The Uprising

The Uprising

“Fateese?”

Delrona’s voice travelled through the door of her cabin and into the narrow passageway beyond.

“Coming, milady!”

“You may leave the ‘milady’ drivel at the door. That is not why I selected you, and you know it.”

The floorboards creaked beneath Fateese’s lumbering approach. The ship was an elderly three-masted trader whose name changed according to the port it entered. In Lower Helion, it had been registered as the Northern Promise. The name painted across its stern was currently the Faithful Current, although Fateese had found documents in the captain’s cabin identifying it as the Honest Merchant.

He considered all three names equally improbable.

“Absolutely, milady,” Fateese said as he entered.

Delrona occupied the largest cabin aboard the ship. It spanned the vessel’s breadth and possessed windows on both sides, allowing sunlight to cross the room whenever the sails and weather permitted it. A wide bed stood against one wall. Maps, papers and several opened books covered the central table, their corners held down by crystals, ink bottles and a half-eaten pear.

The accommodations were luxurious by the standards of ocean travel. Fateese’s own cabin contained a narrow bunk, a damp ceiling and a rhythmic knocking behind the wall that had continued for three nights without revealing either its source or intentions.

Delrona did not invite him to sit.

“I have no time for games,” she said. “When we stop at the next port, you will leave the ship and make your way to Kefar. You will take this letter with you.”

“Oh, I love surprises. Please do not tell me what is in the letter.”

“Did I not just say that I have no time for frivolity?”

“I assumed that was the traditional opening to one of our conversations.”

Delrona looked at him until he became interested in the maps upon the table.

“Who is the letter for?” he asked.

“You.”

“That is extremely convenient. Shall I deliver it to myself immediately?”

“You will open it when you reach Kefar. It contains names, locations and instructions that I will not risk discussing within the hearing of this crew.”

Fateese glanced towards the cabin wall.

The captain shouted somewhere above them. A moment later, something heavy rolled across the deck and struck something heavier.

“Yes,” Fateese said. “They do appear highly trained in information gathering.”

“In two months, Kefar will hold its annual Festival of Syterra at the Exchange Amphitheatre. It will replace the weekly Voice Casting and draw visitors from across the Mosaic Archipelago.”

“All right.” Fateese looked over the papers. “This feels suspiciously like you have planned more than you are sharing.”

“For too long, Kefar has ruled over the Argent Isles and the rest of the Mosaic Archipelago because it was fortunate enough to occupy the geographical centre of several trade routes. Its leaders took that quirk of the physical world and fashioned it into evidence of their natural importance.”

Delrona rose from her chair.

“They have monopolised trade, finance, education and even language. They describe Kefarian customs as shared customs, Kefarian interests as common interests and Kefarian authority as necessary order.”

She walked to the window. Beyond the glass, the dark water rose and fell beneath a pale afternoon sky.

“Worst of all, they have taken Syterra, the greatest mage who ever lived, and made her another instrument of control. Every academy displays her likeness. Every councillor invokes her legacy. Every child is taught that Syterra alone mastered earth, fire, water and air.”

“That does make it easier for the schools,” Fateese said. “Imagine rewriting the curriculum.”

“They teach that her achievement can never be repeated. She is presented as an impossible ideal. Something to admire from beneath.”

Fateese leaned against the table.

“Do you actually believe Syterra existed and could do everything the stories claim? I assumed you were using the Syterran nutters in Kefar for political gain.”

Delrona turned sharply.

“I know that my abilities have increased since I began studying the older practices. Not what I learned from Sylvan mages, and certainly not what I was taught in Kefar.”

She moved towards the table, pushing aside a map of the northern coast.

“Kefar confines every elemental power to its own school. Water mages study water. Fire mages study fire. Earth and air are divided in the same manner. Students are told this separation protects them, when in truth it protects the institutions that control their education.”

Her voice rose.

“They have taken a single body of knowledge and broken it into departments, ranks, licences and traditions. They forbid the pieces from touching, then declare that no one can assemble the whole. Even Syterra’s surviving writings have been divided between restricted collections where scholars may spend their lives studying one page without being permitted to compare it with the next.”

