Nameless

You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice,

If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice

- Freewill, Rush (1980)

Her naming day was coming, and she still hadn’t decided which name she would choose. Her peers had picked their name as much as years in advance. For the next two days she would still be known by her nickname, “Sprout,” the name of a child.

She looked through the list of five names, selected by the priests and priestesses at her birth, again. Each one was pledged to a different god, although which name belonged to which god, she had no clue.

Heinrik, her father, was pledged to Indra, the goddess of life, and tended the farm. Her mother, Shara, was pledged to Malcot, the god of matter, and worked as a stone mason. While they both claimed they were doing what they had always wanted to do, Sprout had her doubts. Did their desired career choice guide them in choosing the “correct” name, or did their assigned god shape their desire after the fact?

Two more days, and she would need to decide. She would be pledged to Indra, like her father, Malcot, like her mother, or one of the others; Ilara, the goddess of energy, Mediek, the god of mind, or Kerar, the hermaphroditic god/dess of spirit. All the priests and priestesses were pledged to Kerar, tending to the spiritual needs of the people of all the gods. This included almost every ritual and rite, including the naming ceremony.

Shara called out from the kitchen, “Sprout, I need you to run to the market and pick up a joint of mutton. We’re having guests.”

“Okay, mom. Let me get dressed first.”

“Don’t spend all morning deciding what to wear. I need to get that joint in the pot soon.”

She knows me too well. “Just a minute!” Sprout dressed in her green trousers and tunic. No sooner had she put them on than she thought maybe the yellow would be a better choice for the day. The morning was cool, and the green was a little warmer, but the afternoon would probably turn hot.... No! No time for this today.

Sprout ran to the butcher’s. Doing errands like this was easy, no decisions to make, just do what mother or father asked. If only everything could be so easy.

On her way there, she spotted six figures in grey, hooded robes, carrying a corpse on a litter. The untouchables. The one rite that was deemed too holy even for the high priests and priestesses: the funerary rite. The untouchables lived on the holy grounds in the forests and showed up only when needed. How they knew someone had died was a mystery to her. After performing the rite, the untouchables would visit the market and be given gifts by all the merchants. To do otherwise would be to invite ill fortune for the entire town.

“Good morning, child,” the butcher said, “what can I do for you today?”

“Good morning, Mister Warrik. Mother needs a joint of mutton. We’re having guests.”

“I’ve got just the thing,” he said. He reached into the case and picked out a joint and wrapped it up for her. “Two more days and you won’t have to call me ‘mister’ anymore.”

She nodded and did her best to give a convincing smile. “That’s right. Thanks. Oh, I just saw the untouchables out there.”

“Poor old Witti, gods rest her soul. I’ll get a roast and some smoked meats together for them.”

Shara was still in the kitchen when Sprout returned. “That was fast.”

“Mister Warrik picked one out right away, and there was no one else there.”

“Help me grind these spices.”

They worked in silence, preparing the spicy broth in which the mutton would be simmered for hours until it fell off the bone. It was something every child her age knew how to make. If it weren’t close to harvest, her father would likely be the one making the meal, while her mother cut stone at the quarry.

“Mom, what happens if I can’t decide on a name?”

Shara stopped her hands and looked at her daughter. “Honey, I know it’s hard for you to make decisions, but you have to choose. Just pick the one that you like the most, or the one you hate the least.”

“That’s just it,” she said, “they’re all bad choices.”

“They say our gods choose us. If you can’t feel the gods’ will, write them all down on slips of paper and pick one out of a bag. The gods will guide your hand.” Shara kissed her on the head. “The broth is ready for the joint, as soon as you mix those spices in.”

“Which one do you like best?”

“I can’t influence your choice, Sprout. I’ll tell you after the ceremony.”

“Where do the untouchables come from?”

“They live in the forest, somewhere beyond the sign marking the boundary of the holy grounds.”

“I know that. I mean, where do new ones come from?”

“Same place as everyone else, dear. Except their parents are untouchables too.”

“But if they have no name, and you can’t marry without one….”

“Don’t think too hard about it dear. Get that joint in the pot and clean yourself up.”

