Profane rites, p.1
Profane Rites, page 1
Copyright © 2022 PJ Wilson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner
www.pjwilsonbooks.com
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Memory of Rampura
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Memory of Rampura
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Memory of Rampura
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Memory of Rampura
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
For Odette, Henry and Sid
Prologue
Honorata closed her eyes and laid her hands upon the man before her.
“Per istam sanctam unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam.” She chanted these words, not much more than a murmur. Blue light flowed from the novice’s hands, suffusing the stricken man’s arm, the bandages soaked with blood a visceral reminder of the battle just gone.
The broken body before her remained still as the prayer continued. The light flowed further through him, past his shoulder and enveloping his torso. At the same time, a pale blue nimbus formed around Honorata’s head, a sense of calm flowing through her as she followed the old routines of her training. A swirl of incense smoke encircled her as she prayed.
Her chant came to an end. With that, she opened her eyes. The blue glow dissipated in a heartbeat, the sense of serenity along with it, leaving Honorata feeling unnerved at the evidence of violence before her. The man’s breathing remained shallow. His eyes shut, his body unmoving.
Honorata rose to her feet, her knees aching from the hard, wooden floor. She awkwardly straightened her black dress, adjusting the yellow cincture around her waist. She turned to see the man’s wife, tears running down her face. Not tears of sadness, despite the tragedy that had befallen her and her husband, but tears of joy. Tears of elation. The tears of the faithful who believed that a miracle may have come to her that day.
“Thank you for your good works, Sister. May Devi bless you.” She gripped Honorata’s hands, a slight tremor running through her grip.
Honorata nodded and said, “He is in Devi’s hands now, daughter. Meditate and pray, and by the grace of Devi, he may yet be saved.”
She turned to leave the shack. Yonas had been standing by the door, watching as she worked, and he turned to follow her outside. She blinked as they stepped into the afternoon sun, her eyes taking a moment to adjust. The doorway opened onto a narrow, dirt lane, its surface beaten hard by the passage of feet over many years. The heat was oppressive at this time of day and Honorata’s dark robes felt stifling and uncomfortable under the onslaught of the sun.
They walked for a while before Yonas broke the silence. “Do you think he’ll make it?” he said, stretching his arms before him as he spoke, his thick accent still unfamiliar to Honorata’s ear.
“I have done all that I can, but I fear for him. Those wounds . . . they are terrible. I don’t think I’ve seen a man recover from injuries quite so bad as that. I will hold him in my prayers—her too. Because I worry that she is truly the one in need of Devi’s aid. She will have nothing once he is gone. I mean, if he is gone,” Honorata corrected herself at the end. They passed through a small market as they spoke. Its stalls, filled with an assortment of fruit, grains and spices, were quiet at this time of day.
“I’ve seen a war elephant on the rampage plenty of times and he’s lucky to only be that wounded, I reckon. Being gored by those beasts is usually a quick end. Savage things. They’ll rip through a small army in minutes if . . .”
“Please, Yonas, I do not want to dwell on matters of fighting and violence,” Honorata interrupted. “It breaks my heart every day to see the ravages of war, to see the horrors that we inflict on one another. My calling might mean that I’ll always be here to pray over the survivors. To do what little I can to ease their suffering. But that does not mean that I want to think about the horrid acts of the battlefield.”
Yonas shrugged. “I don’t think that there’s any avoiding it, Sister. You’re welcome to blind yourself to the things that men do in a fight, but it’s just the way things are. Plenty of fighting around here, and plenty of dead and dying as well. Not talking about it isn’t going to make it any less awful.”
Honorata furrowed her brow. “I suppose you look at things differently. You must carry the tulwar, and I’m forever grateful to have you by my side, but I do not see how learning the precise things that men do to kill each other helps me serve Devi. My focus needs to be on prayer and meditation; healing and comforting those that I can. Come now, we have one more stop to make today. The headman said that the house should be just up ahead.”
The shack she sought stood alone near an overgrown field of sugarcane. Rusted farm implements lay abandoned in the grass, a well-fed cow grazing amongst them. Honorata approached the door and knocked. There was no response, so she pushed at the door. It swung open to reveal a dimly lit room. Honorata could make out the form of a woman kneeling before a pallet on the floor. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could see the shape of a body lying in front of the woman.
The woman turned to Honorata. Even in that dark room, Honorata could see that her cheeks were wet with tears, her distress obvious.
“Wait here, Yonas, I will speak to her alone.” Yonas did not hesitate to sit down to the side of the door, his back against the wall, resting his short sword across his lap. Honorata stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
The silence hung heavily for a moment, Honorata momentarily lost for words. The right thing to say in the most wrong of circumstances eluded her. The woman just stared, quiet and still. Almost as still as the body lying next to her. Honorata stepped forward and placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. There would be no blessing of the sick in this place. It was too late for that.
“I am sorry for your loss, my daughter.” She paused a moment, grasping for something, anything that would be of comfort. She fell back onto routine, repeating some of the words that had been drilled into her over many years.