Purple light gathered faintly around the crystal resting upon the table.

The water inside Delrona’s drinking glass trembled.

She noticed it and slowly withdrew her hand.

For several moments, the only sound in the cabin was the low groan of the hull.

When Delrona spoke again, her voice was controlled.

“Their most egregious act is disguising their motives beneath fiction and ceremony. They transformed Syterra into a legend so that no one would examine what she actually accomplished. If mastery of every element is treated as a miracle, no one will search for the method.”

Fateese nodded towards the vibrating glass.

“And you believe you have found “The Method”?”

“I believe Kefar has hidden one.”

“That was not my question.”

“It was the answer you require.”

Fateese smiled.

“There she is.”

Delrona ignored him and arranged several papers into a neat pile.

“Before the festival, you will meet with every significant Syterran faction in Kefar. The traditionalists still revere Syterra as the Mother of Magic. Their devotion makes them predictable.”

“Religious fanatics. Predictable. Excellent.”

“The reformers believe her teachings belong to all Aethorians. They are actively searching for her books, spells and records. They will object to the academies retaining exclusive control.”

“Angry scholars. Almost as dangerous as religious fanatics, but with better handwriting.”

“The mystics claim Syterra communicated with beings beyond Aethoria. The Velyborn devotees believe she was either taught by the Velyborn or was herself one of them.”

“Do those two groups know they are different groups?”

“They insist upon it.”

“Hope they don’t insist on my joining them for any of their meetings.”

“The scientific scholars argue that Syterra’s powers were produced through crystals, forgotten machinery and natural forces that people later mistook for magic.”

“Of course. Nothing irritates a scholar more than someone enjoying a mystery without proper terminology.”

Delrona continued.

“Finally, you will meet the Delronians.”

Fateese’s smile faded into an expression of genuine surprise.

“The what?”

“They are Sylvan patriots awaiting my return to Kefar.”

“They named themselves after you?”

“The name arose naturally.”

“Did it arise naturally before or after you began funding them?”

“That is not important.”

“Oh, I consider it extremely important. Is there a uniform? Do they exchange little portraits of you? Am I required to learn a salute?”

“They are a growing political force. They understand that Kefar concealed Syterra’s practices to maintain control over Aethoria. They will provide people capable of carrying out your instructions.”

Fateese stared at her.

“You have your own political movement, and this is the first I am hearing about it.”

“You are hearing about whatever I reveal precisely when you need to.”

“That is how you describe everything you forgot to mention. Can you imagine if ordinary people acted that way? “Hello sweetie dear. Fancy a night out with this?” He mimed rubbing his body all over and then pretend kissed the back of his own hands. “Then .. “Sorry about the disease I just gave you”.

He had made Delrona, who rarely smiled, turn the corner of her mouth up ever so slightly that Fateese declared victory before she went on. 

“You will arrange for every faction to attend the festival.”

“How am I meant to fit mystics, zealots, scholars and your personal collection of admirers inside one amphitheatre without them killing one another?”

Delrona reached beneath the table and dragged out a small iron-bound chest. It struck the floor with a weighty thud.

“You will have assistance.”

She opened it.

Gold pieces filled the chest almost to its rim.

Fateese bent over it.

“Oh.”

“Three of my most ardent supporters will meet you in Kefar. You will have 3 more chests just like this one and them. They will handle any work requiring greater physical persuasion.”

Fateese picked up one coin and examined it.

“You should know that this may be more gold than I have spent during my entire life.”

“You do know that is not a remarkable amount? Especially considering the pittance I have been paying you.”

“Oh, there is life in the old girl after all!”

Delrona closed the lid, nearly catching his fingers.

“I am entrusting you with a crucial phase of our work. If you have doubts about your ability, I need to know now.”

“Oh, I have complete confidence in my ability. It is your plan that concerns me.”

“My plan does not require your confidence.”

“No, just buckets of gold...I might just spend a little of it on myself you know.”

