The pragmatic survive, and the determined thrive, but faith manages. -Babylon 5
Chapter One: Confusion
The soldiers come for Father McGregor during the morning service. They file in, more than necessary to arrest a single aging priest, and wait quietly in the back for him to finish the service. As the worshippers murmur aloud their closing prayers, McGregor bends his neck and says something to the young sister standing beside him at the altar. Though his voice is low and strained, Natasha hears the words of her mentor clearly.
"The Emperor has gone mad. He seeks to destroy each of Magvel's Sacred Stones," he says without preamble. "First, he targets Renais, but he will target them all in turn. The Stones are all that keep evil at bay. He must not be allowed to achieve this goal."
"Pardon me?" replies Natasha, because that's really the only thing she can say to such a claim.
"They will kill me for holding this knowledge," McGregor says. "But the nations must be warned. You must warn them, Natasha. The emperor has gone mad."
"I... I don't understand," she says.
"Neither do I," says the priest. "I have the answer to one question, and from it sprouts a thousand more." His arm, outstretched towards the ceremonial candles, trembles, but just for a moment.
Natasha's forehead crinkles as she peers over her shoulder at the soldiers. "Why are these men here?"
With a hand to her shoulder, McGregor prompts her to face the altar. "They're here for me. And since they have witnessed me conversing with you, they may take you too, if you don't slip out now."
"I beg your pardon?" says Natasha, blinking hard in confusion. "What are you suggesting? Are you quite certain of what you say, Father?"
He gives a tight, pale smile. "Entirely so. I am sorry to pull you into all this, dear child. I had so hoped not to involve you. Alas, it cannot be so. Go, now, Natasha, before the liturgy is finished. You may yet steal away."
She hesitates, and Father McGregor turns his face to look at hers for just a moment. She has never seen him afraid before. "The emperor will break the Sacred Stones. This I know. You must tell the King of Renais," he repeats.
What can she do but obey? Natasha directs her steps towards the back curtain. As she leaves, she hears him utter a blessing upon her. May the Light shine with you and before you in all the shadowy places where you must walk.
Natasha ducks behind the sanctuary and in a moment of complete confused panic, hides in a small closet full of stiff ceremonial robes, pressing her fingers to her temples. Her mind may as well be a bowl full of a hundred eels, too slippery to catch and too ugly to want to even if she could. Eventually a swell of sounds from the sanctuary reaches her ears: weeping and sobs, mostly. She understands that the soldiers have indeed taken her mentor. She remains in the closet, listening to the footfalls of soldier boots clicking up and down the corridor. They are searching for her. She hears them address an acolyte, inquiring politely for her, but they don't look into any closets or cupboards. When she doesn't immediately materialize, they leave.
She stays the night at her usual bunk, hugging herself, not talking to anyone. The following morning, several grim altar boys bring news to the Imperial Temple that Father McGregor is dead, his head in a basket at the Emperor's request. Also, soldiers have been dispatched to search for the young sister who has gone traitor along with him. Natasha looks around her and finds that the ancient church, with its stained-glass windows full of stories, its vaulted arches pointing to heaven, and its precious volumes of ancient scripture – the place most familiar to her in all the world – is suddenly very foreign and she is a stranger there. She could swear that she's the size of an ant, standing on the broad wheel of a massive wagon. The ground beneath her is turning, she can feel it; her solid ground is about to become the mass that crushes her, but all she can do is close her eyes, cover her ears, and muffle her scream. But after that, she remembers her mentor's last command and it gives wings to her feet. She slips some bread and a few coins from the temple stores into her little drawstring purse, whispering a small plea for forgiveness as she does so. She leaves through a side door without saying goodbye.
The hems of her clerical robes are in tatters and she has mud stains to her knees by the time she reaches the border town of Serafew. Though her flight has been as fast as a terrified cleric can stumble along, she does not regard her arrival as a result of her speed. It may be a miracle that she's made it so far – or more probably the gift of blind eyes granted to her by soldiers who don't savour the idea of arresting a sister.
