Chapter 4: He Who is Cursed (Kane)

Moonday, Week 20, Month Trinitus, Year of God 487

Kane of House Equus pressed his ear to the sturdy wooden door leading to the library. Unlike other buildings in the central circle of Urbs Sacer, Equus Mansion was built square, compact and efficient. No lavish artwork or gilded doors decorated the house that ruled half of capital territory. The library was filled with only books, not lavish sculptures and paintings. The door was thick, but not so much that he couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Thone, he’s only seventeen. Plenty of noble boys manifest abilities later.”

“Wind Caste ones do. Never been a Rain Casteman that blooms later than fourteen. He’s not blessed.”

Kane recoiled in shock. He was well aware of the fact he had not yet manifested the ability to use Lux. While his peers had spent their recesses careening through the air, he had sat on the playground’s stone floor with the little children. Even they had refused to play with him. His peers had relentlessly teased him, and his parents had so far resisted attempts to brand him Sun Caste. That might change, given the words being spoken. He pressed his ear to the door once more, sadness and eagerness guiding him at the same time.

“I suppose you’re right, Thone,” Kane’s mother Rainlady Reen said. “But he’s our only surviving son.”

“Seth was sacrificed and Shane died in a freak accident. Makes me sad just thinking about the latter. Kane was going to be our military son. Now, he’s our heir and he can’t use Lux. To put it mildly, we’re sunned.” Thone sighed at this. Reen started sobbing, and sounds of sorrow emanated from Thone. They then began to move to the door.

Quickly, Kane pulled back and moved out into the hall, but it was too late. His parents saw him.

“You heard all that, son?” Thone asked.

“Y-yes, father,” Kane said. His voice was beginning to tremble and quiver.

“I’m so sorry, Kane,” Thone said with tears in his eyes. “Even if you’re not respected in the eyes of God, you’ll always be my son.”

Reen hugged Kane, saying, “This is a tragedy. I hope God shows you at least some mercy.” Kane had always been closer with his father than his mother, often going on hunting trips and food distribution runs with him. Mother had tried to educate him, but failed and sent him to the Rain Caste school instead.

“I’m scared…” Kane said. Scared was an understatement to the true terror he felt.

“Be brave, son,” Thone said. “God has plans for you. We’ll contact the Wind Caste people in the morning.”

The three hugged for some time longer. Eventually, they broke off. “Get some sleep,” Thone said. “It might be the last time you can enjoy your luxurious bed.”

That night, Kane had an unusual dream. He was wearing elegant robes, similar to those of a Rain Casteman, but of a different cut, and colored green instead of blue-gray. He was walking down a hall open to the sky. There was no rain, and the sky was a piercing, alien blue with harsh light raining down upon him. At the end of the room stood a woman. She had dark skin, long green hair, and a kind, motherly face. She was clad in a dress made from various living plants, and small animals moved about on its exterior. In her right hand, she carried a long, straight stick with a perpendicular curved blade on the end. In her left, she held some sort of golden plant that looked like a straight rod with small protrusions coming out at odd angles.

“Greetings, my son,” the woman said in a motherly yet assertive voice. “Survive.”

“What?” Kane asked, but the dream was already ending. “Who are you? Where is this?” He slipped into dreamless sleep.

MANY DAYS LATER

“Get up, degenerate,” the guard in front of Kane’s cell barked. “It’s time for you to be branded Sun Caste.”

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Kane groaned. He wore only a loincloth and was filthy from spending weeks in a dark, damp cell in the bowels of the Temple of Rain. While he was fed and watered, the damp misery was a constant reminder of his cursed lot in life. His bastard of a father had sent him here to suffer, and hatred had festered in his heart since then.

The guard inserted a key into the hole, and Kane got to his feet. The guard immediately grabbed him by the arm and jerked him forward. Kane had no choice but to scuttle along to the side of the guard. He was dragged through twisting corridors, many of which had sides open to the air. The drop was hundreds of feet, so Kane didn’t even think about jumping off. At least he had a chance, albeit slim, to survive fighting the heathens.

Eventually, they arrived at a large room. It was made of dark bluish stone, and had a high vaulted ceiling. The center of the room was taken up by a large, waist-deep circular pool of water. The ceiling above the pool was open to the sky, allowing rain to drip in. Several Rain Caste monks clad in high-quality loincloths were scooping water out of the pool and pouring it into troughs that ran around the room and into tunnels in the wall. More monks were sitting in the pool, silently or chanting meditation songs. At Kane and his captor’s arrival, one of the monks who was pouring water turned to greet them.