Delrona passed him a sealed note and a thick bundle of papers.

“Take these. Implement the instructions once you return to our former residence.”

“If it is still there. I left a fire burning on the day we departed.”

“You were the last person to leave?”

“Yes.”

“And you are only mentioning the fire now?”

“I told you but you were all swirl and exit and paid me little mind.”

Delrona closed her eyes.

Fateese tucked the papers inside his coat.

“And remind me why you are not coming to Kefar?”

“I am returning to the Sylvan Watch. The movement of credit, investment and trade now favours us. I intend to complete the groundwork for a financial expansion that will reshape the Sylvan economy around me.”

“You mean around the Sylvan Watch?”

Delrona met his eyes.

“That as well.”

The ship arrived at the smaller port of Selonport on the south-eastern island outside the seawall and far from the main port between the Fire and Water Quarters.  The hope that the arrival time, shortly after dawn and the lesser port would arouse the least suspicion and provide a quiet entry into the city. 

Selonport’s harbour smelled of wet rope, frying shellfish and the waste of several thousand seabirds that gathered daily as the local fishing boats uploaded their catch and disposed of the innards along the docks edge. 

Fateese descended the gangplank carrying one travel bag. Two sailors followed with the iron-bound chests, loading a cart and grunting beneath its weight.

Three men waited beside a warehouse.

They wore plain travelling cloaks over heavy boots and matching green tunics. All three stood with their feet spread apart and their hands near weapons they were making very little effort to conceal.

One had attempted to disguise himself with a broad hat. Another wore a cape  of such excessive size that it concealed most of his body. The third had done everything but hide his Sylvan Guardian insignia. Fateese stopped in front of them.

“You are Delrona’s secret supporters?”

The man with the cape glanced at his companions.

“We were told to meet a large man coming from the ship.”

“How fortunate that Delrona provided such a subtle description. I might have escaped.”

“You are Fateese?”

“Not while you are shouting it beside a harbour.”

The man lowered his voice.

“You are Fateese?”

“Yes, and unless your cape has a secondary use as an emergency sail, I suggest removing it.”

The man peeled it away. Fateese studied all three.

“What are your names?”

“Drell.”

“Horvas.”

The third hesitated.

“Brell.”

“That is one letter away from his name.”

“We go under false names.”

“Oh my veil we are all going to die in this city aren’t we?”

He directed them to collect the chest.

Together, the four men crossed the stone bridge that connects the island to  Kefar.

They reached the city center after nightfall. Even at that hour, carts rattled through the streets, vendors called thought respectfully in much more muted tones, from covered stalls and distant music drifted from the inns near the seawall.

Fateese led the three Guardians through the older districts.

Their former residence stood along a narrow street with structures abbutting the northen wall behind the Kefar Academy. The house was taller than it was wide, squeezed between a bookbinder’s workshop and a seller of ceremonial crystal holders.

Drell unlocked the door with a key Delrona had provided. Fateese  walked in and examined  the kitchen first.

“Good news. It appears the fire extinguished itself.”  He looked in a blackened pot containing the remains of whatever Fateese had left cooking more than two years ago... “but the meal is not very pleasant looking. Horvas looked into the pot.

“What was that?”

“Dinner... I think. It was two years ago.  I say we eat out, my treat.”

Inside, dust covered the furniture. A cold fireplace stood in the sitting room loaded with wood and ready for tinder. 

The men carried the chests into the rear room. Fateese lit two lamps, opened Delrona’s letter and began reading.

By the time he finished, his amusement had disappeared.

On the table before him lay six lists of names, twelve locations, the schedule for the Festival of Syterra, detailed records of several city officials’ debts and weaknesses, and instructions for distributing nearly every coin in two of the chests.

Drell leaned over his shoulder.

“What does she want us to do?”

Fateese folded the letter.

“She wants us to fill an amphitheatre.”

“Thats it?”

“With people who despise one another.”

Drell smiled.

“Now it sounds interesting.”

Fateese began with the traditionalists.

