Kinga

Chala and Mystery

Kinga stalked through Vedran Moor. The air, deathly still for the duration of the day, began to stir, a faint stirring that brought a slight reprieve from the dank air of the Moor. The lingering dampness clinging to the undulating hills provided evidence of the recent storm's passing.

Kinga knew she neared the spot, but the sight still caught her unawares. The Vaudian Empire wasted no time in meting out retribution on the hapless Moor. Well, the town of Vedri anyhow. She rubbed at her temple trying to recall the name of the corrupt priest she'd passed a report on. That had been a month ago. But the priests pulling the strings at the heart of the Vaudian Empire wasted no time.

She felt a faint stirring of pity in her heart as she slipped through the wreckage of the town. Pity was not an emotion she experienced often. Upon probing the fledgling emotion, she surmised the sentiment was more for wrecked buildings than the people. Some of them had been wonderful examples of Moorish architecture, she hated to admit.

The warriors who carried out retribution at the behest of the priests did not stop at making an example of the wayward priest, but of the town as well. The destruction, not just its religious leadership, served the warning.

Vedri, she recalled the name of the town, learned later, after her report. Her dispassionate, pithy report sealed the fate of the town, and the people living there: heresy rampant. Eradicate. She'd sent numerous such messages, to one degree of severity or another over the six years as surveyor, but never before had she returned to see the aftermath. Not that she intended to with Vedri.

Named after the Moor, Vedran Moor had swallowed Vedri as surely as though the town was a deer whose path took hooves strayed into one of the Moor's all-consuming bogs.

Strange, she mused as she passed by the temple, she should remember so much about the unfortunate town and forget the names of the people who perished with it. Slaughtered. Their unimportant names vanished from her mind when their souls winked out of this world. But why should she remember them?

Kinga lingered before the holy place, but a moment, frowning at its ruins – a skeletal structure, purged of heresy by fire, with great beams laying in scattered, charred heaps. The stone of its four corners fared better, but the warriors must have stoked the flames at those points, leaving them cracked and blackened. That, however, was not what Kinga's eyes rested on. No, she looked with bizarre fascination at the form of the priest, decaying in tandem with his place of service. As if for added emphasis, he had been secured to the notice board in the front; an official dictate of the Center's displeasure. An ironic smile tugged at Kinga's lips; the debauched priest, in failing to perform his duty, became the final official dictate of his sect to his slain people.

She moved on. Soon, she passed through the center of Vedri and was back on Vedran Moor. Sheep, untended by their shepherds, grazed on the hills and watched with disinterest as Kinga moved by. In minutes, she left even these behind, becoming ensconced within the wild expanse of Vedran Moor.

Clear skies, clear for the region, accompanied Kinga for the remainder of her journey through the region. Rain held off, and, occasionally, clouds cleared overhead to reveal a panorama of stars.

She traversed the land with the ease of one born to the wilderness and reinforced by years of experience. Still young, her service began at a tender age. Kinga had many years of this life ahead of her, but she did not contemplate the future. She contented herself with the present.

A week brought an increase in elevation, as she left the Moor behind. This indicated she neared her next objective. Of course, she knew this without the added indication of the Moor's end. Kinga crisscrossed her assigned region of the Empire with regularity and her many trips, combined with her proficiency in navigation, meant she was seldom unsure of her location.