V02M02 Heretical Missionist

Synopsis

One thing is clear about Missionist Al-Arka, people like her. She is, on the surface, nothing but trouble. She drinks too much. She has no respect for anyone or anything. She flaunts the rules. And she is good at everything without any discernible effort, which should have made all around her envious. But when one scratches that surface, she appears to be something special. For all her disrespect, she never seems to rub people the wrong way. Except for the Missionist Council, or maybe just anyone with authority. And she has Faith. Because of this, she was not kicked out of the Academy when she murdered a fortrin but instead banished to Karzunidat. Now, seven years later, Kup-Nawzh is sent to bring her back and write a report on her. Her mentor had a mission for her, to find out where the karzunoid animal creatures that have been encountered are from, but her banishment has postponed that. The Council feels that now is the time to send her on that mission. Eventually she gets to the Red Forest, following in Bra-Non’s footsteps, and there she meets the lizard beings he had encountered, and they invite her to the Eastern Continent for answers. After that, two things become clear. Firstly, the fortrins still want ‘justice’ for what she has done. Secondly, something is happening to her, she keeps going into a trance where she writes out strange and esoteric things about the Kosmos. Things she should not know about, such as The Three Forces of Creation, Preservation and Destruction. And about Deities divorcing. And once on the Eastern Continent she learns even more unbelievable things. Things that can only be described with one word, heretical.

Valderia

V02M02

Heretical Missionist

by

A. C. Karzun

Valderia

V02M02 Heretical Missionist

by A. C. Karzun

Copyright 2015–2017 ACKarzun

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

Overture

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Coda

Books in the Valderia Series

Always look before you leap.

But always leap.

Al-Arka

Overture

The dozen-and-ten-year-old woman, in cyan-coloured robes, looks on as her mentor speaks the words, Though it may end my life, I shall not fail to do that which I know is right. Past the rim of her hood and the thin braids of golden hair that hang in front of her right eye, Al-Arka watches as he jumps off the cliff. Instinctively she moves forward, towards the edge. The woman in cyan robes beside her reaches out. Al-Arka feels the hand of her best friend on her right arm and faces her. Her cyan eyes look deep into Zhigh-Feyro’s dark purple eyes and she bows her head. They face the action and watch as Fi-Lan leads the Daimon through the crevices, away from the Kuran children. Soon he disappears from sight and the only thing to tell them he is still alive is the fact that the Daimon is still giving chase.

It slows down, moving with purpose, and then it stops. There is a bright white light before it is destroyed in a huge shaay explosion of what appears to be white water.

All six missionists on the cliff, and the four fortrins who are accompanying them on this mission, can feel it. He is dead and Dorrin and even Anasin are somehow present.

After a moment one of the fortrins, a huge Gorth, speaks. What a waste. Why would he sacrifice his life merely to save Kuras?

One of the other fortrins is about to say something when Al-Arka spins to face him. As she drops her ka and reaches inside her robes, Zhigh-Feyro screams, Arka! No! But she moves too slowly to place her hand on the woman she loves.

Al-Arka produces her steel rod and swings it at the Gorth. It hits him, hard, against the left side of his helmet and he falls to the ground. She spits at him as she takes two steps back.

The others remain silent as they realise that she has hit him so hard his helmet buckled inwards, through his skull, into his brain.

Chapter One

Seven years later.

She has a saying, ‘My three favourite things in the worlds are drinking, fighting and fokking. And if I do one in a night, chances are, I’ll do all three.’ She left out the drugs. And more importantly the dancing and singing. Those are her artistic talents. She was an artist before she became a missionist. That’s all she has ever really seen herself as, an artist. Though others may see her as more of a party-person. Because she seems to love nothing more than to be drunk and do the stupid things which inevitably ensue once one is in that state.

So why did she become a missionist?

The tall missionist in purple robes shrugs with a smile. Who knows? With her it could be anything.

The shorter missionist in the violet robes bobs his head from side to side in acknowledgement. She is unpredictable. So everyone says.

Not unpredictable, just, I don’t know, loose. Easy. She just does whatever she does. Whatever takes her fancy.

Somewhat like her mentor. At least from what I have gathered.

I wouldn’t know, I was two years behind her. And though I might have seen him walk through these halls from time to time, I never had the honour of having him teach me.

That is right, Kup-Nawzh shuffles through some of his papers, you were only in your fourth year when Chosen Missionist Fi-Lan died.

She was there.

I know. I even have her official report somewhere.

So, what’s this all about?

I am just gathering information on Missionist Al-Arka.

What for?

I do not know. The Missionist Council just want me to compile a complete report on her. I have no idea what they need it for.

Then how do you know what it is you should be looking for?