The Keepers of the First Mother met in a tea room beneath the oldest Syterra statue in central Kefar. Their leader, Mistress Avella, wore four coloured scarves and spoke so quietly she annoyed those she talked to who had to ask her to speak up. 

“We do not recognise the Festival,” she told Fateese. “Kefar has reduced sacred remembrance to public entertainment.”

“Completely disgraceful,” Fateese agreed while accepting a honey cake. “I intend to attend for the food.”

Avella frowned.

“Then you mock our devotion.”

“Not at all. Any festival that cannot feed its worshippers has misunderstood how people work. Enlightenment is much easier after lunch.”

Several traditionalists laughed.

Avella did not, but she allowed him to continue eating.

Fateese donated three hundred gold pieces for the repair of their meeting hall and suggested that refusing to attend the festival allowed Kefar to present Syterra without opposition.

“You are not honouring Kefar by attending,” he told them. “You are refusing to surrender Syterra to it.”

By the time he left, the Keepers had promised to bring four hundred followers.

The reformers met inside a crowded printing house.

Stacks of pamphlets surrounded them. Their leader spoke for .15 time without pausing, chiefly about public access, institutional accountability and a petition whose title contained twenty-seven words.

Fateese placed a bag of gold upon the printing table.

“How many copies can you produce before the festival?”

The printer looked inside.

“All of them.”

“All of what?”

“Whatever you want.”

Fateese smiled.

“At last, a practical reformer.”

The mystics gathered upon a rooftop at midnight because they believed the stars were more receptive after the city slept. Fateese climbed six flights of stairs and found twelve people sitting around an empty chair reserved for Syterra.

He lowered himself beside them.

“Is anyone sitting there?”

“That is the Mother’s place,” one whispered.

“Good. I worried I had arrived late.”

They explained that Syterra had spoken with minds beyond the edge of the world.

Fateese listened carefully, asked respectful questions and donated enough gold to fund a new observatory lens. He did not believe half of what they said, but he knew better than to mock people before asking them to join a crowd.

The Velyborn devotees proved more difficult.

They wore white paint around their eyes and refused to eat solid food on days when the moons crossed particular sections of the sky. Their leader claimed Syterra had never been Aethorian at all.

“She entered our world in the form of living light.”

Fateese looked at the bowl of transparent broth they had given him.

“Did she bring anything more substantial to eat?”

The leader stared at him.

Then one of the younger devotees laughed.

Within moments, the entire room had joined her. Fateese laughed with them, praised their hospitality and paid for transportation to the festival.

The scholars received him in an academy tavern.

They dismissed the traditionalists as superstitious, the mystics as delusional and the Velyborn devotees as historically illiterate.

“So you will not attend?” Fateese asked.

“Certainly not,” Professor Etlan replied.

“That is unfortunate. I had hoped someone qualified might prevent the others from explaining Syterra incorrectly in front of several thousand people.”

The scholars exchanged troubled looks.

Professor Etlan sat forward.

“How incorrectly?”

“I heard one traditionalist claim Syterra created water.”

“That is absurd. She didn’t create the elements”

“I thought so. Everyone knows water was invented by fish.”

The professor understood his brutal point and ignored his need to respond to the ridiculous statement before pausing and turning to his colleagues.

“We may need to observe the event.”

“I would be grateful. Without you, the crowd might believe almost anything.”

The Delronians met in a cellar.

They had painted Delrona’s face upon one wall. The resemblance was poor, but Fateese thought the expression of disapproval was excellent.

Nearly fifty people rose when Fateese entered.

A young Sylvan man raised one fist.

“The Watch shall rise!”

“The Watch shall rise,” the others repeated.

Fateese looked at the painted face.

“Does she know about that?”

“She inspires us.”

“That does not answer my question.”

They used coded greetings and even had a hymn entitled She Who Divided the River. Fateese decided not to tell them that Delrona had divided the river chiefly because she had ignored an innkeeper and nearly drowned them both.

Unlike the other factions, the Delronians required no persuasion.

