by Pedro Urvi
Camptos put his hand on the sickle he carried at his waist. “If we’re captured and killed, it’ll be a glorious end to a sad existence. Better to die on our feet trying to find freedom than live on our knees as a slave till death.”
“We were born slaves,” Pasmal agreed, his hands on his shepherd’s crook, “but that doesn’t mean we should give up. We must fight so that our children’s children can inherit a free land. If we must die for this, die we will, and we’ll do it with our heads high.”
Gedrel smiled broadly. His eyes gleamed. “Your words, my children, are music to my ears. Hearing you speak like this makes this old dreamer very happy. My philosophy of life, my beliefs, have sunk deep roots in your hearts. The message won’t die with me. That’s more than I could have wished for.”
Costan stood up and showed them a pair of cracked, callused hands which had known nothing but hard work from sunrise to sunset. Looking at Gedrel, he said: “These are the hands of a slave farmer. All my life I’ve only known two truths: one, produce or die, and the second, eternal slavery. One day you came, master, you chose us, you showed us the dream and opened our eyes to something we’d never thought possible. You filled our hearts with hope. Now we look forward to a future of freedom. For that we thank you, master.”
“This old visionary couldn’t be prouder. For more than twenty years I’ve traveled the counties searching for a group of adepts whom I could trust, to pass my dream on to them, my message of freedom. The way has been long, it’s taken time and effort to assemble this group, to create the web of trustworthy people behind each of you in your different counties. Now tell me, have you finished the preparations?”
Mitas spoke first. “In the mines, the important villages and in the capital of the Fourth County, my brothers have been working for months delivering the message. They do it carefully, patiently, avoiding risk. Once a week, at midnight, there are small secret meetings, always in a different place, always different groups. The message is told in whispers which are engraved in fire on the people’s hearts, in small groups, which are growing bigger day by day. We started out as a dozen, and in time that grew to a hundred. Now that hundred is a thousand, and still growing. Soon all the slaves of the Fourth County will have heard the message.”
“The same has been done in the Third County,” Rutus assured. “Some have been captured and tortured, others executed, for refusing to talk. But nothing can stop us.”
“Cattle travels to the capital from all the villages of the First County,” Ganat put in, “to be slaughtered and consumed. And with it goes the message.”
“The shepherds and their flocks travel from village to village in the Second County, and at each one they stop and deliver the message. At each well, fountain and drinking trough, the message is passed on.”
“Make this old man happy and recite the message you’ve given to the people. Recite it for me.”
Camptos began: The unthinkable has come to pass: a group of Senoca has escaped from the Eternal City, outwitting the Gods in their own home. Seven are the Heroes who have seen the faces of the Gods and escaped from their Power.
Mitas continued: The Heroes can cross the Boundary. They can free the Senoca people from their Rings.
Ganat joined them: The Heroes have created a Shelter for the Senoca outside the Boundary, where they can live in freedom and safety beside Oxatsi, Mother Sea.
Rutus and Costan added their voices: A rebellion is brewing, led by the Heroes. The seed of subversion has been planted and grows strong. All the Senoca people must join the rebellion.
Finally Pasmal joined them, and they ended as one: There is hope for the Senoca. We must fight for freedom, must follow the Heroes to rebellion.
Gedrel listened, eyes closed, nodding slowly, to the words he had written himself to lighten the hearts of the people and give them hope. The old man opened his eyes and looked up at the moon. “Then the effort was worth it, for the flame has caught, and soon the whole Senoca people will know there’s hope, that freedom is possible.”
“The message travels fast from Senoca to Senoca.” Mitas said. “The people want to believe, master. Deep in their hearts there still lives a permanent wish for a better life, in spite of all the suffering. But they’re afraid too, for that same suffering has taught them that their lives have no value for those who enslave them, that suffering, torture and death can come at any moment.”
“They’re afraid, and so they should be. What we’re doing is extremely dangerous. Simply talking about freedom is punished with death.”
