Chapter 35
The Catlar is an ancient weapon of unique design, covering the fist and forearm in layered plating and ending in a pair of curved punching blades mounted to an armored fist. The top and sides are lined with spikes or blades.
Day 343, Castesday
Just over forty days had passed since Thallos’s comment. Four weeks that seemed both flitting and slothful. For a month, I had been bottling up a flood of dark thoughts. My studies suffered. I’d lost focus, second-guessing everything. The year-end trials were closing in, and I had barely managed anything. Even Nel and Ferris noticed, but I kept telling them not to worry.
My only escape was crafting. I hadn’t won a match in months. My mundane class scores were plummeting. But where my life was burning down, I dove deeper into crafting. I remade my tactical gauntlet, basing it on the Catlar. I modified and replaced every tool. Thallos had spoken of training Wizards to be combat casters. I soon learned my affinity was disturbingly close to a Sorcerer’s. Sorcerers were combat casters, their trade destruction. If a Wizard’s constructive magic could be used for destruction, I should be able to harness my magic’s destructive nature to create.
My unaided work was still rough. Using my finger to weld was difficult. Charging empty myst crystals led many to rupture. The use of Death Myst was prohibited. My affinity for Chaos was minimal. I had a strong affinity for Ruin, which was powerful and just as prohibited. Failures with it were far more disastrous.
I descended further down the rabbit hole of crafting, forsaking sleep and hiding from friends. I fought to push questions from my mind. Was this why I had such a hard time understanding people? Was it all because of my Myst-Blooded nature?
I struggled, honing my tactical gauntlet. A framework mounted with circuitry and padding under a shell of layered plates. Matte gunmetal with black leather straps. I added new features: a collapsible Vekenna blade mounted to the top, linked by a woven steel cord, and an illusion projection system to cover me in any guise I could imagine.
I wore the tool at all times. When not crafting, I studied and practiced. I took on disguise after disguise to hone my ability to become anyone. I was always caught and often forced to evade. Evasion was something I was good at. I fled from foes, from memories, and from dark thoughts. I saw scars in every dark corner of my mind.
I fought harder, tried harder, ate less, and slept less. I failed every sparring session until it became too much.
Rose flung a dagger at me. I deflected it with a sweep of my Catlar. I drew my gauntlet’s clawed finger across my left palm, bringing a line of blood. I clenched my fist as Thallos thrust at my chest. Spinning away, I flung my hand out, leaving a sprayed trail of blood that froze into a sheet of crimson ice around me.
I held my gauntleted fist up as I loosed the mounted Vekenna. Rose’s eyes tracked it, and I struck before it began to fall, loosing a swarm of burning fireflies. Thallos sidestepped the cloud to swing a morningstar. I was a half-second too slow. The weapon’s head struck my chest, spikes biting deep and fracturing bone. I was spun away, the spikes peeling free, drawing new furrows.
I hit the floor and slid, coddling my wounded side. I rolled into a crouch, retracting the Vekenna. With a snarl, I pressed my free hand harder against my side, willing power into the blood. I thrust my hand against the ground. The floor quaked. A plus-shaped crack in time with my heart stretched from my hand. Thallos rushed me. Rose followed.
The black, slick floor rippled with life. I raised a wall of stone and iron between him and me. He vaulted over it and fell into the pit I’d laid on the other side.
Rose skirted the wall and raced toward me. I sent a ripple of stone at her, but she leaped over it. I rolled back as she closed in, raising my Vekenna. Her shortsword came down in a chop. My blade barely deflected the enhanced strike. She slipped her left hand against my bloody side, then hurled her palm at my chest, unleashing a kinetic strike. The Vhenari girl was thrown back more than ten feet, over my wall.
I pulled myself up just in time for Thallos to leap from my pit. He rolled his neck and shouldered his morningstar as Rose stepped around the wall. I crawled backward as they closed in.
I watched in horror. They had beaten me time and time again. They saw me as a failure. A broken boy, a retard. I had had enough. I was angry, venomous, vindictive. With a snarl, I drew deep from my Mystwell. I pulled Ruin, Distortion, and Umbra, drawing as much as I could. Threads of magenta, vermillion, and black reached from my wound, consuming the blood before weaving down my arm.
