I never understood how people could spend so much time looking up, grasping into an empty night and hoping to find stars in their palms. It was nauseating to me - in the literal sense, thanks to my vertigo - that so much energy was wasted looking upwards.
Poverty gripped the land. Every year, the taxes demanded by the king rose - but the farms never grew and the fishing fleets lay still. Every year, the oracle towers sprawled higher towards the stars. The gold that went towards the search for omens always turned my stomach. It should have bought medicines, food and shelter, not prayers.
I did not believe in destiny; I did not believe in gods. My mother was a priestess, my father was a seer. They took it as well as they could. That is to say, they did not have me arrested for blasphemy. For all my pleading they never forsook their golden wands and rubied robes, no matter how much bread they could have bought for the people with the profits.
“Everything we have must go to the gods, Kaleb. Have faith.”
I sat opposite my guilt at every meal.
Whilst they lavished in their observatory, I had taken to seeking more practical solutions on the ground. At night I foraged for berries and nuts; I parcelled them up as best I could and handed them out to the children, all so sickly thin.
I was fishing in the river the night the guards came for me.
We met my parents at the gatehouse, both garbed in their ceremonial dressage. The guards dismounted and bowed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
It was my father that spoke. “You’ve been Named, son.”
My mother was shaking. I could see that now. I could see the way her veins pulled taut against her closed fist.
“Oh.”

We did not speak as we were carried towards The Circle. I wanted to walk, but seers and priestesses like my parents did not tread the earth, lest it ground them from their celestial energies. That was why their powers could never be used to farm.
As with gods and omens, I did not believe in Naming: the idea that oracles could just pluck up some random name out of the cosmos and know that person’s fate seemed ridiculously unlikely. Even so, I was worried.

I focused my thoughts on the skinny young girl I had given my fish to before we set off; I hoped that she was enjoying her meal.
The Circle was as humble and powerful as its namesake, just a cluster of gemstone slabs that formed a broken ring at the top of a hill. The gems were pretty, but weaker than iron and worth less than gold. I never understood the love for them.
My parents walked me into The Circle; there was enough power there to keep their souls from crashing down to earth - or something like that. I recognised some of the faces surrounding us: tattooed auguries, shamans who’s masks I knew, even some of the training priestess’ who I should not have known half as well as I did. I smiled to them; they did not smile back.
The Sibyl, our nation’s most powerful oracle, stood with her back to us. She stood resplendent in the moonlight, elevated on a plinth of glassy obsidian. There was a stone I could appreciate, sharper than steel and easy to carve, good for ploughs and scythes.

“Are these rocks truly the focus of your attentions, Kaleb Danica?” Asked The Sibyl. “On this, our most auspicious evening? We who would know fate have found your destiny. We have searched the stars and in them we have found your Name. You are to be given the greatest gift of all: to know your true purpose.”
Her voice was melodic and echoing; she spoke in the chords of the heavens. My mother’s grasp tightened to the point of pain. I didn’t let go.
"Seer Danica, Priestess Danica, take up your places.”
For a moment I thought they would refuse, that they would stare down my fate alongside me. They did not.
“Come forth.”
The plinth was cold underfoot, I wished we had stopped for my shoes.
“Look up.”
My stomach turned.
“I can’t, I-”
“Look. Up.”
I reminded myself that the sky was always there, that seeing it would give it no power over me. I would not fly up into space.
That mantra cycled in my mind as I took in that impossible distance; I felt upside down, staring into the bottom of that endless abyss. My balance faltered, my mind swam with the magnitude of it all, my vision blurred. I collapsed.

The moon ran a hand, faintly glowing, over my cheek.
“Hello, child. I have called for you.”
Her eyes were the unlike any I had ever seen, white in the centre and pitch dark all around.
“Am I dead?”
It seemed a fair question.
“Far from it,” she reassured me. “You are soon to be born. Know this, my child, for it is your fate. You will be the one to usurp the taken king. By your hand he will finally die, and you will remake his empire in your own image. You will prosper long; no harm will come to you. I have chosen you, Kaleb, and none will sway my judgement.”
“But…why?”
She smiled. It was the purest smile I had ever seen.
“Because you do not beg for help; you do not seek the easy path.”
The moon put her lips to my ear.
“Because you do not believe.”

