by Erik A Otto
Even Sebastian doubted his faith at times, but this tendency ended with the mosquero incident. There must have been a reason he was spared. Despite being cast out, despite being shunned and Marked, and despite being thrust into the dingy, dark mine, he still believed Matteo had chosen him for an important assignment. This was why he’d been exposed to obscenities like the mosquero. It was his destiny to find the truth about these hideous beasts and the Book of Canons. That was the quest Matteo had sent him on. He was sure of it.
Yet he still had lingering reservations about the prophecies. Was the Day of Ascendancy part of the Shepherd’s true message, or was it an alteration of the Book of Canons by some malevolent librarian? He told himself it must be true. The prophecy was so consistent across all the lands and faiths. Even those who worshipped Matteo only obliquely, like the Cenarans or Valderans, heeded the Day. Besides, Sebastian witnessed the Red Rains, and that had been prophesied.
He often found himself sympathizing with the others’ lack of faith, however. He could understand why they thought he was mad. They weren’t blessed with his knowledge of the Book. Nor had they experienced what he’d experienced.
And it was because of his beliefs that he stood back from the others when they prepared for their escape. Sebastian instead tried to recall the intricate details of how the Day would unfold from his Canonical teachings. They wouldn’t just be projected into the sky, or so it was told in the Book. The world would rotate, and rotate, until the sky turned on its head. This was what Sebastian counted on. All his faith in Matteo, all the incredible things he had seen, helped him hold on to that belief.
Early in the morning of the Day of Ascendancy, the band of captives began chipping holes in the walls near the pit opening. They used their hammers as silently as they could. Some also tied together excess rope to create stirrups for the climb. They could do this out of the line of sight of any Sambayans, at least at first. Eventually, as they climbed the wall, they would be visible from where the remaining Sambayans were housed above them.
Sebastian stayed back, just inside the vertical edge of the face of the pit wall. Several loops of sinew were tethered on his belt. He kept his pick ready in his off hand.
At one point Doras shot him a vicious look. “If you aren’t going to help, don’t think you’re getting up our ladder, priest.” Priest was the moniker Doras had taken to calling him.
“I have no intention of going up your ladder,” Sebastian said. Doras only frowned and shook his head.
In the middle of the day, they made their attempt. The Sambayans noticed them scaling the wall and started firing arrows and other projectiles down as the men tried to climb up. By the time the Sambayans were aware of the insurgency, the handholds weren’t yet high enough to scale onto the level where the Sambayans were housed.
The prisoners’ progress had been hampered because it was taking a long time to make new indentations in the wall. As they climbed higher, the earthen walls seemed to grow stronger and more difficult to chip away at.
Precious time was lost with the unforgiving wall. The projectiles continued to rain down around the men. One prisoner fell, then another. Doras was the third to fall as an arrow shaft caught his leg. That same leg snapped under him when he landed, and he roared in pain.
The battle lasted for another few minutes, but without Doras, the rest didn’t have the heart to continue. One more man fell, and the rest climbed back down the wall, defeated.
Two had died, and another two were injured. Doras was tough, though. He pulled the arrow out on his own and splinted his leg, then hobbled around the pit obstinately. Sebastian watched the whole affair—the preparations, the battle, and the aftermath—all the while continuing to tie pieces of loose sinew together to form a longer and longer rope.
One by one, the band of captives went back into the recesses of the pit to rest and recuperate. Sebastian stayed, though, waiting, and peeking occasionally to catch a glimpse of the sky at the edge of the main pit hole. At times he pulled on his rope to test it; it went taut against the silverstone loop he’d spiked into the wall the day before.
Late in the afternoon, Doras came back out to him, wagging his finger. His complexion was pasty, and he grimaced in pain, but his eyes were on fire. “How can you believe, Sebastian? You’re a prisoner in a death camp. You must know you’ll die soon, whether from starvation or by some other device of our captors. In fact, they may slaughter us all for the escape attempt. How can you believe in a god that has no benevolence?”
“I’m a seeker of truth. Until I find it, I choose to believe. I’ve also seen things…unnatural things.”
“The mosquero is unnatural, I’ll give you that. But it’s still just a beast, like a horse or a fox or a hawk. The mosquero won’t turn the world upside down. Nothing will. I’m sorry, priest.”
There was no convincing Doras, he knew.
Sebastian used the opportunity to ask him a question he’d been pondering. Doras might be ignorant of the Canons, but he was knowledgeable about their current situation, having been one of the prisoners with the longest tenure in the pit. Maybe he would finally be more forthcoming. “What do you think the Sambayans will use the mosquero for? Or is there some other purpose here other than acquiring the mosquero?”
Doras’s tone was laced with cynicism. “War, priest. The mosquero is to be used for war. Surely you know this. But it amazes me that you can’t see the bigger picture.”
“I see clearly. The light of Matteo’s moon is upon me.”
