I mentioned before going away that A Matter of Faith was almost done with its second draft. And today, I am presenting an excerpt of that very draft! Please enjoy the start of the fourth short story from Karatera, following a divine warrior of the First Eye as she attempts to rid her village of heretical faiths.

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The following is a work in progress and has not been edited nor proofread. The final product may read differently to what is presented below

Templar Bellona Domitia rode into the Taenöra Valley at noon astride her chestnut mare, after almost thirteen days travelling the Dust Road. She surveyed the quaint little village with distaste, a sprawl of clay-and-wood huts bordered north and south by tall bluffs and rough desert hills. She had struggled to find the place on the maps at first, and now that she could see it, she understood why. I should be assigned to a shire on the coast, not this miserable little rock pit, she thought bitterly. But here she was.

Sighing, she spurred her mount forward, trotting down the dirt path that led down to Taenöra. She’d chosen to wear her armour on her arrival, a steel lamellar cuirass with accompanying greaves and armguards that shone brightly in the sunlight, with a long cotton tunic separating the scorching metal from her skin. Atop the armour, she wore a white surcoat depicting the insignia of the First Eye in silver thread, contrasting nicely with her dark skin, and her short-cropped hair was hidden underneath a visored helm. Her sword hung from her belt, a longsword named Lady Justice, its white enamelled crossguard decorated with a sapphire as big as her eye.

She held her head high as she rode slowly into town, the villagers watching her from their hovels in silence. No doubt they were awed at the sight of a fully armoured knight in their midst. Bellona hoped they were not watching too closely. The sun was cooking her alive inside her armour, and they would not be so impressed if they could see the sweat running down her face, chest and back.

The chapel was her first destination. Nadërin, the old hand who led the town militia, led her to it in the centre of town. Bellona didn’t recognise it at first. It was a dome of opaque yellowed glass, a typical sight in villages touched by the khenedrin desert-folk. Only when she got close did she see the symbol of the First Eye carved haphazardly above the door, and when she did, she felt her heart drop. Don’t tell me this is what passes for a chapel here. The interior was virtually bare, with a dirt floor, benches instead of pews, and a sandstone block at the back that looked like it was meant to be a shrine. She approached it, her eyes narrowed at the wooden figures that were placed upon and surrounding the block. Three clay ones stood right in the middle, taller than the rest, painted red, green and blue.

“I imagine Taenöra is a far cry from Angelos, diah,” Nadërin was telling her. He was an older man with sharp features and dark hair pulled back into a short tail. His deep tan skin and pointed earlobes betrayed khenedrin heritage, a trait shared with many people of the Violet Sands. “You will find our militia lacking, I’m afraid. Many of our youths were frightened into joining the Wings when they heard of the attack on the capital. They’re training at the Ivory Gate by now, I’ve no doubt. All we have left are myself, and a few boys who were too young for the army.”

Bellona didn’t respond. She picked up one of the figures, giving it a close look before setting it back down. “What are all these?” she asked.

Nadërin’s brow furrowed. “Effigies, crafted by our village’s spirit-speaker,” he answered. “They represent the Lords of Dust.”

“This is a chapel to the First Eye, not the khenedrin gods.”

“The Lords are our ancestors, diah, not gods. Look.” He pointed to the clay figures. “The Three Saints are here, as they have always been. We have not forsaken them.”

Bellona frowned. “And yet, you put them amongst tokens of a different faith to obscure them.”

“Obscure them? No, we-”

She pushed the wooden effigies off the shrine with the back of her hand, where they clattered to the ground. “I’ll have no heresy in my town. Remove these.”

Nadërin stared at fallen effigies. “Diah-”

“Custodia,” Bellona snapped. “I am your templar and sworn protector, and you will address me as such.”

“… custodia, Taenöra has always respected the Lords of Dust, long before Providence came to Karatera. It is our way.”

“Was,” Bellona corrected him bluntly. “I was sent here to correct Taenöra’s path, Nadërin, back to the one laid out for us by the First Eye. At best, these foreign faiths confuse the Eye’s messages and lead us astray. At worst, they are agents of the Adversary, seeking to destroy us from within. From this day forth, Taenöra will follow the Eye as dictated by the Three Saints. And only the Eye.”

Nadërin was silent for a while, his face twisted in consternation. “This was not an issue with our previous protector,” he ended up saying.

“I am not surprised. Templar Nestor was faithless. He abandoned you.”

“He disappeared. It is not the same thing. And he was not faithless, custodia. He was anointed with templar’s magic, and he could perform the laying on of hands.”

That angered her. “Even worse. The saints entrusted him with their blessing, and he squandered it. We are well rid of him.” She turned away, looking out the chapel doors to the town beyond. “As head of the militia, you are sworn by oath to obey me. I will need your help to bring this village into line, Nadërin. Bring me the hieropate of this chapel. There are changes that must be made.”

“… As you wish, custodia,” Nadërin said quietly.

End of excerpt