What's Your Name?

“Mother Kyn, bless me and guide me as I walk in your ways.” I finished my whispered recitation of the sacred prayer and bowed my head reverently before my makeshift altar. As I meditated silently, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside my room. I shoved the altar back under my bed and flung myself onto the mattress, my heart pounding. The footsteps continued on past my door.

I hate this, I thought, why does anyone care who I pray to? I knew why they cared, though I liked to pretend I didn’t. The priests liked their power. They liked their manor houses, the Kingla servants, the tributes paid by the populace. Your father is a priest, I thought harshly. My mother’s teachings had not managed to totally eradicate the feelings of guilt for any unkind thoughts against the priests of Brayden. We were taught from childhood that the Ran were ordained to be rulers over the Kingla and that the priests were the most important and holy Ran.

I sighed and tried to sleep. I’ll find a new place for my prayers tomorrow.

Just a few hours later, I dragged my tired body from the bed and trudged down the hallway with my classmates to the preparation room outside the school’s meeting hall, where the daily worships were held. We changed into our ritual robes and lined up. I was near the front of the line, as befitted the adopted daughter of a priest. The bell sounded and we filed in and knelt in our places. I immediately began to daydream.

The first few times I witnessed the rite, I was fascinated. It was so different than the worship of Kyn. Kyn’s rituals involved laughter, sharing of food and wine, dancing, and joy. Brayden’s rituals centered on the sacrifice of a sacred animal, or on the holy days an infant or small child.

I mumbled the proper responses and made the necessary gestures and movements, but my mind was in Hopeful Morning, the Kingla ghetto where I had left my mother. When the deportations began, she sent me to my father, the Ran priest who broke the law by mating with his Kingla serving girl. We told people he adopted me and everyone pretended not to notice how much I looked like him.

My mind was brought back to the present by the triumphant shouts of the worshippers as the sacrifice – a bird – was slaughtered, its throat slit and the blood drained into the cup. I suppressed a shudder. This part of the rite still affected me. The cup was passed from hand to hand, each person drinking of the blood of the sacrifice. When my turn came, I leaned forward so that my hair formed a curtain on either side of my face. No one could tell that the blood did not reach my lips.

***********

I often spent my free hours wandering the forest behind the school, so no one thought anything strange about my disappearance after classes that day. I had never seen another person in all my wanderings, but I still felt nervous as I walked aimlessly, my ritual implements weighing down my pockets. I had spent countless hours here, but never before with any real purpose.

I found what I was looking for near the creek just out of sight of the school. A tiny space under a boulder, which led to a cavern not much larger than my room. I set up my altar on a flat stone near the entrance and dedicated the space to the Goddess Kyn, then rushed back to school in time for the evening meal, relieved that I would no longer have to worry about my illicit worship being discovered.

*********

“What are you doing here?”

I gasped and leapt to my feet. A boy stood at the mouth of the cave, gaping at me.

“I – I was – I mean,” I stammered, terrified.

The boy looked alarmed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I said, stepping between him and the altar. “Who are you?”

“My name is Zolah. I live in the village. Are you a scholar?” He stepped closer to me and I realized that he was older than I had first thought. He was my age at least.

“Yes,” I said, still nervous.

“What’s your name?” he asked, smiling.

I cringed slightly. I had used this name for months now and I still wasn’t used to it. “Sindranu te Bata’i,” I mumbled.

“Sindranu,” he repeated. Somehow the name seemed nicer coming from him.

“You can call me Sinda,” I said impulsively.

“So, Sinda, what were you giving thanks for?” he asked, grinning.

“What?” I gasped.

“You were chanting the Song of Thanksgiving, right?” he said, gesturing toward the altar I was still attempting to hide. He leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “You’re Kingla, aren’t you?”

“I – I – how –” I stuttered. I began edging toward the entrance of the cave with the vague notion of escape. When he saw me moving, Zolah took my arm and stopped me.

“Don’t go,” he said earnestly, “I apologize. I shouldn’t have startled you like that.”

“What do you want?” I said, my hands shaking.

He took my hands in his. “I won’t tell,” he murmured, “You’re not the only follower of Kyn, you know.”

“You mean you – ” I said, shocked.

“No,” he laughed, “I am a follower of Brayden, as a good Ran must be, but in public only. Privately, I believe only in the goodness of people, in kindness and love.” “If only everyone could be that way,” I mused. Suddenly, I realized that the light was growing dimmer. “I have to go,” I said, “I’m late for the evening meal.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” He squeezed my hands, which he was still holding. “I’d like to see you again.”

