FATELESS: A Boy’s Bonds

Mother

 

“What in all the world is an omnicaster?” I asked, once the professor had been escorted out of my room.

‘I think the mage explained it well-enough,’ Zakarot replied, telepathically. ‘Awakenings are caused by an imbalance of aspects within one’s soul; omnicasters are those who awaken without such an imbalance.’

“That doesn’t seem possible,” I told him. “Professor Enoch seemed surprised.”

‘That’s because until recently, omnicasters weren’t associated with power so much as mystery. No-one knows how they can use magic despite having balanced souls. The Magocracy have always wanted one of their own to study.’

“Until recently?”

‘Remember how I mentioned that magic-users with multiple affinities are usually weaker? In exchange for having more vulnerability, they’re more susceptible to backlash, but that’s not the only reason. Human beings simply don’t live long enough to master many affinities before they become too old to properly use what they’ve learned.’

“But I don’t even have an affinity.”

‘Mhmm. Having an affinity means that you’ll develop faster than those without affinities. As such, omnicasters are usually considered weaker than ordinary magic-users. An omnicaster will take as much time to master one discipline as someone like Enoch would take to master two or three.

‘That perception has drastically changed within the past decade, though. A certain powerful individual happens to be an omnicaster, and now most people associate all omnicasters with him. The truth is that he’s an anomaly among magic-users, but it won’t stop people from wanting their very own version.’

“Visagalis,” I said.

Zakarot stopped and went silent, clearly taken off-guard.

“Enoch mentioned him.”

‘...Right,’ Zakarot replied, apprehensive.

After a long sigh, the space in-front of my bed parted slightly. The shadows of the room flickered, and a cloaked apparition materialized into existence. Face still hidden beneath a shroud of shadow, Zakarot’s voice emerged from within.

“Visagalis possesses a balanced soul, yes. But comparing you to him is a bit like comparing an ant to a dragon.”

“Is he really so strong?”

“Very,” Zakarot answered. “There’s something called the ‘magic boom’, which is a phenomenon referring to how each generation leads to more magic-users being born than the last. There’s also a clear difference in power between today’s magic-users and yesterday’s, which has made people convinced that there’s going to be another Visagalis within the next while.”

“And since he’s an omnicaster…”

“Right. They’re assuming that the next magic-user who reaches the power of Sage will also be an omnicaster. It’s not exactly based on any sort of evidence, but they’re not exactly wrong...”

“Sage,” I started. “Is that one of the ‘special ranks’ you didn’t teach me about?”

Zakarot hummed to himself, then shook his head.

“Not quite; it’s more of a designation than a rank. Back in the day, when the elves first taught humans how to use magic, they passed down the term. In their culture, it was given to their wisest magic-users. In a predictably human manner, we changed its meaning to refer to our strongest magic-user. Visagalis is the youngest in history to be granted the designation.”

I shivered, though not out of fear.

“There’s no direct correlation between omnicasters and Sages,” Zakarot said. “Both are quite rare, though, and the Magocracy were upset when they couldn’t study Visagalis. He’s much too powerful for them to piss off. So, everyone just lets the brat do whatever he wants.”

A sharp, familiar feeling stabbed at my breast. My mind went back to being beaten down into the earth, Dav pummeling me like I was nothing more than trash. To the infected Anika Beckett chasing me through the woods, powerless to stop her. The Apostle standing amidst the burning ruins of my home, my fallen family members.

For years, I’d wanted to become stronger for one reason: to be loved.

Now, I wanted to become stronger because I was tired of being weak. Tired of being looked down upon, thrown around like I was worthless. Visagalis had the power to force entire armies to back off. If I had that kind of power, the Apostles wouldn’t even be a threat.

I could save my home and family, averting that awful future.

My family and I were only now becoming closer, making up for lost time. I wasn’t going to let them die. The only way to keep them safe was to become so powerful that none could ignore me. Zakarot had promised to make me into the strongest, which meant that this Visagalis character was my objective.

