While Stajet contains an extensive pantheon, only a small core of deities are acknowledged in all parts of the Empire. Some of them, like Ishta and Sumire, can be easily explained due to their association with heavenly bodies, as well as their consistent and well-documented myths. They stand in sharp contrast to a deity like Hilaju, who has at least a dozen different origin stories and no physical reminder to gather its followers behind.

  Excerpt from 'Stajet: Religion of an Empire'

  The temple to Ishta was the barest one Tacinte had ever seen.

  She was being shown around by the caretaker, an old man uttering an apology every other sentence for the sorry state of the building.

  “I am afraid the people of Azahjir no longer pay homage to the goddess as they should,” the caretaker was saying. “Had I known that the Chosen of Ishta would be coming, I would have—”

  Tacinte raised her hand to cut him off. No need for any more of this. “A temple to Ishta needs no splendour as long as it can bathe in the light of the goddess always.”

  She waved her hand at the caretaker, dismissing him.

  Mumbling even more apologies, he left her alone, bowing repeatedly as he made his exit.

  Tacinte frowned her disapproval. This place is falling apart.

  She had come to the temple to pay her respects to the goddess while she waited for news from the far north-west. There the Hischi were poised to invade Gerios. The outcome of that battle was of great importance, not only to her, but the entire Asie clan.

  She moved to the cradle in the centre of the temple and kneeled down. The sand inside was cold to the touch when she ran her hand through it.

  This isn't even sand from the Dust, Tacinte thought. Real Dust sand would cling to her skin as if it was alive, and it had a much finer texture than these grains.

  Appalled, she turned her face upwards to look through the large hole in the ceiling. Beyond, she could see the thin crescent of the moon; only two days removed from the new moon. At least Ishta can still be seen.

  She closed her eyes and spread out her arms.

  The ritual prayer that followed was one she had practised ever since she had become an initiate in the Order of Ishta. The motions and words were so ingrained that she didn't need the slightest amount of concentration to perform them.

  After she finished, she climbed out of the cradle and spent some time looking at the icons placed along the walls.

  “Does the temple meet your approval?” a female voice said behind her.

  “It only requires the goddess' approval, Vezje,” Tacinte answered without turning around. “Although I'm frustrated to see that the icons that depict Ishta's eventual victory over Sumire are not here.”

  “The Dust is now far away from here,” Vezje answered. “It has been ages since the will of the goddess flayed the buildings of this city. They no longer fear her and rather worship Sumire, who brings life to their crops.”

  Tacinte turned around to face the elderly woman who was her bound servant and who wore a light-blue dress, close to white, appropriate to that status. “Water brings life to crops. Sumire only brings her burning light each day.”

  Vezje inclined her head. “It is as you say, yet alas, times change and so do allegiances. It is the way of our people.”

  Tell me about it, Tacinte thought. Allegiance was another reason she was here in Azahjir, the biggest port in the north of the Asie clan homelands. It was, however, not the most urgent one.

  “Any word from our spies? What word of the Hischi?”

  “The news has arrived,” Vezje said, her face turning sad. “The invasion of Tasselhane was completed two days ago.”

  “Truly?” Tacinte said with widened eyes. “They crossed the mountains already? The last report said they needed at least five more days to be fully prepared.”

  “Commander Ptjem doesn't know the reason either. In the end, it mattered not; they secured yet another overwhelming victory.”

  So the Geriossa couldn't stop them either, Tacinte thought, a displeased expression clear on her face. This will make our own plans far more difficult to execute. Perhaps even impossible.

  She clenched her hands into fists.

  “You should not display your anger like that,” Vezje said, taking note of the gesture.

  “I'm not angry,” Tacinte replied, quickly spreading out her fingers. “I'm frustrated that the Hischi are gifted with nothing but victory.”

  “It will not last,” Vezje said solemnly.

  “That it won't,” Tacinte said with determination. Even if they've successfully invaded, it doesn't change anything in the end. This is just one more setback to overcome. Just like the ones I overcame when I started out.

  She thought back to those early days. The first time she had had a meeting with the scions of the Asie clan, she was intended to be nothing more than a token representative of the faith. People expected her to play nice and look pretty, but her twenty-two-year-old self had other plans. With great vigour she had debated with the various scions, expounding how without the proper support of Ishta they could never hope to regain control of the Empire. Eventually the scions had relented and postponed their planned attack on the Heartlands for several moons, just to assuage her.

