On the northern mountain of Ophelia, within the village of Misyrea, Catherine remained silent as three men carried her through the crowd of guests. They had gathered here to celebrate the ordainment of a priestess, but the one who was about to attain that honor was now being dragged to a door on the far side of the temple's main hall. They threw her in front of a large desk and shut the door.
Behind the desk sat High Priest Samuel. In his early forties, the stress of his position had left him with greyish hair and deep wrinkles. He studied Catherine with his usual annoyance and sighed. "What have you done now?"
One of the men stepped forward, speaking in Dragon-Ash, a language allowed to be taught only to those who held rank in the priesthood. "She assaulted one of the administrators. Kaera. Knocked out one of her teeth."
"And I suppose that was Kaera that I heard screaming 'heretic' at the top of her lungs?"
"Yes, High Priest. She was led away to a healer." He then said something that seemed a bit strange: "It was as you thought. The abomination couldn't hold back its anger. It fell for the provocation easily." Catherine didn't say a word to this, and gave no sign of her secret studies of the forbidden language.
"Cathy, Cathy," the priest said, switching to the common tongue and shaking his head. "Is it too much to ask for a single day without disgrace?"
Catherine cut a stark contrast to those around her, clad in all-black chimera leather, adorned with chains and metal spikes. Her black hair was hastily brushed and her simple makeup seemed specifically chosen to draw attention to the scars along the left side of her face. Very unlike the ceremonial silver-and-blue robes and intricate facepaint that priests and priestesses had donned for that night’s ceremony.
"I apologize for my behavior," she said, reluctantly. "My anger gets the better of me when I watch the administrators of this temple show their true faces."
The priest took a sheet of paper from his desk. "And what could you possibly mean by their true faces, Cathy?" He began to write. "We've spoken of this delusion before. Our priesthood represents honesty and purity."
Catherine tried to hold her tongue, but failed. "Hypocrisy, more like."
The priest paused his writing. "And what stirs you to say something like that? Explain to me what happened, so that perhaps I can begin to understand where these outbursts keep coming from."
"I saw people huddled together. I listened to what they had to say," said Catherine.
"Eavesdropping is not a good habit for an acolyte," said Samuel.
"Yes, High Priest. I know. But I was dancing nearby, participating in the festivities as you insisted."
Samuel sighed again. "Do not make excuses, Cathy. We know that the only reason that you would be dancing would be so you could get closer without being noticed."
There was a brief silence before she continued, "They were saying horrible things.”
"A few insults is no excuse to make such a scene. And at your own ordination!" He lowered his voice, emphasizing his disappointment. "You were doing so well, Cathy. Do you know how terrible this looks to the congregation?"
"The same congregation has seen worse. Cruelty, selfishness, and greed are common sights among the priesthood. No one here is perfect, yet they all claim to be. Look at Kaera! She claims to be honest and pure, but willingly spreads horrible lies. Lies about someone that actually believed in the values you all pretend to!"
"Ah, there it is," said Samuel. "You weren't the only one they were speaking of."
"They called Rachael a whore!" Catherine said. "An addict! They claimed she was thrown out because of it! All lies! They know them to be lies and spread them anyway! Rachael left of her own volition! You only declared her to be exiled after she was already gone!" Her anger rose as he resumed his writing. "As a priestess, I intend to actually live up to the title instead of pretending to do so. And my name is Catherine! You know I hate that nickname!"
He gave a quick, meaningful look to the men who brought her in and turned back to Catherine.
"I've had it!" he yelled loudly enough for those outside to hear, "Time and time again I have excused your insolent behavior, but no more. Today was your one chance at salvation, to take the oath and dedicate yourself to this temple and the great Rea. Your whole life, we trained you for this. Someday, you could've even inherited protection of the terrible sword you were named after." He took a deep breath. "But there is no end to your arrogance, your disrespect! I give up on you. I disown you. This is your home no longer!"
"And just where am I supposed to go?" she asked.
"Where you belong, which is no longer with this temple. Live among the peasants, beyond the gates. But know this: should you ever set foot inside the walls again, I will have you cast into the valley, to be consumed by the horrors of the myst." He lifted up the paper he had been writing on, so all could see that it was an official declaration of excommunication. Then he slammed it back onto the desk. "By my authority, you are hereby exiled!"
Catherine stood stunned.
She had expected grief, or rage, or the desperate urge to argue. None of it came. The temple had been her only home for her entire life. Now it wasn't… and somehow she felt almost nothing.
She turned and shoved past the men on her way out the door.
The crowd outside instantly began a show of pretending not to have been listening in. It surprised none of them to hear of Catherine's exile. It was a long time coming. But despite herself, Catherine felt a pang at the relief on their faces and in their whispering voices.
She strode from the temple, leaving behind everything she had ever known.
* * *
Long after the last echoes of that day's guests faded into silence, High Priest Samuel slumped into the chair in his study. He inhaled, breathing in the dusty aroma of decades-old wood and parchment. The smell was comforting and familiar, and he felt the tension from his shoulders begin to ease away.