Someone I would one-day need to overcome.

“That’s a scary face you’re making,” Zakarot muttered.

With a quick shake of my head, I shoved those thoughts away. We didn’t have the time to turn me into an all-powerful Sage, not before the Apostle arrived. It’d been two-and-a-half weeks since Zakarot showed me the future. There were no signs of trouble yet, but the spirit maintained that we had weeks at most.

I had to approach this realistically.

“Why don’t we recruit him?” I asked.

My question seemed to confuse the spirit. “Why would we? No matter how powerful he becomes, his potential is limited. The strongest of this world are bound by their fates, to this world. You’re not. Our victory lies with people like us. I mean, even I was stronger than him in my hay-day.”

I perked up at that, arching an eyebrow. “Does that mean you were a Sage?”

“Well…”

My attempts to learn about my teacher’s past had continually proved futile.

All I knew about Zakarot was that he was a magic-user, therefore must have been born within the past handful of centuries, and he was Fateless.

Apparently he was stronger than the current Sage, as well. Did that mean he was still stronger than Visagalis? I knew that he wouldn’t tell me even if I asked, and it didn’t matter if he couldn’t manifest physically.

Which, according to him, would draw unwanted attention.

A knock from the bedroom door brought an end to our conversation. It was a soft knock, wholly unlike my father’s. It almost sounded nervous, hesitant. I knew that it wasn’t Lara, who always called out beforehand, nor Abel who tended to forgo the process of knocking altogether.

My stomach rolled into knots when I realized who it was. I always felt this way when speaking to her. Always afraid to make our relationship even worse, desperate for her approval and love. But now things were different.

Now, I couldn’t forget what Zakarot showed me.

In truth, I’d been avoiding her.

Not only because I was afraid of being caught learning magic, but because seeing her made me sick. It brought back memories of her form disappearing behind a cascade of black flames, a sea of ruination that destroyed everything around it.

It brought back memories of Abel’s lifeless face, his melted lower body.

One saving grace was that Abel had been avoiding me ever since the incident. I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected that he was angry that I was getting more attention than usual. Oh, the horror.

The old Zavis would’ve laughed, reveling in my brother’s misgivings, but that wasn’t me anymore. Now, I saw Abel in a different light. I saw him as someone I had to protect.

Mostly.

With a heavy sigh, I ran a hand through my white hair and approached the door. I stood there for a time, somewhat hoping she would simply go away.

“Zavis?”

A voice came from the other side. I instinctively grabbed for the doorknob, the metal cool beneath my fingers. The knob shifted in my hand, but I remained still.

‘You should talk to her.’

Zakarot—who had vanished from the room—spoke with an abnormally solemn tone. All traces of his usual joviality were gone. And with a nod, I tried to open the door. But when I began to turn the knob, it turned from the opposite side.

I let go, expecting her to open the door.

I waited. The door remained still.

After a few breaths of silence, I sighed and finally opened the door myself, revealing Mother standing in the dark hallway. She stood before me with a shocked expression, as if she hadn’t actually expected the door to open.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Apologies.”

Both of our voices came out at the same time, surprising us both. I stared into her eyes, identical to my own, and smiled sheepishly. Mother returned my smile. This was the second time I’d seen her smile since the incident. It felt good.

Poking my head through the threshold, I glanced around the hallway for Father.

“He’s not here,” Mother replied.

He must’ve wanted to give the two freaks some time alone.

I stood before my mother for a time, waiting for her to continue. She was avoiding my gaze, her pale eyes lingering on the inside of my bedroom. Finally, I broke through the silence. “Would you like to come in?”

Mother’s brows raised, and then settled back into her typical deadpan expression. As if steeling herself, I watched her take a deep breath before nodding.

