Two Arisites walked through the marketplace in the traditional way of their sect, taking short, deliberate strides. Dark, gossamer veils covered their white-feathered heads, which were turned down, their long beaks pressed against their throat, giving the appearance of deep contemplation. Their long, flowing black and white vestments hid their wings along with any semblance of femininity. Although the market was crowded with many species of people, the two were afforded a generous berth. Many bowed at their passing or clasped their paws together as a sign of respect.
“Holy Mothers!” A voice cried out. From the crowd a heavily pregnant sheep female emerged and approached. From her manner of dress she was obviously of poor, rustic stock.
“Please!” The sheep begged. “I am expecting soon. Could I trouble you for a blessing?”
The Arisites paused, looking the sheep over carefully. The taller of the two clicked her beak quietly and nodded to the other, who slid a black-tipped wing out from under the vestments. With trembling hooves the sheep clasped the wing carefully and kissed it.
“Eight days.” The Arisite spoke. "Just before dawn. Ari is with you."
“Thank you, Holy Mother!” The ewe wept as they continued on.
Imora, the shorter of the two, slipped her wing back under her cloak, dropping the silver that had been discreetly passed into her coin purse. She felt a tingle of satisfaction. This reverence was new. She had witnessed it when following as a postulant, but never had it been directed toward her. Imora was a fully-fledged Kin of Ari now, and with that new title carried a new name and new responsibilities. Something that she had trained toward for years but was still a difficult reality to get used to. She often found herself fighting the ingrained habit of falling behind the elder as much as the urge to respond to “Ruri”, her hatch name that she had for the last twelve years.
“Take caution, Kin Imora.” The elder chided softly, sensing her pride.
“Apologies, Kin Shimre.”
“It is not me that you should desire to please.” Shimre reminded her.
Imora silently recalled her training and prayers, purifying her mind to match her body and spirit:
Suffering is the seed of life. Blessed are those who are burdened with suffering. Oh, great goddess, let it be thy will that this vessel be made worthy to bear such. Grant that the suffering of those unable be gladly lain upon it. Guard also the pleasure of the flesh and the wickedness that it breeds. Let my beak be dry and my feathers be pure. Let my body be chaste and my heart be only for thee.
Imora felt free of her momentary hubris and gave a sigh. How easy it was to step off the path! Perhaps it was this day and the events that were to follow that led her astray? After all, she was about to take up her first burden, the first of what she hoped would be a lifetime of them. Of course evil would seek to defile this day with subtle manipulation. She steeled her will to be more cautious in the future and avoid such traps.
Shimre clacked her bill in approval. “Very good, Kin Imora.”
“Glory be to Ari.” Imora responded with a happy click of her beak. That the elder was able to observe her spiritual state wasn’t surprising to her. Shimre had been a Kin for three times longer than Imora had even been alive. The elder had taken up many, many burdens and was able to focus her holy aura with far more precision than Imora could.
They moved with their slow, careful pace past the marketplace. Then toward the outskirts of the village where the sands of the desert were encroaching on the grassy fields of the farms. They came to the place where soldiers had been gathered in preparation to march to war. Numerous large tents were flapping in the breeze. Spear carrying guards milled about, protecting the encampment as much from defectors as from intruders.
“Remember,” the elder insisted, “I am here only as your counsel and assistant. This burden is yours to secure.”
Imora nodded. The reins were completely off. She was given the full trust of the convent to perform her responsibilities and could no longer defer to the elder. Even so, it was comforting to have such wisdom and experience within wingspan. She strode up to the nearest guard, a feline hybrid who was leaning lazily on his spear. Apparently in danger of dozing off.
“Excuse me.” Imora implored of a guard. “Could you direct me to General Lorn?”
She had caught the guard by surprise, who immediately stood up straight, fumbling with his spear and nearly dropping it. He composed himself and bowed stiffly at the waist. "H-Holy Mother." He noticed Shimre. "I-I mean Mothers. Welcome."
"General Lorn, please." Imora repeated. "He has asked for us."
"Uh, certainly." He said, pointing toward the encampment. "The tent with the blue flag. The general should be there."
Imora nodded. "Thank you." She stepped past him.
"There are many Trikur barbarians among our number." The guard informed her. "Do you require an escort?"
"We can find our own way." She told him. "We are protected by Ari."
They walked through the camp, passing many soldiers. Most regarded them courteously, but a few tusked faces of the Trikur sneered upon seeing them. One spitting on the ground at their presence. Imora tried to ignore them. They would not dare lay a hoof upon an Arisite in this camp, yet her mind was made restless by their foul presence. Her heart fluttered with trepidation as she drew nearer to her first burden, sensing the weight of it. She felt charged with spiritual energy and her feathers felt like they were trying to stand on end.
"It is normal to be excited." Shimre spoke quietly. "But it will not do to appear flustered. Shall we take a walk around the camp to clear your head?"
"No." Imora quickly replied. "I cannot hesitate." She concentrated on her breathing and was mindful of her training. Willing herself calm. "I am ready for this."
Shimre clicked her beak with satisfaction. "Indeed."
