The Charis Conversion

By Murray Eiland

One

Kinshasa, Congo.

Pain was not a stranger to Thomas's body.

The war that had ripped his country apart and torn him from the arms of his family had done its part in teaching him what pain felt like. He had scars to prove that, both physically and mentally. So when the dark-haired woman beside him said, "This is going to hurt," he wasn't too concerned. Instead, he offered her a firm nod and braced himself for what would come.

It's been years since the Church took on its evangelical mission to the stars, performing Christ's mandate of preaching the gospel to every creature. Thomas had seen many chosen missionaries enter through these doors to prepare for the journey. Now, it was his turn. He didn't realize how much he anticipated it until Thomas discovered he'd been holding his breath as they entered through the door.

The shift in the atmosphere was almost instant. Thomas couldn't tell what exactly had been responsible for the utter dilation of his senses and the sudden feeling of lightness, but he was sure a divine touch was responsible. After all, it was a revelation from God that had pushed the human race through the known limits of technology after the war. New science made his mission possible.

The dimly lit chamber he was led into surrounded him with advanced medical equipment and glowing holographic displays unlike anything he'd ever seen. The room had no windows, and the only light source was a few pulsing fluorescent bulbs Thomas couldn't quite locate. People were moving around, operating various things, and keenly studying data sets. They were all dressed like the dark-haired woman, Dr. Mona, who had been responsible for prepping Thomas for the procedure. They were clad in white robes covered with innumerable faint golden crosses. Their heads were covered in a veil that also served as a mask.

And there were the non-scientists unmoving at other points of the laboratory. They wore simple tunics, some possessing visible chips, and Thomas could have thought they weren't breathing either.

Right there at the center of the laboratory was a cylindrical tube-like chamber capable of fitting a grown man. The tube was open right now, so Thomas could see all the extra mechanical parts inside, mostly sharp needles and robotic arms that would do what was needed, but not pleasant. Beside it was a surgical table filled with various objects, including laser scalpels emitting a soft blue glow.

"We'll be with you in a concise while," Dr. Mona said encouragingly before moving toward a holographic console and speaking to other scientists. Thomas could tell English was not her first language.

A young Asian man approached Thomas. He couldn't have been older than Thomas himself though he had a demeanor of greater maturity. It was precisely the same way Thomas felt around the other monks, unlike himself, who'd devoted all their lives to God.

"Hey, Tommy. Scared?" the man said coolly and with a hint of a friendly smile. His silky-smooth hair framed his angular face carefully.

Thomas observed the man, clad in black priestly clothes and a stump of metallic implant protruding out the side of his head. The implant could have served any purpose, but Thomas was willing to bet the only goal was to fill the man's head with every word of the Bible and other spiritual books. Some religious orders had strict requirements. What took Thomas off guard was how the man called him Tommy with such familiarity, as though they'd known each other for a long time. No one had called him that for longer than he cared to remember.

He cleared his throat, gaining composure. "Just a little bit," he admitted. He would be going on a mission he probably would not return from. He didn't mind doing all of this in service to God, but he was also scared. "Thank you..." he trailed.

"It's Jacob. Father Jacob." The priest touched his hand and squeezed him gently as he drew closer. The contact strangely made Thomas feel some kind of serenity. "Do not let the deceiver fill your heart with fear. You are stronger than you think, Tommy. We, believers, have faith, and it's that faith that has preserved our race even after the war. It's that faith that keeps us going."

Thomas let out a breath, hoping his fears and doubts would flow out just as quickly. It was the will of God. He nodded in agreement with the priest.

"May the Almighty be with you," said Father Jacob before leaving for a shadowed corner of the lab. Thomas noticed the man joining another figure there. He raised a brow and tried to make out the other figure, but he didn't get a chance to.

It was right then that Dr. Mona returned, her smile as warm as the tone of her skin. She pushed in stray locks of hair into her veil and nodded.

"We're ready for you, Brother Thomas." Her gaze traveled to the tube at the center of the room.

And in response, with a prayer on his lips and a hand on his throbbing heart, Thomas allowed his feet to lead him into the tube. He positioned himself correctly as Dr. Mona instructed. The assistant secured him with straps and lodged something in his mouth too. To nullify his screams, he guessed. The mechanical limbs in the tube began to stir awake once he was fitted. They looked and behaved more like scorpion's tails, controlled by any one of the scientists all around the lab, or even more than one, or maybe even with artificial intelligence. A low whirring sound rose from the tube as its lid sealed it shut.

They probably should have administered some drugs to make him fall asleep or to relieve the pain the procedure was bound to give him. But he'd already learned that the pain was necessary for the alteration. They weren't transforming just his body but opening his mind too. It was the essential pain many martyrs had undergone. And he, too, was a part of that shared pain.

It was awfully bright inside, and a few minutes passed, which he knew was being used to check his vitals. Then he felt the movements of the robotic arms get more precise. A loud scream tore out his lips when one sank its scalpel into his body.

And with that, he thought to himself, let the games begin.

"And you're sure this is the right course of action?" grumbled Father Jacob, his eyes only momentarily moving to the older woman beside him.

