Chapter 29

She stood in a dark room, at the head of a table. Before her, on the table, lay a sword that was unparalleled in beauty, with a milky white blade, golden cursive script inlaid on the fuller, and a woven leather grip.

To her left she saw a figure that was undeniably herself, seated in front of the sword. To her right, her sister sat across from her. She had not seen her sister in twenty years, not since they had played together at six, but she knew without a doubt that the woman was her younger twin, Alsabet.

A woman with no face suddenly took a seat at the table. She wore shining armor that was lacquered in crimson and chased with ornate gold filigree in baroque patterns. She gestured to the Katarina that was sitting at the table.

"Take the sword, it’s yours."

The Katarina that was seated at the table reached for the blade, half-fearfully, half-eagerly.

Alsabet slapped her hands down on the table with a crack and stood, furious. Katarina jumped.

"You have made your choice, then? I have made my choice too, sister."

Katarina shook her head. What was that? She refocused on the blacksmith in front of her and rubbed the bridge of her nose distractedly.

"I was saying if you really need a Truesteel hatchet, I can do it, I told you that the other day, but Truesteel is dear." He reaffirmed, and she nodded.

"No problem there." She replied. "I can pay you in either steel coin or silver." She offered and his eyes lit up. "Silver, please." He urged, and Katarina nodded.

"Can you do leatherworking knives? Tailor’s scissors? Things like that?" She asked, and his heavy eyebrows rose. "You want all of that in Truesteel?" He asked, baffled. "I don’t think I’d have that much True in a year’s stock."

Katarina chuckled tiredly. "No no. Red steel is fine." She couldn’t stop staring at his eyebrows. Thick, like caterpillars. What was that strange vision she’d seen earlier? It seemed tangled in her mind like a fishhook. He nodded, and those thick, bristly eyebrows bobbed and worked. What was wrong with her? She wondered.

"Do you do leadworks?" She asked suddenly, and he tucked his thumbs into his apron. "I wondered if you were gonna ask." He replied. "You being a Witch Hunter and all. I can do some, but I don’t have any lead. Not much call for it here." He added. "But If you have the lead, I can make you bullets or slugs." He confirmed easily.

"How long will my order take?" She asked, and He shook his head. "That’s the easy part. The leatherworking stuff, I already have. The scissors, too. I got most of everything in stock already. The hatchet will have to be made." He informed her. "Be ready in a day or so." he gave her a sidelong look. "Balanced for throwing?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"Nah. I spend a lot of time in the woods is all." He nodded at that.

==============

Katarina bought a crock of soup from a shop and ate it while the rain poured down. The blacksmith had made true on his promise: all the leather-cutting knives with heavy blades and chisel-like edges and awls were ready. It wasn’t the same as her previous kit, but in some ways it was better. The scissors and needles for her sewing kit were more than she’d hoped for; they were extremely high-quality needles.

"All I need now is threads from a tailoring shop." She mused thoughtfully.

She had been camping near a stream when a sudden flash flood had washed away her shelter and would have taken her along with it had she not escaped in time. She’d lost most of her belongings that night.

She tugged her hat low as she sat on the bench, her crock of soup steaming on the plank table in front of her. The woman that had sold her the soup was doing something industrious in the back behind the curtain; either making more soup or washing the ceramic crocks that she used for bowls. There was a young man that busied himself with a large piece of paper and a chunk of charcoal. From the glance she’d given him, she’d written him off as a simpleton. His tongue was fixed between his teeth as he glared at the paper, brow furrowed in apparent concentration. Large drops of sweat stood out on his forehead as he continued with his scribbling.

"Devon don’t bother the Lady." The matronly woman called over the clatter and bang of whatever it was that she was doing back there. "Goddess knows you cause enough problems as it is."

"I’m not!" he objected hotly.

The older woman stepped out from behind the curtain.

"I say, that’s a fine drawing." She appraised, and then asked, "you did get her permission, right?"

He made a groan of negation. She gave an exasperated sigh.

"Mi’Lady, I think you should see this." She called, and Katarina glanced over, tipping her hat up. The woman held up the paper that Katarina had originally assumed the man was scribbling mindlessly on. Instead, it was a strikingly well done drawing of her, soup crock in hand.

"That’s remarkably well done." Katarina remarked uncomfortably.

"I’ve told him before; he needs to ask before he does it." The woman replied with a glare at him.

Katarina shrugged at this. "He should get registered in Darnell as a proper artist." Katarina remarked simply, and rose to her feet. She downed the rest of her soup at a gulp, thumbed several coppers onto the table, and stepped out into the rain.