After dinner, while her parents spoke with their guests, Sprout washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. Since the discussions of adults were still no place for her as a “child,” she retired to her room and lay awake until the wee hours.

Morning came too soon. One more day to decide. Rather than trying to decide what to wear, Sprout looked over the names again. She had written them out on slips of paper and tried to choose at random among them, but every time she drew it still felt wrong.

Shara opened her door. “Are you still trying to decide what to wear?”

“No.”

“You’re not dressed.”

Sprout pointed at the names, laid out before her.

“Still trying to pick a name, huh?” Shara crossed the room and kissed her on the head. “I’d help you if it were allowed, but you have to choose yourself.”

“I know. Thanks, Mom.” She looked at her mother in the mirror, outfitted in her work clothes. “You going to the quarry today?”

“No, doing some repairs on the temple. Need to get it perfect for your naming day.”

“If I even have one,” she said.

“You will. You’ll see. The choice will be clear when you enter the temple for the first time.” Shara chuckled. “I had a name picked, but when I walked into the temple, I immediately switched to my second choice.”

“You had two names picked?”

“I had them all ordered by preference.”

“And if you’d gone with your first?”

“Bretti.”

“Ick. I’m glad you chose Shara.”

“Hush you. You’ve got five very fine choices there. No matter what you pick, it’ll be perfect.” She kissed her daughter on the cheek before leaving.

Having exhausted herself trying to choose based on the names, she decided instead to try to pick a god. Kerar seemed the logical choice for her, as she could serve the needs of any of the gods as her whims moved her. The idea of being a priestess, however, was unappealing. What if she wanted to become a scholar, or artist, or shipbuilder? Maybe she wanted to be a trader. Then Malcot; she could be a shipbuilder, trader, merchant, mason. But maybe Mediek; then she could be a teacher, researcher, explorer, artist.

No matter how she looked at it, they were all equally limiting. Each choice came with its own pros and cons, all weighing the same in the end. Even if she chose a god, she had no way of being sure that the name she chose belonged to that god. What if she chose Malcot and picked the name that belonged to Ilara?

The smell of dinner roused her from her deliberations. She went to the kitchen to eat with her parents.

“Have you decided yet?” Heinrik asked.

Sprout shook her head and stared at her stew made from the previous night’s leftovers.

“Don’t push, dear.” Shara smiled at her. “She’ll pick the right name in the temple in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll leave your robe for the ceremony hanging in the front room. Don’t be late to the temple, my little sprout.”

“I know, mom.”

“It’s bad luck for any named adults to see you outside the temple before the ceremony, so we’ll let you know when we leave.”

As she washed the dishes, her mother wrapped her in a hug from behind. “This is the last time I can call you Sprout. No matter what you choose, I’m proud of you.”

Aside from the ringing of the temple bells, the town was quiet as she made her way to the temple. She was one of seven with a naming ceremony this month. The other candidates approached the temple, their robes resplendent with embroidery. Sprout’s was every bit as ornate. Their parents began working on them at their birth, spending sixteen years creating panels of needlework to be attached to a naming vestment when the date was near and the sizing certain.

The seven of them lined up at the temple doors, Sprout falling to the rear. The bells stopped and the giddiness of the other candidates was palpable. Something pulled at her attention, and she turned to see four untouchables walking toward the temple. Their simple, hooded, grey robes hid their faces.

“Who died?” she asked.

“Oh no, they saw us! Bad luck,” the boy in front of her said.

“Doesn’t count. The untouchables have no names.”

“Oh, right.”

The doors opened and the high priestess called the first in. Minutes later the next, and so on, until it was Sprout’s turn.

She took a deep breath and stepped through the doors, expecting some sort of sign as to which name she should pick. The dark interior of the temple was silent, the air cool with a slight dampness. There was no spark of inspiration, no clear decision. She knelt at the altar in a panic.

“Choose your name, and be no longer a child,” the high priestess said.

Sprout opened her mouth and closed it again.

“Come child, just say your name.”

She shook her head. “I—I can’t. None of them are right. I can’t decide.”

A commotion from the back of the temple caught her attention. The four untouchables had entered.

“What business have you here?” the priestess asked.