Most of the candles and torches had been extinguished hours ago, but the faint smell of smoke still lingered. He barely noticed it. The warnings of a possible fire on this hot night were repeated to him several times while planning Catherine's ordination, but they were warnings that had been repeated for every event in the summer, and were far from his mind at the moment.
He put a hand to his chest, feeling a heartbeat that had yet to calm. At least the abomination was finally gone. A weight of several years had been lifted from his shoulders. He had kept his end of the bargain, and his people had kept their lives. Much time had passed without a sign of the horror that supposedly gave it life. He could only hope that by now it had forgotten about the child he kept alive and placated into adulthood, so that he could forget about it as well.
His thoughts broke at the sound of running footsteps. A priestess burst through the door, still wearing her ceremonial makeup, struggling to catch her breath.
Speaking in deeply accented Dragon-Ash, she cried, "We must get out, sir! The temple's been set fire! And Katherine! Katherine is gone!"
"Catherine? Don't worry about her. I cast that disgrace out earlier, did you not hear?" he said.
The priestess shook her head. "No, not the girl, sir. The sword! The odachi has been stolen! Rea help us! What if it was her? The state she's in? Someone'll be killed!"
A chill gripped him. "Impossible!" he shouted as he pushed the priestess out of his way. "Where were the guards?"
She had no time to answer; he had already begun to sprint down the empty corridor. It wasn't far to the wing of the temple that contained the storage chamber. Though he saw no flames, the thickening smoke stung his eyes as he flew past two doors, coming to a stop before the third. Inside, he was met with an overwhelming sense of foreboding. An enormous steel door loomed across from him, sealed shut to protect artifacts from those outside, and to protect those outside from what lay within.
Strangely, the two guards were still at their post. They were new, only just recruited and given this job as a punishment. The fact that they stood there guarding a room full of baubles, while a thief was running about with the single most important and dangerous artifact, brought his anger to a rapid boil.
He strode up to them and snapped out, "Where is she?"
The two men shrank back at his tone, giving each other a confused look.
His eyes narrowed. "Idiots," he muttered, then shouted, "Fine, we'll worry about the mongrel that took it later! Fill some buckets and evacuate those in danger!"
The taller of the two guards opened his mouth to speak but shut it again, his eyes avoiding Samuel's gaze. After all, questioning orders was what landed them on guard duty in the first place. They quickly scurried away.
With the room now empty, the high priest looked down, regretting his outburst. He lifted his hands in front of his eyes. Was it anger, or fear that caused them to shake so? In his mind he remembered a monstrous shape, holding a child in its massive arms. The child was so perfect in its deception, so human in its appearance and behavior that it was easy to ignore the evil that it truly was. The fear of the monster that held it never left him, but he had grown too comfortable and confident in his power over the child. He could not kill it, nor let it die. So he cast it away as soon as he could justify a reason. The hulking monster had been gone so long, he was able to convince himself it would not return.
But in his eagerness to be rid of the child, he had forgotten that it, too, was a monster.
He failed to notice as the priestess who warned him of the theft crept up behind him. A sharp pain stung the back of his neck, and then his body was no longer his own. He flailed, stiffened, and dropped hard to the floor.
* * *
Catherine removed her priestess robes and used them to wipe away the paint that had masked her features, then knelt beside the priest to take his keys. The shining blue spider that delivered the venom to his veins crawled from his neck to the safety of her shoulder. Under the disguise was the same outfit she had worn earlier, but the decorative spikes and chains were removed. The temple guards forbade her from returning to her room, even for a change of clothes.
Without wasting time, she sprang toward the colossal metal door, quickly finding the correct keys for all seven of the locks and pulling it open.
As she entered the chamber, the girl's light steps echoed from the marble floor like the clashing metal of a distant battlefield. The velvet sheet seemed to whisper as it was thrown from the display table inside. She felt the immense black sword call out to her, as a sheer drop calls out to one who gazes over the edge. But the eternally razor-sharp blade was even darker than any void, forged from a metal unknown to any in Aon.
It was an ancient and storied weapon, wielded only by the most desperate of fools who no longer cared that they were sacrificing their own souls for its power. Catherine was not well-versed in the history of this impractically long blade that inspired her name, but it was known to be one of the most powerful and cursed artifacts of legend.
"Hello Katherine," she said with a growing smirk. "I'm Catherine, too. Let's escape together."
The obsidian hilt wrapped in black silk cord was smooth and welcoming to her touch. A piercing, strange pain shot through her hand as she lifted the sword from its resting place, despite the edge being securely sheathed.
She tied the sheath to her belt. Her plan was simply to cause enough chaos to sneak back into her room, but when the high priest sent away the guards, she saw the opportunity and took it. This was a more rewarding prize than her meager belongings. As she ran out of the chamber, droplets of blood trailed behind, trickling from the hand that had touched the sword.
Before continuing her escape, she knelt beside Samuel and pressed her fingers against his neck. The spider's venom wasn't typically lethal, but men could die from it. Despite his harshness to her, she wasn't ungrateful for all he'd done for the homeless little girl she used to be, and was glad when she felt his pulse. There was no more time to waste, though, as the paralysis would only last a few minutes.