Katarina’s mind was a turbulent wash. There was that strange vision she had when talking with the blacksmith. There was the worry over her gun, and the pang of absence every time she took a step. Its weight had been there, on her hip and leg for ten years. There was the hot pulse of anger at the acolyte. There was a sense of indecision as well- should she return to the church, or should she get her tailoring supplies first? The Bishop and the pastor wanted to throw her some sort of honorary banquet. If she could stay away, she would, but she really really wanted her gun back. Around and around her thoughts went, with no escape in sight.

She forced her mind to stop whirling by clamping down and framing the question: What happens next? Well, first she would get her threads from the tailor’s shop. Perhaps a couple of extra shirts as well. Then, afterwords, she’d return to the chaplain’s chapel and get her gun back and hear the verdict about what was wrong with it. If it was something she could fix, she’d fix it. If not, she’d take it to Darnell. She hated the idea, but if it was absolutely necessary, then so be it.

After she got her gun, she’d leave. Go back to the Inn she’d shared with Sasaki. Sure she’d make the little Diviner upset, but it was infinitely better than having to attend a banquet. She nodded, satisfied with her decision.

She increased her stride and stumbled when her vision went black.

==============

"The amount of blood has been decided." a mousy, brown haired woman announced, appearing out of the darkness and walked through a door in the side of the small chamber. Katarina was standing naked in a narrow circle of light. She instinctively covered herself.

"Kneel and pray. Do not get up until I speak to you."

Katarina knelt, naked as the day she was born, splinters digging painfully into her knees.

The odious acolyte she’d had so many problems with came into the shadowy room. She could feel his eyes crawling all over her body greedily.

He presented a ceremonial knife to the older woman; It was ornate with an eighteen inch blade that was no wider than her thumb.

"The Golden Lady has decided." the woman said, and handed the knife to Katarina.

"Blood from your hand is required, as a demonstration of your labor to the Golden Lady" Her lips pressed together. "You may survive this. It may also be that The Golden Lady will call you to her side. We will use our arts and prayers to try to hold you to this world. Do you accept the risk?"

Katarina nodded, and took up the knife. She prepared to stab herself through the hand, but the priestess made her switch hands. Over the smaller woman’s shoulder, the acolyte grinned, licking his lips at Katarina’s figure.

"You don’t have to do this part yourself, child. I can make the thrust for you." The woman urged kindly. Katarina shook her head.

She took a deep breath, and then thrust the blade through her hand.

The knife was unbelievably sharp and slipped in with a whisper of pain. The wound burned fiercely. Her hands shook and shock washed the world in shades of gray. did she fall? had she fallen?

Darkness closed over her.

Katarina blinked and the world washed in with all its dreary, rain-streaked colors. She stumbled and caught herself, shaking her head. What was that? Something about the Golden Lady, a knife, and blood? She moved to the side of the street and rested against a building’s wall while she tried to make sense of it. Some sort of... waking nightmare, illusion, vision, something. Why would the Golden Lady want blood drawn with a ceremonial knife? Her eyebrows immediately rose: The Ceremony of the Wisp.

A Wisp was a form of familiar that was created in part by the use of rare materials and the participant’s blood, was granted a celestial spirit, and was an extension of the person’s own will. The Wisp knew what their master knew, and the master saw and heard everything through their familiar, making them potent allies. The reason people did not willingly volunteer for such a bond was that the Golden Lady was extremely picky about who had earned the right to summon a Wisp. The amount of blood the Goddess could demand varied- The Golden Lady might demand a fingerprick’s worth of blood, or in extreme cases, the loss of so much blood that the person’s life was at risk.

For Katarina, the thought of going through the ceremony was pointless. She had no need for a celestial familiar. She couldn’t think of any particular use she might have for one, and yet the Diviner had suggested she seek out a woman at the church that was capable of administering such a ceremony.

It spoke volumes of Aston, that such a thing would be necessary in this place. She thought back to that vision- if she was expected to endure the lecherous crawling eyes of that boy, she would wholeheartedly refuse the ceremony.

She rubbed her eyes wearily. She didn’t understand where or how or why that vision had come to her. Suddenly she remembered the brief vision she’d had while talking to the blacksmith, and her stomach churned. She immediately began questioning the visions.

Where could they have come from? The first and immediately obvious thought were that they came from The Golden Lady Herself, a form of ‘mysterium fidei’, a revelation of faith that could only be revealed by the Goddess. The second thought that ran through her mind was that it came from another power, one of the so-called Elder Gods, a demon, or even a magic user skilled in the arts of influence and deception. That thought led her to thoughts of her old instructor, Devon, a man with frightening powers of persuasion and manipulation. His powers were strange and did not seem to stem from magical ability.

