, her blonde hair covering most as it hung down both sides of her head.

  The older of the two, though not so much older than Chaste himself, was his older sister, much to his surprise. She wore a sleeker, more form-fitting dress that showed off her curves whilst revealing little to no skin; a dress fitting her demeanour and character, Chaste thought. A confusing criss-cross-pattern tied her hair, with several bundled strands going under, then over, then over and under several more bundles, and most of her hair culminated in a beautiful bun of hazel-dipped golden hair.

  “Brother!” said the yellow-clad sister, facing his direction as she sat around the table. She jumped up with a jerk, shoving the chair so hard it tipped over behind her as she dashed to hug her favourite brother.

  Chaste laughed, meeting her oncoming form with wide open arms. She jumped, crashing into him with all her weight and momentum. Chaste was pushed towards the back wall, though he still stopped about halfway into the hallway he’d come from. She’d got more skilled since last time. She was as hardworking as Chaste himself had been.

  “Innocence!” he burst into her flat, gold hair. The strands of its length entered his mouth and nose for just a moment, but he was too happy to see his baby sister again to care. He spun around, receiving a chuckling laugh. “How have you been? Are they treating you well?

  Innocence dropped onto the floor and pulled Chaste into the den by his arm with impressive strength. “It’s been great! I earned the Level Three fire affinity skill! I’m catching up, brother!”

  Chaste laughed heartily, tussling her soft hair. “Of course you are.”

  “And water affinity! And wind!”

  Now, Chaste coughed, a sudden clenching of his throat catching his laugh by the neck and suffocating it. “What? At Level Three?” He could see the smug look of not his sincere younger sister, but that of Virtue, his older sister, as he asked.

  “Of course, silly.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  She was maybe a year ahead of Chaste then. “How old are you now? Sixteen?” he teased, still messing her nice hair up.

  “Fifteen!” She laughed.

  A sour clearing of a lady’s throat sounded behind them, forcing their eyes to intersect back near the entrance arch of the den. There she stood, taller and slenderer still than her daughters. Her hair was frosty white, with glittering sparkles turning the reflected light colder than the ambience. She wore a more practical outfit, a two-piece top and skirt that blended into each other so neatly it could’ve been just a long, slim dress. Despite her age, which Chaste didn’t even truly know, the woman looked as young as Virtue; in her thirties, if even that. She had always looked that young, as far back as Chaste could even remember. Even as a kid, he had gained several skills and stats, so he had quite an excellent memory of even his early childhood.

  When she spoke, her icy blue lips, dressed in a glossy lipstick that nearly glittered as much as her white hair, moved with certain intent. As always, there were no wasted movements, no muscles unnecessarily twitching or tightening.

  “Took you long enough, son.” Her words were dripping with knowledge. Chaste knew she already knew he’d spent the previous night in the city below. “But that is of no matter. How do you feel about Innocence’s progress? If I remember correctly, she surpassed your progress at this age, no?”

  There was no one as powerful as his mother, no one as skilled. She ‘remembered’ perfectly. It could just as well have been yesterday to her.

  “She has,” Chaste said, turning to his sister and placing a kind, brotherly hand on her shoulder, though not without first flicking her earlobe, causing her to flinch in near pain.

  “Face me when I’m talking to you, son,” she ordered. He looked back ahead, though not in any rush. “Now, what kept you from us so long this time? It’s been months.”

  So, she didn’t know everything? Or was it a ruse? No, she wasn’t one for such trickery. “Same as ever. Been looking into the older dungeons and temples in Arcana’s name. Inland this time, to the less travelled parts of the continent.”

  “Why you are so interested in that witch of a goddess fails to reach me. And?”

  What was making mother so grumpy? He could swear he saw her face twitch just by mentioning Arcana, and then again when he said ‘inland’. Such reflexes were below her, he’d thought. Had she always reacted so to Arcana’s name?

  “And…” Chaste started, then grew unsure whether he should tell her of the act of Arcana’s will that he’d seen happen right in front of him with his own eyes. It was the only sign of her divine will Aera had seen in a lifetime, if not longer. Should he tell her? “And I found a few unmapped dungeons and temples. I’m handing the locations over to the cartographer guild before I leave again.”