“I’ll be here during my free hours for prayers,” I said. I didn’t know why, but something about him made me trust him. “Goodbye.” I slipped out and headed back to the school.

*********

For three weeks I saw Zolah almost every day as I visited my secret cave. He sat outside respectfully as I prayed, then came inside and sat beside me, occasionally holding my hand as we talked. At first we spoke only of mundane things – his work apprenticing with the village carpenter, the upcoming end-of-term examinations, the weather. Soon, however, our talk turned to more serious matters.

“Have you ever thought about speaking to your father about this?” he asked me one day.

“What do you mean?” I asked, “I can’t tell my father I still worship Kyn. He could get arrested for not turning me in. He’s a priest!”

“There are some people who think we should do something to end the priests’ control over the Kingla,” he said in an odd voice, avoiding my gaze.

“What people?” I said, confused, “What can we do? The priesthood controls everything.”

“Not everything,” Zolah said, “They can’t control what we think or how we feel, no matter how much they try. And some of us are fighting them. Have you heard of the riots in Brayden’s Gift?”

“I’ve heard rumors, nothing more,” I said slowly.

“It’s more than rumors,” he said, finally looking at me. I was surprised by the fervor in his gaze. “It’s not right that the Ran control the Kingla. We’re all people.” He sighed and stood, facing away from me. “I’m leaving soon, Sinda,” he continued after a moment, “I’m going to be a part of the resistance fighters. I have a few friends in Brayden’s Gift who will help me, give me a place to stay.”

I stood and touched his shoulder gently. He turned toward me and took my hands in his. “What do they do?” I asked nervously, fearing for his safety.

“We do what is necessary to ensure the survival and safety of the Kingla people,” he said earnestly, looking into my eyes, “and to work for their freedom.”

“Why does this mean so much to you?” I asked.

“Because it’s what’s right,” he said simply.

Impulsively, I leaned forward and kissed him. He stiffened and pulled away. “What’s wrong?” I said.

“I apologize,” he said, “but I have been taught for as long as I can remember that love and sexuality are a distraction from the pursuits of the logical man – war and power.”

“The teachings of Kyn,” I said, stroking his hair, “tell us to release our spirits from all constraints, emotional, political, or sexual. We are to love one another freely and give ourselves without reservation to the ones we care for.”

“Do you care for me, Sinda?” he murmured.

“I do,” I said and kissed him again. This time he kissed back.

**********

Four days later, the term ended. Zolah came to bid me farewell and kissed me goodbye in front of everyone, ignoring the disapproving glares of the instructors and parents. “Write me,” he whispered. I assured him that I would and reluctantly followed my father away from the crowd toward the waiting carriage.

He must have sent the first letter days before, because it was waiting for me when I arrived at my father’s manor. I ran up to my room immediately – the servants would handle the luggage – and threw myself on the bed to read it.

Dearest Sinda,
I have decided not to wait any longer and I am departing two days from now, after you
leave school. I will be passing by Cliff’s Edge on my way to Brayden’s Gift to join the resistance. I want you to come with me. I will come for you one week from now, at dawn. If you choose not to join me, I will understand. Tell no one, I beg you. My family would be ruined if the oldest son were a known Kingla sympathizer. I look forward to the sight of your face.

Always love,
Zolah

Tears dripped off my cheeks, smudging the ink. Despite all his brave talk, I never really thought Zolah would actually go through with it. He could be hurt. Killed. Anything could happen. And what is the point, I thought, it’s not like they’ll make any difference. The Ran will always be in charge. There’s nothing we can do about that, so we might as well accept it. As hard as I tried, the thought kept coming back into my head that it was still wrong. They were telling us who to worship, where to live, and now deporting us who-knows-where. I had to admire the men and women Zolah had told me about, working to undermine the system from within, fighting openly, and even dying for the rights of Kingla they’d never met.

I pictured my mother’s face as it had looked the last time I had seen her. Tired, worn, aged beyond her years, and yet so beautiful I cried again. I missed her terribly and I didn’t know if I would ever see her again. I couldn’t even write to her, for fear our deception would be discovered. I would be imprisoned, my father would be heavily fined, and my mother would likely be killed.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

************

Breakfast was an awkward affair. I’d only spent a few days with my father before being shipped off to school. At least four years of boarding school was mandatory for all Ran children. It was strange sitting across from him, this man I barely knew. We sat in silence for a few minutes, until he suddenly asked me how my school year had gone.

