NOVEL FROG Chapter 3: Day of Spirits (Lou)
Stormday, Week 40, Month Quintus, Year of God 487
“You have all gathered here in this house of worship to let the rain cover your soul,” the translator shouted. “God shall cleanse you so long as you know our time, and know thyself.”
“Sun, this is so damn boring,” Lou muttered. Beneath his coat, he wore an honest-to-God necktie that had taken him an astonishingly long time to tie. The rain dripping through the many holes in the ceiling of the cavernous church chamber soaked through his hair and dribbled down his collar and onto his shirt. The vast building in the middle of the common sector of Urbs Sacer was a massive rectangular block. Rows of stone pews were arranged in front of a podium where a Rain Casteman read aloud from the holy books and an Earth Caste translator spoke to the crowd.
“Keep it down, boy,” Thyrian, who was sitting next to Lou, growled. “People will stare.”
“Okay, okay,” Lou responded. “But it is, though. I mean, who the sun speaks like that? The words out of that translator’s mouth might as well be rat droppings.”
“The Highchant of the Rain Caste doesn’t often translate well to our Lowchant language,” Thyrian said. “Get used to it, boy.”
“Today, I shall read from the Book of Truths. As it has been many weeks since I last recounted the story of creation, I shall thus today recount it today, ahem, sorry for the poor translation, and it today shall today fill your ears with today’s word of rain’s God.” The old bearded man sitting behind the reader stopped speaking and snickered. He was the Rain Caste priest who was doing the actual reading. The short, sweaty Earth Casteman was merely translating for him. The old man said something in Highchant, that was unintended for others to hear, but Lou picked it out anyway.
Lou had no idea what the man was saying, but it sounded like an insult. He caught the world “Rustic,” which meant “peasant.” His face reddened in frustration and, as he turned his attention to the bearded man, Thyrian grabbed his shoulder.
“Easy, easy, boy,” he muttered. “Don’t repeat last week’s mistake.” Last week, Lou had openly began to yell at the priest. He had been pulled away to be punished. Thankfully, the guard on duty had been Robin, and Lou had got away with only a stern talking-to. Still, it wasn’t an experience he would like to repeat, especially if the guard was more devout.
The translator continued to translate the priest’s words. He began to recite a lengthy sermon, which Lou had heard many times before. He boredly mouthed the words as they reached his ears.
“In the beginning, the world was inhospitable. Nothing lived in her dunes, seas, and fields. The very air was poison, and the water filled with rot. Then, the gods found this planet. Numbering one and a hundred, they took to work modeling it in their own image. They created beasts, birds, plants and even the clean air itself. They shaped rock, sand and water in new patterns. The gods took pride in their work, and when they were done, they created a new creature, humans. The gods were lazy, and lay down to sleep and let their disciples do as they wished. But there was one god who refused such degeneracy. The God of Rain, He was called. He had helped to create the weather.”
Lou’s eyes flickered on and off. He desperately wanted to sleep, but Thyrian would be enraged if Lou did so. He continued to listen to the sermon.
“First, God slew all the other gods in their sleep. He then changed the weather and banished the sun from sight, for it was a corruption. He let some sun in, as a little is essential for life. Then, He killed all the humans who rose against him. With dangerous powers, the humans almost killed God. But He got the better of them and slaughtered them all. His disciples became the noble castes, while He created new humans out of stone and earth to do his bidding - the lowly, barely-human commoners.”
Lou began to doze off, leaning towards the stranger sitting next to him. The person’s face and gender weren’t visible through their deep hood and encompassing cloak. Thyrian gave him a slap on the cheek, and Lou started awake.
“Pay attention, boy,” Thyrian growled. Lou began to stare once again at the translator giving the sermon.
“But one commoner refused to accept his place. His name is lost to time, and this is thus good. He gathered many others, and they retreated to the hills. These are the Heathens, who refuse God’s firm embrace. Do not be like them. Instead be good worshippers, and above all, slaves. For you have no free will and are owned by God’s disciples. But there is one thing you can do. Rally behind the Blade of Rain when this man appears. The third son of a fourth son of a fifth son, born unto rain, shall be the herald of great sacrifice, and the blood shall grant His followers the abiility to purge the Heathens. We shall ascend into the true world God has been making for us, and the disciples of Him shall rule and you dirt-spawn will be beneath us forever.”
The Earth Casteman finished his sermon, tears of sadness and offense in his eyes. Clearly he despised the hateful things said about commoners, but he didn’t want to get in trouble. The priest began to openly laugh, and said something in Highchant. He then said something in Lowchant, albeit clipped and basic:
“Funny de… gener.. ates.” Another Rain person waked up to him, and they walked off the podium together. At the priest leaving, the commoners began to talk, shuffle around, and depart. Lou met up with Van, who had been sitting with his massive family - parents, seven siblings, and countless aunts, uncles and cousins. They were rain managers, who managed the gathering of rainwater for drinking and other tasks. They made sure the vast sewers and cisterns worked well. While Van and his mother were cooks, that was not the common family trade.
“What was the sermon even about?” Van asked.
“The creation story. Again,” sighed Lou.
“They really are telling that story an awful lot. What’s up with that prophecy thingy?”
“Prophecy thingy?” asked Lou.
“That was the one part I was awake for. The Blade of Rain? The third son of whatever?”
“I don’t really care,” said Lou. “Let’s grab some food.”