Doras was indignant. “Ha, well here is some light for you, priest; a truth that for some reason seems to elude you. We worry about the Jawhari and the Sambayans and even the Fringe, all the while the real threat lies beneath our boot. With every privileged business dealing, with every sordid lash and snide remark over hundreds of years we’ve gone and undermined the foundations of Belidor. Soon it will all crumble, and yet we are blind to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the Cenarans that rule here, priest. They aren’t servants to the Sambayans. It’s the other way around. The Cenarans have taken hostage the children of many nobles at their Cena school and blackmailed the whole of Sambaya into turning on the Thelonians. Did you know that?”
It was such an oblique notion that Sebastian didn’t know how to respond.
Doras continued, “But Thelonia and Sambai aren’t their ultimate goal. The ultimate goal of the Cenarans is the center of power in the south. Their objective is to take Belidor and the Old Keep.”
Sebastian held back his disbelief to be polite to the man. He was injured, and in pain. It would be wise to heed the Canon of Patience with Doras. Besides, the Cenarans were defeated soundly hundreds of years ago and have been subservient to the Belidorans ever since. They wouldn’t have the ambition to forge a war against Belidor or to steal the children of these nations. It seemed a fairy tale dreamt up by a desperate prisoner.
Sebastian stated the obvious. “The Cenarans are a savage folk with but a few prophecies to their faith. They don’t have the sophistication to do as you say. The Sambayans, with these beasts, are to be feared, but not the Cenarans. Yet even the Sambayans are too weak. They will be defeated, in time.”
“Don’t you see? The simplicity is what is to be feared, not dismissed. They have a singular focus. Tell me what prophecy comes after the Day of Ascendancy for the Cenarans?”
“Well, there are several in Belidor, but in Cenara I believe it is…the Third Internecion, or what you naustics call the Cleansing.”
“Yes, the Cleansing, where only the adherents to the true faith are left standing.”
Sebastian resisted the urge to scoff at Doras’ oversimplication of the Internecion, but it did make him think.
The Cenarans were indeed diligent, from what he knew. Some put their own kin to death for not doing the proper bloodletting ritual. He’d heard from Father that once a child was of age, if they didn’t conform to their doctrine and were found in breach three times,
the child would be tied up naked, arms and legs akimbo, beaten with thalroot bats and left to hang for two days. Many didn’t survive the ordeal.
What’s worse, in Sebastian’s estimation, was their bastardization of the nighttime blood ritual. Instead of cutting arms or legs open to heal, they would make matching small cuts in each side of their heads, fanning out around their temples. It meant that the older Cenarans looked like wild animals, with arrowhead scars permeating across their cheeks and through to their hairlines. It was as if heinous red tears were constantly streaming from their eyes.
He had to admit that the Cenarans might interpret the Internecion more literally than other faiths.
Could they really be their enemies? In truth, he’d never considered how the Cenarans might interpret the prophecy. Why would he? They were lowly savages.
Sebastian shook his head as he responded to Doras. “The Cenarans are indeed unholy creatures and diligent to their faith, but they have been loyal to the Belidorans in trade and politics for hundreds of years. I find it hard to believe they would have the sophistication to organize—”
“And what happened hundreds of years ago? They were humiliated by the Belidorans, trapped and slaughtered in the muddy bog in front of the Old Keep. They want vengeance, but theirs is a different timescale than ours. Priest, they are that simple. They will not stop until all other races are cleansed. It’s a holy commandment for them, not a trivial ambition. This is why they set up the Cena schools, why they seek out beasts of war, and why they have learned about industry. This is why they trade with us but forbid our entry into Cenara, except so they can steal away children for blackmail. This is why they let us call them snails, because it fuels their hatred of us, because they know they will have the last laugh. All of this, over hundreds of years, has been in preparation of the day to come. All of this is in preparation for the Cleansing, the Cleansing that is happening in but a hundred days’ time!”
Sebastian’s mind reeled. He had always found the Cena school to be an odd phenomenon. They were a great expense for Cenara, and the purpose of the school for the Cenarans was hard to fathom.
But this…this was so outlandish.
Sebastian supposed Doras could be a good source of intelligence, having been in the mine for a year, his ears attuned to whispers from both Sambayan and Thelonian prisoners. He also might have gone mad. “How could you know all of this? It seems a colorful yarn, but—”
“Why do you think I’m here!” Doras fumed. “My name is not Doras,” he said sourly. “While I’m sure to be unrecognizable by now, I’m Thedric Ysodore. One of our so-called servants was Cenaran, and she arranged to have my children taken from me. The Cenarans wanted me to help open the gates to the Old Keep on the first day of the Internecion, but I refused and was betrayed by another nobleman who was a more willing conspirator. They took me here and held me for ransom, not that they would have ever let me go. In the year since I’ve been here, I’ve met two others from parts of Belidor who’ve had similar stories.”
Sebastian had heard something of the Ysodores. He couldn’t recall what their trade was, but they were a prominent family in Tardiff. Still, it didn’t mean this man wasn’t lying or mad.
