Part 23

There was no ceremony held for her getting her first medal.  Lt. Tezana came up to her one morning and threw the medal at her. 

“There’s your medal.  I hope you feel big now with that unearned medal on your chest,” she said and walked off. 

And that was all the ceremony and praise she received. 

The camp was full of rumors on where they were heading next.  The only thing for certain was that the army was preparing to march.  They’d be off to another battle soon.

She sat under a tree and ate her boiled eggs as she read her scriptures.  Everyone that knew her was used to her scripture reading and she wasn’t bothered except by strangers. 

The she saw Burana running up with an enormous smile on her freckled face. 

“Grez, we got leave to go into the city tonight!  You coming?”

She did want to see new places. 

“Yes,” Greza said. 

Together with Ox and a few other men from their platoon, they went into the city and showed their passes to the guards. 

The city wasn’t ‘just a town but bigger’ it had things she’d never seen before. The market place in the square by the main gate was filled with merchants, jugglers, acrobats and nobles.  She also smelled the aroma of cooking food that she didn’t recognize but wanted to become more familiar with. 

“Where to first?”  Ox asked.

“Tavern!”  One of the others said. 

“Nah!  Let’s shop around first before the stores close,” Burana said.

“Good idea,” Ox said.  “Split into groups.  No one goes off by themselves and we’ll meet that that tavern over there in an hour: two at most.” 

Everyone agreed and began to split up.  She went with Burana.  The two of them chose a street at random and headed off. 

“Looking for something particular?”  Greza asked.

“No, just looking.  You?”

“Just looking.”

The walked by a shop full of mechanical toys and clocks.  They stopped to look through the window at the machines before continuing on. 

Burana seemed more interested in the clothes and such and dragged her into a store. 

One thing did catch her eye though, a red scarf.  It was beautiful.  With her black uniform it would stand out and mark herself.  The weather was getting warmer but she wanted it.  She paid the store man and walked out with the scarf around her neck.  Burana had bought a blouse and vest that accentuated her feminine charms. 

Greza wasn’t interested in that sort of attention. 

“Think Ox will like this?”  Burana asked. 

“I’d imagine so.  You want him to like it?” 

Burana didn’t answer for a few seconds. 

“Yes, I believe I do.  Is that alright with you?”

“Me?  I have no say in it.”

“You don’t seek his attention?”

“I don’t.”

Burana smiled and they continued on. 

As the stores grew cheaper and more decrepit, they came to a small square with a broken down fountain.  It didn’t look like this area had many visitors.  There were a few boarded up stores and a stall that didn’t look as if it had been used in years. 

Then something caught Greza’s eye.  It was a stone building sandwiched between larger wood buildings.  It had a single tall door with a round stained glass window above it. 

The stained glass window had the symbol of the Path of Light. 

“Burana, hold on,” Greza said.

“What?  There’s nothing here.” 

Greza pointed to the church. 

“I’ll wait outside,” Burana said.

Greza crossed the tiny square and stopped in front of the wooden door to the church.  It looked old but it didn’t look abandoned like many of the buildings nearby. 

She tested the door and found that it opened.  Greza stood there for a moment, frozen in excitement.  She’d never actually been in a church before and didn’t know what to expect. 

Taking a deep breath she pushed the door open and walked in.  She found herself in a round chapel with wooden pews in three rows of seven.  Holy numbers.  On the far side was the shrine and alter.  A large book of scripture lay open on the altar.  Incense was burning on either side of the book.

“Who’s there?”  She heard a man say in the almost unintelligible local accent. 

“A worshiper,” Greza said. 

An old man in a priest’s simple robe came out of a side door and he took a moment to look her over. 

“You’re not from around here,” the man said.

“No, I’m with the mercenary company.”

He frowned and turned away and walked toward the altar.

“What do you want?”  He asked.  “If you’re here to mock, I assure you that I’ve heard everything there is to say.”

“Not at all, I’m a follower of the Path.”

He laughed.

“Of course, of course.”

“I am.  I’ve been reading the scriptures since I was a child but have never had an opportunity to attend an actual ceremony before.”

“You’re too young to be a believer.”

“What does age have to do with it?”

He stood behind the altar and snuffed out the incense sticks. 

“You must have been raised hearing stories of the Lost Victor.  Why would you believe?”

“For the same reasons you do.”

He shook his head. 

“That doesn’t mean much anymore.”

She walked up the isle and stood on the opposite side of the alter. 

“I believe, sir.  Please don’t wave my conviction away.”

He stopped and looked at her.  Despite his age, his eyes were still clear and bright.  He didn’t appear as old as she had initially thought.  It was his weariness and care worn face that made him appear older.   