The Mother Superior's habit flowed down her body, cascading to the floor with its pristine white fabric carrying an iridescent sheen, almost as if it captured and reflected the lighting in the chamber. Her distinctive headdress framed her dark face, draping gently over her shoulders.

The woman did not bother to turn to the man beside her. She remained focused on the whirring sound of the machine in the center of the room, syncing with the muffled screams of the young man within and the soothing hymns of the choir around.

"What do you mean, Jacob?" she said in a firm voice.

"Several missionaries have gone to Charis. All of them went missing. Yet we send more," he said, voicing what troubled him. His lips fought to find the following words. "I was just thinking, maybe..."

Sighing in disappointment, the Mother Superior made her way to the door, and Father Jacob sheepishly followed. The door's mechanism scanned them before they came too close and opened itself, leading them to a brightly lit white hallway. It took a moment for Father Jacob's eyes to adjust.

"Father Jacob, Thomas knew what he was signing up for when he volunteered—" she hoped her emphasis on the last word did not go unnoticed. It didn't. "—to take up the mandate and spread the gospel to Charis. Everyone who has embarked on The Great Commission knows the stakes, yet they choose to go. Do you not believe in the power of God?"

Father Jacob swallowed as they continued walking, taking a sharp bend. "My-my faith isn't a thing to be questioned. You know that," he said firmly, flustered from the Mother Superior's assumption. "I wouldn't want to see us lose another soul."

The Mother Superior paused suddenly, startling Father Jacob. She turned toward an arched window that offered the view of the bustling city they were in, flowing with numerous scientific advancements. And most importantly, a city rebuilt on faith.

"The Church will always face its challenges, Jacob. History has taught us. Look at the war that ravaged our dear planet. How it tore countries and broke continents, and the loss we suffered as humans. It took down even our beloved Vatican City in its wake." She sighed, gripped her rosary subconsciously, and said a prayer. Her brows knitted and gleamed fiercely from the burning evening sun that came in through the window. "But did we simply back down because of that? Did we stop?" She allowed each word to pierce the silent hallway carefully.

Father Jacob shook his head. After the war had taken down most of the planet's continents, many had turned toward the one place relatively spared from the madness of war. Africa. And in that manner, The Vatican had been moved, stone by stone, here to Kinshasa. It marked a new beginning for the Church and the entire human race. Everyone knew how all of that had taken place. The Vatican that had been moved was the dazzling structure that was now in the line of sight of the Mother Superior, its old architecture rising high and mighty above other buildings like the holy thing it was.

The woman turned around and held Father Jacob's face. "The Church was one of the few things that survived that ruthless war, and we have reshaped this planet to prevent such waste again. We pushed the mandate further by converting planet after planet. We will save billions of lives from the hell they create for themselves. Not just souls; we save lives. The Church did that by God's grace. What is a small planet like Charis that can't take? Nothing will deter us, Jacob." The Mother Superior straightened. "All the missionaries that have risked their lives know that. Do you know that?"

She didn't wait for an answer before walking by the priest and making her way to her chambers. Father Jacob knew not to follow and looked down at the ground. He was left alone in his own thoughts.

Two

Kinshasa, Congo.

Thomas was lost again. The memory often felt like a dream... Or a nightmare. Most of the details had blurred too much over the years, but the essential parts stuck to him. His tiny feet led him as he wandered aimlessly, bruised, cut, and covered in soot. It didn't matter that the war had ended. It was the starving time. He screamed at the top of his lungs, calling out the names of those he knew.

No answer.

Regardless, he kept moving. Eventually, the young boy felt his body hit the ground. It might have been from exhaustion or blood loss. Or perhaps it was because he had just stumbled across the cold bodies of the people he'd been searching for.

He prepared to die; in fact, he was welcoming the idea.

A bright light pierced his soul. Thomas's small mind told him he saw God that day, it was at least an angel. That was what the person who had carried him in their arms was, no matter what others may have seen. Ethereal, kind... Almost like a dream. But it was simply a hovercraft with many missionaries on a rescue mission from the Church. They'd found and carried him and many wounded people into the strange ship. All his wandering had led him right there; nothing couldn’t have been better. And he'd decided on that day to help the lost find themselves.

Thomas blinked awake with the same feeling coursing through his veins and the memory at the edge of his mind. That decision of his almost three decades ago echoed in his ears.

It took a minute or two before he registered the soft bed he lay upon and the deep ache in his body. What he felt now was an utter violation that traveled deeper than skin. Groaning, he turned in bed, sluggishly massaging his forehead as flashes of his alteration overpowered everything except his desire to serve.

Thomas took a breath and dared to look up, only to find a mirror with... Whatever stared back at him was not his face. Not even human. Where he should have brown skin, a coarse green texture laid before him with a few spots of lighter pigmentation along specific parts. His eyes were almond-shaped pools of inky blue, shimmering like precious stones or a bottled night sky. And upon his head was a mass of curly, deep blue hair like a thundercloud. He parted his thin lips to find a sharp row of teeth embedded within a long tongue.