Doras continued, “Listen priest, much of the Belidoran nobility have their children at the Cena school, so I’m sure you can see the potential impact. And the fact that this conspiracy hasn’t been exposed means it’s working! On the first day of the Third Internecion, it will all begin, when these traitors open the doors of the Old Keep to the Cenarans. Mark my words. They seek to destroy the spiritual center of Belidor. What’s more, the keep is a greater prize than you might think. There is a means for them to gain access to more of these beasts; hundreds, perhaps thousands of them. There are maps of the Forefather locations and a key to these doors. The access point is in the Great Library. This will provide them the beasts of war that they need to fulfill the Cleansing.”
Sebastian knew then that the man spoke at least some truth. There was no other way he could have known that Sebastian had seen another great Forefather door in the library of the Old Keep, or a gargoyle at the Forefather ruin.
Sebastian had to consider what he was saying, however unbelievable.
The implications were harrowing. If the Cenarans were preparing for war, with the Sambayans on their side, and all the rumors about Jawhar…it could be calamitous. It could be the biggest war Matteo’s lands had ever known.
Doras shook his head. “Do you know what the tattoos say? The ones all Cenarans have plastered all over their bodies?”
Sebastian had never even considered that. Why would he? It was savage writing in a savage language.
Doras answered, “They list the prophecies, and you know the biggest, written in bold across their backs? It’s the Cleansing. It says that all heathens should be purged from Matteo’s lands. Every single Cenaran has this etched into their skin, and we’re blind to it. We think it the fanciful writing of ingrates. We accept their cheap goods and laugh at their weaselly smiles while they have our deaths written boldly across their backs.”
Then a thought occurred to Sebastian. This wasn’t a truth he’d been seeking when he went on his quest, but Matteo works in mysterious ways. Was it Matteo’s will for him to meet this man, Thedric Ysodore, and learn of this conspiracy?
“What’s that?” Doras asked.
Sebastian didn’t hear or see anything, so he dismissed Doras’s comment. And besides, he was still immersed in thought. Could this be why Sebastian had been cast out of the faith, why he’d escaped the monks, and why he hadn’t been eaten by the mosquero? Was it Matteo’s will for him to meet this man so he could find this elusive truth, to learn about the Cenaran threat and warn the people of Belidor?
“What’s that?” Doras said again with more volume.
Sebastian heard it this time. It was like a deep bass drum. Sebastian also noticed a bluish glow to the walled earth around him. He touched it, and it felt different. It felt hard, like Matar bone, even harder than when the prisoners had been trying to climb it. He tried to crumble out some of the dirt where he had just a few hours before, but it stuck, as if frozen.
The noise stopped.
Then, only moments later, with a jerk, it started.
The world started turning.
Ten degrees.
Twenty degrees.
He braced himself against the wall and thought quickly. If the ground was frozen, it would make things more difficult, but he prepared all the same. He flexed his hand, feeling his hota hatta, as Doras called it. It had dissipated in the last couple of days of rest. Hopefully it wouldn’t give him any trouble. He readied his pick and his rope of sinew and prepared to run out of the pit, quickly revisiting his chartered path up across the walls in his mind’s eye.
Fifty degrees.
Sixty degrees.
He uncoiled his rope and threw the end of another strand at Doras’s feet. “Follow me if you can, Doras, and together we will expose the Cenarans before it’s too late.” Sebastian jumped to the first stop of his climb and started scrambling across the levels of the pit as the revolution continued.
Doras could only hold on to the pit wall and stare at him, his mouth opened wide in astonishment.
Book 2 (The Day's Wake) will be available in May 2019
Praise for The Day's Wake
“Readers who stuck with the unresolved cliffhanger ending of Book 1 should be glad they did, because Otto carries through on his promise of compelling worldbuilding in this second fantasy outing.”
"A captivating page turner..."
"...well developed and deeply engaging characters..."
"Rich details stoke avid curiosity about mysteries still to be revealed."
– Kirkus Reviews
Also by Erik A. Otto
Detonation
An epic dystopian tale that is a cautionary reflection on our own innovation-obsessed culture. It follows two societies that are connected, but centuries apart, and the
ir struggle against a superintelligent machine.
Named to Kirkus Reviews Best Books of 2018
“A highly entertaining and absorbing combination of philosophy and action featuring robustly individualized characters.”
“…a future world that vibrates with conflict and ideas.”
— Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
Transition
A 16,000 word science fiction short story set in an enclosed city that is besieged by an endless war. It follows Alder and Lena, who both want a family. Their only option is to have lacrotic children; precious gifts that come with an expiry date. They struggle to maintain hope and dream of escaping to the stars as the transition looms ever closer.
About the Author
Erik A. Otto is a former healthcare industry executive and technologist, now turned science fiction author. His works of fiction include A Toxic Ambition, Detonation, and the Tale of Infidels series. Detonation has been named to Kirkus Reviews Best Books of 2018.
Erik’s works of fiction expose the impact of cultural and technological themes on society in a number of futuristic and otherworldly settings. He focuses on delivering intricate plotting, diverse characters and action-driven story telling to immerse the reader in thought-provoking events and circumstances.
In addition to writing, Erik is currently serving as the Managing Director of Ethagi Inc., an organization dedicated to promoting the safe and ethical use of artificial general intelligence technologies. He lives in Charlottesville, Virginia, with his wife and two children.