If they were a vision granted by the Golden Lady, telling members of the Church here was an extremely bad idea. Holy divination would be used to determine if the visions she had been given were sent true by the Golden Lady. She would be tested, anointed, and prayed over by priests. Those that reported to Darnell would gain political authority. Visions and dreams were hoarded carefully, and only revealed for the most gain. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling frustration well up in her again. The problems with her gun, the revelations from the Diviner, her problems with the acolyte, everything rose up and threatened to trample her under. He hand brushed her empty holster again and she grimaced. Tailor first, and then gun.

When she arrived at the church, the pastor was waiting, glaring angrily. Katarina unceremoniously pushed past him. "I have business with your chaplain." She announced simply, gratified that at least this time, his eyes stayed on hers.

"Witch Hunter, we need to speak about your treatment of Jace today-" He started. She waved it off.

"Unless you’re going to report to me that you’ve spent the past four hours beating him, I simply do not care at all what you have to say." She said wearily, waving him off. He followed her, however.

"I hardly think it was appropriate to-" He started and she rounded on him, hair fanning out in a wide arc as she turned quickly, her hand falling to her empty holster by reflex.

"Appropriate? I know what propriety is, and having a fifteen-year-old boy try and coax me into abandoning the Golden Lady’s holy purpose is far from ‘appropriate’, pastor." She sneered at him. "He’s only lucky I didn’t judge him with heresy and drop him in the street like a rabid dog." She marched up to him and shoved him back. "Frankly, if you don’t beat him, I will judge you both attainted with heresy under my authority as an Inquisitor of the Golden Lady." She ordered hotly. "Now fuck off and leave me alone; I have business with the chaplain and you’re interfering with it."

She turned and marched past the Hall of the Sanctioned, the area of the Church reserved for the Sanctioned mages that lived and worked in Aston. On the other side of that wing, as one travelled around the central hub, was the main corridor that would lead to the Chapel of the Sword, the small church reserved for the armed forces of the holy church.

She pushed open the door, and the squat chaplain looked up from his desk.

"Ah, if it isn’t the famed Witch Hunter." He remarked with an easy smile.

"I have a name, you know." She returned, with a smile of her own.

"Ah yes." He observed. "Strange, how we got right to business without bothering with introductions." He observed. "Well, for what it’s worth, I happen to be Chaplain Gared Grimaldus." He offered, and gestured at her. "As for you, no introductions are necessary for you."

"I suppose not." she replied, and he grinned, but allowed the smile to fade quickly. "Without a doubt you are here for your gun." He picked up a cloth-wrapped bundle that was fragrant with sacred incense. "I have news, as well: The augury has spoken, and it seems as though your current bond isn’t sufficient anymore." he advised. "The augury also suggested that..." He paused. "You should meditate with your weapon. There is a closet we use for private meditations; I have prepared it for you. I’m certain you won’t like what I have to say, so I’ll be as blunt as I can: You will need to meditate privately for days." he paused. "Maybe weeks. Less, if you know the rituals for bonding the gun to yourself. It’s not the kind of meditation where you spend a few hours on your knees, either. Invocations will need to be made, certain aromatic incenses used. There will be a financial cost."

Katarina took a breath, held it, and let it out. "Alternatives?" She asked, and he snorted. "Return to Darnell and get a different gun." She stiffened at that, ice freezing her heart to her chest for a moment.

"Financial cost?" She asked, and he nodded. "Incense- the kind that will be used- is dear out here. It’ll cost. If I go through the Bishop as I should, it’ll take forever to get. If I bypass the Bishop, then I’ll need the steel to ... lubricate things." He explained.

"Steel." She repeated, and he nodded. "Steel."

"How much?" She asked, and he let out a breath. "Eleven steel."

"Seven." She offered, and he blinked, and let out a roar of laughter. "You think this is negotiable? Eleven is the lowest I can offer. I know you roam around the place and you prolly trade for your stuff like I did when I was a Forest Warden. Maybe you’ve got a handful of silver, so if you need to, I can take magical artifacts or enchanted gear or whatever."

Katarina raised an eyebrow. "Apparently you haven’t heard the news." She replied sardonically, raising an eyebrow, "But I’ve got a bit of money saved from my bounties." She grinned. "You can send the bill to the Temple of the Sword in Darnell and they’ll deduct it from my stipend."

He paused. "You have eleven steel?" He asked curiously.

"I’m a Justicar Witch Hunter that hasn’t spent more than fifty silver in the past ten years." She replied, and rolled her eyes. He let out a breath.