Thallos and Rose closed in. I released a wave of pure energy. It touched each of them and erupted in a flower of force enough to ruin a castle wall.
They were hurled back. Thallos struck the wall with an audible snap of bone. Rose was sent even farther. The force shook the room. I had only attempted to use five Vells but must have used ten or more. That could have crippled them. The thought had barely crossed my mind when Tessa rushed in utter panic toward Thallos.
It was then I noticed I wasn’t feeling well. My body was chilled, my thoughts muddled, my vision swimming. It was hard to breathe. I gasped for air as Tessa healed Thallos. It wasn’t long before a staggering Thallos and a hobbling Rose stood over me. “Iver, why in the hells would you use that!?” Thallos demanded.
“Iver? Are you alright?” came Rose’s voice.
“He’s not okay,” came Tessa.
“Of course not,” Thallos echoed. “He used Ruin Myst.”
Tessa crouched beside me, her hands on my heaving chest.
“What does that mean?” Rose asked.
“Ruin Myst is incredibly inefficient and consumes a large amount of energy, both in Vells and in the personal cost of the caster,” Thallos intoned.
“Which means what?”
“Normally, the cost is the caster’s restraint. It’s common for a mage to fly off the handle after using too much. But because Iver is immune, the destructive element took its pound of flesh from his veins.”
Those words threw me into a panic. I had just paid an extra toll. If I lost too much blood, I could kill myself or cause severe brain damage.
After a few moments of Tessa’s touch, I sat up. “Boy, you just used a banned element in utter panic. I’ve seen something eating at you for the past two months.”
I was about to speak when he held up a hand. “You have failed dozens of matches. I’ve seen your scores. What is the issue?”
As I sat up, I chewed my lip. To buy time, I reeled in my Vekenna. “It—it was an accident,” I stammered.
“You don’t just pull on a banned element by accident, Iver,” he pointed out.
“Something’s been bugging you,” Rose said.
“No,” I proclaimed.
“Boy!” Thallos demanded. “Don’t lie to me.”
I was caught. I lowered my head. “You said that I was damaged,” I muttered.
“What?” they asked in unison.
“Uncle, you said I was a retard. That it was the reason you let me talk to you that way.”
“And how does that equal damage?”
I gave him a look that told him how stupid that question sounded. “If I’m a retard, I’m damaged. If I’m damaged, I can’t perform. If I’m broken, I’m weak, I can’t be fixed, and I’m a waste of time, food, space, and carbon.”
Rose looked at me as if I were mad. Thallos massaged his brow. “Iver, boy,” he started, “I meant your head is wired differently. It doesn’t make you worse. If it makes you feel better, go talk to that doctor.”
“Dr. Brooksheen?”
“Whoever you trust. Tessa doesn’t have the training to diagnose you.”
“What?” Tessa asked.
“Sorry, girl,” Thallos said, “but I doubt you can recognize mental trauma or abnormal brain chemistry.”
“Well, no,” she muttered. “That was next year.”
“Then my point stands. Take him to the doc and have her give advice on how to learn. For that matter, have her give you advice on how to help him.”
Tessa bowed deeply. “Yes, Mystagogue.”
I followed her to the elevator. As the doors slid shut, I tried to think of how to ask my question. She seemed upset. Was that how I came across?
After a few moments of thick silence, I just got to the point. “Is everything okay, Tess?”
“Yeah,” she muttered, not meeting my eyes.
“I saw those tears. What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Tess, I’m going to keep pushing.”
“You promise not to make fun of me?”
I furrowed my brow. “When have I ever made fun of you?”
“You haven’t… yet.”
“There’s no ‘yet.’ Short of you pulling an unbelievably stupid act, it’s not going to happen.”
“What would you count as stupid?”
I thought for a moment. “Selling your soul to a devil, getting into drugs, an arm-wrestling match with a minotaur, trying to ride an untamed drake, or getting caught up in political games with Elves.”
She snorted. “It’d have to be that bad?”
“For me to mock you, yes. So what’s up?”