He felt different in far too many ways than he could count. He was definitely lighter. That he realized when he got up on his feet amid the mind-racking ache he suffered. His body was sleeker too and taller, and he felt colder, but that could easily be attributed to the fact that he was scantily clothed. A moment of concern made Thomas move his hand to his groin. He didn't know what he expected, but he felt relieved when he noticed little had changed, but he did not dare to look. The sharp features of his ears soon stole his curiosity, and he reached for them, tugging carefully.

"Am I interrupting something?" a bored, soft voice interrupted Thomas's observation.

Thomas looked around quickly to find the short form of Dr. Mona at his door frame. Was she always this blunt? The woman smiled, tilting her head to one side and partly focusing on the glowing console before her. "Glad to see you're adjusting well to your Charisian body," she noted.

"It is strange," Thomas had to admit as he stared at his palm, folding and unfolding his four-fingered hand, almost feeling like he still possessed the missing finger. He had been aware of what yesterday's procedure was supposed to do to his body. An alteration to make him look like the presiding intelligent species of the planet he was being sent to as a missionary. Regardless of all that, he didn't expect whatever this was. The human race indeed made good use of its scientific tools. "Could I ever..." he wasn't able to finish.

"Get your real body back?" finished Dr. Mona, a dose of pity in her tone. She looked to the ground. "As we discussed earlier, I think so. We have not gotten a chance to try." The weight of those words rammed through Thomas's brain. The doctor lifted her gaze, smiling energetically once more. "You leave for Charis in a few hours, so it's my job to ensure nothing happened to you in the alteration process. Nothing bad, I mean." She turned around swiftly, tapping and swiping on the holographic projection of the console in her hand. "Follow," she ordered curtly.

Thomas did as she requested, feeling the ache in his body fade away in bits as he did so.

"You spent the past few months learning and understanding all you need to know about the planet, Charis, and its dominant intelligent species. Well, as much information as we have gathered from former missionaries," she noted thoughtfully as she walked, the click of her shoes on the pristine floor forming a rhythm.

Thomas nodded, recalling the hours he studied. "Yes. Not a lot of information though if we're being..." Thomas paused in his steps when a high-pitched sound pierced his ears. He felt his pointed ears twitch as he searched for the source of the sound.

Dr. Mona didn't even make an attempt to stop. "Keep walking," she called out, making him quickly jog over to her side. Thomas realized he moved at a speed he wouldn't have been able to manage in his human body. "That was a test. The Charisians have higher auditory capabilities than humans. That was a sound of over 30,000 Hz. Normally, you wouldn't hear it as a human, but the Charisians would pick up on it." She spoke swiftly as they walked on, ignoring greetings from passing colleagues.

"Wouldn't that open up a new dimension of interaction for them?" said Thomas, brimming with curiosity beside Dr. Mona. "Like affecting their communication."

The scientist paused and smiled at him. "I love it when laymen ask the right questions," she commented, her smile almost giddy. Then she added, in all seriousness, "It does. You're right. And that poses an intriguing challenge for you. We haven't examined Charisians much, so we do not know if they have rules guiding the frequencies used in communication. You'll have to listen more than you speak when you first get there."

Thomas blew out a breath. "So no pressure," he noted.

There was something in the way Dr. Mona observed him. Almost as if she wanted to cut him open right. She dropped her gaze to her console. "You're energetic because of a fascinating adaptation within your mitochondria"—she held up a hand before he could say anything—"and it is not something you need to understand. I'll be back after your language test."

She pointed toward a nearby door. Perhaps it was his hearing, but Thomas felt he could pick up all the subtle changes in the scientist's tone, almost using it to discern her emotion behind every word. He knew she was excited to return to him after his language test.

"How easy would it be to learn the language of a civilization that may more or may not communicate in ultrasonic frequencies?" grumbled Thomas as he walked toward the door.

"We implanted a microchip in your head to supply all necessary information." There was a disinterest in Dr. Mona's tone now, and most of her focus was on her console. "You'll be a natural. You just need to get it tested. Now, hurry up. I have another trans-alien patient to deal with." She swiftly departed, leaving Thomas to go alone into the room to find Father Jacob wearing a tight smile.

The language test was short. Father Jacob had a device that projected some Charisian words in their strange writing system, and Thomas was made to reply quickly, without thinking. Thomas could instantly comprehend the alien tongue and even respond as though he'd been speaking the language all his life. They were mostly regular greetings and a few random phrases.

Eventually, Father Jacob tapped a side of the device to put it off as he said, "Unfortunately, this is about all our knowledge on Charisian interaction." He looked bewildered as he observed Thomas, eyes scanning his alien features. Thomas understood getting used to his current appearance was a bit strange.

"How did you get this in the first place?" said Thomas, fascinated. There was a book and a pen in his hand where he tried to recreate some Charisian calligraphy projected from another device beside him.

The priest before him grimaced slightly and sank into his chair at the other end of Thomas's table. The black table, made of an alloy that didn't suggest a metallic quality at first glance, had only a few things on it. A hard copy Bible, a projection device, and another strange device Thomas couldn't recognize. The very room itself was plain. White walls contain a crucifix at one end and various inscriptions and devices that God knew. Apart from that, there was a plant by the window and a bookshelf few books, primarily rocks of several types.

