Chapter 17: Chapter 17 – Emotion

Cali approached the front door of the manor. She wasn’t quite sure what she was planning to do once she was inside. If she saw a chance to kill the person in charge, she would do so happily. She knocked twice and stepped back. A second later the doors opened, and two glassy-eyed nobles waited on her.

Cali was incapable of becoming unnerved. She recognized the situation as deeply strange, yet her heart did not stir. She held up the crumpled leaflet that Adam had given her, “I am interested in the Libera.” The stolen reading material was enough to make them step aside and invite her in, wordlessly. As she stood in the lobby, she prepared herself for the arduous task of locating Ren.

Cali soon learned that her already low expectations of the cult’s leader had been disappointed, as an animated man in a red robe emerged from the top of the stairs and jogged down them with the eagerness of a child on his birthday. His expressive face and strange clothes distinguished him from the other people in the building who were wearing dirty work coveralls.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting such a beautiful woman?”

Cali again held up the leaflet, scrawled with several paragraphs of inane rambling about attaining ‘true freedom,’ by rejecting responsibility and emotional attachments. “I was given this. Is now a bad time?”

“No, no! There’s never a bad time for a new friend to join us! We just had a little trouble, people trying to get into the house, you know?”

“Yes. My family’s home was frequently targeted by all forms of evildoers.”

Randal was breathing heavily and he had an extremely lecherous look on his face. He nodded along with Cali’s story, not once considering the fact that she may have come to do the very same thing as his new prisoner…

“But yes, we are the Libera! I take it that you’re interested in joining us?”

“Yes. Could you tell me what this entails? I am curious.”

Randal gladly escorted her through to the front drawing room, which had been left mostly untouched by the stripping down of the building. On the table was a red bound tome. Cali could smell the power of a cursed item coming from it. She was quick to reach the same conclusion that Ren did, he was using the book to assume control over the people. Randal took the book into his arms and sat down on one of the chairs. Cali kept her distance and sat on the couch.

“We Libera are a new sect, not so much for the purpose of worshipping an individual, but rather to spread the good word of our ideology. A new way of living, disconnected from attachment and worry. As you can see, even the most affluent of nobles have seen that there’s a better way – and they are very much enjoying it.”

Cali looked to the two men stood by the door, they looked dead on their feet.

“Now, spaces are limited! At least for the time being. We’re expanding rapidly, and we’re hoping to establish branches and sects in other towns and cities soon. All of these charitable donations from our members are going towards that purpose.”

“I see.”

“By controlling our emotions and giving away our possessions, we can attain a lifestyle that defies the norms and standards set by society at large. Calm, collected, free from worry and anxiety.”

“…But what is it to live without emotion?”

His smile wavered, “I’m sorry?”

“While it’s true that the noble class is more concerned with status and wealth than emotional fulfilment, do you believe that throwing away those feelings is valuable? Do you think it’s right? What is life if not a series of feelings?”

Randal didn’t know how to respond, he shook his head and continued on with his pitch. “I don’t know what’s right, I just know that what we’re doing is something special to a lot of people. People will cast their judgements, but we all chose to break free from their gaze and their expectations, to become something more.”

‘You didn’t,’ Cali thought, ‘you’re the only one here with emotions…’

“Very well. I will reserve my opinions for now. Does it have something to do with that curious book?” she asked.

Randal smiled, the conman pleased that his non-answer worked as intended. “This is one of our doctrines,” he explained, “We use it to induct new members.”

“I see.”

“With that said, I can see you having an extra special assignment. We’re looking for driven devotees to… take a leadership position.”

Cali had to stop herself from shivering at the implication. As much as she valued feelings good and bad, the tone of his voice was like poison sliding down her gullet. That ‘leadership’ position would presumably take the form of being his chief bedwarmer. The man had people’s lives in the palm of his hands, and he wasn’t so mighty to resist the temptation to take advantage of them.

“And you think I’m right for the job.”

“Yes! Very much so! An Ashmorn like you, I know how well educated you all are. You are a people who understand the value of knowledge, more than anybody else. Not to mention you could head back to your home nation and help us set up there! I’m sure you have a lot of contacts and friends who’d love to hear about your new position and what the Libera can offer.”

Cali was growing irritated. Did this man know how to do anything else but suck up to her? What a spineless worm he was. She had never realized how much more fun Ren was to be around until now. Sure, on the surface they both sought out wealth and influence, but Ren’s strange moral compass dragged him into many strange and dangerous situations.

This man had no future.

“How do I join?”

He grinned a toothy smile, “All you have to do, is place your left hand atop the surface of this book, and repeat after me. We can sort your donations out afterwards.”

Cali stood from her seat and approached Randal, she slipped her hand into the dress and placed her other on top of the book. He didn’t find anything suspicious about her stance, so unguarded he felt after spending weeks in relative isolation.

“State your name for the Eye, so she may watch over you.”

“Cali La’Corvan.”

“Cali La’Corvan. I bid thee welcome to this sect most sacred. A brotherhood of men and women who wish to change this world. To reject the connections we have to the physical world, to calm our emotions and weather the coming storm. If you wish to form this bond and enter our warm embrace, repeat thus: I, Cali La’Corvan [Submit] myself to the Eye and her kind judgement.”

“I Cali La’Corvan…”

Randal gasped as he felt something enter his gut. He cried out in pain and backed away, the dagger still embedded in his stomach. A thick trail of red blood flowed from the wound, “Y-You… how could you?”