She's not sure what exactly she plans to do in Serafew, or who she'll tell, but it's near her home village, and it's near Renais. Being close to home will have to do, since the temple is home no longer.
The guards at the gate are more interested in a dancer on the street than in Natasha, so she is almost able to duck inside before one of them spots her. In a moment of panic, she tries to dart away, but her flight is quickly arrested by a strong hand on her arm.
"Where do you think you're going, Sister?" the guard says, almost musing to himself.
"East," she replies. "My companions have already gone ahead. I'm in a hurry to catch them, sir." It is the first lie she has told in her life.
The guard looks at her quizzically. "East? Nobody's passed that way for days. Not with the war. It's not safe."
"I assure you, good sir, I'll be fine," she insists. "My family is in that area."
The man shakes his head but releases her arm. "Not likely. Not with that contingent from Renais coming. You'd best go further in country. No doubt your folks have already fled that direction."
Renais? Natasha startles. "It's not like that!" she exclaims. "I have to go!"
The guard grimaces and sets his jaw. "No can do, Sister. I can't in good conscience let you through."
"Oh, please let me go! I have a very important message to deliver!" It's a slip, but she is not well-versed in telling lies or keeping secrets.
The guard sighs. He knows. Things happen rapidly after that. He places a heavy hand on her shoulder and begins to pull her closer. Natasha reacts, yelping and throwing herself backwards in a bid for freedom. With her force, she succeeds – in both removing herself from the guard's hand and in propelling herself directly into the guard's partner behind her – and his unsheathed blade. It catches her upper underarm, leaving behind a long, deep red ribbon of blood that immediately begins dripping.
"What the – a sister, Aelfric!" The first guard roars profanity at his partner, who stumbles back in surprise at the blood. Natasha grips her wound and darts through the gate while the guards are briefly occupied with each other. Eventually the second man shouts up the alarm.
She stumbles through the city square, still unsure of what she plans to do next. Strike out east? Hide? Tend to her arm? Father McGregor had trusted her, she reminds herself - or perhaps he was as desperate and as without options as she. She's not trained to carry this kind of knowledge. She's not trained in politics or espionage. This was never part of her job! Her job is to say prayers and light candles. Her job is to maintain the faith! Faith gets you by, he had always assured her, as if it were faith that should carry her instead of the reverse. But it is not faith that propels her feet; it is fear. She is terrified – terrified of failing her mentor, terrified of getting it wrong, terrified of discovering that she doesn't understand a thing, anything at all, and that if she gets caught here, she won't even have this one success to explain why her life had to unravel.
But then, she encounters the Jehann mercenary with the crooked hat and crooked grin, who flips a coin and decides not to kill her. He takes her under wing and delivers her safely to the princess of Renais. She thanks the blessed Light for its protection, but she's also quite aware that the rogue cheated on the coin toss.
The princess and her general listen to Natasha's message, and she nearly collapses with relief at that burden's removal. Concerned by her weakness, the princess sends her to be tended to, welcoming her with water and a meal that she will eat once she realizes she is hungry. But the Frelian medic with the moustache is suspicious of her – all in the contingent are – so Natasha tends to her own arm while he holds a whispered consultation with the general. Her hand shakes uncontrollably as she holds her staff to the wound. The healing magic comes, weak and uneven. She chokes back a sob and forgets the staff for the bright crimson staining the white of her robes. She is sullied, and hardly recognizes her arm as her own. Who is this, waiting to be stanched and bound up? The trembling moves up her staff hand, through her arm, and into her whole body, until she fights to keep her teeth from chattering.
"My child," the Frelian medic says, stooping to scoop up the staff she has dropped and to catch her downcast eyes. Suspicious of her though he may be, he looks upon her with kindness and tenderly supports her injured arm. "Forgive my hesitation. Allow me to mend your wound. And after that, child, if you wish to talk or to pray, I am here to serve you."
Like the child he addresses her as, she folds her head into her uninjured arm, tucks up her knees, and cries.