  And that delay made all the difference.

  Less than two moons after that meeting, the Hischi set their own plan in motion. They swept aside the Ujo and the Ziveem before falling upon the Ociek, who held the Heartlands. So devastating was their victory that it was obvious to all the Asie clan scions that had they not delayed their own plan to take control of the Empire, it would have been their armies swept away by the Hischi.

  From that moment on, Tacinte was no longer a hollow voice. People—important people—now listened to her every word, and she realized she had the power to shape the future of her society.

  Not bad for a poor girl from the edge of the Dust. If only they knew I didn't want to fight back then because I desired a peaceful solution through cooperation. Not because of some divine vision that predicted disaster.

  That desire had faded over time, however. She had met with Hischi representatives several times over the past few years, and even if they weren't outright dismissive of her, they all made it very clear that now they had taken control they would not relinquish even the slightest amount of it. They certainly weren't planning to support the worship of Ishta in any way.

  The final push had come when she learned of the Hischi plan to invade Gerios. If the Hischi were to gain permanent access to those lands, the balance of the Empire would be disrupted, and the Hischi boast of maintaining control forever would be more than a mere dream.

  If they control Tasselhane, they control all the mines in that region as well. Who knows how many runestones they could forge with those minerals? That cannot stand.

  “I need to speak to Commander Ptjem,” Tacinte said to Vezje.

  Vezje nodded. “He wants to speak to you as well. He's waiting at the hostel.”

  The hostel that Tacinte and her tiny retinue were staying at was an old sandstone building. It possessed the characteristic windowless south-east wall that in times long past withstood the rolling sandstorms from the Dust. It was for this reason she had chosen the place, despite their being much better places available in the bustling port city: to remind herself where she came from.

  “Priestess,” Commander Ptjem greeted her when Tacinte entered the main room of the hostel.

  “Commander,” Tacinte replied with a nod.

  Commander Asie Ptjem Asie was the leader of the Windflayers, the fourth regiment in the Asie host. This sounded more impressive than it really was; the regiments of the Asie clan barely contained enough men to deserve the name. The Asie host counted only around forty thousand men at best, spread out over eight regiments. In numbers they were no match for the other clans, and the down-to-earth demeanour of Commander Ptjem reflected this reality.

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  Tacinte threw a quick look around the room and noted it was mostly empty, save for two servants and a young soldier she had not seen before.

  He stood next to Commander Ptjem with a distinct smirk on his narrow, clean-shaven face. His appearance was in sharp contrast with that of the commander, who was a bulky man with a square head and a wild beard that stuck out in several different directions.

  He's from one of the more northern clans, Tacinte thought, noting the young man's light-brown straight hair, pale-bronze skin and hazel eyes. Is he a representative from the Ociek? Or perhaps even the Uzzaj?

  The young soldier noticed her stare and winked at her.

  She sneered and looked away. How dare he?

  The commander didn't seem to notice the silent exchange, as he was leaning forward over a map of the Empire and adjacent nations, staring intently at the north-west area.

  “You wished to speak to me?” Tacinte asked, trying to regain his attention.

  “We are in need of the Ishta's guidance more than ever now,” Ptjem said with a deep frown. “I trust you heard the news?”

  Tacinte dipped her head lightly to show her acknowledgement. “How bad is it?”

  Ptjem traced his thick finger across the Fire Mountains. “Not as bad as it seems, thank Ris. Even though the Geriossa force at Tasselhane was crushed, they only represent a minor fraction of their entire host.”

  Tacinte ignored the commander's invocation of Ris. “So they will counter-attack.”

  “Eventually, yes, but I've heard some disturbing reports from the situation in their capital.”

  “That magic guild that vanished?”

  “Among other things,” Ptjem replied. “It's hard to separate fact from rumour.”

  “I believe there definitely is truth to be found among those rumours,” the young soldier interjected.

  “Who is this?” Tacinte asked Ptjem, the annoyance clear in her voice. “And why is he at this table?” She threw a searing stare at the young man, who didn't even flinch.

  “This is Asie Mhridan Evashim,” Ptjem said with a wave of his hand. “He'll be part of your retinue from now on.”

  “Absolutely not,” Tacinte instantly bristled. “I have no need for soldiers.”

