Story #22 - Risen

Risen

“The time to rise up is now!” The old man’s voice cracked like a whip across the crowded square, its timbre deep and strong despite his slight frame.

In response, the assembled throng roared loudly enough to shake the small wooden platform the man stood upon, though they’d long ago stopped listening to the individual words he spoke. It was the rhythm of his delivery, the force of his presentation that drove them on, that frenzied them.

They were a downtrodden, sodden lot, made more sour by the scouring rain that never seemed to end. With a little work, he’d even been able to blame that on the Emperor, something that had not only incensed the masses but given them the feeling of being covered, almost permanently, in a wet vise devised by the hated man himself.

It was the “man” that was the key – the reason that previous rebellions had failed. Through cunning and guile, the Emperor had managed to set himself up as a near-god, a thing of the sky and soil that could no more be broken than the world itself. It had served the Emperor’s purpose well for nearly two hundred years as he ground the labor class into the ground, returning Noble lines to places of powers and influence while forcing landowners to give up their claims or face Investigation.

A few well-placed deaths had made such Investigations something to be assiduously avoided.

“The Empire is weak, failing! The Emperor seeks to blind you with flash, limit you by pretending strength where none exists!” His arms quaked with the effort of such words; even with the Proclaimer’s assistance, his voice was on the verge of giving out. No one knew his origins or his ties to the rebellion, but that pleased him. Three months ago he had emerged from the Ynar Woodlands and captivated the first gathering he had come across, then led by a man named Ten. Now, Ten was one of his most devoted assistants and committed to the cause they had managed to forge together.

From three thousand to just under fifty in less than a season was unheard of in the Inner Round, but the time to strike was now. The iron had been heating, heating, and only just turned white-hot.

“That’s enough for now, Ithas,” it was Tam, his deep voice uncertain, perturbed by the voracity and desperation of the crowd. “Let them scream themselves out.”

Ithas shook his head, long silver hair flying about his shoulders as he raised his hands to quiet the mob. In drops and then waves the silence spread; more words were desired.

“What does the Emperor have?” he asked quietly, and the whispered mutterings from the crowd died out entirely. “An army.”

Silence stretched out among the thousands – all had heard, and their enthusiasm dampened. He could feel Ten moving behind him, a hand laid on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

“Men, by the thousands! A host of creatures bred for one purpose – to kill – and he will aim it all at you. He will seek to break you, to make you regret the insolence you display each and every time you gather.” Ithas could see the rippling effects of his words as they spilled from his mouth. At the edges of the crowd, men began to drift away, aimless, and women began to cry. Now was the true test of their devotion.

“But that means nothing!” he screamed into the slicing downpour, veins standing out at the side of his neck. “Men paid to fight and creatures bred to kill serve a function, nothing more - they can be bent, they can be broken,” he paused to let his words hit home, to watch as the stragglers were rounded up and the women scrubbed their faces.

“But you,” he was a whispered wind, now, a voice that would be spoken of into the setting ages, “are more than they could ever be. You fight for clarity, for purpose. You fight to reclaim what was stolen, to throw off what has been given and to scream defiance into the very faces of those who will not meet your eyes.”

The rumble was beginning; he could feel it traveling under his feet, feel the tension mount. He reined himself in. Softly, now, to the finish, “You are a weapon, forged of hardest steel, crafted by the finest bladesman. You are many, you are one.”

It came, thundering through the small square, muting all sound around it, a triumphant exultation that needed only focus, sought only release.

“You cannot be shattered!” His words were lost in a redoubled cry and he gestured to Ten, who quickly sent lieutenants out into the crowd. The people were ready now, and his men would see to their equipment and training. The time came quickly.

Stepping down from the platform he ducked around a corner into a small dressing room and Ten followed him, eyes alight.

“How long can you keep this up, Ithas?” Ten’s voice was a mix of awe and concern. “It’s effective, I grant you, but I worry about your health.” He was also worried about what a preemptive rebellion might do in the Lesser Gauge, but he didn’t say as much; he didn’t need to.

“As long as I must,” he kept his words quiet and short; speaking to the crowds was slowly destroying his voice. “Now, please leave me.”

Ten bowed stiffly and withdrew; stewing on the words he knew would serve no purpose.

It took only a moment after the door had closed to ensure that it was locked and quickly dispense with fashioned hair and ragged clothing. He didn’t look that much different than he did ordinarily, but so few recognized him these days.

He knew the value of rebellion. He had led one himself two hundred years ago.

Emperor Lietus the Hallowed smiled as he glanced at himself in the cracked mirror. Change was coming, but it would come at his direction.

- D