“That’s why I doubt whether they’ll dare to rise,” Rutus said. “Talking about it in hiding is one thing, but acting against the Regent and the Enforcers of the Gods is a very different thing.”
“That’s natural,” Gedrel said sadly. “We’ve been slaves for more than a thousand years. We know nothing but submission, grief, pain and death. We have to use our heads. We can’t force our people, we must prepare the way. That’s why we’re here today, to ensure the Senoca will have a path to freedom.”
“And how will we prepare that path?” Mitas asked.
Gedrel heaved a deep sigh. “By example,” he said firmly. “The moment has come to take action, to rise, to begin the rebellion. You already know the consequences, and I won’t try to hide or soften them. Pain, suffering and death await us. Many of us won’t see the end of it, but it’s the price which has to be paid for freedom. Nobody will give it to us as a present. We have to take it by force.”
Gedrel’s words filled Liriana with pride.
Pasmal bent towards the old man. “If we act openly against the Regent, he’ll fall on us like a madman. All of us here can bear witness to his savage methods. We know what he’s capable of.”
“True, but don’t be mistaken, my pupils. He’s no madman. Far from it. He’s a sharp-witted, extremely intelligent man, which makes him all the more dangerous. You must understand the consequences of going on, my friends and brothers. Sesmok will get Lord Hunter Osvan to pursue us, and Osvan will send all his Hunters after us. He’ll send the Proxies and the Guard to search every village and every farm for traitors. All who are caught and jailed will suffer inhuman torture at the hands of the High Priest Torkem. Sesmok will want to end the rebellion before it even starts. That’s why he’ll search for us, us sitting here around the fire under this oak, and he’ll want to kill us.”
Rutus struck his chest with his fist. “I’m not afraid of Sesmok, or his Hunters, or his Guards. If they come for me I’ll die cleaving this axe in the chest of many of them. They’re men, and men bleed, all of them. But the Enforcers are something else… those monsters don’t bleed, not like us. Or at least, so they say.”
“And we have to fight them as well,” said Gedrel. “They won’t stay on the fringes.”
“The way you describe it, master, it sounds like pure madness,” Costan said. He sounded downcast. “We don’t stand a chance. They have Hunters, Guards, Eyes-of-the-Gods and Executors. We’re nothing more than farmers, woodcutters and miners. We don’t even know how to wield a weapon.”
Liriana saw true fear in the eyes of those men. What up till then had been something secret and dangerous was on the brink of turning into something much worse, and they were beginning to understand the magnitude of what lay ahead of them.
“You’re right,” Gedrel said. “It’s crazy. But crazy or not, we’re going to make it come true. We don’t have an army, but we have the people. We don’t have Proxies, Enforcers or Eyes, but we have men of worth who will lead us along: you who are here tonight. We don’t know how to wield a weapon, true enough, but we have the most powerful weapon of all: the heart of a downtrodden man who’ll fight for what’s just, to recover what was stolen from him, to reach freedom one day. It won’t be easy, and there’s nothing to say we’ll make it, but it’s our own fight, and we must rise to end the tyranny. For us, for our children, for all our people, so that slavery comes to an end and we can live free and in peace in a better world.�
��
“I’m ready, just waiting for the order,” Liriana said with intense feeling.
“Me too,” said Maruk. He stood up beside her.
Gedrel turned to them gratefully. “And there’s something else we have, something of great worth. We have the Heroes of the Senoca, the ones who’ve already confronted the Gods, Enforcers and Men and come out victorious. Those whose deeds the message whispers to the people, those who represent hope.”
Rutus scratched his beard. “Don’t take me wrong, master, I’m not doubting your word, but have they really done what the message says, or is it just a poetic song to give the people something to dream about?”
“I appreciate your directness, Rutus. I don’t want any of you here to have any doubt. The message is true, every word of it. Today two of the Heroes are here with us.” He pointed to Liriana and Maruk. “Tell us the truth of what you went through.”
Liriana came forward to the fire, which was burning with a blue intensity. Maruk went to stand on the other side of the flames.