They stood silent. Sprout felt her heart race. Maybe she was about to die before she chose a name, and they knew? No, that was ridiculous. They only came after someone died.

“Choose a name, child.” The high priestess snapped her fingers to pull Sprout’s attention back to her. She was not allowed to touch a child, so that was the best she could do at the moment.

“I—I can’t decide. I don’t like any of them!” Sprout stood. “Either pick one for me, or I won’t have one.”

One of the untouchables stepped forward and placed her hands on Sprout’s face to the gasps of the assembly. “She has chosen the unnamed god, the one who sired and bore the quintuplet named gods. You are pledged to the Nameless One.”

The priests and priestesses turned their backs on her, as did the congregation. “She is untouchable.”

The congregation replied with, “Holy above all.”

“Gaze not upon her face, lest the gods be jealous.”

The clergy and congregation began chanting, “Holy above all. Holy above all.”

The woman tugged at Sprout’s robe and whispered in her ear. “Remove your vestment and leave it here. We have a robe for you.”

Sprout did as she was told, and quickly dressed in the hooded robe which hid her face. The woman folded her naming vestment and laid it on the altar. As they walked out the door, she said, “The Nameless One blesses this place.”

The congregation replied with a final, “Holy above all.”

She followed the untouchables out of the town in a numb fog. They passed a sign that marked a small track into the woods as holy ground, and she stopped.

The woman in front of her turned towards her. “Follow, sister.”

Sprout followed on as the track grew wider until they reached a gate across what was now a road. Beyond it, the road led some yards ahead to where it made a sharp turn into dense trees.

One of the untouchable men stood before the gate, his arms wide. “Before you may enter the hold of the nameless, you must be named. All who have come before you have rejected choosing a name. Although the reasons are as numerous as the nameless, none are more valid than any other.”

“Brother, what name has been chosen for our new sister?” asked one of the women.

“The Nameless One has chosen Kirini for her name.”

“Uh, wait… if I’m an untouchable, how can I have a name?” Sprout asked.

“We are the nameless. Untouchable is what the others call us. Your name is a secret of the nameless and must never be used again outside any nameless hold gate.” He swung the gate open and motioned her in. “Enter, sister, and speak your name.”

She walked in and the four followed her. After the gate was closed, she looked at them, their faces expectant. Unsure exactly how the naming ceremony for untouchables was performed, she used the line from the naming ceremony she’d just left. “I am henceforth known as Kirini.” The high priestess would now utter the name of her pledged god, but there was no high priestess here.

As one they responded, “Hail Kirini, nameless and holy, pledged to the Nameless One. Welcome, sister.”

They led her into the village, past the blind corner in the road, where they all pulled their hoods back. It was at least as large as the town she’d just come from but surrounded on all sides by deep woods. Children played in the school yard and the market buzzed with activity. Her eyes were assaulted by the bright colored clothing they wore.

“I thought…,” she began.

The woman nearest her, old enough to be her mother, put an arm around her shoulders. “You thought we lived in the trees? Or maybe caves? And only wore grey robes?”

“I don’t know what I thought.” She felt as though she had said something foolish in front of her mother. “Sorry, uh, I don’t know what to call you.”

“Among the nameless, I am called Mara,” the woman said. “Look around you at the people working. A few of us can hear the call the call of the Nameless One. They let us know when we must travel to perform a burial rite or collect a new nameless like you. Apart from that, we take turns doing all the jobs.”

“How do you decide which job to do?”

“The elders, those too old to do labor, keep a list of everyone and assign them each week to a new job. You will start by working in the tailor’s shop, until you have made two suitable sets of clothing for yourself. Then, wherever the elders send you to train next.”

“I don’t know how to do any of these things, except farming,” she said.

“You will learn the same way we all did, by doing.” Mara led her away from the main square. “Until you have learned all the jobs and taken part in at least one burial rite, I will be your sponsor. You will live with me for that time.”

“And after?”

“You will be assigned your own home. Or maybe sent to another nameless hold elsewhere to live and work. It is up to the elders. It is on you to simply do as you are told. If you are not accustomed to taking orders it can be difficult to adjust, but I will help you.”

Kirini smiled. “I think I’ll do fine here.”