“…Reject this foolish endeavour. Return to ash, and may God weigh your sins fairly.”

Randal was crippled by the agony pulsating through his body. How could this have happened? Stabbed in his own home?! So blinded by his own desire to claim the enrapturing woman for himself, he never once considered that she was merely another pawn in the game of that damnable thief!

“Help me,” he croaked, reaching out to an unseen figure, “Help!”

The Eye looked down on him with scorn, “An unsightly death for an undeserving vessel. Begone from my sight, you mongrel.”

Spurned by the self-same spirit that had given him the world, he passed out in a pool of his own crimson blood. Cali was unmoved. She retrieved the carving knife from his dead body and prepared herself to face off against his thralls. But they remained still, watching, waiting, breathing but not living. Cali had to stop herself from touching the book again. Now that Randal was dead, whoever made contact with it would be bound as its new slave.

This wasn’t how she wanted to solve the problem. Hopefully Ren was still okay.

Ten minutes later, she found an auspiciously barricaded cellar door.

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Light flooded into my temporary prison.

But the figure standing silhouetted against the stairs wasn’t Randal.

“Cali?”

I followed her back upstairs and into the living room, where Randal now lay dead. “That was probably how this was going to end anyway,” I muttered. Cali had taken the wind out of my sails. I drew Stigma and stabbed him once more for good measure, before draining his soul into my own body. Another two days added to my clock.

“I infiltrated the house by pretending to be an interested applicant. He made several passes at me during the interview. He tried to use that book to [Submit] me, a type of dark magic formed via contract.”

“But none of these people have had that spell broken.”

“It can only be removed by someone using the same spell,” Cali explained, “It is a troublesome and amoral spell to weave; it is punishable by death in my home nation. The effects may be subtle, and completely unknown to the person targeted.”

“That means you just killed the one guy who can undo it.”

“Yes.” Cali showed no concern whatsoever.

 Stigma materialized on the table and studied the book, “In the absence of any better choice, perhaps consuming this cursed tome will render the problem moot?”

“A cursed item eating another cursed item?”

I decided to inspect the book.

PRAGMA OF THE ALL-SEEING EYE

Level 1 Relic

Grants ability: [Submit] Affix: [Empty]

[Submit] allows the user to form an unbreakable contract with a consenting party. This bond will last eternally, unless released by the master.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

Cali concurred, “I have something to say.”

“Go ahead.”

“Az Fulram Alov Sard. Do you know what that means?”

“No.”

“It is Ashen for ‘The Fifteen Daughters of Sard.’ It is an old legend passed down through the generations - closely entangled with the origin of our Kingdom and our neighbours and the fall of the old Ashmorn Empire. Sard was the last emperor, known widely for his boundless cruelty. His daughters even more so.”

“He had fifteen daughters?”

“Yes. His three wives failed to sire a male heir. So great was his rage that he killed them all with his own hands. An ill omen, and one of the reasons that many believe they became such monsters. During the war that tore the empire into seven Kingdoms, they fought to protect the integrity of the crown. They killed, tortured, mutilated, and ordered their troops to do the same.”

“And? How is this relevant to the book?”

“I… did not want to speak of fairy tales so openly. Though now my mind is shadowed with doubt. The story ended with the defeat of the emperor and the capture of his fifteen terrible offspring. The people demanded a punishment even greater than death, for it would be too merciful. Their crimes were innumerable.”

“Let me guess, they got put into… objects.”

“Correct. A great magister who knew of the dark ways removed their mortal souls and embedded them into a prison from which they would never escape. Formless, boundless, they became known as the very same cursed items we acknowledge today. Handed to collectors, mercenaries, and visiting kings and dignitaries; they have been scattered to the four corners of our world, luring people to them with promises of great power.”

Stigma remained silent.

“She called her sister.”

Cali’s eyes widened in the biggest display of emotion I’d seen in unthreatening circumstances, “Then… perhaps the legends are true! You hold in your hands one of the fifteen daughters!”

“Stigma?”

She didn’t seem pleased, “Like I said, I don’t remember. Regardless of my origins, you were brought here to rescue the young man’s parents. Taking [submit] for yourself will allow us to free them from his control.”

“The consequences of consuming the book’s power may be greater than we know,” Cali warned, “It may even kill you.”

“I know your limits,” Stigma replied, “You will survive, and we will grow stronger.”

Would I? Was I willing to risk my life to complete this job?

I didn’t know.

I prided myself on carrying things through to the end. When I agreed to a contract I never let anything get in my way. But my life was worth more than a few bars of iron or copper, I wouldn’t do anything that I knew would only hurt me.

I was already pretty fucked.

That was what pushed me over the edge. I cast aside my caution and drew Stigma again, plunging the blade down through the cover of the tome and out the other side of the table it was sat upon. “…[Consume.]”

Stigma lit up a vibrant red as she enacted my command. The relief I felt in that moment was quickly ripped away by a familiar pain. I gasped and fell to my knees, it was just like the first time I picked Stigma up on the battlefield. I screamed, unable to release my grip of the hilt and save myself the agony. My veins seared with a fresh rush of poison.

Stigma was changing in front of me, the glowing red channels than ran up and down the blade spread further like a wildfire, forming an even more intricate pattern than before. This was unlike any of the other people or items that I’d consumed using her power before. I’d fucked up. Clearly there was something more to their connection than I’d initially thought.

And then it was over.

I fell to one knee and coughed, “Fuck me, I’m never doing that again.”