As Roam’s story ended, Myra considered his words and the revelations they provided. She went to ask a question, but Roam stopped her with an outstretched hand. He paused to take a sip of tea to soothe his parched voice before continuing.

“Now I know that my story has not answered your initial question yet, Myra. Allow me to explain. When the gods retreated from the Earth, humanity began to learn how to survive with only being able to communicate with them through prayer.”

“As you may know, the gods are temperamental in their responses and many who choose to provide an answer or advice tend to do so in cryptic ways. However, from the beginning, there were those who the gods tended to respond more to and those who found themselves only receiving occasional guidance. On one extreme end of this spectrum, we had those who talked to a god almost constantly. These were the priests. Each had their own specific god or goddess that they communicated regularly with. They were rare many years ago but have become extremely scarce in recent times. But, for now, what you are interested in is the other extreme end of the spectrum. Those who found themselves unable to talk to the gods at all. These individuals were rare as well, and, for reasons that we’ll get into later, they are even more so today.”

Again, he paused and took a slow sip of tea.

“There is a name for these people, Myra. They are called the Forgotten of the Gods, or, more commonly, just the Forgotten.”

“You are one of the Forgotten, child. As far as I know, the gods will never respond to your prayers.”

By this point, Myra was already a whirlwind of emotions and confusion.

“But. Why?” She asked of Roam.

“Why don’t the gods talk to the Forgotten?”

Roam sighed and leaned back in his chair before fixing Myra with a sympathetic look.

“And here is the part that I meant when I said you might not find my explanation satisfactory. The simple truth is nobody knows why. As far as we can tell, there is neither a cause nor a pattern among those who are Forgotten. There is no way to determine if someone will or will not be until they are marked.”

“Marked? What do you mean marked?”

At this, Roam gestured to the few strands of hair that had fallen loose from Myra’s cap.

“Your hair, child. It marks you as one of the Forgotten. Since the earliest times, those who could not communicate with the gods have always been differentiated by their unique hair color.”

Myra’s hands flew to the loose strands and nervously tugged at them. She sat silent for a minute before finally asking a question, her voice so quiet as to be nearly inaudible.

“Why…why wouldn’t anyone tell me this before?”

Roam placed his elbows on the table and laid his hands flat upon its surface.

“They knew that it was not their place. There are certain topics that are reserved for only a Storyteller to explain. It is our privilege and our solemn responsibility. Many parents do not teach their children the true story of the gods because they simply cannot remember all the details later in life. But for specific topics like the Forgotten, the Priests, and…a few others, those can only be discussed at the discretion of a Storyteller. Aside from this, people simply do not want to talk about the Forgotten. This is partially due to their relative rarity, but mainly it has to do with certain events that occurred a few years ago.”

“What events? What happened?”

Roam took another sip of tea but did not directly answer her question. Instead, he presented his own.

“Tell me, Myra, do you know the name Apo?”

She wrinkled her brow as she considered his question.

“I think so? Wait. Yes. I remember. The old Storyteller, the one that was here before you, I think they once told us a story about someone named Apo. A demon or a trickster or something like that. It seemed like one of those stories that’s meant to scare us. But what does a made-up demon have to do with the Forgotten?”

“Hmm well yes, whoever your Storyteller was before me, they would’ve been required to tell that story. It’s the one we’ve been circulating to kids ever since the events occurred.”

Roam paused to look directly at Myra.

“Listen closely, Myra. It has only been a few short years since the incidents I speak of, but we Storytellers have done our best to change people’s ideas and perceptions of Apo. We’ve tried to make him into a demon from a story made-up to scare kids. But here is the truth that anyone older than thirteen or so knows and remembers. Apo was no demon. He was a man, though a particularly sick and twisted one. His actions and the actions of his followers are the main reason that individuals today prefer not to talk about the Forgotten.”

Myra, however, was growing agitated.

“Just say whatever you’re going to say! Stop building it up like it’s one of your stories!”

At this, Roam actually cracked a smile and gave a low chuckle.

“Yes, I suppose I should just get on with it. I am sorry about that. Old habits and all.”

Instantly, his demeanor shifted, once again growing serious and quiet.

“I have a word for you, Myra. One that, if you do not know already, you will be very familiar with by the end of this conversation. Genocide. Do you know what this means?”

Myra shook her head angrily and motioned impatiently for him to continue.

“It means murder, child. The murder or attempted murder of an entire group of people. For Apo and his followers, this meant the Forgotten. In his twisted mind, he thought that the Forgotten were individuals that the gods had intentionally marked as undeserving of their attention and care. Apo further interpreted this to mean that the Forgotten were a blemish that the gods did not care for. He took it upon himself to…remove this blemish. He and his followers called themselves the Acolytes, and they made it their mission to track down and kill every Forgotten that they could find. At first, his group was small. They had only a handful of members and only very occasionally managed to find one of the Forgotten, and, even when they did, they struggled to carry out their mission in populated areas with city watches and soldiers about. But, as his following grew, they became more brazen. Unfortunately, it took a while for people to notice what was happening. As I said, the Forgotten are rare and spread fairly evenly throughout the world. Apo and his followers managed to operate in the shadows for years. They killed dozens of Forgotten before the world caught on.”