He watched the priest massage his eyes and considered if the robotic stump at the man's head helped with eyesight instead. "The first missionary who went there made all of this. That is before he went missing... out of contact with us. We don't really know what happened to him." Thomas nodded and focused on what he was writing. Speaking the language might have felt natural but writing it with his four-fingered hand was beyond anything natural. Eventually, he noticed the Asian man straighten and gently clear his throat before saying, "Tommy, you know the peculiar situation of the mission you'll embark on, right?"

"You mean all the missing missionaries who went before me?" Thomas said after taking a moment to consider his words.

"Nine. Nine missionaries missing," came the steadfast tone of the priest. Thomas found himself placing more focus on the man at those words. The man's eyes had a tired look and stiffness in how he composed himself. He definitely was overly self-conscious. Father Jacob sighed dejectedly. "Why did you pick this mission?"

The learned answer came swiftly to his tongue. "To answer the call of The Great Commission."

"Do not think you can use nice-sounding words on me," Father Jacob all but growled before the words were entirely out of Thomas's mouth. Thomas watched the man grip the table tightly. There was something personal behind this.

"Someone you knew went, right?" he noted. Father Jacob's shoulders slacked, and his eyes fell to the table. He nodded. Thomas smiled tightly. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one. He understood the priest's concerns. "Fine. Are you aware of how I came to be here?"

The priest shrugged. "I'm conversant with the subject," he said carefully, moving his head as he settled deeply into his chair. Father Jacob ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"They searched my region numerous times already before they saved me. Someone somewhere decided to try and save everyone. And that's why I'm here today," Thomas explained.

There was the added fact that his childhood home was in a blacklisted zone for humans. Identical particles killed his parents and would have done the same to him if he hadn't been found. He knew he shouldn't have been here because of all the factors. He should have been long dead. Yet, he was here. Thomas thought back to that strange feeling when he felt the light pour over him and was carried to safety. "I want to do the same to others. Even a hostile planet like Charis deserves attention. Maybe we just need to be more patient or send more missionaries. The point is I want to help. To play my part in it."

Father Jacob shut his eyes and seemed to raise his head in resilience. "Well, that's good to hear," he said.

"Maybe if I find that friend of yours, I'll tell them you sent your greetings," offered Thomas. He saw the priest chuckle. It settled into a smile, and Thomas, too, found himself smiling with this alien body.

The door to the room slid open right then, and Dr. Mona walked in. "Time to eat, Thomas. You must be starving," she called. Then she looked up from her device to notice the room's tone. She added carefully, with a brow raised, "That is if I'm not interrupting something."

"Not at all," Father Jacob said quickly. In moments, he shifted his demeanor to a much livelier one. "He's still struggling with written language, but I think he needs to adjust to the alien hands."

"Right..." trailed Dr. Mona. She rested her gaze on Thomas. He took that as an instruction to go with her, which he obliged after saying goodbye to the priest.

Then he spent the next few hours going through many other tests. After a quick round of prayers, he stood before the gateway.

The gateway was a series of arches arranged in a straight line. The structures were entirely metallic, and the sizes of garage doors. And the entirety of it was located in the lowest chamber of the laboratory.

Thomas was aware of the series of control systems and consoles behind him, manned by many scientists who shouted between each other. A choir at another corner was already singing a solemn farewell hymn. Thomas could very well make out shapes and forms of other members of the Church, including Father Jacob, at one corner.

Thomas entered a long container like a canoe with a cover to contain him and a few other things. He secured himself seated with his legs outstretched in front of him. He could see ahead, but there was nothing but black. Thomas felt himself aching to go.

"Nervous?" said Dr. Mona as she looked down at him. No console was in her hand to distract her now, and she genuinely smiled.

Thomas shook his head. "A little uncomfortable in these clothes, though," he admitted. Thomas was clad in a vibrant tunic and trousers, typical clothing of his destination.

Three

"You'll be fine," said the scientist. She exchanged a look with a figure in the corner and added, "Time to go, Brother Thomas. May God be with you."

"Amen." Thomas closed the ship's cover and moved his fingers over a screen, watching for error messages.

"Preparing for transit," said a voice.

Thomas watched as the arch that made up the gateway flicked awake, pulsing bright white lights. Then he slowly felt a pressure gather. The screen before him displayed an image of Earth within their solar system. Then it shifted the image to light-years away and his destination planet within its star system.

Once the gateway was fully activated, a force field came alive within the arch, loudly pulsing as though inviting him in. Almost everything on his ship was controlled remotely, he thought. He could relax soon.

There was a sliver of the moment of doubt, and Thomas almost looked back. Almost. He swallowed, muttered a prayer, and let his finger hit the button that would change his world. With that, he embarked on what was most likely a one-way journey to Charis.

His ship moved through the gateway of the Commission Center at a speed that caused Thomas's senses to dilate before he flickered out of sight.

The Nightshade Forest, Outskirts of Amarae.

Thomas groaned loudly. He was severely jet-lagged from the journey. He had trouble undoing the straps, and his hands were so weak he could barely operate the communicator.

