The Great Uprising
A Story of Magical Emancipation
Part One: The Conspiracy
"Wake! Wake, you pampered house-pet! Wake, you listless, lifeless lump! Wake I say!"
Cadmus sprung to consciousness, and listened alertly for the hissing voice that disturbed his sleep. Slowly, so as to refrain from making a sound, he shifted in his meager bunk, sending an arm fumbling over the side for his steel and flint. He guided them to his bedside candle and quickly struck it alight, and briefly the room was lit. The sparse stone walls and damp, cold floor were visible for half an instant, before the intruder––revealed to be small, green, and snarling––snuffed it out.
"Bumbling fool! No lights, else I'll be discovered!"
"And why, pray tell, is that of my concern, Goblin?" Cadmus demanded, though in an obliging whisper. A goblin it was, clear as day, though it was of course still the dead of night.
"You will be lashed as well as I, if we are found! The story of a goblin intruder shall be hard proven, much harder than that of a human host. Now shut those foul, fleshy lips and do as I say!"
"Lashes may be welcome, compared to what you have in store. Your folk are not known for their good will, nor their honest intentions." Sliding a hand along the thin sheets and taut surface of his meager bed, Cadmus wished for a more suitable means of defense. Though nearly double the goblin in height and weight, it had the sharp teeth and long, pointed nails characteristic of its kind. He longed for a dagger, or maybe a short club, to fend it off with. But slaves were of course forbidden weapons of any sort.
"My will is far from good, and my intentions are absolutely reliant on dishonesty," it conceded willingly, "yet I am not here in search of a victim, but a co-conspirator. It will be you, and two more humans of your choosing, amenable or not. Do you understand?"
Though his misgivings were far from pacified, Cadmus's interest was piqued. "As fortune would have it, you find this human willing. Go on."
"None more at the moment," the goblin replied, casting his head around to the small, door-less arch that led out of the room, gazing with his goblins' eyes at something Cadmus could not see. "Be content to know that old stones have begun to roll, and soon the very mountains will tumble after.
"You must meet me outside the largest stable at midnight tomorrow, and bring your two companions. From the darkness, you will hear the name 'Garnash' called and then I shall approach. Should you hear any other name or sound, you must flee or face death.
"And now I must heed my own advice. The night-guard approaches." And with that, Garnash left the room, his form plunging seamlessly into the darkness.
Cadmus was left awake that night, pondering the encounter. A goblin's tongue was known to be silver, and often not to be trusted, yet he couldn't shake the promise: old stones have begun to roll, and soon the very mountains will tumble after.
• • •
When the bells rang in the morning, calling slaves to service, Cadmus was already up. He slipped on his robes and left his quarters. He joined the other humans as he entered the hall and walked to the only exit of the slave barracks. Already they were all awake and composed; these were the house-humans, and as such were held to very strict parameters of behavior. They were not allowed to speak out of turn. They were not allowed to present themselves to their work looking scruffy or unkempt. And they were not allowed to defy the orders of the elves, else they would face severe punishment. Such were the criteria of the house-human enslavement.
Cadmus passed the guard-elf as he left the slave-barracks. Taller and prouder than any human, and with features more fair and beautiful, the elf looked down on his servants with malice. Wrath brimmed from his eyes as he brandished a long wooden wand, and a fiery whip sprouting from the end.
"Faster!" He commanded a slave that stood somewhere behind Cadmus. The girl had been speaking to a friend. "You seem to think that you are your own master? Else you would know better than to waste your time on social calls, when there are elves to be served and chores to be done!" His wand came down, lashing the girl across the back with the whip's burning thongs. They passed directly through the robes without a mark, impacting her skin alone. Air sighed out the girl's lungs, as close as she dared come to a cry. Cadmus kept moving forward, his eyes rigidly focused ahead of him.
The humans' quarters were kept in the outer ring of The City, just in front of the centaurs' stables and the fields. Moving inward, Cadmus passed the many elf dwellings as he entered the inner ring. It was still too early for them to wake, but when they did, the elves would pour from the elegant buildings to lounge in their courtyards or balconies, to socialize and barter, waited on hand and foot by their troop of human slaves. Elves were outnumbered by humans fifty-to-one, yet had one crucial weapon: Magic. With their magic, and especially their magic wands, the elves reigned torment down on humans, and commanded their black minions to do their bidding.