“This self is never born, nor does it die. It did not spring from anything, nor did anything spring from it. This ancient one is unborn, eternal, everlasting. It is not slain even though the body is slain.”
The woman closed her eyes and wept. Honorata knelt alongside her, facing the corpse. She closed her eyes and laid her hands upon the man laid out before her.
“Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei.” Her words were louder this time, not because that would matter to the dead man before her, but because Honorata hoped it would do something to comfort the widow alongside her.
“Requiescat in pace.” There was no nimbus of blue light this time.
Chapter One
The stockade crowned a low rise, the dense jungle having been cleared around its walls to mark a divide between civilisation and the wild. The thick foliage of the jungle lining the narrow path that Honorata and Yonas travelled only allowed glimpses of the fortification. It was only when they came to the base of the hill, perhaps fifty feet from where the open space began, that Honorata saw it clearly.
Walls built from rough logs, stacked in place and bound together. The path led to a break in the structure, through which Honorata could see a cluster of huts, roofs thatched with branches of wide leaves from the surrounding jungle. Three pale plumes of smoke rose from within.
As they approached, Honorata noted a uniformed man on each side of the opening, their head and shoulders appearing above the wall. Yonas shifted his hand to rest loosely on the pommel of his sword. They slowed as they made their way up the incline, leaving the oppressive humidity of the jungle behind, enjoying the cooling breeze that came with the open air. Whoever had conceived the idea of these robes obviously never had the jungles of Pala in mind, Honorata thought. The soldiers on the wall watched in bored silence as they approached. It was only when they were almost to the stockade that the man to Honorata’s left spoke.
“Hold there, Sister. Let’s get a name before you come any closer.”
Yonas replied before Honorata had the chance. “Aren’t the robes of an acolyte enough for you, man? You’re worried about this young innocent storming your fort? You think she wears that holy symbol at her belt as a deception?”
Honorata’s hand went self-consciously to the symbol fastened at her waist; the two entwined golden fish that she had worn ever since leaving Rampura. They still felt new to her. They embodied the recognition that she had finally proven her devotion to the Church such that she was able to declare herself a priestess of Devi to the world. That is, provided she passed the Trial, she thought.
The soldier’s tone made it clear that he wanted no trouble. “Calm down, friend, just doing our job. There’s plenty of rebels around here looking to cause trouble, but I can see that you two aren’t a danger. Hold on a moment and let me come down.”
The soldier’s face disappeared from the wall and appeared again at ground level after just a moment. He wore a gray uniform, dirty brown boots, with a bow slung over his shoulder. The other soldier maintained his post, ignoring the conversation, staring out at the jungle in a lackluster vigil.
The guard addressed Honorata first. “Bless you, Sister, my name’s Ravindra. This fort is under the command of Captain Brewer. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you; it’s been a long time since we’ve had word from Rampura and an envoy from the Church is always a welcome sight.”
“May Devi bless you, Ravindra. My friend here is Yonas. A member of the Order of Edessa and my companion on this journey. We have travelled a long way and we have business to discuss with the Captain. Would you welcome us into your camp?”
Ravindra eyed Yonas for a heartbeat before responding, addressing his words towards Honorata. “Of course, Sister. Brewer would have me digging ditches for a week if I didn’t make you feel right at home. I know we’re out in some pretty rough country, but we’re more than happy to share what comforts we have with a woman of the Church. And her companion. Please, follow me.”
They passed through the gate, trailing Ravindra as he led them towards a long hall that dominated the complex, its roof thatched the same as the huts strewn throughout the encampment. Once inside the walls, Honorata saw a tall barricade leaning against the palisade just to the side of the gate, ready to lift into place to defend the opening. Roughly hewn ladders led up to the platform that ringed the interior of the fortification.
A handful of men and women laboured around the camp, barefoot, with plain garb. An old woman carried a bundle of long grass. A man with only one arm tended a cooking fire, three plucked jungle fowl roasting above the flames, the rich smell of that meat teasing Honorata’s nose. A boy, not more than four years, chased a butterfly. The ring of a blacksmith’s hammer produced a steady beat. For the most part, the soldiers that Honorata saw lazed about in their gray uniforms, sheltering from the sun. Some carried swords, sheathed at their belt, favouring the thin, curved sirohi popular in Rampura.
“We’ve been camped here about three months now,” Ravindra said. “Before we came along, this was an old fort, walls just about falling down. You wouldn’t believe it, but we had to chase a tiger out of here! Blasted thing was using the place as its den. Haven’t seen it around for a few weeks now. Let’s hope it got the message.”
“And what about the locals?” Honorata asked. “I see that you have persuaded a few to assist in your campaign. How have they taken to the presence of a garrison of the Queen’s soldiers in their midst?”
