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Arcanist - Chapter 71
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 17:23:08 +0000 UTC“Hear…” the Bishop croaked, trembling over the chair like a withered husk of wrinkled flesh, wide eyes staring at Valens, dark veins squirming underneath the skin of his cheeks. “Hear…” he wheezed, and it seemed the more he looked at Valens, the more he stooped under an invisible weight.
“Hexmender, quick!” Mas roared. He sprang forward around the broken bits of the table, golden plates rattling, and supported the Bishop’s head from the back with a gentle hand. “Witch, I told you to be quick!”
Lenora was rubbing her neck, blood trickling from between her fingers, eyes squinted at the Bishop as if there was something only she could see through the man’s face. She tapped a finger to her locket, then moved, wincing, toward the old man.
The others came to themselves at the bellow of the zealous Templar. With a quick look from the captain, Garran began to advance across the room, heavy boots thumping against the ground. He demanded, not so gently, for them to empty the study, and when the lawyer hesitated for a second, he got a little tap on the back which pushed him nearly flying out from the stone doors.
Dain was waiting for them outside. They exchanged a silent glance before Garran closed the doors shut. There was only Valens left from the group now. Valens and the Templars, with Lenora standing by the Bishop and gazing into his face.
“What is happening right now?” Valens said as he moved over to Captain Edric. It occurred to him after the Bishop’s sudden burst of madness that perhaps standing beside the captain would give him something other than his hands to work with.
“Burden of the past,” the captain said, voice heavy. He scowled when Lenora laid a hand on the Bishop’s head. He frowned when her fingers trailed gently across the man’s face. He closed his eyes as she began whispering words into the Bishop’s ear. “The fate that awaits us Templars beyond the reaches of our mind. A terrible fate that belongs to us all.”
He drew back toward the side wall, leaned his shoulder against the cold stone, and stood there staring at the Bishop deep in thought. Valens lost the heart to bother the man with more questions when he saw the look on his face. Fear so stark against the man he came to know during the short time since they’d met.
“It’s the trial,” Garran said as Lenora’s whispers echoed about the study. When Valens gave him a look, the Templar nodded in quick, painful acceptance. “The burden of the past. The 4th Trial of the Sun's Class-Path. A war against the deeds of the past, fought inside one’s mind, often in pure, deep darkness. They say you never know when it’ll end, and the longer it drags on, the deeper you sink into the shadow of your heart.”
Is that the reason why I felt that sudden spike in his Resonance? The gaps were too stark in his otherwise strong rhythm. I thought him sick, but turns out he was truly fighting against his own demons.
“A war against your own mind?” Valens frowned. “Is there ever an end to such a war? We all fight against ourselves every day, do we not?”
“We do. That’s why I’ve told you the longer it drags on, the deeper you’ll sink into the mud. That’s the price of treading the path of the Blessed Father. You can only move on if you make peace with the person you’ve become,” Garran said grimly. “The Bishop was a Level 400 Dawnkeeper when I met him. I was a child back then, still a disciple in the Brotherhood. You hear stories about men like him, but you only believe them when you put a face on those tales.”
“A strong man, indeed,” Valens said, more to keep the man talking than learn a thing or two about the Bishop, as it seemed Garran preferred the remedy of words to Captain Edric’s choice of silence.
“A hundred years out in the Broken Lands, all alone and against the dwellers with no sun above your head, no words in your ears other than the hissing, growling, screeching of the monsters eyeing you like fresh meat,” Garran said. There was respect in his eyes as he stared at the Bishop. “That sort of deal takes a toll on you. That sort of thing makes you mad even if you’re a man of God. So then, when the time comes and you have to confront that madness, how can anyone go about it against something so deep, eh, Healer?”
Valens stayed silent. A part of him wondered why would a Church, or any organization for that matter, put a man like the Bishop—who was obviously troubled with his Trial—in a position of such magnitude. Could you trust a man who couldn’t control his thoughts? Could anyone in their good conscience lend the protection of a giant city to a man who changed moods in the blink of an eye?
“The fits are usually not so bad.” Garran seemed to have heard the doubts in his mind as he glanced at him. “Often the case is you’d get yelled at, then the Bishop would calm down and listen. Not the most reasonable man I’ve ever met, but still, he should’ve seen the value you’d bring to the Golden Ward with your talents. I don’t know what happened this time.”
“I think he has some history with that Baht, and I think his Trial made it a whole lot worse than it actually was,” Valens said. It was the only explanation other than the sheer bigotry that might be prevalent in the man’s thoughts. If that had been the case, the captain wouldn’t have taken the risk to bring him here, knowing the Bishop wouldn’t bat an eye even if Valens could purge all the shadows in the world.
You can’t fight against prejudice, and you can’t, on any occasion, change a man’s thoughts if he has not the mind to listen.
“Could be that, or could be anything else. The Trial, coupled with the mind rot, can change a man, but you’ve seen the strength he commands. A few words and the halo of the Blessed Father. That’s what it took for him to get us down to our knees,” Garran said, eyes glinting.
“Mind rot?” Valens asked.
