Hidden in a veil just outside reality was a large structure the size of a castle but crafted with the remarkable elegance of a cathedral. It appeared almost like a mountain for the elevation of battlements and turrets coalesced toward a large tower in the very center. Truly, if known by the world, this would have been considered one of the great wonders. But secrecy was essential for the occupants, leaving this beauty only for them to admire.
Beyond the large entryway was a bleak room that all who entered needed to pass through. This was important because a lesson needed to be taught to those who came and went. Lining the walls were twelve mummified corpses of men bound in golden thrones. These were the Eldermen. At least, what was left of them. Their remains were a reminder that the Templar had long since been dead and defeated.
The bodies were covered in the undergrowth that filled the room. The bases of their chairs and the bottoms of their legs were layered by vibrant moss that blanketed the floor like a carpet. Vines entangled their torsos and climbed up the tall walls toward high-placed windows. Streams of light slipped down from above, fostering the growth of flowers that bloomed on almost every surface. Many bright colors and pleasing aromas concealed the sight and smell of decay. This was a tapestry of life and death.
Jeremiah crossed through and opened the door on the other side of the chamber. Beyond was a massively spacious, brightly lit corridor with a crystal ceiling, quartz walls, and marble floors. The area was occupied by many others, mostly young girls and women. Each of them wore similar robes as they wandered dutifully with books in hand.
He continued toward the other end.
A group of young girls turned to see him enter and one smiled, calling out, “Jeremiah’s back.”
“Don’t distract him,” the teacher who was leading the group scolded the outburst. “He needs to speak with the Matriarch and need not be distracted by gawking at the moment.” Then she looked his way, giving a respectful nod along with her offer of appreciation, “I hope your mission went well.”
“I don’t think it did,” one of the other girls mentioned when seeing the strict look on his face and the fact he was wearing a prosthetic arm. He also did not speak a word in return because he was so focused on getting to where he needed to be.
“Then,” the teacher spoke up again, “that is more of a reason to leave him be. Come, ladies. Class is starting soon.”
Jeremiah continued forward with determination leading. The greetings from those he walked past were fully ignored which was more worrying than it was upsetting. The situation must have been far from positive, and a large berth was given to let him get by faster.
He reached the end where a magic lift waited. Right as he stepped on the circular stone platform, the gems on the vertical channel began to glow and the iron chains rattled as he began upward. He walked a few more steps forward to be in the center of the ascending elevator where he waited for a second to take an exasperated breath. Then he began walking forward again even as he was still being lifted. But as he reached the edge, the top was reached, and he stepped off onto the floor. He stood at attention before the one he came to meet.
Sitting at a desk, on a slightly elevated stage, working proficiently on paperwork was a black woman who had yet to look up at him even though she knew he was there. Her authority was not only expressed by her action but also by her height which towered over most everybody. She was dressed in layers of white leather strips that were wrapped tightly in a crossing, overlapping pattern around her arms, legs, and neck. Covering her waist and down was a white dress skirt made of overlapping fabric that looked like flower peddles. Worn over her torso was, in cosmetic appearance only, silver breast plating. This was Matriarch Althea of The House of the Beating Heart.
Her pen was eventually placed down so her attention could be focused on Jeremiah. Fingers interlocked as she looked at him and spoke with great prestige, “Mission report.”
“A failure,” Jeremiah answered without making any excuses or offering an explanation until he was asked for such.
“How many did your sect lose?” She asked.
“Nine,” he answered.
“My condolences,” she offered.
“None needed,” he was quick to dissuade her concerns. “It’s part of being an Inquisitor.”
“You might think so,” the Matriarch continued to show empathy, “and you aren’t even wrong. Dealing death and dealing with death are very much a part of your role. But to lose nine righteous hunters without even achieving success must be difficult. I will grieve for your loss even if you choose not to.”
“My soul is in agony,” he finally was able to admit which drew concern that he quelled by assuring, “Don’t worry. I will not be driven by hatred like the old Templar were.”
“I sincerely believe in you,” she expressed. “Speaking of the old Templar, what is Shaw’s current condition?”
“I have him right here.” Jeremiah held out the box that contained the Stigmata.
“How was he during the mission?” she asked and waved a hand that instructed Jeremiah to bring Shaw over.