  “My apologies, priestess,” Mhridan said with a flourish of his hand, “but this is a fate thrown upon us by the scions, and I only hope you can look past my youthful insolence.”

  I can tell you aren't sorry at all. She turned to face Ptjem. “Why did the scions decide this? What is he here for?”

  “He's your new bodyguard,” Ptjem answered.

  “Bodyguard?!” Tacinte exclaimed incredulously. “Why would I need one of those? Nobody would dare to attack a Chosen one.”

  “Not within the Empire, but that's not where you will be going.”

  Where am I going? What kind of plan did those damned elders come up with this time?

  Ptjem's remark 'not within the Empire' made her realize. They want me to go to Gerios.

  Her mouth drew a thin line. I should have known this would happen.

  Tacinte closed her eyes and recalled the recent conversations she had had with some of the Asie scions. Rough plans had been made should the Hischi succeed in their invasion, and the one thing each of those plans had in common was that a dialogue with the Geriossa needed to be established.

  Their reasoning was clear. I only wish they had mentioned they wanted to send me.

  “Did they tell you why I'm the one being sent to Gerios?” she asked Ptjem.

  “I can answer that,” Mhridan interjected. “Considering the importance of the mission, the scions felt we could use any help we can get, including the divine guidance of the goddess. Furthermore, a task such as this is one for diplomats, not warriors.”

  “There are plenty of traders in this city that can act that part,” Tacinte said. “I see no reason why I'm more suited, especially as the Geriossa do not worship any god at all. Why would they value anything I have to say to them?”

  “Why would they value anything any Duster has to say to them?” Mhridan replied. “They were just invaded by the Empire after all, and we are, regrettable as it may be, also part of that Empire at the moment.”

  Tacinte wanted to raise more objections, but realized that Mhridan, infuriating as he was, was correct.

  I suppose I could refuse, but my influence with the scions is waning as it is. I can't rely on my past achievements forever. Not if I want to continue to have a say in clan politics.

  “Let me think about it,” she said as she seated herself at the table. “Vezje, bring me some water.”

  Ptjem shrugged in response. “Don't take too long. A ship lies ready in port. You'll sail tonight for Juun, and from there on to whichever Geriossa port city hasn't been captured yet.”

  Tonight? They aren't wasting time. She placed her index fingers together. If they want to rush it this much, they must fear the outcome of this invasion more than I thought.

  She glanced at Ptjem, who awaited her answer.

  There is no way around it, then. I can't afford to lose influence with them. Not at this point.

  “Fine,” Tacinte said, accepting the glass Vezje handed to her. “I'll go to Gerios.”

  “Good,” Ptjem said, straightening up. “I will inform the scions and tell the men to relax. They aren't going to be needed any time soon.”

  Tacinte watched him go, then turned her attention to the map on the table where she measured the distance between Azahjir and Juun.

  The Bohja clan city lay far to the north-west, almost at the edge of the Empire, yet the distance wasn't great; three days by ship across the Ragged Sea provided the wind was good, and the ship was fast and unburdened. Less time than it would take to sail down the entire coastline of the Asie homelands.

  By merely looking at the borders drawn across those lands on the map, one might think that the Asie clan was one of the more powerful clans. It's unfortunate that nearly two-thirds of our territory belongs to the Dust instead.

  The Asie clan, despite being the west neighbour of the Heartlands, had only controlled the Empire twice in the past. Both times, their reign hadn't lasted long. In ages past, when there was still an imperial family and when the Dust was even larger, the Asie were a clan that subsisted entirely on trade. The cedar wood that grew in the north of their territory, the only part of their lands not covered by the Dust, was suitable for ships, so they built many of them. Large cogs that sailed up and down the Ragged Sea, trading with every city and nation that was willing, and extending their colonies to every thin strip of green land that separated the coast from the Dust.

  Many generations of this had made the Asie a clan of traders, though not like the merchant-princes of Galond who valued wealth over everything else. The trade of the Asie clan was born out of necessity, and as such there was no cargo that would be snubbed regardless of the amount of profit.

  “Do you fear being so far from home?” Mhridan asked.

  “You are being disrespectful,” Vezje snapped. Like Tacinte, she took offence from the soldier's discourteous behaviour.

  “Why is that disrespectful?” Mhridan asked. “A lot of people would be fearful of the thought of being far from home.”