Roam paused and took a shaky breath.

“What I would like to say is that we immediately took to tracking down and apprehending Apo and his followers. Unfortunately, the reality was that some who learned of Apo and his mission did not detest his actions but rather sympathized with his agenda. Some people sought him out to join his following. Others began to secretly report on their neighbors, betraying more Forgotten to him. His numbers jumped after they were publicly revealed, and the Forgotten were forced into hiding, never knowing who might secretly report them to the Acolytes.”

Myra’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Why? Why would they do that? Why did they hate the Forgotten…why did they hate us so much?”

Roam lowered his gaze from Myra’s and looked down at the blank table in front of him.

“Why you ask? I believe there were a few reasons why. Here is another harsh reality that we do not teach children until later in life. Humans are inherently fearful creatures. We fear many things, and among the greatest fears that we harbor is the fear of things that are different. Most people cannot comprehend what it is like to not be able to talk to the gods. The very idea of it scares them, and thus they are, in some way, scared by the Forgotten. They do not understand you, Myra. And what we do not understand, we often lash out at. This is a fundamental truth of humanity. But there is another key reason. I have failed to mention it thus far, but Apo was not exactly an ordinary man. He was a priest. The last true priest to be born in quite a while as far as I am aware. As horrible as it is, he was one of those rare few who were favored by a particular god and thus many people felt that he had both the authority and wisdom to judge the Forgotten as worthy of extermination. Thankfully, even with the boost in followers and his network of spies, it was not long before Apo attracted the attention of a higher authority. It is rare that our Ancient King and his rival to the east agree on anything. We are constantly at war after all. But Apo managed to anger both. He had no reservations about borders or countries. He sought the death of Forgotten around the world and did not care whose citizens he killed. Keep in mind that, despite how rare the Forgotten are (perhaps one in every thousand births is Forgotten) they still amount to hundreds of thousands of people. Both kings decided that they would not stand idly by while a madman killed their citizens. In a rare bit of cooperation, they put a temporary halt to their hostilities and leveraged their considerable resources to tracking down Apo and his followers. Apo, of course, could not last for long under the combined forces of two kings. He and most of his followers were caught and, eventually, executed, their stories burned, and their souls condemned. This all happened about five years ago now.”

“Five years ago? You mean…”

“Yes, Myra. The Acolytes were still in operation when you were born. By then, the two kings had begun their hunt and the Acolytes were mostly in hiding. But I’m afraid that you had an interaction with them nonetheless.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your sister Katie.”

“How…how do you know about that?”

“I’m a Storyteller, child. It is my job to know such things. I imagine your father never told you the truth. It would have required him to explain too much and, frankly, from what I have heard, he probably did not have the heart to do it. But I am not so kind. When we first met, you assured me that you could handle stories and the truth, and I believe you. Your experiences, loss, and frustration have seen you mature much more quickly than most. So, I have one more cruel revelation for you tonight. I do not know what your father told you, but your sister died at the hands of an Acolyte.”

But Myra was already shaking her head, her eyes full of tears.

“No. Katie wasn’t…that’s not right.”

“It is. I am truly sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it is the truth. When your hair turned blue, word of your existence managed to make it to the scattered bits of Apo’s followers. One Acolyte was dispatched to kill you but ended up killing your sister instead. It wouldn’t have been long after that that Apo and his core group of followers were captured. Most of the rest of his followers surrendered voluntarily after that in order to receive lighter sentences. It is likely that your sister was one of the last victims of the Acolytes.”

Myra, however, continued to shake her head emphatically. Her breath was coming in gasps and tears were streaming freely down her face. Roam reached out a hand to comfort her, but she slapped it away. He recoiled slightly from the sudden outburst, and, before he could recover, Myra bolted from her chair, back across the room, and out the door.

___

As the door slammed shut, Roam sighed wearily and put his head into his hands.

What had he been thinking? Maybe he had thought that Myra was mature enough to hear the truth, but could anyone really be prepared for such a horrible string of revelations? He had told her too much in one sitting and now he feared that he had simply overwhelmed the poor girl.

Roam stood and made his way towards the door. If nothing else, he would not make her process this alone. But as he reached out for the door handle, a voice spoke up behind him.

“If I may, your Trueness, I wouldn’t go chasing after her right now.”

Turning around, he gave Mola a pained look.

“And why would you suggest that? Did you see how upset she was? I was a fool for telling her so much.”

With a shrug, Mola responded.

“With all due respect sir, yes I do think you were wrong to tell her so much at once. She’s understandably overwhelmed. But I don’t think you should be the one to attempt to comfort her right now. I imagine that, as we speak, she is heading home to confront her father about what you have just told her. Even if it’s awful, and I do imagine it will be, you need to let them work this out alone.”

Slowly, Roam let his hand fall from the handle.

“I…you’re right Ms. Mola.”

He slumped against the door and hung his head.

“I’ve made a mess and now all I can do is sit by and watch the consequences.”

Mola crossed the room and took the old Storyteller’s arm and guided him back to a chair.

“Have a little faith, your Trueness. Myra is likely stronger than either of us can know. I think she’ll make it through this.”