She sighed. “When Mystagogue Kiem offered this training, I leaped at it. I wanted to prove I was a competent healer. At some point, you… became a project for me.”
I raised a brow. “A project?”
“I wanted to be able to mend any of your wounds. I wanted to prove I could be successful without help.”
“And learning I have problems your magic can’t fix makes you feel like a failure?”
Her head sagged. “Yeah, basically.”
An amused huff slipped from me. “Tess, just because my brain chemistry is off doesn’t make you a failure. The problem has probably been there from day one.”
She snorted. “It can’t be that bad.”
The car stopped. Tessa stepped out, and I followed. “Tessa, until five minutes ago, I was completely sure that if I let slip my state, you, Rose, and my uncle would think me weak.”
“Really?” she asked, baffled.
I nodded, staring at the tile. “Iver, you don’t have to be unbreakable. It’s okay to have feelings. You should trust Rose and your uncle. They only want to help.”
I scratched the back of my head. “I’ve never really had anyone to talk to about… this.” My gaze rose. “Until Thallos, my only family was my father, and he thought men should be strong at all times. I’d never had a friend until this year.”
“Really?”
My father’s face flashed in my mind, followed by his bleeding corpse. I clenched my fists.
We passed through the Med Center doors. Tessa led me to an examination room. As she turned to leave, I gripped her collar. “Hey, regardless of how this goes, would you mind following me back to my room? I have something for you.”
“Uh, sure.”
I grinned. It didn’t take long for Dr. Brooksheen to enter, Tessa on her heels. The doctor took a seat. I gave her a rundown of everything since day one. When I started explaining my feelings at the academy, I began rambling, falling into a panic.
As I wrapped up, she cleaned her glasses. “I think I have the picture. You’ve never been diagnosed, but your uncle believes you have some loose gears. Am I right?” I nodded enthusiastically. She gave me a long, scrutinizing look. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a condition or two.” My face fell. “Oh, don’t be disheartened. I’m not going to deny there was a time when a diagnosis like this would have gotten you tortured until you were ‘cured.’ But those times are long behind us.”
“Really?”
She wagged a finger. “With the right training and, if needed, medication, anyone can enter the field. Now, let’s solve the riddle that is your mind.”
She asked a long series of questions that seemed disconnected: habits, hobbies, social skills, hardships, fears, hopes. By the end, she had a clear answer.
“Well, Iver, I think I have it. You have symptoms of mild depression and severe general anxiety. You display several markers for autism and traits for bipolar disorder.”
“That sounds terrible,” I muttered, clutching my head.
She gave a kind, patient smile. “None of these are cause for worry. Your anxiety can be overcome by centering yourself. I’d recommend regular meditation. It would also help with depression.”
“And bipolar? I thought that meant random mood swings.”
“What would you consider a mood swing?”
“Flying into a rage over a lost game or breaking down over a broken cup.”
“Those are severe cases. You yourself said you feel worthless at times.”
“Really? Hopelessness equals bipolar? What about depression? And if irritability is a sign, what about anxiety?”
“The three are not mutually exclusive. In either case, the treatment is the same: regular meditation, level-headed thought.”
“That can’t be it,” I protested. “Isn’t there medication? A magic pill?”
She looked amused. “I do hope you know you just asked the impossible.”
“What?”
“I can prescribe a medicinal concoction. But…” she emphasized with a jabbing finger, “it is not an instant fix. It will help you manage, but you will have to take it regularly, every morning.”
“I think that’s doable.”
“Oh, and you will need to provide a week’s notice before you leave for a quest so I can prepare enough Z.C.D. Elixir.”
“Z.C.D. Elixir?”
She activated her therra-node. “Zenith Crest Distillation elixir. Your doses will be a custom concoction of herbal and chemical remedies with a mix of Resonance and Life Myst. It’s concentrated and mixed with nanomachines for prolonged release over a month.”
“That… sounds… complicated.”
“Well, child, you’re smart enough to know when a concept is too big to wrap your head around, but I have no doubt your tinker’s mind will catch on.”
“How soon will it be ready?”
“I’ll have your first month of doses ready before you leave.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, wondering what it would feel like to be normal—or more normal, at least.