“Let’s talk,” she said.

~~~

A blanket of silence fell over the bedroom as my mother and I sat in silence. She’d moved to the far end of the room, sitting in a chair placed by the window. I sat on my bed, watching quietly as my mother grabbed a hold of the curtains, yanking them open and painting my room with pale sunlight.

Mother gazed through the glass, and I saw her shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. Then she proceeded to return the curtains to their original position, the room once again falling into darkness.

Yeah, I’d already made that mistake.

The other villagers were watching my room as if they expected me to flee in some attempt to evade punishment. To them, I was a troublemaker who was the prime suspect in Anika Beckett’s death.

It was, to say the least, quite troublesome.

This unwarranted attention only made it that much more difficult to further my lessons with Zakarot. I could use Spirit Sight inside of the house, but it was far more efficient when surrounded by nature.

With a sigh, Mother sank back into her chair. She still avoided my eyes, her gaze sweeping across the bedroom. Unlike the others, my room was quite plain. Aside from the bookshelves, the only decorations that could be found were old, yellowed drawings pinned to the far wall.

I noticed my mother’s eyes softening when she saw them.

“Do you still draw?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” I lied.

I used to love making art.

I’d drawn depictions of the stories I read about, particularly scenes of myself joining the characters in their adventures. A bit egotistical, perhaps, but I found it a soothing escape in the early days following Abel’s blessing.

However, once I grew older and realized that I was an awful artist, I’d abandoned the hobby altogether. A bad habit of mine, and not one I wanted to share with my mother.

She took a deep breath and finally looked at me. “Have you heard of Ymir?”

Frowning at the strange question, I shook my head.

“It’s the capital of Geimhread,” Mother replied. “I was born there.”

“Oh.”

I feigned disinterest. On the inside, excitement and curiosity threatened to bubble up to the surface. But Mother’s tense expression kept my intrigued impulses at bay.

“My father, your grandfather…is the ruler of Ymir.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s actually the lord of this entire province.”’

My eyes widened, and this time, I couldn’t keep a question from tumbling out. “He owns Geimhread?”

“The emperor owns Geimhread; my father is simply a Highlo–” Mother frowned slightly, which I made a note of. “Marquis. His bloodline has watched over the northern region for generations.”

“House Skadi?” I asked.

She nodded. And the pieces all fell into place.

I'd heard of House Skadi several times within the past few weeks. Far too many times to be mere coincidence. In addition, Zakarot informed me that my mother’s blessing was similar to those of the High Houses, meaning that her Blessed bloodline must have been quite something.

If my grandfather was Geimhread’s lord, then she was born into one of the Nortis Empire’s most powerful families.

Doesn’t that make me, like, royalty?

Admittedly, the prospect excited me. If I were to travel over to Ymir now, would a throne of gold await me? Perhaps I could even become my grandfather’s heir. With the northern army on my side, defeating the Apostles would be akin to stomping on worms.

I shook my head, shoving down the aspirations of power once-more. Afterall, we weren’t in Ymir.

Mother lived in Flykra Village now, far away from Geimhread’s capital. Which had to mean…

“I inherited the Blessing of Frost when I was around ten years old,” Mother said. “Even younger than my elder siblings, so I was treated as a prodigy. My father wanted me to become the face of the house instead of them. But…”

She stopped, turning away as she bit into the flesh of her lower lip. Her blue eyes bored into the ceiling above, and I waited patiently for her to continue. When he finally took a shaky breath and looked back at me, a thin trail of blood was streaming down her white chin.

Her eyes were distant, clouded. As if she was reliving something she’d rather keep buried.

It wasn’t so long ago when I’d been in a similar position.

I tapped my chin silently, my mother taking the hint and wiping her own chin with a sleeve. Upon seeing it come away red, she pursed her lips. Maybe she was disappointed in herself for displaying such emotion, or maybe she was just dreading having to wash out the stains.

It was difficult to tell with her.

“I had a younger sister, Iris. She hadn’t awoken to her own blessing, but we all had high prospects. I always invited her to watch me train in the mornings. She used to say that it looked like I was dancing.” A forlorn smile crept across her face for a moment, eyes sparkling like crystals.

By contrast, a barely contained grimace spread across mine. I knew exactly what Iris was talking about, but my experience watching my mother’s performance brought only pain. I blinked away in an attempt to wash the sight from my mind, refocusing on my mother’s face.

“It was a normal morning like any other,” Mother continued. “Iris was sitting nearby as I went through some routine exercises, like always. I didn’t expect…I didn’t know…” Her fists clenched, threatening to tear apart the arms of my chair. I fought back the urge to scold her, deciding that now wasn’t the time. She could pay for a new one. “I lost control of my power. The aspect rushed from the ley-line before I could stop it, spreading across the entire area…”