They needed assignments and Fateese gave them many. These were the easiest group to work with. No questions, just action as they knew that Fatese spoke on behalf of Delrona and she was going to change the world. 

During the following two weeks, gold flowed through Kefar.

It purchased advertisements upon public boards, walls and merchant wagons. It paid printers to produce pamphlets asking why Syterra’s complete teachings remained hidden. It hired criers to announce that representatives of every Syterran tradition would attend the festival.

Fateese financed food stalls inside the amphitheatre. Visitors would receive fried riverfish, sweetened grain cakes and cups of jallo without charge.

“Hungry people leave,” he explained to Drell. “Fed people remain long enough to become unreasonable.”

Gold flowed down to carriage owners to transport traditionalists from the outer districts and a bonus to get them there early. It funded mystic processions and purchased four-coloured cords for reformers to wear around their wrists.

Several guardians stationed near the Exchange Amphitheatre had recently fallen upon difficult times at local gaming house. Fateese helped them through those difficulties on the understanding that they would become suddenly ill on the morning of the festival.

Other Guardians could not be purchased much to the despair of Fatreese who was most concerned about making sure there was very lax authority on the day of the Festival of Syterra, no guardians on any street in the city at all would be ideal.

The guardians who had exceptional moral character and died hard allegiants to Kefar were conveniently reassigned elsewhere after a less affluent councillor produced anonymous reports warning of smuggling near the southern island harbour.

Fateese even donated money to Syterran fringe groups so peculiar that even the Velyborn devotees avoided them. One believed Syterra’s spirit occupied a particular tree. Fateese invited them all and was counting on conflict that would ensue once the diametrically opposed groups were all contained in the Amphitheater. “If they can stand upright and shout,” he told Horvas, “they have a place in public life.”

Not every arrangement  was friendly swapping of coin and a shake of hand. A tavern owner who had promised to host reformers attempted to cancel after pressure from an academy official who felt the group would reflect badly on his establishment. Drell and Horvas visited him after closing and he soon reconsidered his political position. There was a printer that refused to produce one of Fateese’s handbills. The following morning, he found Brell standing outside his shop informing potential customers that the owner may have to close to pay court costs due to his wife's affair with another married man.  

The handbills were ready before midday and his wife helped expedite the printing and delivery process.

Fateese also paid thieves, dock workers and men who described themselves as private labour organisers despite never having performed identifiable labour anywhere in the city, these were some of the most effective influencers that fateese’s money could buy.

They were instructed to attend the festival, cheer at the proper moments and guide the crowd towards the cityside exits when the speech ended.

“No killing,” Fateese told them.

A man with three teeth raised his hand.

“What about accidents?”

“There are no authorized accidents at any time.”

“What if other people start making trouble and we need to defend ourselves?”

“Then I trust your strong moral character will guide you away from violence. Why don’t you  busy yourselves with a visit to your favorite stores perhaps to the places with a counselish feel to them. Take a few things for your wives.”

“For our wives.. This man is funny” 

“Look,” Fateese said, dropping another coin into the man’s hand. “Loud cheering. No stabbing. Take what you want.”

The man examined the coin and grinned.

Around Kefar, printers worked through the night. Carriages rolled towards the outer districts. Paid criers practised their announcements, Guardians received unexpected changes to their assignments, and thousands of people prepared to honour Syterra for entirely different reasons.

On his final evening in Kefar, Fateese stood before a map of the Exchange Amphitheatre, studying the entrances Delrona had marked in red.

 Drell returned to his cozy domicile carrying four narrow crystal slivers wrapped separately in cloth and lay them on the table.

Fateese examined them carefully. “And these will definitely make me look powerful?”

“No,” Drell said. “We make you look powerful.”

“Good. I was worried I might be expected to contribute.”

By the following morning, every faction in Kefar would be gathered in one place.

All he had to do was light the fuse.

Thy Quest: A Crowd for Every Cause
Fateese persuades several groups with very different beliefs to attend the same festival. Choose two factions and explain how he changes his approach for each one. What does this reveal about the difference between understanding an audience and manipulating it?