“Too dangerous,” Jeremiah declared as he stepped up the short platform and placed the box down on the desk. The two of them were now at the same eye level, though she remained sitting. “Early on, one of the Inquisitors made a mistake, something I myself would reprimand; however, Shaw sought to kill the man. I intervened but that had him almost kill me, and I could tell he was already beginning to question the state of the Templar. Eventually, he became completely unhinged. I informed him that his masters ordered that the other Witches were not to be killed unless necessary. That stopped him from killing initially. However, after our second defeat, he disregarded his orders and tried to kill them all.”
She took a moment to process the information as she looked Jeremiah over. “I can see the trouble he brought you,” referring to Jeremiah’s sour expression, battered appearance, and missing arm. “I appreciate that you brought him back even so. Allow me to mend you.”
Jeremiah accepted by rolling up his sleeve to reveal the entire prosthetic so that it could be removed. The still healing nub was bandaged beneath. The bloody cloth was removed as well, showing muscle and bone.
“Tro Eser,” the Matriarch cast. The raw flesh was instantly coated over by new skin and then began to grow until his arm was fully restored.
He tested his fingers and was satisfied with their function. As gratitude, and continuing where he left off, he offered an important warning, “I fully believe Shaw does not trust the lie anymore.”
“If only it could have been kept up,” the Matriarch looked disappointed. “We most likely won’t be able to use him ever again. How unfortunate to lose one of our most powerful tools. To think the Apostate would have been able to survive a full outfit of Inquisitors and the old Templars’ most ruthless Hunter. Explain what happened.”
“The Apostate is an Altered for one,” he began to give excuses. “A half-blooded vampire, from what I could tell, which means she is not bound by the Conditions of the Soulless. As well, she had help this time from three other Witches.”
“A third?” that the Matriarch did not expect.
“Just a novice in the making,” he cleared up. “But the other two that the Magistrate informed us about were unbelievably strong, far more than what I was told we would face if they got involved. I would classify them both as Madam Superior rank. Though, Shaw had some words to say about the redhead. She might be of even greater power.”
“That would not be possible,” the Matriarch rejected the notion.
“Unless someone lied to me,” he challenged.
“That would not be possible,” she repeated sternly. “The information we have comes from an incorruptible source that interprets the Celestial Body. Whatever you were told is absolutely true.”
“My apologies,” he accepted the excuse with a glare. “I must have been mistaken. I guess I’m not as strong as I thought I was. And, because of my failings, what are your plans to deal with the Apostate now?”
Following a pause, she spoke with great disappointment as she made her decision, “It is taboo for magic users to kill each other. That’s the very reason why we can’t let Apostates roam free or else they may be taken in by the Black Cast. And that’s why we keep the Inquisition around to deal with these threats that, if we dealt with ourselves, would risk corrupting our Arcane Bodies. But when there’s no other option, and with this third attempt being a failure, there is no other option, we’ll have to send a Witch to deal with the Apostate.”
“Then, from here on, I leave this matter in your hands.” Jeremiah turned around to make his departure. However, his action was interrupted by a third party voicing themselves.
The jaw of a skull on the desk popped open and a woman spoke through, “Matriarch! There has been a change to the Venutian Grimoire! You need to see this immediately!”
Changes were not uncommon as the book constantly changed with new information and rewrote old truths to fit present circumstances. So, for there to be a declaration that there was a change meant the change must have been significant.
The Matriarch did not bother asking for an explanation over the psycom as she understood the importance of seeing and reading the changes with her own eyes. She only ensured, “I will be right up.”
She stood, her powerful posture making her height stretch to something even grander. Reaching back, her staff which stood even taller than herself, colored entirely angelic white and having absolutely no other details, was retrieved from a display case behind her. Then she stepped around her desk only to take a moment and stand beside Jeremiah who had remained as an eavesdropper. She asked him, “Would you like to accompany me?”
“I feel I should not,” he understood that he was not a Witch and that alone was a reason to exclude him from this significant event.
“I insist,” she invited him along anyway.
He did not argue as he offered her the lead. She took it and he followed behind, both stepping onto the elevator that began heading even further upward until they reached the peak of the tower. The very top was an atrium with a wide cone-shaped ceiling made entirely of window panels.
