Departure and a Thought on God

I wrap a shawl around my shoulders as I look back at the castle towers. Usually on a moonlit night the tiled roof would sparkle with a glint of silver under moonlight, but tonight the stars hide behind the rumbling sky, threatening to break through and crush the world underfoot. I wouldn't object.

Despite my covering, the cold sinks into my bones and I let out a shiver as I turn towards the carriage loading up my luggage. Valerian, seeing that I had turned my attention to them, walks over with that same perpetual smile I wish they would drop.

"Ma'am," they give a shallow bow in greeting, eyes drawn to where I had been watching earlier. "Do not worry. You will be well taken care off with the general."

I hold back the urge to scoff, "It's not that, sir Valerian."

They peer into the shadows of my face and ask, "Homesick?"

I take one last glance at the palace, searching for the one room I know that overlooks us. When the sun rises, light would surely filter in through the curtains as it has done so many times before and my children would wake up to something missing. I sigh, "Something like that."

"It's unavoidable, ma'am." Valerian seems to understand at least, "This campaign's been going on for just over a year and I already miss my home more than I should."

"You were not part of the first campaign?"

"I was, ma'am," they reply, and adding on a regrettable note, as if war were something they enjoyed, "although I did not see it to the end."

I wish they do not compare what I am about to do to such a thing as conquest. These people take but are never taken from and I cannot help the resentment. I ask, although I know the answer, "Will I ever come back?"

Valerian doesn't answer and I take that as the confirmation I need, but didn't want. Instead, they change the subject, "Are you religious, ma'am? Everywhere I go in Bolchest it seems a symbol of a 'god' is present on the walls."

The default answer, one I've practiced for years and years to say without hesitation, already lay waiting on my tongue, "We all are, sir." The rehearsed phrase need not be modified when I'm talking to a complete stranger, "Novenia is our dominion given to us by God and we as stewards would do well not to forsake it."

That's too late now. Novenia is in heathen hands, left to the mercy of their pagan gods. It is none of my concern—however Valerian watches my expressions with a hint of guilt in their eyes.

"We mean no animosity coming here..." They start, but trail off as I meet their eyes head-on. No words had to be said there, because they realise their mistake on their own. "Ah," they try to amend, "I worded myself poorly there—"

"You need not mask your intentions, sir," I cut them off. At this moment in time I am not well-equipped to deal with such a delicate matter that could possibly give me a disadvantage when I enter Mureke's courts. I have no idea what kind of person Valerian is outside the smiles and gentle words, but I'm not willing to bet my reputation on this facade—not when mere words and gossip can make the difference between my future and my lack thereof. From the very beginning—even before that—I have to establish myself as someone firmly on Mureke's side, someone they can trust and not just a mere spoil of war, a pretty trophy from a foreign country. "It is war and I'm sure even a fool would understand that."

The both of us stand there in strained silence before the coachman yells for us. As I turn around, Valerian speaks up again.

"Well, ma'am," they say, their words on the hesitant side. "Would you like to visit your god one more time?"

I stare, processing the words and what it could mean.

"We have time and the temple of your god is on the way to the city walls anyways," they continue in lieu of explanation. "It is the least we can do after all. We might be conquerers but we are not unholy."

I think it over, turning the idea in my head. One last visit to a church. One last moment to stall. With a breath and pushing away my uneasiness, I reply mildly, "That would be appreciated, sir Valerian."

They grin, and I'd like to think it could be genuine for the first time.

We arrive at the church too fast and as we step up on the marble steps, Valerian lags behind. When I look to them, they only nod towards the heavy doors that lead to the prayer room. Hesitant, I step in by myself and the doors shut behind me with a heavy clang.

The clouds above part and moonlight filters in through the glass panes, illustrating patterns onto the floor telling the story of God. To be honest I was nervous about stepping into the house of God. On the one hand I am a sinner—my whole life I've committed ugly and unsightly actions that would surely put even the prisoners on death row to shame. But on the other hand these holy lands are the only place I can be at peace with just me and my thoughts for once in my life.

