The Jade Star of Athering

Bellica Agate-1

Bellica Agate

Jourd'Juno, 12th Novena

Although it took two days to get the needed supplies from Requisitioning and another two days to pack up and ready her chosen team for the trip south, Agate was not complaining about the time spent.

Truth be told, she had no desire to go home again. She certainly held no desire to speak that damnable language again, much less to negotiate with anyone. She wasn't a damned diplomat. Agate hated the Queen a bit for this assignment but, as usual, she said nothing out loud, setting to this task with the same vigor as for all others.

She'd argued with Damien about whom to take on the mission -- that went without saying. Not many days passed an argument of some sort between the two, mostly about petty things. The things that mattered, they agreed on.

In the end, she had her way. That also went without saying. Even if she hadn't outranked her major and wife, he would have eventually seen things her way. It was just how things were.

Lt. Bethany and Cpt. Shelley were on the team – even though trouble followed them like the moons chasing each other across the night sky. Agate wouldn't admit it to Damien, but she held a soft spot for the two women. She wanted them along because they were the closest things to friends that the bellica had. That last part, especially, he couldn't know – how would it feel to be told your spouse didn't consider you a friend? Agate didn't want to hurt him like that.

Luckily the two women were good at their jobs, when they weren't drunk, and worked best as a team – it wouldn't have done to have only Bethany or only Shelley along. That would have been pointless.

Now Agate was at the Temple, using her last hour in Atherton to pray to the Goddesses. Not many people would have guessed the depth of her religious streak, and those that had would have said she prayed to Bellona, as most bellicas were wont to do. Agate had never done so and doubted she ever would. Apparently the Goddess did not mind, for victory had been hers for the majority of her career. She was at the Temple as a matter of course and to enjoy the silence and peace within its sheltered walls. In reality, she had no need to attend a building to pray to the deity she'd honored since childhood. Ixchel had no temples in Athering, no buildings of stone or wood; She did not have a place in the services offered at the Temple. Agate doubted any of the Atherian priestesses even knew of Her.

In fact, no one in Athering save Agate herself knew of the Rainbow-Moon Goddess. Agate had learned that well as a child. She'd kept her worship hidden, a secret – even let her wedding ceremony be a Paixemortienne one, as Damien had wished. It was best no one thought her crazy, or worse, a traitor or spy.

As she prayed, the all-consuming anxiety that had seized her since the attack on Southland began to wane; the tight feeling in her chest loosened and the cold claws that had locked onto her innards fell away into darkness. Calm descended; the voices in tune with her heart, chanting They're coming, shut up. She could breathe again. At the close of the prayer, faint butterfly wings fluttered against her forehead. She looked up: what insect had greeted her? She saw nothing but empty air, and smiled: her Goddess had spoken to her once again after many years of silence.

Her spirits lifted slightly at the thought of going home.

Home, after all, was closer to Ixchel than Atherton or Harbourtown had ever been.

~

Agate’s thoughts drifted more and more often to her sovereign deity over the course of the trip to Southland. The closer to the flat earth of her hometown -- and the hot stretch of sands whence the gypsy-bandit army had come -- the closer she felt to Ixchel. She could almost hear the rattle of the bone skirt, the hissing of the serpent atop Her head, the rake of claws across skin. The anxiety came in waves now but disappeared for ever longer stretches of time, chased away by the presence of Agate's Goddess. Ixchel dancing in her dreams, she felt safer with each homeward hoofbeat.

Most people would be frightened of her Goddess, Agate was sure. That was another reason for never sharing that part of herself with anyone – not even her wife. She glanced at Damien where he rode beside her. She'd never told him about Ixchel, and the man was Paixemortienne – he worshiped Death Herself. Though, by all accounts, Muerta was actually quite gentle – She was a Sister of Mercy, after all. Still, he wouldn't understand. The Goddess or the forms of worship.

That was something she hadn't done in years – the proper worship of Ixchel. The sacrifice. Such rituals would have her locked up, in either the dungeon or the hospitalis. Absently she fingered her earlobe, felt the hole that had grown over almost completely now. She wondered briefly if she could even perform the act of worship properly anymore -- or if it mattered.

With an inward sigh, she shook her head slightly to focus on the mission ahead. It wouldn't do to get caught up in philosophical musings about her faith. Just wish I had someone to talk to about it.

"You doing alright?" Damien's voice cut through her thoughts but did not startle her. His question had only been a matter of time; she'd been waiting for it.

She looked at him and smiled. It was an expression she rarely used. It hurt her facial muscles. "Never better."

He laughed a little. "Didn't think you'd be so excited about going home."

"Neither did I." She shrugged, and they stayed in a comfortable silence until she called for break.

They were far from the capital; the walls of Atherton could no longer be seen. All that stretched around them was grassland, turning brown and dead in winter's grip. The sky loomed, gray and overcast. A sharp wind blew, carrying the promise of cold nights.