"Commission, all okay." Communication took some time to be received from Charis back on Earth. A week, maybe more. Thomas simply told them he was safe.

Slowly, he swiped across the control screen for the command pushing away the travel craft's door. As his boot landed, it sank into the soft earth. Breathing took a moment to settle into, but he eventually adjusted, thanks to the alterations. Thomas yawned loudly and stretched as he became comfortable. That was when he took in complete comprehension of his surroundings.

The air was crisp and had a unique fragrance, a blend of earthy moss and sweet floral notes that hinted at the planet's lush biodiversity. There were trees all around; one lay broken by his travel craft. The trees were impossibly tall and wide. Beyond the trees, a tapestry of stars adorned the night sky, their distant twinkling and ethereal sight causing Thomas to smile.

Thomas mouthed a prayer before returning to his craft and reaching for his travel pack. He then placed a palm on the body of the travel craft and did as he had been taught. In moments, the pristine alloyed body of the machine shimmered until it blended with its surroundings.

As Thomas adjusted his pack, he marveled at this different yet similar world. The forest was alive with sounds. Apart from the plants, there was also the chirping of insects, their melodies rising above the range of human hearing. Thomas could hear it all, though, so much that he had to shut his eyes to bask in the ethereal feeling it evoked, along with distant hoots and calls of nocturnal creatures. And there was something else. Thomas's ears literally swiveled to one side. A low growl echoed through the trees. His heart quickened, and he looked to see a pair of canine creatures emerge from the underbrush. Their eyes glowed with an intense luminescence, reflecting the moon's gentle light. The animals had sleek, muscular bodies, their fur a mix of iridescent colors that shimmered in the darkness.

Fear surged through Thomas's skin, and the creatures bared their sharp teeth, their snarls reverberating in his ears. He thought for a moment before reaching into his pack for a weapon. He didn't get a chance to because the savage creatures leaped forward. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he took off, their pursuit close behind. The beasts swallowed up the distance so swiftly that it felt almost impossible. Thomas felt the raw power of survival urging him forward; his senses heightened with each stride.

The forest blurred past him, the ground a mosaic of dappled moonlight and flickering shadows. He could hear the rushing of blood in his ears.

Just as he felt the creatures gaining on him, a rumble in the distance caught his attention. Through the dense foliage, a horse-drawn carriage emerged, its lanterns casting a warm glow that pierced the darkness.

Thankfully, the carriage halted abruptly when the wide-eyed driver saw Thomas. Without hesitation, the driver leaped off the carriage and reached for one of the flaming torches lodged at one side.

As Thomas wheezed past the man and lunged into the safety of the roofless carriage, the driver snapped loudly at the creatures, waving his torch and allowing its brilliant blue flame to dance in the air. The creatures whimpered loudly as they forced themselves to stop, almost crashing into trees and quickly turning back the way they'd come.

Relief soothed Thomas as he lay in the carriage, breathing heavily.

"Are you out of your mind?" yelled the older Charisian man as he returned to the carriage. His green form was way more muscular than Thomas's, and he had short-cropped white hair and a layer of beard. He frowned deeply at Thomas as he scrutinized him further. "Everyone knows these woods are haunted. Treading it at night? And being stupid enough to run into luphynes? Do you have a death wish, lad?"

Thomas shook his head firmly and sat up as he gained composure. "Sorry. I'm Adrik Solheart. I'm a traveler from far away. First Time in this place."

The half-lie seemed to make the man relax. He softened his gaze and mounted his carriage while still shaking his head in disbelief. "What? You don't have luphynes where you come from?" He looked skeptical.

"Nothing this big," answered Thomas.

The man laughed loudly and urged the carriage on. Thomas was glad to be on the move. "You think those young ones are big? You're lucky you found me. You should have thought to light a fire if traveling our woods." Thomas accepted the man's scolding with a nod, choosing to study things further. "I don't know where you are headed, but your best chance is to settle in Amarae for the night. The kingdom is just up ahead."

"Thank you, " said Thomas.

"Corin,” the older man grumbled without breaking his gaze from the road ahead. Thomas leaned forward to notice the horses were, in fact, not horses. They looked like horses but with far too many differences beyond the vibrant color of their coats. He was too exhausted to consider them deeply.

"Tell me, Corin. Why do you say the woods are haunted?" He was interested in his conception of the supernatural.

Corin chuckled. The chuckle was short-lived and soon replaced by a grim tone. "Because the woods are haunted. That's where they all come from. The skinwalkers. It's always on nights like this. You'll know it when you hear the loud sound of their portals and an otherworldly light accompanying them. Our King had told and warned us about them. The bard too." The fearless man who had just defended him from the savage monsters looked genuinely scared. Thomas was quick to connect the dots. His travel craft would have made some noise and given out a glow from his arrival. Just like it would have happened with the nine previous missionaries. Or skin walkers, according to Corin. "I swore I saw the light myself tonight. Be careful in those woods, boy. They're watching us. All of us."

"Thanks for the information," said Thomas.

"Anytime," answered Corin. "Now, tell me what a lad like you is doing traveling the world?"