The two laced their hands together and exited the crowd. They walked street after street, searching for a place to dine. Most of the places they passed were simply food distribution points, where the poorer Fire Castemen went to be handed food by the Earth Caste workers. Most denizens of Urbs Sacer were too poor to be able to go out to eat that often, mostly earning copper chips and the occasional bronze.
Eventually, the pair arrived at an actual restaurant - Leftherian’s Dining and Entertainment. The place was lightly occupied, but didn’t look seedy. Upon entering the building, they were greeted by the scent of cooking food.
A middle-aged woman of the Fire Cast wearing an apron over her raincoat walked up.
“Hi, young’uns. Can I take your order?” she said, gesturing to a menu written in Lowscript hanging above the door. She spoke in the drawl common to residents of the Yncend and M’Haelyn districts. Lou dubiously glanced at the menu. Its expensiveness drew his ire. 40 bronze for a rat platter?
“Uhh, I guess we’ll have the bread sticks,” Van interjected. They were the cheapest item on the menu, but still quite expensive for commoner food. The woman nodded.
“Cook! Order of bread sticks! Now, is there anything else I can get you, dears?” she asked.
Van was silent, and Lou said, “No.”
“Very well. That’ll be eight bronze, paid up front.”
Lou handed her the coins, removing them from their string. He and Van then walked into the restaurant itself. It was a square, sparsely furnished room. There were booths all around three of the walls, including the one with the door. A few tables stood in the center of the room. Across from the entry, swinging doors led to presumably the kitchen, and another door led to the restroom. Only two of the booths had occupants - one person of indistinguishable gender nursing a cup of beer with their hood up at one, and four men quietly playing cards at the second.
Lou and Van walked to the booth nearest to the kitchen, and plunked their asses down. Lou sat across from Van, and the two conversed about meaningless, inconsequential things until their lunch arrived in a short time.
The bread sticks were of higher quality than Lou had expected. They might even justify the high price. They were baked to perfection, covered in chunks of herbs, and served with a blue-green dipping sauce. He broke off a chunk, dipped it in the sauce, and stuffed it into his mouth. The sauce was spicy and sweet at the same time, blending with the savoriness of the bread. As Van tried the food, his eyes lit up with pleasure. Clearly, he was enjoying the food too.
The two ate in silence, then got up and headed to the door. Just as they were about to exit, a strange figure bustled in.
The man wore no raincoat, instead wearing a tunic and trousers made of a white material. He was barefoot. His hair was white, and he had a full beard and moustache. The wrinkles of age caressed his face and exposed arms.
“Where is Leftherian? I demand to speak with him!” he bellowed, in an unfamiliar accent.
“Oh, sun damn it,” the waitress muttered under her breath. “Nevos, for the love of God, you’re not welcome here!”
“Gaia take you, not again!” the old man Nevos cried. His name was two syllables like a Wind Casteman, but he didn’t glow with Lux. Odd. He couldn’t be a heathen, could he? With a chill, Lou realized the man had no caste tattoo.
“Leftherian, for the last sun-damn time, doesn’t want to sunning see you again!” the woman shouted.
“What, he can’t handle a little practical joke?” Nevos incredulously asked. “I mean, come on, Mathildina!”
“Your practical joke cost us 10 sundamn silver in repairs! You destroyed all of our chairs!”
“This is getting out of hand,” Van anxiously urged. “We should get out of here.”
“Indeed,” Lou responded. The pair walked out of the establishment, Mathildina and Nevos’s shouting match echoing through the streets. Some passersby turned to stare, then quickly moved on with their days. The cacophony ended with Mathildina shouting, “Come back one more time and I’ll nail your feet to the floor! Hear me? Nail your sundamn feet!”
The duo’s dynamic day was far from over yet. As they turned left onto Alabaster Ostrich Lane, they witnessed a commotion.
Eight men were hovering above another man, who was on the ground. The eight flying men were probably Wind Caste, and the other man was most likely a commoner. Except for the fact that he glowed with Lux.
“Oh god!” Van exclaimed. Lou had no need to respond - he and his friend felt and knew the exact same thing. That man was a commoner who could use Lux, and he therefore would be taken away and made Blood Caste, the caste of human sacrifices.
The commoner shot a beam of light out of his eyes at the flying soldiers. It missed by a foot and shot off into the sky. The soldiers responded by causing light to fall down from the heavens, coalescing into chains and manacles which entrapped the commoner. He began to twist and yell, trying to break free. Everyone else in the area had retreated to alleyways or buildings, watching the procedure with frightened yet intrigued eyes. One of the soldiers began to speak.
“This degenerate commoner, Diangelard Bootmaker, has been born with the ability to access God’s power. As this clearly was a mistake on His divine part, we of the nobility will take this filth into custody and eventually send his tainted soul to God, where He will cleanse it and put in a proper noble body in the next life. If any of you see other commoners access Lux, do not hesitate to notify us.” With that, the guards picked up the prisoner and flew off towards the center of town, most likely to the Bleeding Ziggurat near the Temple of Rain. The Bleeding Ziggurat was where Blood Caste captives were held until their sacrifice.
“He was like you,” Van absently said. “Bootmaker.”
Lou struggled to keep his temper down. His religious conditioning caused part of him to believe that the Wind Caste was in the right, but another part of him condemned the fact that he had left another human being to suffer. The second was amplified by his shared connection in the form of job.
“He was nothing like me,” Lou said with gritted teeth. “An impostor.” Lou forced the feelings of shame down, letting anger at the man’s audacity to possess God’s power wash through him.
“You’re right,” Van said. “I know he deserves whatever comes to him.”
The pair walked in silence back home, but stopped holding hands.