“Why would you believe a religion that has had a false prophecy?”  He asked.

“Don’t you believe?”

“I asked you first.”

“The prophecy hasn’t been proven false.  The Victor was lost, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be found again.  Have the Divine Lights ever broken a promise?”

“The Child is dead.  There’s no coming back from that.”

“Have the Lights ever Broken a promise?”

“Not until this one, no.”

“Then we must have faith that they will keep it.”

“Who are you?”

“Greza.  I was a slave but one of my masters was kind and gave me an education.  He taught me of the Path.” 

The man leaned over the altar and looked her right in the eyes.  He held her gaze for several long moments.       

“You are a true believer, I can see it.  How curious,” he said. “So, young Greza, what brings you here?  Seeking truth?”

“I’d like to become an official member of the Path.”

“That takes several weeks.  I have to interview you and test your knowledge and ask family and friends and…”

Her hope sunk. 

“I only have an hour, sir,” she said. 

He chuckled. 

“Strange times we live in and this is a strange situation.  I haven’t had a petition for membership since…well, you know.  Very well.  We’ll skip the other stuff.  Kneel before the altar.”

She quickly did so.  Was he really going against tradition to make her a member?  After all this time she was officially joining the Path of Light. 

“Hands together.  Close your eyes.  I’ll say the words of the ceremony and when I tell you, you repeat after me.” 

She nodded. 

“Greza of the Chimera Company, you have come to this sanctuary and this altar to petition membership among the Path of Light and to Worship the Divine Lights with all your heart and mind.  This is no simple task to be taken lightly and will demand much of your life.  Dying is easy, living justly is difficult.  But you must endure and live a just life so that others may see the Path from your Light and choose to walk it themselves.  Now repeat after me:   I swear to follow the Path all the days of my life.”

She repeated. 

“I swear to treat others with equality, respect and charity.”

She repeated. 

“I swear to always keep faith in my heart, to pray always and never cease to trust the Divine Lights.”

She repeated. 

As he continued on with the ceremony he mixed up a bowl of herbs and paste.  He then used the black paste to mark the curved “X” shape on her forehead.  Then he sprinkled holy water on her hands and mouth. 

“Rise, Greza of the Chimera Company and lay on the altar to offer yourself up to the Path.” 

He moved the book over to the stone shrine and she lay down on the table. 

“Now I will pray and through me the Divine Lights will give you a blessing and with faith, a direction in life.”

He placed his hands on her folded hands and closed his eyes. 

“Divine Lights that rule the heavens and all above and below.  Please hear your servant.  Tonight we have a supplication for a new member.  I know you all don’t listen to me much at all and you’re either deaf or you chose to ignore me, but please don’t ignore this girl.  She had come with earnest faith and honestly seeks your Path.”

He made as if to continue but fell silent.  Soon she began to wonder if this was part of the prayer and was about to ask if he was alright.  But then he continued.  But this time his voice was different.  It was slower and quieter, almost like he was repeating what he was hearing. 

“Greza, the Divine Path has led you here.  All that has happened has led you here.  You are placed to do a great work for the Path.  Because of your unwavering faith you have been chosen for a great work; a work that may prove your destruction if you fail.  This is a terrible burden but you are the only one of all the Path’s servants to have the faith to be granted this purpose.  Greza, you must seek out the Promised Victor.  Find him.  Show him the Path.  Show him the Path or he will be doomed to wander in strange lands all his life and his work will be unfinished and lead to the destruction of this people.  Have courage, Greza.  You are chosen.”

Then the old priest broke off and stumbled backward, colliding with the stone shrine, causing the paper prayers to flutter to the floor. 

“Impossible,” he breathed. 

She sat up, looking at her hands. Was that real?  She was chosen?

“What was that?”  She asked.

“I don’t know.  It’s impossible.” 

“Was that…was that you?”

He shook his head. 

“It wasn’t.  I’ve never…who are you?”

“I’m just a soldier.”

She was nobody.  She had just been a slave and nothing more.  She meant nothing to anybody except one kind old man.  Who was she to be noticed by the Divine Lights?

“The Promised Victor is alive?  Impossible,” the priest said. 

“That was Them, wasn’t it?”  She asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.  But by the look in his eyes she could tell that he knew.

The Divine Lights had spoken through him to her. She had read about such things and knew they had happened in the past to prophets and saints. 

But she was neither prophet nor saint.  She was just a slave and she had killed people with her hands.  All her faults came rushing in one after another.

“They spoke to me.  They know me,” she said, the wonder of it all starting to sink in. 

“I’ve never seen such a thing,” he said, shaking his head.

Then the old priest turned and rushed out of the room.