“There’s been some problems,” Ravindra said with a tilt of his head, swatting away a persistent fly as he spoke. “What can you expect when the rebels we’re fighting do their recruiting from the local villages. Filling their heads with nonsense about independence from Rampura. But mostly, we leave the locals alone and they leave us alone. Some come looking for work, so we give them work. That’s Brewer’s way. I’ve been in his company for a couple of years now and he’s always been about trying to get along with the locals.”
“It’d be a lot easier to just shut the gates,” Yonas said. “No risk of anyone getting in the walls that shouldn’t be. Wouldn’t have to keep an eye on any locals getting up to mischief.”
“You’re not wrong, friend, but you’re gonna have to bring that up with Brewer. I follow the orders, I don’t get to give them. But anyway, as much as it’s been a pleasure to have a chat, here we are.” Ravindra turned, farewelling them with a smile before he walked back towards the gate, leaving Honorata and Yonas at the door to the hall.
Yonas knocked and a gruff voice barked an immediate response. “Come in.”
Brewer looked a hard man, his face scarred and bordered by a rough beard. He wore dark, hardened hide over his uniform despite the heat. He stood beside a table buried in papers, a spear within easy reach leaning against the wall. He smiled as he saw Honorata.
“Well, I didn’t expect such a welcome sight today.” He came over and clasped Honorata’s left hand with both of his. “Sister, it is truly a pleasure to have you here. Please, come and take a seat, I can’t have you standing.”
He led Honorata over to two long benches, positioned to face each other with a low table in-between. A window to one side allowed a cooling breeze into the room as Honorata sat alongside Yonas.
“Alfred Brewer, Captain of Gaur’s Nineteenth Regiment.” Brewer sat opposite her, a broad smile across his face. “I didn’t receive word of your arrival, Sister. I apologise for not having something organised to properly greet you to this outpost.”
“Please, Captain, nothing of the type is necessary. I am but a humble servant of Devi.”
“Well, what brings you this far west? I don’t mean to pry, but surely this far from Rampura, you must find it hard to hear the Song of Devi?”
Honorata tensed up at the question, but she did her best to maintain a calm facade. “It is no secret, Captain, that our connection to Devi becomes more subtle the further we are from Rampura. But rest assured, I can still feel Her connection, even as we sit here. And, the reason that I am here is to complete the Trial of Saint Mirai.”
Brewer nodded at that. “There’s plenty of need for you in that case. The fighting has died down for the moment, but we’ve got a handful of wounded who aren’t likely to be getting much better anytime soon. We would forever be in your debt if there was anything, anything at all, that you could do for them. And then there’s the ones that didn’t make it . . . we’ve got some graves out back. We sent a message to the priest in Aluia, but we didn’t hear back.” Brewer turned his head to look out the window as he continued. “They ambushed us a few days back, slipping out of the jungle to attack us here. The fighting got pretty hot. I don’t know how many there were; it was all over before we knew it. I didn’t even have a chance to get to the gate before they were gone. Four soldiers dead. Six more injured. The rest of my men shaken up and on edge.” He shook his head at that. “We got three of them, but that’s it. And who knows when they’ll be back.”
“I will tend to the needs of your men, Captain. Firstly, I want to do what I can for the living, and then I’ll do what I can for the rest.”
* * *
The six injured men lay in cots spaced out under a thatched canopy, the lack of walls allowed the breeze to blow through freely. Honorata lit four different-coloured sticks of incense, murmuring a prayer as the flame took to each. The wind cleared the smoke, but the sharp scent remained.
The first man was Morcant, an aging veteran with half his face bandaged. He had lost an eye to the thrust from a rebel spear, and he now fought for his life against the infection, which followed. Honorata administered her blessing, chanting the familiar words, the blue light drawing a gasp from the other wounded who watched on in fascination. Morcant himself did not react.
“Thank you, Sister,” was all Morcant said before rolling over in his cot.
The next man was Philip, a slightly younger man than Morcant, his body and face marked with countless scratches and scrapes. He did not complain about those injuries—his left shin was splinted, having been broken and tended to on the battlefield.
“It was the fattest rebel you could ever imagine, Sister,” he said to the laughs of his companions. “That rabble complain about the taxes from Rampura, but me killing that big bastard will save them more rice than they’d grow in a season. Just a shame that he fell on top of me.” Honorata had the sense that the others had heard this story before. They laughed in unison as Philip described how he came to be wounded.
The laughter disappeared as Honorata went to work. Philip turned solemn once the ritual began. Once she was done, he thanked her, his sincerity and gratitude obvious.
And so, it went on. She prayed over each of the six men, blessing them and their injuries, asking for her god to intervene and to return them to good health. Each time, the blue nimbus of light surrounded the stricken man and Honorata as well. Each time, Honorata felt the familiar sense of serenity, which came hand-in-hand with touching that power. Once she was done, each of the men, with the exception of the morose Morcant, thanked her and offered her their blessings.
Yonas accompanied her as they walked from the wounded men’s pavilion towards the rear of the stockade. “Well done, Sister. Perhaps those men will be back on their feet, ready to fight before long.” A smile curled at the edges of his lips as he spoke.