Some of the humans turned away earlier to work near the fields, performing delicate tasks like weaving and sewing. More yet turned as they passed by the elf dwellings, to cook and clean and attend to the elves. But Cadmus remained on his path, continuing forward into the very heart of The City. There he worked, serving as a scribe in one of the seven great houses of elvish learning.
There were six primary houses. Two were of craft: Metal and Wand. The other four were of study: Memory, Space, Time, and Love. The house that Cadmus toiled was the House of Memory, where he was charged to record and file knowledge. The last great house was not spoken of, though all the enslaved knew what transpired within its halls. From its foundations, buried deep beneath the ground, seeped a cold, clawing evil, which drew in the living and hopefully never returned them. The elves that worked there would call it the House of Creation, the House of Invention, the House of Generation. But from the feelings in their bones, and the sickness in their hearts, the humans had ascribed it different names; the House of Perversions; Aberrations; Monstrosities. And if any had ever passed through the doors and left to bear witness, it would be known by its proper name, and be called the House of Death.
The House of Memory stood adjacent to the House of Space, which connected to the House of Time, both of which stood above the House of Love, their shared hall housing the only entrance to the locked basement cavern.
Traditionally, the slaves were expected to arrive to work before the elves, and Cadmus was surprised to see that elves, brandishing wands and clad in the finest goblin armor, were swarming in and out of the Houses of Time and Space. The City was already teeming with activity; the furnaces from the House of Metal Craft were lit, and trees from the courtyard in the House of Wand Craft were falling. No perceptible sight or sound issued from the House of Death, but to cast an eye upon was to draw a shadow across the soul, and raise bumps upon the skin. Cadmus eyed this activity warily, keeping his head hung as he ducked into the House of Memory.
It was a large marble hall, lit only by the brilliant shining light of memory. A stone basin filled the center of the room, covered in carved runes and filled with swirling silver reminiscence. The runes spelled out an excerpt from ancient poem, alleged to have been sung at the creation of the universe. It charged those created–––the elves––to keep record by preserving memories. With this basin, inscribed with runes, they did just that. And in the ring of floor surrounding it, less than ten feet wide, elves interpreted the memory and men took record, storing their scrolls in the shelves lining the walls, stretching up fifty feet all the way until the next level. On that next level only the elves were allowed. It was were they conducted their research on memory and the mind, learning to cast spells that give entry to thought and feeling, and even control over free will. All that could be seen of this research from the lower level was the single tank hanging from the ceiling, filled with potion and inhabited by eerie floating brains, taken from the skulls of the finest, cleverest slaves, be they man, goblin, or centaur.
Cadmus scratched away on his parchment, his records lit by their purer counterparts in recollection. He spent several hours without reprieve, his keen eyes fixed on his quill, rasping against the parchment as the day began to pass him by.
On any other day, the elves would signal their midday break and lead the house-humans into the central pavilion, where the house-humans from the kitchens would serve the elves lunch. The slaves were allowed to salvage the table scraps as their own meager lunch. On this day, however, the elves were all much too preoccupied to monitor the humans, or even to break for lunch themselves. In the House of Memory, the elves had cloistered themselves in the upper level, and left the work of their humans unsupervised.
So as midday came and went, the humans tentatively rose from their stations, and entered the pavilion on their own. It was a large, elevated structure, and like most areas that held elves and their servants simultaneously, was made of two layers. At the top was a fantastic series of banquet tables, wrought from goblin iron and bronze. So fine were the enchantments upon the metal that no crumb or drop ever landed upon the surface of a table, but instead would float an inch or so above, as if held in place by a specter. Fantastic banisters and arches ringed the level, closing it off from the staircases that lead down to the slave level, which was divided between goblins and humans. As humans came from the homes of elvish gentry and the House of Memory, the goblins came from the House of Metal Craft and stayed on the opposite end of the slave level, devouring scraps of raw meat, seen unfit for elvish consumption.
With no masters to serve, the humans faced––for the first time in their lives––excesses of food and drink. As men and women around him flocked to their meal, Cadmus eyed the procession of goblins warily, as they filled their share of the pavilion. He had not gotten a full glance at his intruder the night before, and was acutely aware that it could be any of the small, slippery demons in front of him.