She crawled through the nearest window, clumsily, having to make extra effort to fit the long sword through while taking care to avoid a small fire, one of several she had built outside of as many temple windows as she dared. From the moment her boot touched the ground, she was sprinting for a little-known part of the village's wall that was so worn and overgrown that it was on the verge of collapsing. She had climbed it countless times in secret, and as always, the familiar cracks and vines led her swiftly over it and into the wilderness beyond.
Her breath came in quick gasps as she ran herself nearly to exhaustion, but she never stopped moving, hidden under the cover of trees as she descended the mountainside. There was never a sign of anyone pursuing her, not that she truly expected any. No one would dare follow her this way for fear of the low elevation, but she knew that the dangerous and supernatural fog of the valleys would be held at bay by the ocean winds. This path was one she often tread in secret, dreaming of the day she'd have the courage to run away from the confining walls of the temple. As long as she could hear the ocean to her right, and the insects of the forest did not become silent, she felt at ease.
A wicked smile grew until she couldn't hold back the laughter anymore, and she let it echo across the woods. Behind her lay the village of Misyrea and all its oppressive rules. And ahead, freedom. Her heart beat fiercely. No longer would she be forced to read religious texts and perform her duties to earn her meals. No more nonsensical stories of pompous gods and talking dragons she didn't even believe in. With the Katherine Odachi in hand, she would be able to provide for herself, hunting or pilfering as she pleased.
Everything else could be taken care of by her magic. Never before had she been so proud of all the nights she had silently trespassed into the forbidden library. All she could remember of the arcane secrets of conjuration were at her disposal. True power could be hers at last, and no one but the Misyrean Holy Knights or a sorcerer from Pandoria itself could stop her. Not even the so-called "god-dragons" with their false claims of divinity could stand in her way. Soon, even they wouldn't be able to challenge her. She had plans. Extravagant, unrealistic plans that she didn't seriously intend on fulfilling, but plans nonetheless.
A sudden, terrifying roar split the air and stopped her cold.
Her hand slid slowly to the sword hilt. It seemed to have come from the nearby beach. Curiosity soon won out over caution, and she crept to a cliff that overlooked the ocean, using the thick vegetation to hide her. The spider riding her used this chance to crawl from her shoulder to a tree, and Catherine kissed its abdomen in farewell.
Peeking out toward the shore, she saw red explosions and a blue light, but only when she inched closer to the cliff's edge could she see the three strange beings below. One was clad in black armor, the other was a monstrous winged creature covered mostly in green and red scales. The third was a woman being helped off the ground.
Now was a good time to test her skills. After finding an area with bare earth loose enough for her needs, she traced a symbol in the dirt. If only she had something to use as a grimoire, she wouldn't have to draw a sigil each time to cast the spell, or keep a library of them memorized for that matter. Such a thing wasn't easy to come by in a village that would rather burn books than read them, however.
Next, she brought her hands together in the shape that she needed and, in a clear but quiet voice, sang the incantation. All three—the sigil, the hand sign, and the spell song—didn't have to be exactly perfect, but mistakes could lead to horrifying and deadly results.
There was a feeling of the world becoming smaller. A sense not of the physical world, one beyond sight or hearing, reached out in all directions in search of what she needed. In the sky above the three was what she sought: a bat. Once she 'felt' what she desired, her mind attempted to connect with it. There was a wordless exchange between her mind and the bat, and once it submitted to a request it did not fully comprehend, Catherine saw the world through eyes not her own.
Its vision was beyond what she could have imagined, and the strangers were now as clear as if she stood beside them.
Catherine's breath caught.
The woman among the strangers, whoever or whatever she was, was fascinatingly beautiful: skin impossibly smooth, wavy hair that caught the moonlight and shone blue, a face of soft curves, and eyes more radiant than the jewels reserved for the altar of Goddess Rea.
But it wasn't just the physical beauty that bewitched Catherine; with her mind expanded as it was to connect with the bat, she perceived something more, an allure that defied description and eluded her understanding.
She had been warned of such beings, humanoid creatures rumored to inhabit the mountains to the south of her own and the islands beyond. Some were categorized, like trogs, elflings, and glitchen, ancient foes of sapiens like herself. But until now, she believed them mere myths, spun to deter the ignorant from venturing beyond the borders of Mount Ophelia.
Guilt moved through her alongside the yearning she felt.
Acting on such feelings that the strange woman stirred in her would be considered a taboo in the Misyrean Temple, worse than incest or crossbreeding, as they bore no hope of blessed creation. But no matter what she tried, no matter how many cuts she collected punishing herself or how many stripes she wore from the temple's whip on her back and arms, her heart could not be changed.
The large creature picked up the woman and leapt into the air, using its set of feathered wings to gain altitude, and then folded them and spread the larger scaled ones to glide. They flew inland in a southern direction, and Catherine released her mind from the bat to watch them pass overhead. She wished that she could have at least heard her name. When she turned back toward the beach, the armored man had disappeared.
Impulsively, she made a decision. With nowhere else in particular to go, she began to plan out a path to the south.