“What I’m going to tell you,” she said, “is what really happened. No fantasies, no exaggerations, just the truth, to let you understand what we’re up against ‒ but also what we were able to overcome.”
She told the story of what had happened, and they listened mesmerized. At the end of her story there was silence as they came to terms with what they had heard.
“The Gods exist… they’re real… powerful…” Mitas said, more to himself than to the others.
“Yes, but they aren’t immortal. They can die. We know that now. And what’s more, we’ve fought their Enforcers and killed them. It’s possible. That’s why you mustn’t lose hope. We can fight, we can win.” Liriana clenched her fist in front of her brightly-lit face.
“And the rest of the Heroes?” asked Camptos.
“They’re in the Shelter, outside the Boundary. A safe place, where the Senoca already have a colony, beside Oxatsi, Mother Sea.”
“How’s it possible to cross the Boundary?” Pasmal asked. “How did you do it?”
Maruk stepped forward. “I take care of that,” he said. He glanced at the old leader, who nodded. Maruk turned to Pasmal. “Come here,” he said. The man went over to Maruk, who told him to kneel facing the fire, beside him. Everybody looked on curiously.
Maruk took two tubes from his sash. Carefully he poured their contents into the fire. At contact with the flames they turned a blinding red and to everyone’s amazement, rose to the sky.
Liriana watched in fascination. Maruk’s arts always intrigued her, and his refusal to explain them made them more enigmatic still.
Maruk took Pasmal’s left hand and covered it with a thick glove which reached as far as his Ring.
“It’ll protect you. It’s got a fire-proof lining. I made it myself, and I’ve used it a lot. It works.”
Pasmal’s eyes were full of doubt, but he said nothing. From another bag which hung at his waist like a sword, Maruk took out another gauntlet and put it on his own right hand. It was the massive glove they all knew and hated: the gauntlet used by the Eyes in the Ritual of the Trade, when at the age of eight all Senoca were forced to have the Ring put on them. Maruk examined the silver gauntlet with its golden ornamentation and runes. He seemed to be checking that everything was in order. The artifact was solid, rectangular, very heavy and robust.
When it was ready Maruk nodded and looked Pasmal in the eye. “Don’t be afraid, everything’ll be all right. You’ll feel heat, like when you were given the Ring, but don’t resist, trust me.”
Pasmal stared at him with eyes full of dread, but nodded. Maruk closed his gauntlet over Pasmal’s Ring. Slowly, he moved the man’s arm until the flame enveloped the gauntlet covering the Ring. There were several muffled cries at the sight of the flames coming into contact with the gauntlet.
Pasmal began to scream with pain. The flame reached his hand and wrist just as it did Maruk’s. They were both protected by the gloves, but not sufficiently, judging by their faces.
“Hold on… a little more…” Maruk said with a grimace, holding his own and Pasmal’s hands in the flame. “It won’t be long…”
They suffered for a few more moments until finally a golden flash issued from Maruk’s massive metal glove. The flash grew in intensity, blinding everyone, then went out.
Maruk withdrew their hands from the fire and they both moved back, enduring the pain as best they could. Maruk, whose gauntlet was still covering Pasmal’s Ring, said: “It’s almost done.” Sweat was running down his forehead.
Pasmal’s jaw was clenched, but he did not complain. He was staring tremulously at his left hand as if trying to assure himself that it was still there, that it had not melted. Maruk freed the gauntlet, and the Ring was revealed. With his other hand he brought out a small vial and poured a white liquid over Pasmal’s Ring. Another powerful golden flash followed.
There was an awed silence.
“Let’s see if it’s worked,” Gedrel said.
Maruk nodded.
The group went towards the Boundary, crossing the northern part of the oak wood, and stopped at the barrier of the Gods.
“Maruk…” said Gedrel, whose hand was shaking uncontrollably now that the barrier was so near.
Maruk led Pasmal to it. “Don’t be afraid. Trust me. We can do it.” He took him by the left hand, and they both crossed. There came a flash, and both men fell to the ground amid convulsions.