Kup-Nawzh sighs. I do not.

A zither?

A harp-zither to be precise. It’s an Alavaran string instrument. Not that she plays it as such. She plays more in the Dwar’Dan style. ‘None of that beautiful Alavaran karp.’ She used to say. ‘I prefer karp one can dance to.’ A smile plays across his lips

Kup-Nawzh bobs.

It’s custom made too. I think she even helped design it. It’s supposed to be playable even when she is dancing about and singing. And it’s sturdy; she’s been known to use it as a weapon.

An instrument?

Yes.

I am not even surprised. Kup-Nawzh responds with a sigh.

But she does have a ka?

Presumably. Somewhere. The older female monk answers. But I doubt she ever uses it. ‘Too fokking long. Got to carry this too you know.’ Which I suppose is true. That zither of hers is big enough and she took it everywhere.

And you allowed her to train with that…

Chisel is the best word for it. A dozen inch steel rod with one sharp, flattened end. Made for her by one of the weaponmiths the Academy uses. She named it Owrey-Ozhey. She giggles at the thought.

Of course she did. How did she pay for it?

Not in the way you’re thinking. She composed a song for the young woman and performed it at her wedding.

Really?

I was there, it was quite a performance. She’s actually really good. When she wants to be. And I don’t just mean at her art. At everything. Best of her year. There was a reason Lan took a shine to her.

Lan? Oh, Fi-Lan. And I know how good she was. Highest marks in almost all subjects. To be honest, I am still not entirely sure how she got assigned to Karzunidat.

Really? You didn’t hear what happened?

Of course I did. It is even in her report. But I would not have thought that enough reason to punish her so severely.

I don’t think it’s merely punishment. They sent her as far from Valderia as they could manage. As far away from the trouble she is obviously very capable of causing. She can be very volatile.

Kup-Nawzh bobs to himself. Then I think I know why I am to do make this report. To see if she has changed in these past seven years.

Yeah, the light green man says with a smile, heavy. Heavy and big, though not as big as most, but she’s built like all you missionists are, so she can handle it.

Kup-Nawzh smiles. So, she needs her muscles to play it.

And dance, and fight. Do you know what she used to say?

Yes, I have been told. She helped design it?

"Helped is an understatement. She went through three of the things before designing one that fit her needs. I made her design work on a practical level, but the basic idea was hers. For her to set it against her neck she needs that end to be curved but then the strings don’t quite sound right so I had to work out how to make it so they do. Other than that, it’s all her. Except for some of the decorative flourishes.

Five in total? Kup-Nawzh asks.

Yes, the tattooist answers, the symbol of Imiko on the outside of her left arm, the missionist symbol on inside of her left arm. A rising sun on the inside of her right arm. The Universalism symbol on her upper right arm. And finally, the Mian Clan symbol between her shoulder blades.

Not on her upper left arm?

No. That’s only traditional for Isletists.

I thought it was common enough across the whole of the State.

It is, but neither mandatory nor expected. The tattoo itself is what matters.

True enough.

How are yours?

Still there. Kup-Nawzh says with a small smile.

If you want any added, you know where to find me.

I have been considering a scribe professional tattoo. But I am not quite willing to give up hope yet.

They still have you walking the Academy’s halls?

They do.

Damn fools.

I will take that as a compliment.

Well, the red-skinned woman starts, when one’s as good as she is… She brushes her long yellow hair out of her dark purple eyes. One gets a lot of leeway, I guess. Fi-Lan himself vouched for her on many occasions.

He would have had to.

Besides, in truth, there are no real rules to what we wear. She tugs both sides of her cyan coloured collar. No matter what they say. In Service of our Deities, we’re left particularly free.

Especially you Imikoans.

Zhigh-Feyro smiles. Especially us. Can’t Serve the Goddess of Art without artistic freedom.

And plenty of other kinds.

"I should hope so, Improvisation is key."

So they say.

If one spends more time making it look good and less time planning, improvisation becomes paramount. And we all excel at it. Though none quite as well as Arka. A very big smile fills her face. Drunk most of the time, hardly ever waking up in her own bed, and if so, never alone. For as far as possible, her smile grows. And she still managed to beat us all. Top at magic theory, channelling, history. Art, of course. Philosophy, she even created her own for her final paper.

Kup-Nawzh bobs. "The Ledge."

Also the title of her art piece.

"Actually, that was, Dancing Along the Ledge."

Oh, yeah, that’s right. And ka fighting. Even though she never bothers to use or even carry one…

Such a waste.

A waste? No! She’s exactly what she should be. Being a missionist’s just a means to an end.

The end being, drinking herself to death.

No, she must be immune to the poisonous effects of alcohol by now. The end’s to be free. As an artist.