  “How long are you staying then?” she asked. It seemed she found his answer too boring to dig into.

  “A week, maybe.”

  She didn’t respond but headed further into the den. She crossed the large room with long, efficient strides. If it weren’t for her legs being visible, it would’ve seemed she was floating across the floor. She unlatched a large metal plate hanging on the wall, opening it to reveal the large window at the far edge of the room. Then she stood there, fully silent, as if waiting for something. Chaste wasn’t one to break the ice in these situations, especially when it seemed his mother had something to say.

  “Have you heard, son?” she then asked, her voice as cold as her presence.

  “Heard what?” he asked, curious as to what had managed to shake her so. For once, she seemed deep in thought. Every other day, every second Chaste had known her, she stood as if she knew everything. Now, her shoulders were tense.

  “See, this is why it would be sensible for you to stay in Ercheat more, with your family. Knowledge gathers wherever people do. I taught you that myself.”

  “Someone has to discover that knowledge first,” he countered, though without any hint of emotion behind his words. Emotional responses always devolved a conversation, she used to say. It was true, in a way, though Chaste didn’t entirely agree with the sentiment.

  “Well-reasoned. Why would that be you and not some other peasant scum?”

  No emotions behind her words. It wouldn’t be appropriate. This was how she looked at the commoners, simple as that. It was a fact — cold and harsh, but true in her eyes.

  “I have a better education, and therefore I’m more likely to see true facts, not just wishful thinking. What’s more important than knowledge itself is being critical of the source of that knowledge. If I’m better suited than they are, why should they be there in place of me?”

  His mother nodded.

  “Heard about what, though?” he then asked the silent figure of a woman. She raised her arm, pointing her finger in a specific direction. The horizon visible from such a high point was wide, though the direction she was pointing was decidedly the very same direction Chaste had come from the previous day.

  “That way. Someone built an effigy of Arcana there,” she said, her voice nearly a growl by the end. No emotions? No, there was certainly something bubbling within her.

  “An effigy? Surprising,” Chaste mused. Rarely was the highest form of religious worship built anymore. Most cities had one already, though. Which one doubled down? In that direction, no less? Was there even a city there?

  “What is surprising…” his mother started, clenching her fists, turning her knuckles bony white. “-is that the effigy suddenly appeared overnight… And it’s flipping me off.”

  “Mother?” Chaste asked. He must’ve misheard her. Surely?

  “There’s an effigy of Arcana that’s giving mother the finger!” said Innocence, her voice a mix of fearful and laughing.

  “How do we know it's for mother?” Chaste then asked, eyeing his older sister, who’d been quiet until now. She shrugged, letting her mother answer.

  “Who else would it be for? The effigy’s finger is raised directly towards Ercheat. I suspect…” said his mother. She fell silent, deep within her own thoughts. Her hands snapped open, her palms still as white as when she’d clenched them. “I think Arcana is coming back. And I think she has it out for me.”

  “What? Why would Arcana have anything against the queen of Ercheat?” Chaste asked. What had his mother ever done against the goddess?

  “That’s in the past. But that’s not all. There’s a town there. Not a city. Not even a town at all, but a village. Chaste… I need you and Virtue to take a regiment there. Stop this farce from escalating. Tear down the effigy.”

  “Mother, you can’t be serious! Never mind tearing down an effigy that might as well be Arcana’s own will, but you’re talking about taking down a town during its immunity!”

  “The town isn’t even approved!”

  Chaste’s face paled as he gaped at his mother, the Queen of Ercheat. Not approved? How could a town not be... Oh no.

  “So, you see,” said his mother. She turned from the window, locked eyes with her eldest son. She was more composed now, her voice tapered, her own teachings shining through what was certainly… emotions. “The town can’t exist.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. There was another way for a town to exist, though had that ever happened? True, his mother, the Queen, was usually the one who created town deeds. But Arcana’s will always supersede the Queen’s. Arcana could hand them out as well.

  What was Theo doing?