“Oh no!” cried Mitas.
“Easy,” Liriana said. “This is normal. Anyone who crosses suffers the same effects.”
They waited uneasily, watching the two men lying unconscious on the ground.
“Are you sure they’re alive?” Rutus said. “They’ve been like that for a while.”
And at that moment, Pasmal woke up. Shakily, he got to his feet and stared at them, wide-eyed.
“I’ve… crossed… I’m… alive. I can’t believe it!”
A moment later Maruk woke up and got to his feet.
Gedrel smiled from ear to ear. “There’s your proof. We can cross the Boundary, we can escape and be a free people. We can fight the power of the Gods. Who’s with me? Who’ll rise to regain their freedom?”
There was a moment of disbelief, then a unanimous cry:
“Me!” they shouted with all the power of their lungs.
“For freedom! For the Senoca!” Gedrel cried.
“For freedom! For the Senoca!” they all shouted, raising their clenched fists to the sky.
Chapter 14
“Are you sure about this, Kyra?” Romen asked.
“Absolutely.”
He was looking at the Proxy of Issoli’s mansion, on the other side of the busy village square. “It doesn’t sound like a good idea to me,”
“Nobody’s making you follow me. You can go on your way right now.”
“This is crazy. You’re about to cross the village square, where everybody knows you and knows there’s a price on your head, to go into the house of one of Sesmok’s Proxies. In full day light! It’s insane!”
Kyra looked up at the morning sky, breathed in the air, which smelt of earth, and shrugged. “This is how things are. We came to the village by day, and I’m not going to wait around till night. It has to be now. Every moment we waste might mean the difference between life and death for my mother.”
Romen swore. “We won’t even make it across the square.”
“Stay here, I’ll go. If you don’t hear from me, you’ll know what’s happened. Go on your way, back to Liriana and the resistance.”
Romen put a hand on her shoulder. “Think again, please.”
“I’m not the sort of person who thinks again.”
And with that farewell she started off toward the mansion. She crossed the square with her chin high, without concealing her identity and without looking at anybody, her eyes fixed on her target. She went to the north side of the square, to the Proxy’s huge residence-tower. She could hear the whispers and
muffled cries of her neighbors as they recognized her, but she ignored them and went on. Someone dropped a vase, which shattered, but she did not flinch. Two armed Guards were stationed at the door of the tower. When they saw her approach they went stiff as boards.
“Do you know who I am?” she said flatly, coming to stand in front of them as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Her right hand was hidden behind her, with a throwing dagger at the ready.
“You’re… Kyra…” muttered the youngest of the guards. Kyra remembered seeing him in the village before. “You… were… Selected… but nobody returns after a Summoning…”
“I’m special,” she replied with a tight smile.
The other Guard, middle-aged, pointed his spear at her chest.
“The crazy rumors among the farmers say you’re one of the Heroes, that you and your brother are two of the seven Heroes…”
“Is that what they say? And what do you think?”
Grim-faced, he threatened her with his spear. “You don’t look like a Hero to me.”
“If you don’t take that spear away, you’re going to regret it.”
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do, Hero of the Senoca?”
Before he had finished speaking, her right arm shot out like a whip.
The Guard took a step back. He dropped his spear, then his shield, and put a hand to his right thigh, where Kyra’s dagger had buried itself deeply.
“Bitch…” he muttered, and bent over in pain.
Kyra prepared her other dagger. “You need to make a tourniquet, or else you’ll lose your leg.” She turned to the other Guard. “Can you announce me to your master Ambuk? I need an audience with him.”
The young man did not know what to do. First he raised his shield and readied his spear, then looked to his partner for advice.
“Do I have to ask again, or would you rather end up like him?”
The young Guard glanced at his wounded comrade, his eyes fearful. But the other man, bent double with pain against the wall and holding his leg, could not help him. So he nodded nervously and went into the building backwards, covering himself with his shield.