Thomas laid his back in the carriage, carefully avoiding the load that inhabited the space with him. "I'm a philosopher. Just going about learning and teaching... And exploring, I guess."

The shift in Corin's voice was instant. An underlying danger took over it. "Philosopher? We don't have many of those around here," he said. Thomas was a bit concerned. He'd been told to pose as a philosopher to blend in with the Charisians. It could have been a better choice.

"I really do not have a job. I suppose philosopher sounds better than unemployed," he said, hoping he recovered from his mistake.

Corin made an affirming sound but kept his eyes on the road and his grip on the reins of his stead. "You seem exhausted. Get some sleep. I'll wake you as soon as we approach Amarae," he said kindly.

Thomas yawned and nodded. He really was exhausted. That chase had taken too much out of him. So he heeded the man's words and let sleep take over him.

#

Amarae, Charis.

Thomas woke up to an object poking the side of his face. He slowly opened his eyes to meet a dark morning sky devoid of sun. Then he felt more poking and turned to his side to find two people looking down at him.

The Charisian pair comprised a blue-haired female clad in a simple dress and fiddling with a knife and another white-haired male, not Corin, with his inky eyes gleaming curiously.

"He's awake," said the white-haired male, leaning away from Thomas's face. "You sleep like a tree."

Thomas groaned and sat up quickly. That was when he noticed the chain around his arms and legs. "What?" he grumbled in confusion and began struggling with his bounds.

"Sorry, Adrik Solheart," said Corin, appearing at the side of the carriage. In his hand was a pouch, and he played with several blue-green seed-like objects in the bag. "The bard drives a fair bargain. Don't worry, Linara and Byrn will take good care of you, philosopher. And everyone knows the laws about philosophers," he said, lifted his gaze, and added coolly, "or skinwalkers."

"I am not a skinwalker," snarled Thomas, but Corin walked away with his payment, dismissing his words. He searched for his backpack and saw it in the carriage with him a distance away but couldn't reach it. A dread settled upon him.

His male captor, possibly Byrn, dragged his body outside a weathered yet lively pub, active even in the morning. His captor went inside, apparently to refresh himself. The scent of freshly baked bread, or what smelled like bread, wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of aged spirits. From the pub, Thomas caught a poem sung by a man with a multi-stringed instrument.

In the land of old, where legends unfold,

There dwells a bard, with stories untold.

With nimble wit and words refined,

He can discern truth from fiction's bind.

His questions keen, like the eagle's eye,

Pierce through deceit, with a fervent cry.

No evasion escapes his astute gaze,

For he unravels the web of cunning ways.

With measured verse and lyrical sway,

He unveils hearts in a brilliant display.

Words hold the key to the depths within,

And he deciphers their hidden origin.

In halls of debate, where voices contend,

The bard stands tall, an unyielding friend.

He champions the just, with his every breath,

Protecting the innocent from schemes of death.

With melodies woven in each crafted line,

He binds together the threads of divine.

His songs resound through the ancient glades,

Echoing truths that never fade.

So raise your cups, and let your voices ring,

To the bard who can even decipher truth from a king.

His skill unrivaled, his justice pure,

A guardian of the tales that endure.

The streets of Amarae were bustling with activity, a vibrant tapestry of Charisian life unfolding before him. Thomas wondered if he should savor the moment as his future looked grim. He contented himself with watching the world go by.

The buildings that lined the streets bore the marks of time, their stone facades adorned with intricate carvings and faded murals. Though humble, the structures exuded a rustic charm. In the distance was a castle. Thomas could have been told he was in Medieval England and believed it, except for the green-skinned creatures.

Charisians moved about their day, their attire brightly colored and woven finer than what Thomas was clad in.

Market stalls lined the main square, displaying an array of colorful produce, woven textiles, and handcrafted goods. Vendors engaged in animated conversations with customers, their voices carrying the lilt of the Charisian language, each syllable a melodious note.

None of them had gazes lingering on the young man being dragged to the back of a pub.

"I'm telling you, I'm no skinwalker!" Thomas was calling to the pair that dragged him. They seemed highly unimpressed by his chattering and very much preoccupied with their very own conversation.

"Oh, Christ," he said in a muffled voice, hoping no one heard him. They were now out of public view, and Thomas assumed it was a place of execution.

"The bard will see you now," the female one said mockingly as she let Thomas crash to the ground.

From a shadowed corner, a lean figure stirred. The Charisian was clad in a dull-colored tunic with curly red hair. His inky eyes were thin, and he pulled his lips into a wide grin as he moved playfully toward Thomas. He had darker skin spots along his forehead and a flute in hand. In Thomas's opinion, the flute was strange, comprising three tubes and far too many holes for four-fingered creatures.

"Another skinwalker?" the bard said, brushing stray locks of hair off his face. "Or should I say missionary?" Thomas felt his blood run cold. The Charisians knew about the missionaries. "Surprised? It's an interesting story, really, if you think about it. You missionaries always come here posing as philosophers to convert people, not considering that you could be stumbling into a land that prohibited religion and philosophy." He was so close to Thomas now, holding the missionary's gaze. "Of course, I have to kill you. I'm kind of known for that. I find missionaries and handle you before others have to." The bard seemed more than a little proud.