The room spanned the full width of the tower with little obstruction of the open space. Truly, there were only four symmetrically aligned metal staircases located on the perimeter of the room which spiraled back toward the center. They each connected and held up a small platform in the very center of the room, directly overhead of the elevator shaft.
Waiting right at the top of the lift was a robed woman with an overwhelmed expression. She looked to the Matriarch, then to the unexpected guest, and then back to the Matriarch. Any questions and concerns were put aside as she quickly ushered them along, “Right this way,” and they went over to a staircase. “Hurry, hurry,” up the steps they went. “None of us know what this means,” she admitted as they reached the top. “We hope for your insight,” an extended arm indicated the book held in a glass case as the uncertainty.
Great power radiated from the object. The Venutian Grimoire was large but not unwieldy in size, able to be held in the hands of a single person. The book binding was crafted from solidified light which took a close appearance to ceramic. The smooth, hardened surface was the purest kind of white with inky whisps of cosmic purple.
The Matriarch approached and looked closely at the page currently open. Her eyes widened with surprise which was something she did not expect to feel. So many situations she had considered when she had been called upon, but not this.
The book was open to the index of the Twelve Primary Houses, the covens that led and created smaller covens. Yet, there was another among them, a thirteenth primary house. It was named ‘The House of Benevolent Madness.’
The woman spoke her confusion, “There has not been a new primary house since the founding of the Magistrate. And I know that none of the other houses ever discussed making one. Many are actually opposed to the idea. That means the Celestial Body must be responsible. But why?”
“I do not know,” the Matriarch confessed. And, like the rest, she wanted answers.
Her hand lifted causing the grimoire to rapidly flip through thousands of pages that could not have fit within a normal tome. The section searched out and stopped on was the one dedicated to The House of Benevolent Madness which was newly added. It currently only consisted of two pages.
The first lines on the first page listed the members. The one on the top of that list, the Matriarch of the coven, was Marcy Lox. The following members included Rachael Liminal, Emily Adams, Ligaya Baquiran, Olivia Liminal, and Andrew Liminal. Additional information included their affinities, magical rankings, and other attributes such as if any were an Avatar, an Altered, or a Fabled.
The second page only contained the location of the coven, the city of Darkess Noir in the state of Washington.
Matriarch Althea immediately recognized the name Marcy Lox as the Apostate that the Magistrate and the Inquisition had an Execution Order out on. But to be in the Venutian Grimoire, as a Matriarch of a primary house of all things, meant she had been acknowledged by the Celestial Body as an ally.
“It seems,” the Matriarch confessed to Jerimiah’s earlier claim, “we were both lied to after all. Though, the lie most likely came after the fact.”
“For what reason?” He sought an explanation. “A lot of trouble could have been avoided had these Witches been brought into the fold earlier. There’s also the fact that the Inquisition might have succeeded and the Ap— Matriarch Marcy would be dead.”
“The ways of the Celestial Body are beyond mortal comprehension I’m afraid,” Matriarch Althea spoke vaguely. “Perhaps this was a turning point. The …” knowing Apostate was no longer the correct term, “Marcy, Matriarch Marcy might have very much been a threat up until this point. But that fate has changed. Or, perhaps this was a test, as much one for them as one for us. Whatever the case, the Execution Order will need to be rescinded. Would you get on that right away, Jeremiah?”
“Understood,” he accepted without further questions and made his leave.
“Keeper,” the Matriarch was then speaking to the robed woman.
“Yes, Matriarch?” she waited dutifully for instructions.
“Contact the other houses,” the Matriarch ordered, “and make sure an invitation reaches the House of Benevolent Madness. We will be having our decennial assembly early.”
The Keeper was concerned after hearing the declaration. This broke tradition. Regardless, she accepted the order by inquiring, “Which ceremony will we be conducting?”
“There is a new house to welcome,” the Matriarch said more as a threat. This change, even made by the Celestial Body, was not welcomed. Althea was among the most vocal to reject adding a new house. She needed to see what these Witches were capable of and, honestly, intended to find a way to have them expelled from the Magistrate that they had not even been invited to join. “We will be conducting all three, Sabbath of the Body, Divination of the Mind, and Séance of the Soul.”