It's not that I don't believe in God; it's just that I don't believe there is a world where He can grant me forgiveness. Not when even looking at holy symbols make me feel dirty, makes me wish the devil had never spawned me into this world as a defiance to God. But we are here now and I am free to speak my thoughts.

"O' Lord who art in Heaven," I start, taking a deep, hesitant breath. "Hello."

It's an informal way the address God, but as I step forward into the spots of moonlight, the statue at the furthest end of the hall also comes to light, shadows scattering around the sacred idol. The figure, cloaked and twice as tall as me, stands in a welcoming gesture, one hand over His heart and the other open as if offering assistance. Even from afar the smooth stone looks realistic and skilfully crafted.

"I know I haven't acknowledged You often," I test my voice, its volume echoing to-and-fro in the large hall, "but I just want You to listen."

I gulp as I peer up into the hooded face. "That is if you are there."

Silence.

"Please," I whisper, and before I know it my knees land on the cold tiles. "O' Lord who art in Heaven. Please—" my voice quivers pathetically in a barely contained whimper, "—please help me. Please save me."

Begging hurts. It hurts more than my bony knees digging into the solid floor, more than the stinging tears I desperately hold back, more than the fear that eats away at my heart. Pride should not be my vice, but it is, even after years of breaking myself down again and again my pride refuses to leave me a shell of myself.

It's only been minutes until I realise the stupidity of my actions. I made a fool of myself—if God never saved me when I asked in my darkest times there will be no chance in hell He is suddenly going to help me now. Clenching my fists, I steel myself against the ground and push myself up. The statue stares down at me condescendingly.

"O' Lord who art in Heaven," I say for the last time, my mouth open to say my piece to my God. I wait, a croaking sound escaping my lips instead of words and I slowly close my mouth. The smiling statue seems to be splitting its lip, looming over me.

I spit on the floor and turn away in a sweeping motion. The rhythmic sound of my boots clicking against marble echoes like a laugh as I try to block the sound out, fleeing from holy grounds as if it burns me.

Valerian barely notices my return before I'm already boarding the coach, pushing myself in the corner furthest from the glittering cathedral. Valerian blinks in surprise for a second and climbs in after me, taking their seat nearest to the door, not noticing—or at least not acknowledging—my mild state of distress. For that I'm grateful as I quietly try to steady myself, my uneven breaths smoking fog onto the windows as I stare out into the gardens that surround the church. Soon we would be off these lands and on our way to the city outskirts where I know the army lay waiting. I only hope I'm not delaying them and that they are also awaiting the generals as that would make for an awkward introduction. Speaking of...

"You are Mureken, yes?" I inquire into the stifling silence.

Valerian looks at me in surprise, though I'm still looking at the passing streets not meeting their eyes. "Born and raised, ma'am," they reply earnestly. Now that they've mentioned it I start to notice the accent in their words. Throughout the continent the countries that lay on the Whalien Strip speak four different languages, all similar in grammar and words with the slight differences mostly in dialect. As a queen I had to learn how to speak all the languages on the Strip, and although I did not have need for their writing I still called in tutors to teach me how to read and write in the four Whalien languages. It proves useful now.

"Then should we not speak your language?" Suddenly I switch to Mureken.

Valerian's ears seem to perk up at that, but they still insist, "Ma'am, I am quite fluent in Novenian, it would make no difference for me which language we choose to speak in."

"I am going to your country, correct?" At that, Valerian nods. "Then it would be appropriate for me to brush up on my Mureken now. You don't trouble me," I add as they make to speak up again.

"I see," is all they say. I finally turn to study their expression but they keep it too guarded for me to read anything. "Then to practice, why don't you ask questions about my country and I'll ask about yours?"

I tilt my head, weighing the pros and cons. I'm not a big fan of talking any more than necessary when I have no idea what the slightest slip-up in phrasing can cost me. The proposal seems innocent at first—a fun game—but it's a useful tool in interrogation. I think back on the time Valerian brought up religion and I surmise that they know more about Novenia than I do about Mureke.