"What if I'm not a missionary?" Thomas blurted before he could stop himself.

Amused, the bard lifted his gaze in consideration. "Well, then, if you're really Charisian... A Charisian of your age, you should know certain things," he said.

Thomas saw the look that traveled between the bard's companions. He also saw one of the companions, perhaps Linara, rummaging curiously through his backpack and studying one of Thomas's devices. He said nothing and hoped the Charisian would quickly dismiss the device as junk while he focused on the dangerous look the bard nurtured for him.

Thomas nodded, shutting his eyes momentarily in silent prayer. "What's your name?" asked the bard. He took his flute to his lips and began to play at an impossible frequency, twirling along with the song.

"Adrik Solheart," said Thomas, following the instructions he'd received back at the lab.

The bard stopped with his face still lit up strangely. Then he began throwing a hundred simple questions at Thomas. Ridiculous questions from everyday life. Finally, he asked, his forehead glistening with sweat. "Tell me, are you a skinwalker?" he said.

"No, I am n—" Thomas realized his mistake too late. The bard had asked his last question in English, and Thomas answered in English.

The bard shook his head yet had a huge smile. "Nine missionaries. We were able to pick up a few things from them, including a sentence or two in your tongue," he said in Charisian. His companions watched as Thomas almost thought he had stopped breathing. His mind swirled with prayers. "You just failed my test, and now I know you're one of them." Thomas tried to say something, but the bard played his flute. It was a melodious tune that hung in the air. He paused and said thoughtfully, "I'll name this one Solheart's Eclipse. Now, should I start by cutting out your tongue?"

"No," a gruff voice said.

The bard rolled his eyes and groaned. "How long have you been listening?" he said.

Thomas watched three armored Charisians approach. "King Aksel has told you to stop murdering missionaries, Bard," the one that seemed like their leader spat. "They should be brought to him first." Thomas was too dumbfounded to speak as his ownership changed, and the guards lifted him from the ground, very much to the bard and his companion's annoyance. Thomas wasn't too quick to rejoice. These guards could be way worse than the bard, for all he knew.

The bard drew closer. So close Thomas could feel the other man's warm breath and catch the scent of smoke. "Try to be careful what you say where you're headed, Solheart. There are ears all over the kingdom," he whispered so Thomas was sure no one else heard. He couldn't react before the guards turned him back toward the street and led him toward the castle.

Four

The Palace, Amarae.

A prayer fell upon Thomas's lips, but he remained quiet and allowed them to lead him toward the towering stone building.

It didn't take long before Thomas's fatigued body was led through the grand double doors of the castle. The morning was definitely not shaping out nicely. He thought about his backpack, still with the bard, containing his communication device, weapon, and other incriminating things.

After a while, he was led through a final pair of wooden doors. The palace was adorned with brightly colored tapestries, candles carrying blue flames, and a heavy throne at the far end. A man sat lazily on the throne, flanked by guards. He was clad in bright, soft, costly-looking robes and with a red crown that looked made from feathers.

"Is this it?" King Aksel said.

He was completely bald and rested his head in one hand with his elbow on the arm of his throne. Thomas was thrown on the carpeted ground a great distance from the King. He looked at the number of guards all around. "Do you speak?" Thomas nodded. The King straightened and leaned forward. "So... What are you? And don't lie. I am looking right in your eyes."

"A missionary, come from the distant land to preach the gospel to—" Thomas was already raising his upper body as he spoke but was interrupted by a loud groan.

King Aksel glared down from his raised throne and massaged his heavy beard gently. He was the biggest Charisian Thomas had seen, with massively muscled arms. Thomas knew that the King could do anything he wanted to him. "The last missionary we captured spewed the same thing," he revealed. "Even with his dying breath."

Thomas swallowed. The King waved a hand, and Thomas watched a guard come to his side, and, in a single terrifying strike of his sword, he broke the chain around Thomas's legs.

"That stupid bard keeps getting to all the missionaries before me and ruthlessly ends their lives," grumbled King Aksel, rising to his feet and coming down to Thomas's level. "Is there not something I can do about him? Kill him or something," he blurted to no one in particular.

A guard cleared his throat. "He is rather famous, sire. The people love him and his songs," he said.

King Aksel shrugged. "Follow me," he said to Thomas.

Thomas rose to his feet and hurried after the King to a wall covered with a tapestry. The tapestry was a map. Thomas scrutinized it, taking note of the inscriptions.

"See here? It's the map of the known world. Everything drawn in red, I own," the King explained. Thomas all but shuddered. Almost half the map was inked in red, cutting across numerous towns and cities, including the one they were in, the capital city, Amarae. King Aksel turned his eyes to Thomas. "Everything that isn't in red, I do not own. And we need to rectify that."

“What?”

The King nodded. "Our people are aware of the stars in our sky and the life it holds, all overlooking our planet because we're seen as weak. Maybe we are. But one night, I saw something." The King paced slowly like a beast establishing its territory. "There was a light in the sky and a deep rumble in the forest. I think you know what that was."

"Skinwalkers?" suggested Thomas.