Another memory flashed into my mind’s eye. A cliff-top of crystal, silver moonlight reflecting in all directions, snowflakes twinkling like faerie dust. As well as Anika Beckett’s bloody, beaten, half-frozen form standing amidst the picturesque view.

I licked my dry lips, already foreseeing the ending of this story. “And Iris?”

Mother swallowed, shaking her head slowly. “I killed her.”

Not knowing what to say, I simply nodded.

My eyes shifted downward, giving my mother time to compose herself. So, that was why she was here. Mother had lost control of her magic, just like me. An accident, a stroke of bad luck. But enough to make her leave home, to abandon a life of wealth and power.

“That’s why you ran away?” I asked.

“Everyone told me that it wasn’t my fault. They said it was an example of the unpredictability, the danger of magic.” Mother seemed to deflate, slumping down into the chair. “Yet, I could see it on their faces. My family resented me for Iris’ death.”

“And so you left.”

“It was…difficult. I was just a spoiled noble, suddenly thrust into an unforgiving world. I became a mercenary, and eventually garnered a reputation. They called me the ‘White Frost’.”

Cool name.

‘And you lecture me about my taste?’

Ignoring the spirit, I went on. “How did you end up here?”

Mother shrugged. “Eszes and I came to Flykra on a job, and your father was working as a guardsman. I found him to be an arrogant fool.”

“He’s not?”

My eyes widened upon realizing I’d said that out loud, but she only smiled.

“He was worse back then, but I found myself coming back, over and over.”

“Do you ever regret it?” I asked.

She seemed taken aback by my question, brows furrowing as she whipped toward me. I half-way expected to be scolded, until her expression softened. “Never.”

I was surprised to find myself feeling slightly relieved, my shoulders relaxing from tension I hadn’t known was there. The question had been gnawing at me ever since she'd revealed her true nature.

Why would a high-blooded magic-user enjoy living in a backwater town? Married to a simple guardsman, mother to a bunch of commoners?

“I was always afraid to have children,” Mother said. “I was terrified that they’d inherit my blessing, that they’d lose control like I did. And there are other drawbacks to our power. The Blessing of Frost makes you cold, apathetic. I haven’t felt…normal…since I was a child.”

Maybe that’s because you killed your little sister?

That was an event traumatic enough to scar any child. A couple of weeks ago, I would’ve believed her, my mother being her usual impersonal self. But I’d seen her smile, and even now, she fought back tears when reminiscing about her lost sister.

I had to question whether her demeanor was actually a side-effect of her blessing, or the results of childhood trauma.

“You thought that I’d inherited your blessing,” I said.

“I did,” Mother affirmed. She shifted in her seat, and turned so that her entire body was facing me. “I was so relieved when Abel took after your father, and then Lara…I really thought my fears were unfounded.”

“Until I was born.”

Mother nodded. “Yes. When I saw your white hair, I knew that you’d taken after me. I was terrified. Not of you, but of the potential inside of you. I was afraid that you’d lose control and hurt one of your siblings, or your father.”

I thought back to years of neglect, of pining after my mother for her attention. Watching for years, seeing her treat my siblings so differently. It was the beginning of my own trauma, unable to connect to the person I wanted to be closest to.

Now, the reason behind this trauma was revealed to me.

It was all because of a non-existent blessing. An unfounded fear.

“I knew…I knew that I was being unreasonable, Zavis. I knew that I was being an awful mother, but I just couldn’t get rid of that feeling. I watched you for years, keeping you away from strangers and never telling you about the blessing. I thought that maybe ignorance would prevent your awakening.”

Mother was speaking again, but I couldn’t look at her. Instead, I leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. So many nights of laying in this bed and wondering what I’d done wrong, wondering why my mother hated me, came to mind.

Of course, I did understand her feelings.

She’d been irrational, in large part due to her sister’s death, but those memories wouldn’t ever go away. They were a part of me, along with the accompanying feelings that played such a role in shaping me. Perhaps an even larger role than Abel’s blessing.

Sensing that I wasn’t going to respond, Mother continued. “I thought it worked for a while. Until I saw what you did in the woods. I’d never felt so powerless before that moment, a part of me was certain that you’d made the same mistake as me.”

“You thought I killed Anika Beckett?” I felt irritation bubble up inside, and my words came out harsher than I’d expected.

For a moment, it felt like she was affirming those suspicious stares directed at my window, the whispers passed from neighbor to neighbor.

She flinched at my question, but nodded nonetheless. “Yes. I was even prepared to help you control your blessing afterward, so that you wouldn’t have to repeat that. Until Eszes tested you, and told us that you’d never inherited my blessing. That…all of those years…”

Though I wasn’t looking at her, I could tell that my mother was fighting to maintain her composure. She was sniffling, clearing her throat.