  “Are you really of Asie blood?” Tacinte bit back. “Our ancestors would be ashamed to hear one of their descendants say that.”

  “Our ancestors were afraid as well, but they also possessed the bravery to overcome that fear.”

  How dare he? He's barely an adult, yet he speaks like he is a wise old man who has seen it all. Or is it the youth talking? She briefly recalled her own brazen behaviour when she had faced the scions five years ago.

  “That's enough talk out of you,” Tacinte said. “If you are to be my bodyguard, there are things you must learn.”

  “And wear,” Vezje added. “If you want to be part of the retinue of the Chosen of Ishta, you must dress accordingly.”

  “I humbly submit to your guidance,” Mhridan said. He didn't say it mockingly, yet somehow Tacinte still interpreted it as such.

  “You will submit,” she replied. “I will expect nothing less than the proper respect for Ishta.” And for me.

  “As you command,” Mhridan answered. “Though it gladdens me to hear that you have no fear of travel. There are many things that are far more frightening.”

  “Like what?” She didn't want to engage him in conversation anymore, but she found her curiosity was not easily satisfied. The scions wouldn't have given me a bodyguard without a reason.

  “The Hischi, of course,” Mhridan said. “We have our spies. They have theirs. I believe that they are at least aware of our military build-up over the past years.”

  “I'm not a part of the army. Why target me?”

  “We are all Asie, and I'm certain they are aware of your influence as well. If they were to learn that you are to depart for Gerios—”

  “I will be fine,” Tacinte said, cutting him off. “After all, I have a bodyguard now.” She looked at him from top to bottom as if to measure his worth. The armour and cloth he wore disguised his build, but Tacinte saw enough to tell he was a lean and fit man. “Do you even speak Rion?”

  “I do,” Mhridan said. “It is one of the reasons I was chosen for this task.”

  “I don't need a translator, if that's what you were thinking.”

  “I'm aware of the arduous studies a priestess of Ishta must complete, and how foreign languages are a part of that. As you said, we are a clan of traders after all.” He paused for a moment. “And perhaps woodworkers, like my own family. Somebody needs to supply and build all those ships and carts, after all.”

  “Are all members of the Evashim clan as pale as you? You might pass as a Geriossa who spends too much time in the sun,” Tacinte said.

  “They are not, yet that very likeness you mention is another reason I was chosen for this.”

  “Where are your clan's lands?”

  “We only have a presence in and around the city of Triga.”

  “Near the Sea of Asam.”

  “Indeed.”

  Almost in Ingaa lands. Even if his clan has a long ancestry, they still wouldn't have come in contact with the Dust. Which means...

  “You don't worship Ishta,” she stated.

  “I do not.”

  Tacinte heard Vezje draw in a sharp breath.

  Having need for a bodyguard in my retinue is bad enough, but to not even be a believer...

  “If it is any consolation,” Mhridan continued, “I do not worship any of the gods in our pantheon. It is my clan's experience that they do not get involved with the lives of simple people like myself or bother to assist us with life's many hardships.”

  At least that is something I can agree with, Tacinte thought. As a child raised near the Dust, she knew all about hardship and how it affected people. The Dust was born from Ishta, yet it was only during the day underneath the burning sun that was Sumire that those hardships appeared. Only during the night, underneath Ishta's soothing light, was the great desert safe to navigate.

  Night is life, Tacinte thought, recalling an old saying from her childhood.

  She closed her eyes.

  “Priestess,” Vezje said, in an almost begging tone. “You aren't seriously considering this? If he's not a believer, we can't possibly accept him. No matter what the scions say.”

  Tacinte sighed. I suppose I could ask the scions for somebody else, but that would only make me look petty. It's clear from the state of Ishta's temple here that the faith is being lost at a rapid pace. Insisting on such trivial matters won't bring it back; success on this mission, however, might.

  “It's fine, Vezje,” Tacinte said, opening her eyes. “It's only for the duration of this mission, and it is the mission that is important.” She eyed Mhridan, who beamed a pleasant smile at her. “And most, if not all, of the people we will meet won't care about his faith in any case.”

  “But—” Vezje protested.

  “I have made my decision,” Tacinte cut her off, rising from her chair. “We set sail tonight. And you—” she pointed at Mhridan— “get dressed in a more appropriate outfit. You may not be a follower of Ishta, but I will ensure you look like one.”