"Well, I’ll be billing the church in your name for eleven steel." He replied. "If you’re ready to begin, I’ll kindly invite you to get a hearty meal while I prepare everything."

When she arrived at the Diviner’s room, she hesitated in front of the door. Should she knock? She tapped at the door.

"Is that you, Katarina?" Araya called. "If so, come right in."

Katarina came into the room and tripped over the rug and fell over.

"What happened?" Araya asked, trying to navigate her complicated robes so that she could run to the other woman’s side.

Katarina shook her head. "I have been ... having visions." She said, and rolled to a sitting position. "Oh, my head hurts so much." She breathed. Araya blinked a few times. "Have you ever had visions before? Or dreamed of the Goddess?" She asked curiously. Katarina shook her head.

"Perhaps you are recalling the dreams you were given last night, then. They may fade."

"May?" Katarina asked, and Araya nodded. "If they are memories of your dreams, Katarina, then you must remember that my power expresses out from me. As long as you are in the range of my influence, you are affected. You will continue to have dreams and visions until you leave, and perhaps for a short time afterward." Araya explained sadly. She frowned at the taller woman. "What have you done?" She suddenly accused with a frown. She rose to her feet and took a step back in shock.

"I don’t understand. What do you mean, ‘what have you done?’ Katarina retorted. "I’ve done nothing." She replied. "I’ve gotten some supplies in preparation to leave. I’ve met the chaplain here." She replied simply. "He’s not bad looking, either." she added in a confidential tone.

Araya’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. She tried again, with the same result.

"Gared?" She blurted, shocked. "Gared Grimaldus?" she repeated. "Not bad looking?" She repeated.

Katarina nodded.

Araya sighed. "I confess I cannot understand your tastes." She replied. "I would have thought that you would have been drawn to Alejandro." She wondered. Katarina shook her head.

"He’s a fop. A ..." She struggled to find the word. "A nonce. A dandy." She replied comfortably. "All pomp and style, no substance." She flapped her hand dismissively.

"He’s very pretty, though." Araya urged. "Much better than Gared."

"Hey, I didn’t say I’d bed or wed him." Katarina replied, glaring at the smaller woman.

"Please don’t." Araya retorted. "I don’t wish to imagine it." She warned, and shook her head.

"Back to the visions." Katarina prompted, and Araya nodded. "Certainly."

"They’ll go away?" She asked, and Araya nodded. "Absolutely they will fade." She remarked comfortingly.

"I certainly hope so. Right now I feel like puking." Katarina complained. She looked to the smaller woman. "Please don’t share my-" Katarina began, but Araya shook her head and held up her hands at her shoulders, palms to the ceiling.

"You don’t remember what I said, Katarina? I told you that what you see will be between you and the Lady of the Dawn." She eyed the Witch Hunter carefully. Somehow, impossibly, Katarina had managed to wholly sidestep her earlier forecast. She would need to change things to accommodate what Katarina had done. She thought quickly.

"I was just about to have dinner. Perhaps you would prefer some soup? Tea? Or would you prefer some medicine?"

Katarina opened her eyes and regarded the seemingly-youthful girl. She smiled. "Some soup would be nice, Araya." The girl nodded and summoned one of the women.

"You know, I didn’t think a place this small would have servants." Katarina said, laying on her back near the fireplace.

Araya laughed. "I’m special. They could not give me a manservant for fear that my honor would be besmirched. I have two servants. They also sing in the choir."

"Do you want your honor besmirched?" Katarina asked dryly, eyes closed. Araya laughed. "Of course I do!" Katarina laughed with her. After the laughter died down, there was a silence between the two of them.

"I saw Jace earlier. He was nearly tripping over his own face. What did you do to him?" Araya asked curiously. Katarina sighed. "Is that his name? He tried to suggest I’d be happier with children than living as a Witch Hunter. Then he propositioned me. Offered to ‘take care of my urges’. When I refused, he got argumentative. I told the Revered Father to beat him bloody." Katarina explained.

"He didn’t. Both Jace and the pastor come from frontier towns. Logging villages. I hear that in places like that they prefer men to be in charge." Katarina sighed at this revelation. She was aware of the shift in dynamics. In the logging villages men often took the lead in managing and administering towns and churches.

"You should not punish him so." Araya urged.

"Why not? He is odious and offensive." Katarina retorted, and Araya smiled serenely. "Because no punishment you visit on him will equal what he has brought upon himself." She replied.

"I don’t understand." Katarina replied quizzically.

"All consequences we earn come from the actions we take and the choices we make." Araya replied, quoting from the Lady’s Holy Book. "Very soon now Jace will reap the consequences."