“I’m sorry, Zavis. I’m so, so sorry. I…I’ve been the worst mother. I treated you wrong and now I realize that it was for no reason at all. It’s alright for you to hate me. Fourteen years–”

“Fifteen.”

Mother stopped, turning to face me. I could feel her eyes boring into me.

“I’m fifteen years old, Mother.”

When I tore my gaze away from the ceiling and looked back at my mother, her pale blue eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them.

“I’ve spent fifteen years watching my brother be treated like he was some sort of messiah. I’ve spent fifteen years being treated like a freak for not being him. And I’ve spent fifteen years thinking that my own mother hated me.”

She winced again.

“None of you ever asked me how I was doing. None of you asked me why I stayed in my room all the time. Whenever I tried to tell you, I was rebutted and told to behave ‘more like Abel’. By all accounts, maybe I should hate you.”

Mother swallowed, and her lips trembled.

“But I don’t.”

The trembling lips parted, a shaky whisper slipping out. “You don’t?”

I hesitated, considering whether to continue. A small voice in the back of my head told me that this could be my last chance. “Do you remember when Father had the idea to throw one nameday party for both Abel and I? Because our namedays are during the same moon?”

She nodded, confusion written plain on her face. “I remember.”

Her curt reply annoyed me, but I continued. “Everyone in the village showed up. They showered Abel with gifts, but never even glanced at me. Abel got to blow out our candles, and Abel got to cut the cake. By the time I reached the table, that cake was already gone.

“That night, I cried in my room. I’d been completely ignored for the entire day. But then you came into my room, and I told you everything. You ran your hand through my hair as I cried, and even though you didn’t say anything…It helped. It may have been the bare minimum, but I was grateful.”

When I saw his mother open her mouth, I raised a hand and stopped her.

“I don’t hate any of you. Not even Abel, because I know that he didn’t choose to be born with the blessing. He may act like a spoiled brat, but that’s only because he was never taught any differently..." Realizing that I’d gone on a tangent, I waved a hand. “I’m glad to have you. And…I don’t want anything to happen to you. To any of you.”

Though Mother nodded, her confusion seemed to grow. “Why would anything happen to us?”

I stared at my mother for a long moment. My eyes were getting wet, and my throat felt raw from all of this talking. My fists were clenched, my blanket held within. I’d carried this secret for weeks now.

Surely it would be fine to tell Mother something. Afterall, the Apostle could appear any day.

He could even appear at that very moment.

‘Don’t do it, Zavis.’

Ignoring the spirit’s warning, I met my mother’s eyes with newfound determination. “Anika Beckett may not be the last sick person to come here. There are others, and they’re very strong.”

Mother shook her head. “What are you talking about? Who told you this?”

‘Zavis..’

“I can’t tell you that,” I replied. The spirit let out a sigh of relief inside of my mind. “But they’re like a..a cult. They serve something really bad and it's after me. They might come after the village, or even our family. We’re not safe–”

“This isn’t funny, Zavis.” Mother glared at me from across the room, and my heart sank. “I don’t know if this is supposed to be a joke or not, but this isn’t one of your stories. Anika was sick, but she’s gone now. You’re safe.”

There was nothing more for me to say. Mother didn’t believe me. Just like Zakarot had been saying all along. But who could blame her? My story was completely ridiculous.

Sighing heavily, I allowed my body to sink back into the bed. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Mother stared at me for a while, chewing on the side of her lip. I felt like she was trying to read my mind, or ascertain the truth behind my words. When she didn’t find anything, she stood up from her chair and crossed the room, toward me.

My eyes widened when she knelt beside me, and wrapped her arms around my body.

I fought against the gasp that crawled out of my throat. Though I usually hated being touched, my heart was soaring. For the first time in decades, my mother had hugged me twice within as many weeks.

“Thank you, Zavis. You’re a better son than I deserve.”

I couldn’t reply, as my face was buried in her chest. After feeling me nod into her shirt, Mother must have been satisfied, because she pulled away.

“I’m going to work with you from now on. We’ll make sure you can control your gifts. Don’t worry about Eszes, or the villagers, or anything. Your father and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her promise was of little comfort considering what I’d seen. I just nodded and smiled at my mother, who turned and began to walk toward the door. A large part of me wanted to stop her.

Maybe it would be alright to tell her about Zakarot, about the Fateless and the Demiurge.

She’d reached the door during my ruminations, turning back to me with a smile brighter than any I’d seen from her before.

“I’m going to do better from now on,” Mother said. “I promise”

And at that moment I decided that I wouldn’t tell her the truth.

I’d allow my family to live in peace.

Was ignorance better than the truth? I wasn’t sure. But I wanted to protect my mother’s smile. I wanted to protect my family from that truth, until I was strong enough to stop the Apostles. To free them from the Demiurge’s story.

Zakarot and I would take matters into our own hands.

