Blasphemer's Travelogue

CHAPTER ONE

After eating, she was ushered to what must have been the Moida's family home. It was a two story structure made of wood and tile. Heralda seemed very grateful to be able to leave her in the guest room. She came back after not too long, though, flanked by two servant women carrying fabric. 

"For now, may I lend you some of my clothing?" Heralda asked. Her voice was surprisingly high and childlike, for an obviously middle-aged adult.

"Thank you," Tavia said, because she wasn't raised in a barn. Context made it clear that the servants were expected to dress her. She tried to go along with it as if it was normal, handing a maidservant her shucked pajamas and holding her arms up for a thin, loose off-white dress to be dropped over her head. 

It was a weird, shapeless bag that did not look anything like what the other women were wearing. She thought about asking. Then she realized it was an underdress. The next layer was meant to be some kind of structural garment that basically served the function of a bra, although it didn't work right because she was bigger than Heralda. Another dress then went on top. This one had some structure, including a gathered waist and front ties. It stopped mid-shin, but that was probably because she was a good 15 cm taller than her hostess.

It was probably still a lot more decent by local standards than her pajamas.

She thought that was it, but apparently hair dressing was also compulsory. Her hair was braided, pinned back, and then covered with fabric that was pinned as well.

Whatever. When they finally left her, she sat down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. The exposed wooden rafters didn't tell her anything, but they served as a reminder that the day was very, very weird.

"French Fry," she said, holding out a hand to try to coax him onto the bed. "I think we are in deep shit."

He ignored her.

ooo

Over the next few days, she accumulated hand-written papers in Moira’s awful handwriting and a collection of clothes made from her poor bedsheets. Her turquoise pillow cases were somehow made into two under dresses. The blue fitted sheet was turned into an underdress, a real dress, and one of the scarves. She got two more dresses and a head covering from the purple and blue striped cover for her comforter. The comforter itself was nowhere to be seen. Similarly missing was the pink sheet, which she’d only had out because she’d spilled tea on the blue one the day before.

By that point, her socks were distinctly discolored from walking around on the cold stone floor. They weren’t warm enough, either. She didn’t want to push, but she was starting to wonder if anyone had realized that she needed foot wear.

Regardless. She wore the clothes as they arrived and read the papers as she got them. The overall impression she got was that she was not going to be able to go home.

”New plan,” she told French Fry. “Profit, comfort, safety.”

He glanced up at her from his spot on her lap, tail flicking idly. He purred a little louder.

As far as she could tell, she was in some kind of faux historical European setting. Moida was planning to go off with a company of 250 men, which gave her distinct and gross Crusade vibes.

She made a mental note to keep that from happening at any cost. That was how things got uncivilized and militaristic. That was some nightmare fuel conquistador, imperialist bullshit just waiting to happen. It also seemed like a fast track to getting murdered by some macho zealot when they realized she was not sent by God to solve their problems.

‘I got here somehow, though. Weird coincidence that I ended up in a church surrounded by people begging their god for guidance.’

She noped  the fuck away from that train of thought. She felt like screaming a little bit every time it came up, which was maybe why she wasn’t making any progress on it.

‘Maybe for the best if I’m stuck here. I bet I’ve been fired by now.’

Depressing.

She tried to steer her thoughts back in a more productive direction. Ideally, these weirdos would stay where they were and mind their own business. She did not see a way to make that happen. So. Mitigation, somehow.

‘I guess I am guiding, to the least stupid outcome possible. That almost matches what they wanted.’

So. If they were not a big militaristic party of explorers, what were they? Why did people go places?

Her first thought was tourism. Not going to work. She was pretty sure the modern conception of tourism wasn't a thing for the vast majority of human history. 

She thought about other reasons to travel and kept getting stuck on trade. Ah, yes, classic trading conditions: carrying no valuables, to an unknown end destination where there may or may not be other people. That’s how trade works. Classic commerce.

“We need a pilgrimage,” she announced at dinner the next evening Dinner, like all other meals, was served with wine. She was on her third glass and feeling very pleasant.

“A pilgrimage?” Moida repeated. He blinked rapidly. “This is an expedition.”

“That is the wrong approach,” Tavia said, pitching her voice low. “Your goal is only possible by the grace of God, yes?”

It was one hundred percent impossible and a ludicrous ego project commissioned by someone clearly unreasonable and utterly ridiculous. Also, God did not exist. She was pretty sure.

“That’s true,” Moida said, who had no mind reading abilities.

She gestured broadly across the table. “This trip must be restructure. One does not take an army on a pilgrimage, it’s disrespectful. We need strong arms, of course, but also matrons of good character.”

“Matrons?” He was incredulous.

Heralda looked distinctly displeased by this concept.

“Who runs a household?” Tavia asked, just going out on a limb that this was a cultural constant. “A group of men is going to descend into uncivilized rabble in the wild, which is no Godly way to prove yourselves worthy of a holy relic. And what experience have your soldiers with tracking the needs of a large group?”

Moida was stuck on the wrong thing. “We need to find a holy relic?” His eyes were very large.

She had just been talking out of her ass, but she nodded solemnly. “What else could confer such a potent symbol of God’s approval of an eternal reign on earth to complement his reign in Heaven?”

“What relic do you seek?” Herald was leaning forward in her chair, by fat the most interested that Tavia had ever seen her.

‘Fuck if I know. A magical-looking rock, maybe.’

“There are several possibilities,” Tavia stalled. And then she couldn’t think of any more bullshit, so she gave them a solemn look and excused herself from dinner.

She went back to the papers she’d been given, trying to make sense of the information. The map she had was a star map, which meant nothing to her. Her astrological knowledge was limited to knowing that there were some Dippers and animals, and that the handle of the Big Dipper was also the tail of a fisher. Oh, and there was one star that was supposedly the brightest and therefore a good guide.

She wandered over to the terrifying open space that was her window, a hole in the wall large enough for a small person to worm themselves through to certain death, and looked up. It was still too light to see. She scowled up at the sky and wished it was darker already so that she could try to make sense of what she had been given.

It happened. It was night now.

Screams rose up all around the great house, panicked shouts melding with the warm air.

Tavia felt her eyebrows slowly raise. The sky had gone dark, suspiciously soon after she had wished that it would.

“I hate to get a big head,” she said slowly. “But I think I did that.” She crossed her arms and experimentally thought, ‘I wish it was light out.’

And it was.

The screaming was louder now.

She thought it over. She really, really did, trying to think of any scientific explanation for that happening by coincidental timing. She had nothing. Tavia had to conclude that she had caused the change in lighting. Her head still got stuck on the magical vibe this gave off. But it seemed even less plausible that she could have influenced the sun via explainable science.

Nothing. She had a big, fat nothing where her theories should be. Coincidentally, that was also the extent of her theory as to how she had gone from her house to this bizarre town without the comforts of modern life.

“Alright, God,” Tavia said. She swallowed. “I guess this wasn’t a fluke.” She stared out the window. “We’re bros, right?”

The silence that followed was not entirely comforting.