Chapter 4
Keta, the Keeper of Names, high priest of the Forgotten, stood before the faithful, ready to give what would surely be the most important sermon of his life. The population of the Cove had increased so rapidly that he needed to use the largest room in the entire ancient structure to serve as their chapel, except even then the place was packed with people. Most were sitting on the floor, while more stood in crowds around the edges, with children on their parents’ shoulders. The most nimble among them had even climbed up the exterior to watch through the round windows that ringed the room.
With many eyes upon him, Keta sweated. They were eager to hear what the latest revelation was, for rumors spread quickly in the Creator’s Cove. By now all had heard that their prophet had once again spoken with the Voice of the Forgotten the night before, and it was the solemn duty of the Keeper to share the Voice’s wisdom with the masses. Why else would he have summoned everyone who wasn’t on a vital duty elsewhere?
No stranger to preaching, this was still by far the largest congregation Keta had ever stood before. As the rebellion had grown over the last year, a flood of refugees had been brought through the secret entrance into the Cove. There were thousands of them now. It was Keta’s duty to keep them safe, sheltered, and enlightened as to the will of the gods. That was a heavy burden for one man to bear, and in that moment he was feeling it like never before.
Normally he enjoyed preaching to the faithful as much as they enjoyed listening, but today he would bring them great and terrible news from the outside world. Delivering this message would surely strike fear into their hearts. A dark cloud had hung over the Cove since Ashok had disappeared, and he worried that this new revelation would break even more spirits.
Except they deserved to know the truth.
It was odd. Keta hadn’t been this nervous when he had struck the first blow of his first rebellion. You wouldn’t think giving a speech would be harder than hitting a warrior with a meat cleaver, except it was. Now that he understood the real weight of leadership, he knew that his words had the power to lead men to destruction. His first rebellion had ended in failure, the slaughter of all the casteless involved, and the death of the last Keeper of Names, Ratul. He had to be better here, or else.
The faithful stared at him, excited, while Keta dreaded failing them. They were a disparate lot, having been born casteless, worker, or warrior, but all were free and equal in this wondrous place, brothers and sisters united outside the reach of the oppressive, tyrannical Law. How could he speak with so much at stake? It was hard to send someone to near certain death. How could he break up families, and turn mothers into widows and children into orphans?
Just as the crowd became restless, Keta began to speak, only his mouth was suddenly very dry, and he couldn’t continue.
Some began to sense his hesitation and their faces displayed their worry. What would happen if they lost faith in him? Worse, what would happen if they lost faith in the Voice? The rebellion would crumble. Their many sacrifices would have been for nothing, the Law would triumph, and their gods would remain forgotten.
Javed must have sensed something was wrong, because he rose from where he had been sitting near Keta’s feet and made sure the rest of the faithful could see that he was merely handing their Keeper some water.
Keta took the cup from him. Trusted Javed was the only other man who had been ordained to an office in their fledgling priesthood and he served as Keta’s right hand. The former rice merchant had been a tireless servant, doing much good for the people of the Cove.
Javed leaned in close and whispered, “Do not fear. You’re armed with the words of the all-seeing gods. Compared to that, what are the concerns of men?”
As usual, Javed was the reasonable one. What would I do without him? “Thank you, my friend.” Keta gave his assistant a determined nod, then drank and handed the cup back. Javed returned to his place on the floor.
Having steeled himself, the Keeper of Names raised his voice so all could hear. Despite being small of stature, Keta had always had a great and commanding presence when speaking about what he believed in. It was why Ratul had first noticed him.
“Greetings, faithful. I have much to say today, for the rumors you have heard are true. Last night the Voice once again came upon our prophet, beloved Thera. For the first time since her miraculous curing of the plague that took so many of our brothers’ and sisters’ lives in this very Cove, the Forgotten has once again seen fit to bless us with his wisdom.”
Most of the faithful smiled at that reminder. Some even cheered. The prophet had saved many of them from sickness. Others had been brought to this place by prophecy. They were probably expecting more good news. This would not be that. So Keta decided it would be best to ease them into the difficult part.
“First I must speak of the goings-on in the lands outside this valley. We have been blessed to live in these ancient halls, deep inside the mountains, safe from the eyes of the Law. Safe from those who would do us harm. It has been a year since the Sons of the Black Sword rode south to save the casteless of Garo…”
“Where we crushed the Protectors and drove them off like dogs!” shouted someone in the back of the room. The congregation laughed at the misfortune of their enemies.
Keta scowled until the laughter died, because this was not to be a sermon of celebration or frivolity. “And all that great victory cost us was the lives of many of our bravest men.”
That grim reminder silenced them. Good. They needed to keep in mind the sacrifices of those who had gotten them this far, as he asked them to do the same for so many more.
“There have been grim tidings from the outside world. We thought that the crazed and senseless murder of our casteless brethren had been limited to just a few parts of Akershan, and it is that terror which brought most of you to the safety of this place. Only orders have come from the Capitol that this great evil is to be expanded to every house. The judges in the Capitol have ordered that all of the casteless, across all the land, are to be killed.”
The congregation gasped.
Keta had not believed the news himself at first. It was madness. Even as vile as the Capitol was, he could barely conceive of such barbarity. There were millions of casteless spread throughout Lok. It was hard to even comprehend slaughter on such a massive scale. He’d had time to think through the ramifications. The congregation had only this moment. They were stunned. Then their emotions turned to terror, confusion, disbelief, or outrage.
“We have learned that sometime last year the Chief Judge in the Capitol was struck down by a Fortress rod, wielded by the hand of a casteless.”
“Serves him right!”