As they drew near the general's tent, a guard outside of it spotted them. She bowed to the Arisites and swept aside the tent flap to allow them entry. Imora ducked in. Inside was dark, and warm, dimly lit by oil lamps. The floor was blanketed with fine rugs and tapestries hung from poles, segmenting off portions of the large tent. In the center was a desk cluttered with maps, papers, and tomes. Leaning over it was an imposing male wolf in sharp white and blue military regalia. Several lower ranking officers and knights stood around him.
"Rasington has agreed to allow us to use the Zehan Pass." One of the lieutenants said. "However, they could not assure us that the natives would honor that agreement. Tensions have been high as of late."
"Natives won't be a problem." The wolf spoke. "The Trikur will deal with them."
Arisites do not concern themselves in the working of the military and it would not serve Ari's interest to overhear petty war strategies. Imora clicked her beak loudly to announce their presence. The wolf looked up at them and his subordinates stood up sharply.
"Ah, good. You've arrived." The wolf said as he turned to his officers. "Leave us, and send in Sergeant Milta." The underlings filed out of the tent, pausing to bow to the Holy Mother's as they did so, who acknowledged each of them with a nod. The wolf walked around in front of the desk and leaned his rump against it, crossing his arms as he looked over the two. He was an imposing figure, tall with grey fur flecked in white. The fur around his stern face was styled in a snug, wavy pattern common with soldiers that wear helmets.
"I'm not happy to have need of your help," General Lorn spoke directly to Shimre, "But thank you for coming. By whom shall I address you?"
"My name is Kin Imora," The young Arisite spoke softly. "I am happy to serve."
"You?" Lorn said with some trepidation. Imora's vestments hid much, but not the small frame of her adolescence.
"Kin Shimre already carries a burden, it is my honor to bear this one."
Lorn rubbed his jaw. While his face held the harsh and grim visage of one who had seen much death in his life, his eyes had something else. Something tender and paternal. Finally he nodded.
"Very well." He said. "It is not my place to question Ari's servants. How much is the tithe?"
"Twenty gold is the minimum for the sacrament, ten more upon presentation of the burden." Imora informed him.
The general whistled. "I thought you allowed concession for the army?"
"That is the compensated tithe."
The tent flap opened and a wolf wearing a helmet and a padded gambeson entered. Very young, possibly a year or two older than Imora. The soldier gave a quick salute and stood at ridged attention.
"You wished to see me, sir?"
General Lorn frowned and tapped his head. The gesture momentarily confused the soldier. "Oh!" The helmet was hastily removed and stuffed under an arm. Hair fell down to her shoulders. "Sorry, sir!"
Lorn sighed. "Milta, I want you to meet Holy Mother Imora."
The female was indeed burdened, Imora could sense it brightly. In fact, it was too bright. She approached, using her aura to feel out the nature of it. The soldier fidgeted in apprehension even though she towered over the Holy Mother. "H-hi." The wolf greeted haltingly, flinching when Imora reached her feathered wings toward her.
"Don't be afraid." Imora gently assured her. "This won't hurt." She put her feathers on the wolf bitch's head, tracing her shape lightly down her shoulders then to her chest. The armor provided no barrier against the spiritual examination. Imora paused, contemplating what she had discovered.
"This one is heavily burdened." Imora announced. "The cost is forty."
"Forty!" The general bellowed and Milta shrunk under his ire, her tail tucking between her legs. "You said it was twenty!"
"Forty in this case." Imora spoke firmly. "What price should I put on her that is fair?"
Lorn looked wounded by her tone. He closed his eyes, put up his paws and took a deep breath. "Apologies, Holy Mother. I spoke out of turn. Forty is... acceptable."
Shimre clacked her beak sharply. "Kin Imora. A word please."
The Arisites stepped away from the two wolves. "Kin, I sense this burden." Shimre spoke quietly. "Seeing this is your first and you are so young, I fear it is more than you should accept."
Imora thought for a moment. "It is by Ari's will that I am here." She retorted. "If she has chosen this burden for me, I have no right to refuse it. I must trust in her will just as I trust your guidance has prepared me to endure it."
Shimre made an irritated click that her former student would appeal to her ego, but could not fault her logic. "It was only with love and not doubt in my heart that I spoke. I would have chosen an easier burden for you, but you speak true. Ari's will usurps our desires. Since you are worthy of the title of 'Kin', I will defer to your judgment."
"Thank you, Kin." Imora returned to the wolves. "It is agreed. We require privacy to perform the sacrament."
General Lorn motioned around with a paw. "Is my tent suitable?"
Imora explored the tent and spied a bed with many pillows behind a tapestry. "Yes, but we must not be disturbed. Once it has begun we will be in the holy and frightful presence of Ari. None may look upon her works."
"I will leave and clear the area around." Lorn promised. "Guards will be posted so no one approaches."
Milta rubbed her arm, the helmet hanging limply from a paw. "I'm not sure what's happening." She spoke up.
Lorn took her by the shoulders. "The Holy Mothers are going to help you. Just trust them and everything will be made right."
She looked at him with glistening eyes and nodded. "Yes, Daddy."
The General turned back to Imora. "How long will this take?"
"Several hours." Imora informed him. "We will emerge when we finish. Until then, none may approach."
"Very well." Lorn said. "Is there anything else you need from me?"
"Only one more thing." Imora insisted, holding out a wing expectantly.