All humans knew that dishonesty was clearly displayed in every goblin's face, just as clearly as their beady eyes, crooked noses, or pointed teeth. Yet Cadmus was not interested in trusting a goblin. Though very few yet knew it, Cadmus was quite as capable of backhandedness and deception as any goblin, and had just as much a taste for it. The goblin's proposal had to be taken with a grain of salt, but he was so intrigued that Cadmus felt that he had the salt to spare.
Considering the command he had been given the night before, he contemplated which two humans he would bring with him this coming night.
He immediately knew that he would not bring Agatha. She was pure and beautiful, clever and witty, but much too honest and levelheaded to sneak out in the middle of the night. And regardless, Cadmus would never endanger her.
Instead, he approached his brother. "Antioch! Where is Ignotus?"
"Hello to you too, little brother." Antioch, who stood half a head taller than Cadmus, barely turned to acknowledge his presence. Being of a larger and stronger constitution than most, Antioch rarely had enough food to sate his monstrous appetite. Today, he intended to make up for it, and piled mounds of meat and bread upon his platter.
"I need to speak to you both. Where is he?"
"Well how should I know? Who am I, his keeper?" Antioch replied hostilely.
"Antioch," said Cadmus, suddenly stern. "What have you done?"
"Nothing!"
"Antioch!"
"Oh, Cadmus, calm down. Why should you care if I, say, pinned him between the bookcases again?"
Cadmus rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. "Come on, then!"
• • •
Ignotus sighed. Yet again, Antioch felt himself victorious. Being the youngest and smallest of his brothers, Ignotus was the easiest to antagonize. Antioch had found various ways to bully him, but none tickled him quite as much as forcing Ignotus into the crevice between two bookshelves, and then leaving him there in the House of Memory while everyone else fetched lunch. Ignotus really didn't mind the solitude, or the missed meal, but he didn't appreciate his breathing being so confined.
After a few minutes Ignotus heard footsteps, and after glimpsing out from between the bookshelves, he said, "Hello, Cadmus."
"Don't give me that tone." Cadmus scowled as he threw himself against the shelf. "Antioch! Stop blundering about and make yourself useful!"
"Must I? I'm trying to enjoy my lunch."
"Antioch!" Cadmus turned away from the bookcase and stared down his brother, who was at the moment stacking a slice of turkey on top of a slice of mutton and that on top of a slice of pheasant.
Antioch relented, and strolled over to where Ignotus was pinned. "Hello, baby brother," he smirked, poking his face between the wooden boards. "Enjoying your personal time?"
"Very much, thanks. It was quite tranquil until your trollish feet started shaking the floors."
Antioch let out a brief, bellowing laugh. "You must fancy yourself clever. But you don't strike me as clever right now, trapped like a rat insulting the only man in the room that can release you."
"Oh, I would never call myself clever, not as long as men like you exist to prove me wrong."
"Now what is that supposed to mean?"
"You've clearly proved that true cleverness rests in trapping people between bookshelves. It is such a triumph of the imagination. I wish I could be so brilliant."
Antioch did not respond right away, and Cadmus stepped in. "Ignotus, our dear older brother is not a man of words. Speak much more and his head will start spinning. Now silence yourself and let him show us what he's good for."
"I may not have quite such a silver tongue, but I believe I still have a head on my shoulders, not a block of wood," Antioch grumbled. Placing a hand on either shelf, Antioch let out a grunt and suddenly each shelf slid half a foot.
Ignotus stepped out, revealing his thin frame, much to thin for the standard-issue clothing that hung from his limbs. "I will never ceased to be amazed at how stunted you are," Antioch noted.
"I don't know," mused Ignotus, shaking life back into his arms and legs, "I think you'll find that from a slightly altered perspective, you are the stunted one, not I."
"What do you mean to say now?" he demanded. "I'd wager I'm twice your size!"
Sighing, Ignotus conceded, "Well, maybe if you'd leave me an extra inch between the shelves, my growth would be less constricted."
"And maybe if you would close that mouth, Antioch would no longer feel the need to silence you. You know you provoke him," Cadmus barked as he grabbed his younger sibling by the shirt and his older one by the beard, dragging them further into the hall.