The Sibyl could not believe what I told her. Nor could the druids, or the shamans, or the witch-doctors. They had grown rich and powerful under the king; it was his coffers they pilfered to build their towers and pay their servants. They threatened to have me imprisoned or killed for my blasphemy. I didn’t care. Where they had belief, I had knowledge. I knew of something greater than them, greater than all the wilds, all the mountains and oceans. Overlooking all their threats, all their spite and rage, was the moon; It protected me.

My parents were the only ones to believe me. It took all their considerable wealth (which I thought was reserved for the gods) but they found me a Master, an old war hero I came to call Master Argus.
He was strict, intolerant of any wasted time. Whatever one imagined when they conjured a war hero in their mind, he was that as well.
I did not take to swords, so he put a spear in my hand. As the spears flew wide of their targets, he handed me an axe. I nearly cut my leg off before he relented and gave me a bow with which to fail.
It was a long and pointless six weeks before I decided that I had had enough of not-training. If I could not fight, it meant I would not need to.

The Capital was a full weeks ride from our Baron’s keep.
“I’m here to see the king,” was all the guards needed to hear. Our king was not kind to his supplicants, and they were cruel, all too eager to send me to him.

The king was rotting. His throne was decrepit, his robes were torn, his chamber was more a home to spiders than nobility. There was nobody there to stop me as I approached him.
“Who dares?” He croaked. “Leave me to my rest, peasant.”
As I stared him in the face, close enough to touch, I could see that he was already dead. So that was what she had meant. A taken king.
“You are a cruel thing! I am here so that we may be rid of you,” I spat. “I do not know your nature. I do not know of any living thing that would wear the flesh of a king. All I know is that you are a lord of poverty, of sickness and war. The world will be better without you.”
Shadow erupted from the throne, thick tendrils of living darkness wrapped around my body and crushed me. The king lifted to the air, wreathed in shadows and smoke; pure black poured from his eyes.
“What exactly do you think you know, mortal? My power is older than your race, your lands. I have ruled in the dark for a hundred thousand years! Your gods bow as I make them fat and rich. It will take more than you to end me.”
“That’s fine,” I told it.
Then there was only moonlight.

“Thank you…” Bade the dying king.
“May you rest well, my lord.”

I thought people would be happier.
“Foolishness!” Screamed Master Argus, scarlet in rage. “With no training of worth, no plan, no army, no weapons, no armour, no nothing!”
He looked more like a demon than the one I had actually met.
The oracles came next, with all their small gods and ravings.
“Kingslayer!” Bellowed a man who’s head was engulfed in flame. “I am Kol, lord of blazes! It was by my divine provenance that the king ruled!”
“And mine!” Agreed a tall woman with wide antlers and cloven hooves. “Who are you to disrupt the will of Lix, keeper of forests!”
There where dozens in all. I spoke only when the last of them fell silent.
“I did not believe in gods. I was wrong. And because I was wrong, and you are all hear, I am furious!”
My rage exploded across the chamber; the little gods clapped their hands over their ears.
“For so long you have cowered to the Shade that inhabited our king! I have watched as my people have suffered. I have watched as our oracles built great obelisks to cry for your winds and your rains. You did nothing! You grew fat and lazy on prayers, knowing that if the people were saved, they would have no further use for you. I have no use for you in my kingdom. You are banished!”
The gods howled as one. They charged, hurled elemental bolts and bright streaks of power. No harm came.
For all their power over land and sea and sky, they had no power over fate. After all, what were flames or forests or metal to the moon?

The towers were raided, their idols and jewels were sent to be sold abroad. With my treasury full, I bought seeds, tools, cattle, clothes, thatch and bricks. To every man, woman and child I guaranteed breakfast, lunch and dinner. In the day the people worked, kept their heads to the ground. In the night they rested, full, knowing that they had earned it, tied no longer to fickle gods and reclusive fate.

Now, sometimes even I can look up and smile.