"Would it be impolitic to ask what choices he’s made?" Katarina asked, and Araya chuckled. "You sound like a gossip!" She accused lightly. "Very well, let us gossip." She interjected quickly before Katarina could object.

"Jace is in a relationship with both Merry and Lissa. There are other things, trivial things, petty things he has done that will compound his punishments, but the law is quite clear, Katarina."

Katarina thought for a few moments. The Church didn’t frown upon any particular relationship as long as it was consensual and mutual; all love must bloom under the Lily of Spring, after all.

"He is a third-rank acolyte." Araya encouraged. "He should be celibate a year before taking his vows as a pastor." She made some offhand gesture. "Oh, certainly, he’s training to be a Holy Scribe, but before he can take up the duties of being a Scribe, he must first take his vows as a Pastor."

Katarina shrugged. "So, what? He fails his tests?" She asked. Araya shook her head slowly. "They are both with child, and neither knows the other is with child. Each expects that they will be his favorite, and when he comes into his position as a Scribe..."

Katarina nodded. "They’re hoping to marry into money." Araya nodded. "Instead he will be disgraced and cast out. He’ll return home and..." She shook her head. "The rest is irrelevant."

"You didn’t try and stop them?" Katarina asked. Araya’s eyes widened at this. "Would you?"

Katarina made a vexed noise. "I might."

Araya smiled politely. "And if you knew that nothing you said or did would change the result?"

"Nothing?" Katarina asked, and Araya nodded. "There are things that can be changed. Many things, in fact. But there are also some things that are immutable. You cannot change them, no matter hard you try."

"That’s a horrifying thought." Katarina said after a minute of thought.

"Is that so?" Araya asked curiously. "Rather, for me, I see it as evidence of our Goddess taking a hand in the lives of her followers. You cannot change these things because She has decreed that your life is important enough to fulfill the role you were born for." She glanced at Katarina, wondering how she was taking this in.

"Do you think Jace would grab my ass?" Araya asked after a while. Katarina barked a laugh. "Have you seen the man?"

Araya nodded with a glance at the other woman. "Of course I’ve seen him, Katarina." She replied patiently. "He’s not as tall as you, but he’s taller than me, which is fine. He is on the slim side, which is also good as I’m pretty delicate.", she remarked, holding out a slim arm. "And he’s better looking than Gared Grimaldus." She added, with a sidelong chuckle at Katarina.

Katarina rolled over and regarded Araya. "You’re serious? Even after what you’ve told me?"

Araya nodded. "Of course I am. He’s very desirable. There are not many that I would offer myself to, but if he would come see me once, I would not be shy." She smiled greedily. Katarina shook her head. "I find him odious."

Araya laughed. "Well, then I have no fear of competition from you, then, and a lucky thing, too. You’re very beautiful."

Katarina shook her head. "I never particularly cared about my beauty."

"You should! It’s very important for a woman." She said. "How else will you fall in love, if you are not careful of your beauty? Bathe often as you can, comport yourself well, and I’m sure you will find the mate of your dreams."

"Says the fifty-two year old virgin." Katarina said slyly. Araya slapped Katarina lightly. "Hey!"

They laughed together. Katarina drowsed.

"Hey, no sleeping." Araya warned. "Your soup." She encouraged as Lissa entered the main room with a cart loaded with food.

Katarina rolled over and stood up, exhaustion tugging at her.

"No sleeping." Araya repeated. "You have an appointment with the chaplain, yes?" she reminded, and Katarina nodded, a sour look on her face.

Araya settled Katarina, and served some soup, but also added a side of meat and a helping of vegetables.

"I thought I was just having soup." Katarina remarked as Araya loaded up a second saucer with some pan-fried and seasoned potatoes.

"Katarina, you-" She began, and held back. "I don’t want you to hate me." She finished in a low voice.

"That’s a dangerous thing to say." Katarina remarked carefully, eyeing the small woman.

Araya rolled her eyes. "Play the Inquisitor all you like, I won’t reveal what I don’t have to." She remarked sarcastically. "I’m speaking as Araya, the woman that likes Katarina, the woman. My powers upset and unnerve the common man, and I know that for you, my powers are a personal affront." Araya stated emphatically. "But I happen to know what’s to come: When you are finished eating, you will return to the Chapel of the Sword, where you will meditate." She explained. "You will be there a long time, Katarina. You will need more than just soup." She finished warningly.

"You expect me to just take that at face value?" Katarina asked, and Araya put one hand on her hip.

"I expect you to eat like it’s the last meal you’ll eat in this world." She replied simply.