Part I: Spring, OR, What Things Were in the Quietest Season
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Natasha walked a long and lonely road. So she had pledged to her goddess and to her light and savior, the Saint in Heaven above, Blessed Latona.
Thou shalt walketh barefoot this long and lonely road
And when thy feet fail, I shall carry you
There was no need from Natasha to walk from Rausten, where the final battle against the Demon King had taken place, to her homeland of Grado. A merchant caravan from Carcino, known and trusted by the lords of Rausten and Renais and Frelia alike, moved southwest through the suddenly peaceful continent towards the ruined country. Natasha sat inside one of the covered wagons. Her nightly prayers for their collective good health and wealth were the only payment the merchants required. One of them—Lily Bell was her name, or something similar, Natasha couldn't remember—had even given her a ring of prayer beads.
O Blessed Saint,
Give us light so that we may see the truth
Give us bread so that we may taste our victory
Give us speed so that we may feel your hand guide our wings
Give us lavender so that we may smell the garden in the promised world
Give us the wind so that we may hear Your Word whispered to us
Give us to-day so that we may give you to-night
Ah shan
In the daytime, she often sat and read one of the books she carried with her in a satchel. She must have read The Confessions of Saint Julistine half a hundred times, and she guarded its familiarly musty yellowed pages as she would her modesty. Sometimes she leaned back against the side of the wagon and listened to the sound of the wheels turning. Sometimes she devoted all her attention to the fruit she ate, savoring and giving thanks for every bite of every apple the way Latona taught Her children to, feeling embarrassed when she bit into a peach and the juices dribbled down her chin onto her bright white habit.
Mother Saint
In your grace
Show us to our salvation
For you are our wings
And on your back
Rides the grace of the Everlasting Divinity
Ah shan
In the nights, she prayed. The nights were hardest of all for Natasha. At night she saw the face of the man she loved. He had tidy red hair and a sharp, handsome face with small eyes that never left hers when they spoke. He was tall, with broad shoulders and strong arms, and when he stood in front of her with his shield and sword as he had done many times, she always felt half a princess. She wondered if he was back in Renais already.
In her dreams, she often heard the voice of her goddess calling out to her, but as she listened she realized it was his voice, always his voice, and always he would appear before her dressed all in white, white breastplate and white greaves and white vest and he would whisper sweet words to her, call her his guardian spirit, and always he reached his hand out to her gently and always she went to him, and always she woke the moment before their hands touched. When she woke, she felt empty.
She carried her emptiness with her as the caravan rolled on. The feeling was never far from her chest, never far from her stomach, never far from her legs when she walked around to stretch. Natasha sat in a wagon furthest from the van, in a series of three wagons hooked together, pulled by three mules. The first wagon housed the driver and several barrels of ale, the second held stores of dried meat, and the third held Natasha and the fruit. She knew that she was never truly alone when she knew the love and guidance of her savior Latona; still, with no one to speak to, she felt alone nevertheless. The silver pendant with the two wings of Latona Ascendant—the symbol of her religion—was never far from her breast.
Natasha missed her old friends back in Grado: Yulie, Anastasia, Nancy, Connor, even Marde, the young monk she'd met when she joined the clergy, the boy she fell in love with long ago, when she still thought and felt like a girl with no vows.
Natasha was a woman now and the world was a different place, but the closer she came to her homeland, the more the old feelings returned. Now it was a knight and not a monk, but the doubts were the same. She had taken a vow of chastity, a vow of celibacy, a vow that no love on earth would ever exceed her love for her goddess.
That I should have these feelings even now, even after all my prayers…am I beyond redemption? Everyone thought me so pious, but they could not know how I feel…
It was the evening and the world outside the wagon was dark and quiet. Even the insects were hushed. Natasha peered past the cloth at the back of the wagon and watched the sky darken with thunderheads.
When she returned to her place near the oranges and apples and leaned against the wall, Natasha thought about the war she had promised herself she would forget. She had seen corpses strewn about, saw limbs and heads scattered on the fields of dead, saw the red blood spilled from friends and foes alike. She had learned light magic and knew how it felt to smite with the pearlescent hand of the goddess. She had smelt the sulfur breath of demons and wights while her allies laid them low. She had been cut by bloody claws, knew what it felt like to hurt, knew what her blood tasted like, had sighed underneath a stream of holy water when she cleansed blood from her scalp, from her cheeks, from her chest, from her arms.
But she had always felt safe standing behind the vanguard, always behind Seth, who had looked back at her often to ensure she was not tiring or injured. Sometimes she caught him looking back at her for no apparent reason. His concern flattered her, but she was more concerned for him. There were some in the party who needed healing more often than others, but Seth came to her wounded the most. Every time he came, he crept closer and closer to death, and once he had come to her only inches from death and her heart fell headlong into her stomach until he rose to his feet and thanked her and only then was she certain he would live. That was when she realized she was in love. She had tried to avoid him from then on, prayed that he would not look at her again and tempt her, but he always came for healing, and sometimes when he did she became inexplicably angry and could not even speak.
The air outside was almost completely black. Natasha stretched.
I said my vows that I might be set free, my soul released from its earthly chains…so, why do I feel trapped?
She almost didn't want to see what her beautiful motherland looked like after the war. She knew that many skirmishes between Grado and Renais' soldiers had taken place across the countryside besides the ones she saw herself. From the whispers she'd heard, there had also been a small earthquake and a landslide, and if what the shadow magi said was correct, they would not be the last disasters the country would suffer.
What if these disasters are divine retribution for the atrocities that Grado has committed? she had often thought. If I were to aid the victims, would I be going against the will of Latona?
Natasha gave thanks and peeled an orange slowly and methodically, occasionally feeling a squirt of juice hop up to lick her face. The teachings of Latona would have her take a sort of inner peace in simple activities, but when the thick rind stuck under her ivory nails it only frustrated her. She ate the orange quickly while she listened to the sound of rain being born, gentle as kisses. The wagon moved at a slow but steady rhythm, ka-rump, ka-rump, ka-rump.
Natasha sat back and felt herself blush deep. Sometimes her dreams were of a different sort: When she woke, she forgot the places and the sights, only remembering the sensations and the emotions. Always it was a feeling of ecstasy, a white-hot, liberating sensation unlike anything she had ever felt before, and although she never saw him, she could feel Seth, feel his presence overwhelming her, thrilling her. In those dreams she felt closer to Heaven than she ever did when she prayed. It was her secret; the only man she might ever have voiced her concerns to had been called traitor and murdered.
O Latona, please tell me what I am to do. I don't know what to believe or where my place is in this world…please guide me to the answer. Please send me a sign.
Natasha closed her heavy eyes. Seconds later or perhaps minutes, she opened her eyes to a flash of white and heard a loud bass rumble of thunder. She laughed and remembered a hymn.
As we travel freely
Through these troubled lands of waste
We find the sagest council in
What the thunder speaks…
Natasha sighed away the tension in her shoulders and the thoughts of the day. She was going home, of that she was certain. It was about the only thing she was certain of. Natasha crossed her healing staff over her chest and fell asleep to the sound of rain.