Young Writers Society

Author's Note: If you read chapters 1-3 then you are doing just fine, if you didn't you aren't missing much. This is one of Sage Serena's stories, told in third person. I think it is a bit short, but still a good chapter.

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Chapter Four – First of Four Tales, Part I – Asonist Serena

To the northwest, across the Polek Mountains, the edge of the Clair Kingdom ended at the town of Gilek. The natural barrier of the mountains prevented its people from maintaining communication and safety of those on the other side. Fian happened to sit within the natural barrier, as an independent land of natives that knew no monarchy. Being fundamentally different in appearance and mind, because they were pacifists, they were forgotten people living quietly amongst the mountains.

Serena, crossing the mountains on foot, came across the town of Gilek on the most holiest of times. The second Pabune, the day of prayer, of Panafiar, the month of harvest. As the cycle goes, the year was one of the harshest to be experienced, a bountiful harvest had been failing from a lack of rain, the spring ran dry. Even the priests themselves were troubled and prayed night and day for a miracle. Their miracle was received in Serena.

Science and religion are commonly said to oppose one another, though within the world a special branch of science and a special branch of religion have found common ground from which the mysteries of the world could be explained, predicted and more often then not, come true. This special branch of science and religion is called, Asoni, it is used to seemingly control the weather and requires knowledge limited to those in priesthood.

Nestled into the side of the rolling Polek mountains, Gilek was unimpressive as a whole. Wood was scarce and cement was expensive, but the one thing they did have was stone. Everything was built from rough cut stone, either from the mine or from the quarry. Wood was particularly scarce, as it was in Fian, and the houses were all arcuated, appearing like miniature chapels. Though in the center of the town was the church, a massive cathedral with a single finished tower that rose high into the sky. Its appearance was crude and imposing with its blocky masculine frame, but was clearly the subject of poor workmanship. Hastily constructed for service rather then glory.

Serena came into the mining and farming town with nothing but a book, a pack and the clothes on her back. As courtesy goes, all newcomers are to report themselves before the church, offer prayer to the patron saint of travel and to the patron saint of the town. Then impart some coin or gift to the church before staying or leaving.

During the day the town was often deserted as the people worked the fields or mined for mineral and stone. Though the church always had its doors open for visitors, turning none away if they sought faith. It was there in that unfinished church that Serena walked down the darkened pews towards two altars in front of the pulpit. On the left was the patron saint of the town, an unnamed figure of stout burly man carrying a pick ax in one hand, a child and a mug of ale in the other. Bearing the inscription, “Live as I have.”

Offering prayer to an unnamed or obscure patron saint was a common practice even among seasoned travelers, but even this seemed to be in bad taste. Though on the right was a more modest figure of Enililia, the patron saint of compassion. Her figure soft and graceful, upon her knee offering two children a loaf of bread. Even vague familiarity of Enililia's teachings had a magnetic effect upon Serena as she quickly knelled at the foot of statue.

Twisting her head around to find three priests consumed in prayer just beyond the altar, she started to pray to Enililia instead of the crude, boorish man unable to hold a child over his booze. Upon finishing her prayers she headed to the front of the altar, Serena noticed the priests had not come to bless her. The three men in black priestly vestments continued to pray, consumed in meditative prayer, unresponsive to her presence. Slowly, placing down a gold pebble upon the altar, she started to make her leave.

To her surprise a boy was leaning against the doorway, wearing a black priestly robe several sizes too large and an equally large black beret that covered his entire forehead. Fine stubble of a a beard beginning to grow across his pale face, enveloping his chin and the sides of his jaw like a creeping shadow.

He called out to her from the doorway, as she walked down the pews towards him, “Young lady, a child does not need to offer gifts.”

“I am no child.” Serena said as she came face to face with him, “I shall be leaving, this town has nothing for me.”

The boy looked shocked and bowed his head respectfully, his training kicking in, “I am sorry if they offended you, we have been praying for rain for over a week now. The Asonist recently passed away...”

Serena sighed and opened the large tome in her hand which the boy clearly recognized, browsing through the pages and said quite clearly almost immediately after finding page, “You shall have rain tomorrow night, it will last until Kibune. A warm rain, offer prayers to Velania.”

The lad gasped, “You can read and interpret the book?”

Serena laughed heartily at him, “Why else would I be traveling with it? I want to be one step ahead of fate. I wrote this one myself, so I can assure you of its accuracy.”

The boy fell to his knees, hands clasped in prayer, lowering his head to her, crying out, “Our prayers have been answered!"

The three priests broke from their meditation and stood up in shock, turning to look at Serena still holding the book in her hands, “An Asonist!”

“Oh no! I am no Asonist!” Serena shook her head, closing the book and retreating from the advancing priests who fell one by one to their knees in prayer at her feet.

“The Gods have sent an angel!”

“She can interpret their word!”

“We will be saved!”

Serena sighed and rested against the back of the church wall, “What did I just get myself into...”

The child dressed in faded red wool clothes, with the heavy leather bound book in hand, had four men bowing down before her and she wanted to be as far away from them as possible. Though knowing the rainy future she was inevitably forced to stay or risk her health out in the wilderness.

The oldest priest, bald and stern in face, spouted his orders quickly and clearly, “Father Bevek, prepare the church. Father Mivek, light the candles and lamps. Brother Povek, ring the bells of celebration, prayer and divinity.”

The three quickly ran off into the depths of the church, preparations being made for a grand service to announce the good news received. Leaving the oldest priest with Serena at the front of the church.

“Thank you, Father-”

“Zevish?”

“Zevish, son of the wave of the sea. From the port city of Tevish,” he added.

Unlike those born of the mountains to have the suffix -vek, those born on the shore have the suffix -vish. In many places, last names are comprised two parts, the prefix being of the patron saint or a famous figure with the origin of ones birth being the suffix. First names were diverse and often followed complex patterns in origins, but a last name defined who you are and where you come from. Father Zevish was literally said to be, “Amon Zevish, Holy servant of the spirit of the son of the wave of the sea.”

“Serena.” the girl simply stated.

“Se-re-na?” said the old man, trying to make sense of her name. The composite of her name made no sense and its meaning could not be deciphered by word alone, “How is it written?”

Serena flipped to the inside cover of the book and their in Arabic letters were the letters comprising her name. The man completely baffled shook his head and surprise and finally gave up, “Never have I seen such runes, your mastery and skill of the language exceeds your age. Who was your teacher?”

Flipping the book closed, Serena repeated again, “I am no child. I am no Asonist. I am a traveler and nothing more.”

Father Zevish moved closer and gently reached out his hand to lift up the girls chin to look into her eyes, “Child...you are no woman. I know everyone in this town, but you I have not seen, yet child you are. Where is your father?”

Serena pulled back and shook her head, “I am not a child! I am older then Brother Povek! I am alone and like it that way.”

The old man shook his head in disbelief, “This charade has gone on long enough, do not make me inspect you for truth of your womanhood.”

Serena's eyes widened at his words and out came her index finger, “Listen! I am not a child. My word is truth. From Fian, I came. Bring before me Rashek Levek! He will confirm it.”

Father Zevish laughed at the girl's fury, but quickly suppressed it and said coldly, “Very well, but our courier does not care much for children. Wait here and he will come shortly.”

Serena sighed and turned away from the priest, “It was I who saved his life. He will remember me.”

Heading outside to await the arrival of the people, the man's voice weakly said, “Your words are hard to believe, his are not.”