“Perhaps, but in their rage, the rest of the first caste thirst for blood. Great and terrible will be their vengeance.”
The order had gone out months ago, but word traveled slow at the edge of civilization. Keta had spoken with Thera and the other leaders for hours last night about what the Capitol’s expanded extermination orders meant for them. They were all free men now, but they came from very different backgrounds. For those who had been casteless—like Keta—this was their loved ones being doomed. It was hard to see past that immediate threat. It was those among them born worker or warrior who could look with sufficient dispassion sufficient to see the bigger picture. They understood that in their haughtiness, the judges surely did not understand the chaos this would cause. It would disrupt every part of Lok, certainly leading to famine, and possibly to house wars. An attempted extermination of the casteless would be the greatest upending of the system since the Age of Law had begun.
And though the idea made Keta sick to his stomach, in such chaos lay opportunity. Or at least he hoped the gods thought so.
“We must fight!” someone shouted.
“Fight, we shall,” Keta immediately responded. “For the Forgotten has declared that the time of our righteous war is at hand. Last night he commanded that many of us—many of you here today—will be sent forth in secret into every great house, where we will prepare our kindred to stand against the forces of the Law.”
“But we’re safe here. Out there we’ll get killed like the rest!” That was said by a mother, as she protectively wrapped her arms around the shoulders of her child.
Keta knew he needed to give courage to the timid souls among them. “It is not all of us who must leave the safety of these mountains. Only those selected as worthy and capable by the prophet and the officers of the Sons of the Black Sword. Those brave heroes will travel in small groups into all the great houses, gathering the faithful and the casteless into armies, sufficient to stand against the Law, to do in other lands what we have done here. The rest of us will remain in the Cove, to tend the crops, and secure these halls as a sanctuary for all those in need.”
As expected, far more people appeared confused and frightened than determined. They began to murmur to one another. The Sons had warned Keta it would be this way. The warrior caste was conditioned from birth to desire glory through violence. They’d be eager for the fight. Workers engaged in their own forms of conflict, but they saw war as something to be profited from when it was distant, and hidden from when it drew near. The casteless only knew how to run or beg for mercy, and those among them with the stomach for true rebellion—like Keta—were few and far between. The majority of the free people of the Cove had been casteless, followed by workers, with warriors being a distinct minority. Of course his congregation was terrified. Thus far their battles had been left to the brave, foolish, or bloodthirsty among them, while the rest had had been swept along as refugees.
He needed to remind them of what had been forgotten.
“Enough!” Keta roared, and thankfully the crowd obeyed. “The gods have spoken. With the gods on our side we will prevail. Do not forget what we have accomplished. Do not forget who we really are. Those born without caste have the blood of Ramrowan in our veins. The warrior sent by the gods, who gave magic to man, and who drove the demons from the land into the sea! The first king! The Law stole our birthright. The Law smashed our idols and erased our gods. For forty generations our persecution was so cruel that we forgot who we really are. And now the Law has come to finish the job, to kill us once and for all. Will you allow this?”
A few people shouted in the negative. But that was insufficient.
“Will you allow this?” Keta demanded again.
More of them shouted no.
Better.
“You may think we are no match for the Capitol, but the Capitol is no match for the gods,” Keta assured them. “A few years ago our rebellion had nothing. Now we have an army. Fortress weapons! Allies! Money! And more magic than a great house.” Sadly, Keta also knew they had no wizards to use all those valuable demon bits that had been looted from the House of Assassins, but there was no need to bring that up now.
“Ratul, the Keeper before me, taught of an ancient prophecy he discovered in a long-lost temple of the Forgotten. He saw six symbols there. Three would lead our people to freedom: the voice, the general, and the priest.” He struck his fist against his chest as he said that last one. “These we have gathered. And Ratul saw the three symbols that would try to stop us: the crown, the mask, and the demon. What has become of those prophesied enemies? Our Sons of the Black Sword have defied the Law, killed many masked Inquisitors, and even defeated sea demons! We are as mighty as Ratul predicted.”
“But how can we fight without our general?” someone demanded.
It was a good question. One that had kept Keta up many nights worrying. One problem with the Forgotten’s prophecies was that they were usually very open to interpretation, and the Voice never said what to do if the man who was supposed to lead them to victory disappeared.
“Even death could not stop Ashok from doing his duty before.” As Keta said that many of the faithful unconsciously touched the hook-shaped charms they had taken to wearing around their necks or wrists in remembrance of Ashok’s miraculous return from the dead. Even though nobody here had actually seen Ashok come back to life and lift his impaled heart off a wizard’s meat hook, they all believed the story. Keta didn’t know if Ashok was alive or dead, and the Forgotten hadn’t bothered to tell them either way, but the people needed to believe. So Keta would convince them.
“I know Ashok will come back to us, for there are prophecies of the Forgotten’s warrior yet to be fulfilled. Until he does, the Sons of the Black Sword will continue what their founder started. They have won several victories over the forces of the Law this season, sparing thousands of casteless from the sword, and driven back the forces of Great House Akershan who were sent to murder them.”
That was an exaggeration. Thera had dispatched the Sons on a few raids over the summer to evacuate casteless back to the Cove. They had clashed with Akershani warriors, but both sides had avoided another large engagement. They had gotten lucky at Garo because the forces of the Law hadn’t realized the rebels would be armed with so many Fortress rods. After that embarrassing defeat, neither the Protectors nor the army of Great House Akershan would blunder into such a trap a second time.
But that wasn’t his problem. Keta was no tactician. His job was to inspire.
“Ashok will return. Until then the Voice has spoken. The gods have commanded that we must rise up and defend our brothers from evil! The time of our liberation is at hand!”