“This must be the degenerate, then,” he said with a humorless voice.

“Indeed he is, your holiness,” the guard responded. “Ready to be bathed.”

At that, the monk snapped his fingers, and three other monks got up and grabbed Kane by the arms and legs. He gasped and struggled, but the monks’ grip was like the jaws of some terrible beast. They carried him to the pool, then hurled him into the water.

The sudden rush of water into Kane’s orifices was temporarily halted by his chin smacking against the floor of the pool. Pain flared through his face as he struggled to hold his breath. At the same time, hands grabbed him and held him in the water. He was wholly submerged, despite struggling and flailing. Just when Kane felt he was going to drown, he was yanked out of the water. Hands deposited him on the stone surface. Immediately, he felt a hot, unpleasant sensation, almost like being too close to a fire. He looked up and saw that one of the monks was hovering in the air, light beaming from his eyes onto Kane’s body. While it wasn’t enough to harm him, it was certainly enough to dry him.

Kane fell back on the ground and turned his head. He saw a monk scoop a bowl of water out of the pool, then, to his absolute horror and disgust, pull down his loincloth and urinate in it. Kane scrunched his face up in disgust at the abhorrent sight. The monk began to move towards him, bowl of urine-water carried in his hands. Kane began to twist and crawl away, but the monk splashed the disgusting fluid onto Kane’s back. He began to chant in Highchant. While Kane spoke primarily Lowchant, he understood Highchant, being of the Rain Caste.

“May this water full of excrement name this degenerate as no longer being of the nobility. May he repent for his birth-sins by suffering. May the God of Rain watch over us forevermore.”

With that, Kane was grabbed by the arms and legs. He was hauled away from the pool-room, down a side corridor that led up and horizontally at the same time. He lost track of time as endless dark walls and a grey floor became the only things he knew.

Eventually, the corridor ended in a small room. It had a low roof aside from a tube extending upwards from the ceiling. A small platform was located beneath the tube, levitating a few inches off the ground. The captors dragged Kane to the platform, then shoved him onto it. They followed behind. Kane turned around just to see one of them - a tall man with obscured facial features - glow with Lux. As if on command, the platform began to rise into the air, up the tube.

Kane’s anticipation and fear grew as the guards quietly conversed in Highchant. The dialogue was too silent to make out, but he didn’t really care. Was this the infamous branding ceremony that those demoted to Sun Caste were forced to suffer through? Probably.

Sunlight blinded Kane’s eyes as the platform stopped moving. Rain plinked on his body as his eyes adjusted to the sudden blast. He looked around and saw a massive crowd. He was on a dais in the central square of Urbs Sacer, surrounded by thousands of onlookers. A man in a Rain Caste robe was shouting to the crowd, something about Kane being demoted and religious phrases.

“You have the branding iron, Donhald?” one of the guards asked.

“You betcha, Nolan,” another asked. The guard - Donhald - was the only guard who didn’t wear a helm. His blond hair was slick with rain, and his coat pocket bulged with something. The shouting of the priest grew louder and more intense.

Donhald reached into the coat pocket and pulled out an object. Kane didn’t get what it was at first, then it quickly dawned on him. This was a branding iron. As if to drive the point home, Donhand shot fire from his right eye onto the iron. The end of the object was a large circle - the symbol of the Sun Caste. It sizzled and burned, just like the real sun according to the holy books.

Kane became suddenly aware of his impending doom. He redoubled his efforts to break free from his captivity, twisting and squirming twice as hard. He began to scream in fear as the branding iron drifted lower and lower towards its head.

“No, please! Stop! Please, no! No, please! Please! Stop!” Kane’s cries fell on deaf ears as Donhald pressed the branding iron to his forehead. White-hot pain flared on Kane’s forehead as his protests devolved into a primal, ragged scream. The guard withdrew the iron a second later, but the pain was not lessened. The priest continued to preach as Kane was dragged back down the elevator shaft. Kane’s screams devolved into gasps and groans as the pain slowly lessened. The blow to his mind, however, was far worse than any agony. He was no longer human. He was a pariah, an outcast, and worst of all, cannon fodder. He anticipated his impending death with grim agony blended with anger.