"What pagan gods do you worship?" I start right off the bat in place of accepting the proposal.

"Ah," Valerian clasps their hands together, their eyes lighting up, "that is a broad question."

"Would you prefer another?"

"No, no, it'd be my pleasure to answer that," they say, pausing right after as if thinking. "What do you know about our worships, ma'am?"

"We know you do not have only one deity." Though I'm ashamed to admit it, it's undeniable that Novenia doesn't harbour knowledge as much as I wish it would; we reject and refuse to learn about such pagan celebrations and their so called "fake" idols, even if that knowledge is considered valuable anywhere else in the world. I suppose that's the one thing I can say I have in common with my countryfolk—we're both stubborn to a fault.

Valerian seems to be excited to talk about it as they continue, "No we don't have just one deity, but we also don't worship any gods."

"Do you not?" I quirk a brow.

"The gods in our stories are symbols of human vice. Instead, each House answers to their respective angel, while those with no allegiances have no patron angel."

I frown in confusion, but nonetheless say, "I see."

Valerian laughs lightly, not mockingly at my confusion, "It's understandable if my lady doesn't grasp our practices. It's best if you see it for yourself." They perk up once more as if an idea has popped into their head, "You can always visit the temples in Mureke. We're lucky that we live in the Inner District where the temples are rich with history and culture."

I take in Valerian's appearance as they continue to ramble about the temples in Mureke. There's a certain lightness to them that I can't help but admire, a certain glow that enters their expression when they speak about their hometown. That passion is rarely found in the nobles I hang around on the regular. I quickly shut down my thoughts as it veers off in a pitiful direction and instead focus my attention on Valerian and our conversation.

"You love your country," I say, not as a question but as a statement.

Valerian's grin doesn't falter and I look away, not sure if I can make eye contact any longer. "I do, ma'am. We of the republic are proud of our roots and our idols."

I nod, not sure what to say other than moving on to something else, "It's your turn to ask." Even as I say that, I'm tense in anticipation at what prying questions they would send my way.

They think for a second and my lips tighten, before they ask, "What foods are great here?"

I snap my head to face them, blinking owlishly. "Pardon?"

"Well, we haven't been here long but I'd love to know what dishes are local and unique to this beautiful country," they reply as if that answers all my questions.

I'm speechless for a moment, searching Valerian's face for any sign of deception, of them trying to once again get my guard down. When I find nothing but earnest sincerity, I answer.

We talk like that for a while, going back and forth between question and answer.

"How is Mureke's land divided?"

"The Inner, the Ring, and the Outer District in that order, with the Five Houses in the Inner District and other cities scattered throughout the others. Is it true that all roads in Novenia lead to Bolchest?"

"Well, all the official roads are. What are the Five Houses?"

"They are the leading families that handle Mureke's government. What's the best dessert you can find in Bolchest?"

"Cheesecake. What does Mureke consider—"

We go on and on until the carriage rolls to a stop and I quiet down to take a peak outside.

"We've arrived to the beginning of our journey," Valerian says with a mildly dramatic tone and I squint at the sudden ray of light in my eyes. It doesn't take long for me to clear my vision, but once I do my breath catches in my throat.

Bolchest in a square city with clear east and west directions. Its walls are quite short and unguarded, which allowed me to be able to see the wide view of the landscape that stretches out from the city's east walls if I stood in the top-most floor of the castle. Although from the other side of the city, I could only ever see the faint outlines of the mountains and occasional speckled dots of travelling merchants heading to-and-fro. But now, standing just on the outskirts and overlooking the barren fields, it just seems so much larger than life. Light paints the sky a swirl of pink and blue, the sun barely peaking over the mountain in the horizon and casting long shadows on the stretch of land from there to the city. It looms the nearer you get to it, but the darkness retreating towards the highlands as the sun climbs higher and light washes across the lands makes it appear ever taller. Once it does, the long shadows give way to the sight before me.

On the field, lined up from mountain's base, is an army ten-thousand strong.