"Oi! No need to tug on my face! How would you feel if I decided to rip out your moustache?"
"There'd be no need. The only way to move you about is by your beard; if you felt the need to take me somewhere, you could just grab me about the center and throw me."
Despite this logic, Antioch was a bit incensed. He was quite proud of his full, black goatee, just as Cadmus was of his thin brown moustache, framing his mouth. Ignotus could not grow facial hair, as the two others had never failed to point out. He failed to see what purpose it served, but his brothers assured him that no true man could go without it.
"Now, get down here and stay quiet," Cadmus hissed, ducking into a small basement area. It was a small chamber beneath the basin, holding smaller basins where memory could be concentrated and observed. These smaller basins were called pensieves, and as the eons have passed most have been lost or destroyed. Only one is known to exist anymore.
"What is this about, anyway?" Antioch demanded.
"I forgot that discretion isn't in your skill set," Cadmus hissed, smacking him about the head. "Now be silent, and listen!"
And in a terse whisper, Cadmus related the events of the previous night. And then, almost tentatively, he asked, "So. Are you with me?"
"I will be missing my beauty sleep, but I think I'm game for a bit of mischief," Antioch replied casually.
Cadmus turned to Ignotus, whose eyes were focused on his knees. "And you?"
"I would strongly advise against it," he said slowly.
"My lord, Ignotus!" Antioch exclaimed, yet again disregarding Cadmus' pleas for silence. "I know you have no hair on your face, but until now I didn't realize that manhood had fully forsaken you!"
"I didn't realize that manhood was synonymous with idiocy," Ignotus said forcefully. His usual wistful, absent tone was gone. Nothing but seriousness resonated in his voice. "This is a conspiracy, and we cannot afford to be caught. The elves hardly need an excuse to kill our kind. More and more of us disappear each day."
"If that's the case, we need a conspiracy more than ever," Antioch said resolutely.
"Don't pretend to be what you aren't," Ignotus snapped again. "You are no liberator, you are no emancipator. You are a child, and a slave, looking to spite his masters."
Antioch remained silent, as did Cadmus. Ignotus furrowed his brow, locked in deep thought. Though they bickered, and superficially seemed to profoundly dislike each other, the three of them were brothers, and they had no one else. "Well there was never a choice for me, was there? Someone has to come to keep the two of you fools alive."
• • •
Cadmus faced only one brief reservation about his covert plans that night. Right before nightfall, as the slaves headed back to their quarters, he walked alongside Agatha. She served as a seamstress in an elvish home, and no job could suit her more perfectly. The finest silk and lace passed under her fingers, almost as fine and flawless as she was. Her lush blonde hair flowed down to her waist; so soft and feathered that Cadmus could barely resist reaching out a hand to touch it. The flawlessness of her features could only be matched by her soul. So sweet was she that in her presence he felt fiendish and contemptible. For an instant he didn't want to meet the goblin anymore. He wished only to sleep safely in his bed that night, if only so he could wake and see her the next morning.
But Cadmus had no real choice in the matter. As midnight approached, he became restless, so by eleven he could barely keep seated. Finally, he crept out from his room and out of the barracks. More elves were about that night than there had ever been before. He stuck to the shadows, and made his way to the centaurs' stables. He stationed himself outside the largest stable and waited. Soon enough his brothers met him. They waited in silence, flinching whenever the crunch of a boot came near.
And then suddenly, they heard small feet shuffling behind them. Before they lost all courage and bolted, a coarse whisper spoke the name, "Garnash". Cadmus approached, and issued a whispered command, "Show yourself!"
Out of the shadows came three goblins, and Garnash was the one leading. "You have brought the humans. Good. Now come."
The goblins led the three brothers around the building and in through a side entrance, protected from elvish eyes by the neighboring stables. When they entered, the six of them were met by a centaur. He was older than is average for a centaur, and clearly of a superior breed. He had lived longer, grown larger, and seen more. His hair was a thick gray, and his coat a lustrous auburn. But his most striking feature was his eyes. Most centaurs had a vacant stare, as if a haze were hanging about them. But these eyes were sharp, and knowing. They were eyes that had seen beyond the here and now, and bloodshot from seeing it too frequently.
"My name is Glaucon," he said. "and I will be your salvation."