Agate took this opportunity to brief her women on the mission ahead. Under the Queen's orders, she'd taken officers only, not even all of them. Captain Iokaste had been left in Atherton with the rest of the regiment and most of the medicorps, with orders to keep the patrols up and keep her eyes sharp. Agate knew the woman wouldn't fail her.

She'd taken along her other three captains, twenty lieutenants, the chief medical officer and her choice of a few medics. It was a small team, all cavalry. If retreat became necessary it would be done quickly and well.

While her women sat, scattered across the road in a rough semi-circle, chewing on their rations, she spoke clearly and quietly. No one said anything, for her women were loyal, always showing the respect they knew she deserved.

"As the Queen said, this is a delicate situation. If there are any of you who feel you are not up to the task, tell me now."

There was a small pause while the women looked around at one another, assessing. They all knew Agate asked only as a matter of course, that she had handpicked each of them for the mission, that her trust in them meant they were up to the task. They all knew they were the team their bellica wanted and that there was no going back.

Almost all of them. Agate had been expecting this: Bethany stood. "Ma'am," she started. She didn't get a chance to say "I feel I would jeopardize the mission" because Agate cut her off.

"Shut up, Bethany. You're coming and that's final."

Bethany gaped like a fish out of water, then shut her mouth hard. "Ma'am," she said tightly, through her teeth, "with all due respect, I think that's an uninformed decision."

Agate had already turned away to deal with the "I told you so" look on Damien's face but now she turned back. "Think hard about what you're saying, soldier. I never make uninformed decisions." Bethany stood her ground but looked abashed. She'd been in Agate's regiment for twelve years. Surely her bellica knew her by now.... "Now sit down and shut up."

Bethany saluted and sat back down beside Captain Shelley, who shook her head at her friend. Agate almost laughed, but it wouldn't do – not in front of her women. Instead, she kept her face customarily stoic as possible and took a short walk with Damien.

"You didn't mention why you were chosen for the mission," he said gently once they were out of earshot. It was neither a reprimand nor a question.

She shrugged, and reached back to re-tighten the bun in which she kept her dark hair. It had come loose while riding and she didn't want her curls around her shoulders when she rode into Southland. They might take her for another gypsy.

"Need-to-know basis, Damien. I'm assuming this 'Gypsy Queen,' whoever she is, speaks Atheē, or at least enough of it for us to be able to communicate. She gave a message to Melena, after all, and that girl does not know a word of Ixil."

He raised his eyebrows and looked down at her. It had always bothered her that he was taller than she. "Ixil? Is that the language you barely remember?"

Agate mentally kicked herself for letting it slip. "Yes," she said, and waited for the flood of questions to come.

They didn't, this time. He merely nodded and put his arm around her shoulders, and they walked in silence. Normally she wouldn't allow such a display of affection in front of her women, but since leaving Atherton she felt as if some weight had been lifted from her, that she was a different Agate. It was as if the very act of leaving, of heading back towards home, had instigated some change in her that was still working at all the small corners of her mind.

The very thought of it made her stomach clench in fear, fear that this change would not stop working at her until she was destroyed completely.

Oh, Ixchel. What's happening to me? She prayed fervently, but the Goddess gave her no answer.

~

Jourd'Aradia, 18th Novena

They had taken their time on the trip south, and rode into town on the morning of the eighteenth. It seemed deserted – a veritable ghost town. As Bellica Agate slowed her horse to a walk she felt a cold stone settle into her gut at the dearth of sensation in her hometown. There was no sound of children playing, no smell of fresh bread baking, no flapping of laundry hung out to dry – she couldn't even feel the heat of the day on her skin nor taste the desert eucalyptus that grew abundantly in these parts year ’round.

She held back a shiver and dismounted her horse, signalling for Damien to do the same. They'd look less like a threat.

It didn't take long for someone to come out and meet them. A whole lot of someones.

Their welcoming party consisted of fifteen people, all armed with spears or longbows. At her right, Damien fidgeted, his hand twitching towards his sword; she held her hand out in a steadying gesture. The people greeting them were gypsies – Agate would have known even if they hadn't been talking among themselves in Ixil. Their hair was dark, lustrous and curly; their teeth shone white against the dark brown hues of their skin, and their eyes ranged from a light hazel to a brown as deep as a pool of water on the forest floor.

The sight of them sent a pang of longing so sharp through Agate there was no way she could convince herself it was loathing, this time. Ever the perfect bellica, she kept her features composed and tried to ignore the feelings being stirred up at the sight of a people she'd lived with for so long in her youth. It proved incredibly difficult.

The leader sized her up, recognized her as another leader, and made a small bow indicating wary respect. Agate affected a look of confusion and did a clumsy imitation of the bow, though she could have done it perfectly in her sleep.

"We are on a diplomatic mission from the Queen of Athering. She wishes to discuss a truce." Agate spoke slowly and deliberately, enunciating the Atheē words perfectly. She wanted no misunderstandings if she could help it.