~~~

~~~

~~~

Zakarot watched the exchange between mother and son in silence. It brought back painful memories of his own mother, his own family. He knew that there was nothing left of them anymore. Their souls had already been broken down and reduced to their base components.

He didn’t even have any mementos to remember them by.

As his spectral eyes settled upon the monochrome visage of Zavis, he swore once again that he wouldn’t let it happen to this child. The Invidia Family would survive. Zavis and his loved ones would be freed from their chains, even if he had to give up everything to make it happen.

Though it wasn’t like he had much left to give.

When Aneira opened the door and looked back at her son with a large smile, Zakarot couldn't help but smile himself. If he still had a heart, it might have lurched at the sight. It was his role to protect that woman’s smile. To protect this home and the people in it, as well as the villagers of Flykra.

He couldn’t fail.

This was his chance to fix everything.

The spirit’s only regret was that he’d have to break the bad news to Zavis after this. This conversation might have made it harder on him, but Zakarot wanted it to happen. He wanted the boy to settle his own grievances before harsh reality tore him away from them.

Once he was certain that nobody else would intrude upon their discussion, Zakarot gathered power from the lavender ley lines surrounding his invisible form, and materialized in-front of Zavis. The boy jumped back in shock, as he always did.

That brought another smile to Zakarot’s lips, but it quickly faded away. He met his anchor’s eyes, even though he knew Zavis couldn’t see his face, and spoke.

“Our turn now. We need to talk.”