And not bothering to wear the robes helps?

Can’t exactly dance well in those horrible things.

He suddenly becomes very aware of how boring he must look in his regular violet robes compared to the beautiful woman, who is wearing a many-coloured ensemble, favouring the colour cyan. So, what does she wear?

All cyan, though in various shades. Regulation boots, one size too large though. Riding style. Fingerless gloves. Regulation leather pants. Tight as a drum. I wish I’d an arse like that, she’s got one of those dancer arses…

And…

Her top’s also tight and covers her rather small… She notices the look on his face. Right. Erm… Just enough to cover her breasts, straps on the back and nothing over her gorgeous abs. And attached to that, her hood.

She wears a hood? He almost exclaims it.

Yes, a size too big too. When she has it up, you can’t tell her hair’s as short as it is. At the back anyway, at the front it’s quite long. On the right-hand side anyway, last time I saw her.

Kup-Nawzh frowns. I never bothered to ask anyone before, what skin colour does she have?

Nobody volunteered?

No. He frowns Why?

Some would say yellow, but I’d say gold. Her skin is golden, as is her hair, albeit a bit darker. And shiny, almost like a Terrascian. And she has amazing cyan-coloured eyes.

Cyan?

Yeah.

You are joking.

Nope. She has exactly the right coloured eyes.

That is…"

Yes, she replies, her big smile firmly back on her face, she is.

Kup-Nawzh finishes his prayer to Languas, God of Knowledge, and looks at the papers covering his rather large desk in his decent sized quarters at the Missionist Academy.

One thing has become clear about Missionist Al-Arka from Clan Mian, people like her. Not one person he met disliked her. She is, on the surface, nothing but trouble. She drinks too much. She has no respect for anyone or anything. She flaunts the rules. She does as she pleases, even if that includes killing a fortrin. And she is good at everything without any discernible effort, which should have made all around her envious. But when one scratches that surface, she appears to be something special. For all her disrespect, she never seems to rub people the wrong way. Except for the Missionist Council, or maybe just anyone with authority. Best he can figure, she does not judge anyone, and she does not care how people judge her. Letting people be themselves would make them comfortable around her, so that would make them like her. And he presumes she is one of those people who is always on. She is, after all, a performing artist.

Tomorrow he leaves on the long journey to the city of Karzunidat, to actually meet the woman for himself. And unlike four days ago when he was actually dreading it, he finds that he is now looking forward to it.

He wishes to meet this woman who can make a light shine in people’s eyes when they think of her.

* * * *

Karzunidat is the largest city on the continent and the busiest. Originally just an ocean harbour town the Alavars and Gorths used for ferrying goods between their continents, it rapidly grew in size as people from all karzuns on the two continents came to it, with the exception of the Korrosinic karzuns.

Most of the city lies on the eastern side of the river but some of it has spilled over to the west bank. The city is split into clear neighbourhoods for the various karzuns. Each with their own architecture and culture. Exception to this are the centre, which is a mixture of the various cultures, favouring Alavaran, Valderian, Gorthsian and Dwar’Dan; the harbour quarter, where the various dockworkers live; and the richest areas, one in the city proper and one on the west bank, which also houses the Dankir and Kuran settlements. It was decided that the only way for the city to be run effectively is through democracy, with each neighbourhood having its own representative on the city council.

Interestingly, the harbour quarter also houses a relatively large number of Froonts, the only city outside of the Dwar’Dan cities to do so. This is due to the fact that though slavery is allowed in Karzunidat, no one within its borders may be made a slave. Anyone who was a slave outside of its borders is considered one within, however it is up to the original owner to claim them. As such, without being claimed, slaves are essentially free within its borders. More than that, slavery may not be passed on from parent to child and as such, any slave-child born within the borders is born free. Slaves may try to flee to Karzunidat in the hope for freedom, if not for themselves then at least for their children. On principle, slavery is not accepted within the Valderian quarters, though the usual Valderian dislike for other karzuns makes it a moot point for any non-Valderian. Ironically, slavery is also frowned upon in the, supposedly, less civilised areas of the Dankir and the Kuras.

She bursts into a dirty giggle and slams her mug down on the bar, empty. I win! She bellows so everyone can hear. I beat you! She throws her head back as she gets up from her stool and lets out her usual high-pitched cackle of a laugh. She spreads her arms wide as if to take in the whole world and then holds the male Dwar’Da in a level gaze. All mirth leaves her face as she says, Pay up.

With a scowl, the Dwar’Da hands her the two gold coins.

A nasty but also sweet smile appears on her face and she bows her head. Then she turns on her heel and in a straight line, which includes climbing over tables, she makes her way to the small, elevated area