Blasphemer's Travelogue

INTRODUCTION

Tavia woke up as she always did, except with the irritating awareness that the sun was glaring into her room. The curtain must be open again. She scrunched her eyes further shut and flexed her feet, jostling French Fry in the process.

He let out a displeased little "mrrr" and stretched as well. She felt claws glance over her calf without breaking skin.

"It's your fault," she muttered. "You could just stop tugging on the curtains." She didn't know why he had to-- scratch that. Playing with hanging fabric was very catlike and appropriate behavior. She just hated it.

That was when she realized that she didn't hear her alarm. That was either very good or very bad. She shot straight up, heart thudding at the prospect of being late for work. Her hand reached out to the bedside table to check the time.

There was no phone there. There was no bedside table. Her hand met empty air. Cold air.

"What," Tavia said.

She took a real look up.

"What the fuck," she amended.

The haggard group of poorly-dressed medieval cosplayers ringing her bed looked about as confused as she felt.

The bed had been safely and sensibly nestled against the wall when she went to sleep. It was currently misplaced in a large open building. An incredulous look upward showed that the offending light was coming through gaping holes with no glass or other barrier to make them count as windows.

A reedy middle-aged man in charcoal and red medieval cosplay took a step toward her, hands raised reverently. "Priestess," he said, voice gaining confidence as he went on. "We welcome you. We have called for your guidance with our holy charge from the emperor himself."

She squinted at him. She was a grocery store clerk.

'I don't think I have the relevant work experience for whatever this is.'

She fell back on what she knew. "How can I help you?"

"The emperor bids up go into the wildlands and retrieve a tool for immortality," he said. He was definitely faking confidence now, which at least meant he had the awareness to know this was a ridiculous request. The younger man at his side looked distinctly queasy.

'..I wonder how high the stakes are here.'

"We are to go forth and not return until we have secured a secret that will allow his blessed reign to remain eternal and unchanged. I- Frances Moida- have been thusly charged."

Cool.

She nodded. "And I...?"

"We prayed for spiritual guidance," he said, looking immensely relieved. "We thought God might send a sign, but he has sent you to us instead. Will you help us?"

Tavia looked at him, at the heavily armed men flanking him, and thought they were unhinged and possibly dangerous. 

"Yes," she said. "Of course. I would love to help you with that."

'I need to get out of here, like, now. I am going to be late and get murdered by religious fanatics.'

They cheered.

This was, by far, the worst wakeup call she had ever had. That thought reminded her that she was in public in her pajamas. She pursed her lips. "I'll need some things." 

It became clear, in the hustle and bustle that followed, that she had somehow ended up in some kind of church. She didn't recognize any of the iconography of the statues, but her bed was definitely in the pulpit. Rows of pews stared back at her.

Creepy. Very creepy that her bed was the focal point of a worship area.

Her demand for clothing was met with initial confusion and then the apparent decision to use the fabric from her bedclothes. She almost protested, because she didn't want her things being cut up. And then she really looked at the people around her. Quite a few of them showed signs of either wear or repair on their clothes. The colors were muted as well- dull blues, charcoal, with a bit of red and green around. Materials were probably limited and expensive.

She clutched a loudly protesting French Fry to her chest and tried to be dignified about stalking around the church in her white socks. She told herself that she was lucky she had gone to bed in actual pajamas, the type with a collar and buttons down the front. She glanced down at the pale pink fabric and felt even more out of place, now that she had noticed everyone else's color schemes.

After not too long, someone came to usher her to a room with a table, set with surprisingly nice china. Moida came to sit with her, along with a pale=faced woman he introduced as his wife, Heralda.

Breakfast was supremely awkward. She lost control of French Fry when food was served. He knew better than to try her, so it was Moida's plate that he hunched over and began to noisily chew at.

Tavia opened her mouth to scold him, and then thought better of it. Religious figures delivered to guide mythical expeditions would know to pick their battles with a cat.

"Is it safe for him to eat this?" Moida asked. 

She glanced over to check what French Fry was softly growling over. "Yes, that's fine."

"All right, then," he said in an undertone. His eyes never left the cat. Cautiously, he reached around to rescue some crusty bread.

Tavia investigated the culinary offerings. French Fry had gone straight for the piping hot fish, served with eyeballs and all. She picked at her portion, pulling meat away from the ribs and trying not to be queasy about it.

There was a bit of poultry, served cold. She avoided it after an initial bite. Her stomach roiled as she tried not to think about food poisoning. The drink she took a sip of to steady herself turned out to be a red wine. The last things on offer were the safest- bread and carrots that were served in some kind of pungent fishy sauce.

"Aside from clothes, what shall you need?" Moida asked. "We have a fortnight to plan and depart. We are not the only group being sent out, so I will need to communicate our intentions."

She picked up her wine and took a sip to stall the question. Fuck. She needed information, first of all. She did not know where she was or what was going on. That seemed kind of important.

"Maps," Tavia said confidently, knowing damn well that they were a limited and incomplete resource for most of human history. "A written copy of the Emperor's charge, and information on the traveling party, as well as the possible directions and your reasoning for selecting them."

Moida looked cheerful about that To-Do list, the beginnings of a grin breaking across his face. It occurred to her that it must be an incredible relief to suddenly not be responsible for such a ridiculous and irrational mission. She also did not want to be asked to do something impossible. 

...No wonder people were willing to believe she was sent by their god. Nobody wanted to be night shift manager.

"Tell me what you know about God," Tavia said, thinking that their religious framework might be, uh, really important if she was going to go around impersonating a figure from it.

She still did not have a goal, other than "Get to work by 10 AM," which she was starting to think was a lost cause. What she did know was that she did not want to find out how these people would react to figuring out that she wasn't useful to them. At best, she might be abandoned to make her way in their weird little society. 

...What would young women with no money, resources, or connections even do here? She eyed Heralda, who still had not said a thing and barely raised her head.

She did not have enough information to know how many feet of shit she was standing in.

"God created the world," Maida said, as confidently as if he was reciting from a textbook. "God knows all, sees all, controls all. His wisdom guides us."

...That was it, huh? Not that helpful.

She tried not to let her thoughts show. "Ah," she said airily. "You have the essentials down."

That was a lot left unsaid. Fuck. Was the religion lead by men or women? How did they worship? What were their core values?

"I would like to observe your next worship," Tavia said.

Now Moida looked a bit ill. "Of course."