“Very well, thank you,” I answered. A thought occurred to me – what were his feelings about the resistance? “Father,” I said timidly, “one of my instructors was telling us about riots in Brayden’s Gift. Why are the Kingla rioting?”

“It’s not just the Kingla, Sindranu,” he said, “Ran supporters are fighting too.”

“But why?”

He sighed. “Some people believe that the Kingla should have the same rights as the Ran.” Seeing the look on my face, he softened. “I know it’s hard for you to understand because you grew up with the Kingla, but there is a natural order to things. The Ran are meant to be in a position of authority. The Kingla aren’t bad people, but they just don’t have the ability to lead. That’s just the way things are.”

I pushed my food away. I had lost my appetite. “But why deny them the right to worship as they please?”

He looked at me strangely. “Didn’t they teach you that at school?” he asked, “The worship of Kyn is harmful to our society. It advocates total freedom, almost anarchy! No marriage, no legal contracts, no absolute authority figures. We have to have control of society or there will be chaos! You’re old enough to understand that.”

I said nothing and did not meet his eyes.

************

I packed my bag that night. I had made up my mind to go with Zolah. There was nothing holding me here. Now that I had finished school, I could legally leave my father’s home. I hid the bag under my bed and piled schoolbooks around it.

I still ate every meal with my father, but carefully avoided any serious discussions. I chattered about letters I got from my school friends, the weather, a book I was reading, anything to keep the conversation trivial. I think he noticed, but said nothing.

The actual leaving was surprisingly easy. I left a note on my pillow.

Father,
I am leaving to spare you the burden of my presence. I am not going back to Hopeful Morning. It would be dangerous for Mother. Do not search for me. I will send word of my safety when I arrive at my destination.

Sindranu

I almost signed with my true name, but fear once more dictated my actions. I knew that the servant girl who cleaned my chambers would find it first and see the Kingla name. Despite our differences, I did not wish to put my father in any danger through my actions.
I was waiting for Zolah when he arrived. He was thrilled to see me, of course, and embraced me immediately. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he murmured.

“I can’t let you go by yourself, can I?” I chuckled, “You’d never make it to Brayden’s Gift.”

We set off immediately. The first day was the most difficult. I was unused to hard travel. We stopped at dusk and made camp in a copse of trees just out of sight of the road. As I lay beside him that night, wrapped in our traveling cloaks, our naked bodies touching, I thought I’d never been happier.

After the first few days, I got used to the traveling. The days began to be routine. Walking as long as there was light, stopping only to eat. We made love every night and slept wrapped in one another’s arms.

**********

It seemed unreal when we first arrived in Brayden’s Gift. I had never seen such a large city. Zolah asked directions to his friend’s house. It was a tiny place, almost a shack, on the edge of the city.

Teb answered the door immediately. “Who is she?” he demanded without preamble.

“A friend,” Zolah said, wrapping his arm around me. Teb reluctantly allowed us to enter. The house was crowded with old furniture, piles of clothing, tools, and weapons. Teb invited us to sit on the only free space in the house, his bed, and brought us wine.

“You arrived just in time, Zolah,” Teb said, reclining on a stack of folded blankets. “The next meeting’s tomorrow.”

I admired Zolah as he and Teb discussed the agenda for tomorrow’s meeting. I was nervous about meeting a group of vigilantes of which I would soon become a part. Zolah, however, was eager, excited, ready to be a part of something bigger than himself.

Teb insisted we take his bed that night. He made a pallet on the floor for himself. I couldn’t sleep. I spent the night listening to Teb and Zolah snoring softly, wondering if I would actually be able to make a difference.

*********
“It’s time,” Zolah said, leading me out of the shadows. My hands were shaking as we approached the door of the modest house where the meeting was to take place. A whispered voice demanded the password. “Kyn,” Zolah said, winking at me. The door opened and we slipped in quickly.

The room was crowded. People were sitting on the floor, on tables, wherever they could find space. We were the last to arrive. I saw Teb across the room. He smiled and nodded at me. I smiled back, relaxing slightly. He slid off the table where he’d been sitting and addressed the crowd.

“We all know what we’re here for,” he said, “but we must remember who we’re here for. I’d like our Kingla friends to please stand and introduce themselves.” He gestured to me. As I stepped forward, I felt Zolah squeeze my hand and all nervousness left me. I felt safe, among friends.

“My name,” I said, “Is Frinalee te Carta.”