King Aksel wore a smile almost immediately, a savage one that Thomas noted. "You're funny," commented the King. "But you and I know what it was. My stupid subjects might call it skinwalkers or faeries or whatever nonsense. I saw what it was. Potential. Every Time that light came, bringing one of yours, I sent my people to scour the forest. We were always too late. Why's that? The thing that brings you here, where does it go after you leave?"

Thomas felt himself shrinking underneath the King's firm gaze. "Why do you need to know that?" he asked.

"The last missionary asked something similar after I tortured him. He eventually told me about Earth. That's your homeworld, right?" King Aksel smiled, causing Thomas to back away. "What I want is your dazzling technological advancements. To put it plainly, I want your weapons. I want the entire map red. Maybe even beyond the map. And you will help me. You will either end up like the previous one or live."

King Aksel snapped a finger, and Thomas released a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Don't worry, there's no pressure. I'll give you a little time to think about it," the King finally said, sinking back to his bored expression. He waved a hand dismissively, and the guards returned to take a stunned Thomas out of the throne room.

He was led back the way they came and down the stairs to the dungeon. Thomas found himself secured in a smelly cage. Thankfully, they were kind enough to unbind the chain around his arms before throwing him in.

"That's what happened to the one before you," a guard whispered. Thomas looked to his right and almost jumped in fear as he saw bones in the dimly lit dungeon. The guard nodded and smiled tightly. "Just give him the information he wants." The guard then disappeared out of the room, leaving Thomas alone. The only light source is a torch mounted against a wall with blue flames.

Thomas sat in the quiet in prayer. He asked for guidance and for, wisdom, and protection. Then he sighed loudly and leaned against the wall.

“You know something I've always wondered? Does God hear you even when you're light-years from Earth?” a new voice said. Thomas must have exceeded his fear threshold for the day because the sight of Linara before him didn't faze him.

He sighed and said, "What are you doing here?"

Linara held a hand to her chest dramatically and scoffed. "Perhaps I'm an angel who’s come here to save you," she said.

"Says the one who wanted to watch me get killed an hour ago," Thomas pointed out. He could make out the woman's grin easily in the dim lighting.

Then she really surprised him. "What's your real name?" she said in perfect English. Thomas parted his lips to speak and shut them when the words failed to form. "Is it not obvious? I'm a missionary too. All of us."

Thomas made a sound that was neither English nor Charisian. He frowned and shook his head. "Doesn't make sense. You tried to kill me," he settled.

"Think of that whole thing as a show." Linara leaned against the iron bars of the prison. "Didn't the bard tell you? There are ears all over the kingdom. We knew we were being watched by those guards and had to make a convincing play. Look, the bard was the first one here. He saw the ways of the Charisians and knew to keep his head low. So when others were sent, he had to find them in a way without drawing attention."

"So, he doesn't kill missionaries?" Thomas said meekly and in utter relief.

Linara shook her head. "He only makes them think he does because he knows what the King wants. If the King thinks the missionaries are dead, they cannot get information from them. Except for the one person we failed." Her eyes moved to the bones in the prison with Thomas.

"It's Thomas," Thomas told her meekly.

Linara smiled. "Ani," she said. Thomas recognized the Congolese name instantly. "Anyway, this planet might be hard to work with."

"I figure. The laws banning religion and philosophical teachings?" Thomas shook his head.

"It works for them, though. It's their way of life. No organized faith. It'll be hard leading them to Christ," she admitted. "Especially since their King covets our advanced technological weapons in a bid to rule the world."

Thomas thought about the war that ravaged Earth because of those same weapons. He shuddered.

Linara—Ani—perked her ears before turning back to him. She then tossed something at him. 'We can't make it seem like you had help," she said while Thomas scrutinized the coin-shaped device she gave him. "You know how to use that?" Thomas nodded begrudgingly at the sight of the grenade. Ani smiled and pointed at a wall. "Blow it up in two minutes, and you'll end up at a poorly guarded area. Then you run as fast as you can until you see a black door with a cross. Then you go in. The bard and the rest of us will be waiting for you." Ani needed to add, "Don't worry, crosses have a different meaning here, so it's safe."

She turned to leave, her white hair tussled behind her. Then she paused. "Good luck, Thomas. And God be with you."

Thomas nodded. He thought about how the morning had gone and the many revelations he'd gotten from all over. Thomas knew they would figure it all out. So he took a small breath with a prayer and pressed the grenade against the wall. In five seconds, it all went...

BOOM!

Thomas ran without looking back. Maybe he was not going to be a martyr today. He, and his new friends, were going to make a real difference. Thomas felt the muscles in his face twist awkwardly as he realized that it was the first time he really smiled since he arrived at his new mission.

Running and smiling, time seemed to slow to a crawl and his consciousness wandered. A Biblical passage stuck in his mind since he wanted to become a missionary. Mark 16:15 states that Jesus said: “Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.” Thomas reflected. Was it right for him to be born in one world and preach in another, since the text does not suggest there is more than one world? Maybe Charis was now his world, and he was where he needed to be. He started to laugh as he realized that the challenges he had just faced were nothing compared to the future that awaited him.

THE END