Lenora tapped another finger to the Bishop’s face, then closed his eyes gently and laid his head back to the chair. He looked peaceful in his sleep now, like a normal old man who had seen too many things in his life to keep his head high. A tired, weary old man who needed rest and peace of mind more than anything else.
“The Tainted Father’s boon for any men out to get him.” Garran eyed him. “You breathe in the reek of his domain too long, you start hearing voices. The remnants of the dwellers seep into your soul with their wicked presence. You begin rotting. Not in flesh, but in mind and body both. You’ve seen what that little stench of the ancient crypt did to those Miners. The air in the Broken Lands is worse. Much more worse.”
“Oh?” Valens arched an eyebrow at him, then turned slowly to the Bishop. “Then it’d do me good if I added another chip to my hand, wouldn’t it?”
“What?” Garran asked.
Valens pointed a finger at the Bishop. “Check his mind and body for good measure. After all, what else is a Healer supposed to do when there’s a sick man yearning for remedy?”
He walked with eyes glinting and a spring in his step, left Garran and the captain gawking at his back, round the broken bits of the table and beside a furious, albeit baffled, Mas. Gave him a tap on the shoulder like you would assure an old friend that whatever trouble they were facing now, it would be all right.
Lenora raised her gaze up to him, questions in her dark eyes. Valens gave her a confident smile. That was what you did when people started questioning—give them a little sign that you’re in control. A little something that would ease the doubts in their mind.
“He doesn’t look half as bad when he’s asleep,” he said when he reached the mighty chair. And what a mighty chair it was, its back adorned with golden strings, made of darkwood without an ounce of emptiness to its bulk. It thumped when Valens flicked a finger to it. A deep, rich sound that told him whoever it was that made it, they didn’t spare any effort, nor money, when they built this thing.
The Bishop looked so brittle in its arms. Half the man he’d been, surely, considering the size of his throne. A mighty man and his mighty deeds, but a different world or not, time had always found a way to get back to all the famed men of history.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lenora said, voice cold. She didn’t trust him. Not completely, at least, which wasn’t entirely anyone’s fault. Who knew what sort of deal the woman struck with the captain? What sort of promises and lies had been exchanged between them to make her back him up against the Bishop? What sort of promises indeed.
But nobody told me anything.
“You have a gift,” Valens said to the woman. His eyes trailed the thick mist inside the locket for a long second. There was nothing. “You and your shadows. A strange gift, I may add, but there has been a slight misunderstanding.”
“Of what?” Lenora held her chin high and gave a look toward the captain. Captain Edric looked as equally surprised as her. “What do you mean?”
“The Hexmender part,” Valens said. There were oaths. Broken or not, he’d sworn them in the past. “It’s true that I’ve dealt with the Weeping Horror, and that one nasty shadow who tried to be clever about it and hid underneath Selin’s skin. I’ve nearly burnt her to save her, but that was when I didn’t know any better. That was when there were certain things I hadn’t had the pleasure of understanding.”
He laid a hand on the Bishop’s spotty pate. Mas gasped behind him. Garran looked like he’d seen the most absurd sight of his life, eyes growing wide. Captain Edric scowled, and his scowl deepened as he looked at Valens, before his lips parted with a sigh.
“You see, Miss, I’m first and foremost a Healer. I’ve served for over ten years and in more skirmishes than I could count. In battles raging with thousands of men. Saved countless patients from the claws of death, and desperation, and wounds bloodier than anything you can imagine. I’ve been serving my whole life, one way or another, dedicating myself to a cause, believing I was doing the right thing. That’s what I’ve been taught.
“I’ve thought all my life I should strive to be better, to become a more amicable version of myself, but in the end, I found that I was doing exactly what I’d been told, not what I should’ve done for myself. Since then, I’ve broken all the Oaths and crossed more boundaries than I could count, for it occurred to me the irony in my choices. Tell me, why should I be the one who has to change when everything around me refuses to do the same?”
“You…” Lenora snapped suddenly toward the captain. “Who is this man?”
“I’ve told you, I’m a Healer,” Valens said simply. “Now, let us bring some relief to this old man’s mind, shall we? As much as I respect your abilities and the way you trapped those shadows in your little locket, I believe I’m a better fit for the job at hand from now on. May I?”
He didn’t wait for a response as he sent a Lifeward into the Bishop’s body. It felt good. More than good, in fact—it felt like a breath of fresh air after he’d been the spectator to a matter that involved his fate. People talking, and people deciding for him. People making plans.
I’m a little sick of it.
He felt in control now, as a Lifesurge seeped into the Bishop’s body. He wouldn’t go as far as to check his core since the man was a mighty Dawnkeeper with who knew what sort of secrets buried in his soul. Just a simple, soothing session for his mind, so that his sleep would last a touch longer, and his dreams would become a little brighter.
What a first day to a new job…
.........
Comments
Stephen Pearson
Thanks for the chapter! :-)
Denizcan Uçuran T4icho
Bishop will be there, of course. I meant more about the whole 'room' thing. Valens won't be giving a level 400 Dawnkeeper who suffers mostly from his Trial a permanent cure if that's what you meant there, not now, at least haha
Caleb Reusser
Seems weird to leave the Bishop without seing the results of Valens' healing him.
