Chapter 3: Sworn to the Great Spirit

The southern continent village had settled into a reliable routine. Wake up at the screech of the Rahkshi, grab the tools and head outside. Work under the curtain of darkness for a dozen hours or more, and try not to attract any attention. Stay away from the unauthorized areas, and don’t provoke the Rahkshi. Return to bed and get what sleep was possible, before doing it all over again.

The first few days had been rough. When the Rahkshi arrived, there were those who resisted, and fought back against the will of Makuta. Those rebels had been used to demonstrate that Rahkshi were not only cruel, but creative in their punishments. After that, most villagers had been happy to adapt to the new routine. Taking a break, eating or drinking outside mealtimes, or even looking up from the task at hand - these were dangerous things. Sooner or later, the Rahkshi found out, and then there was no routine, not anymore. There wasn’t anything left when the Rahkshi found out.

So when the sound of marching boots and the cries of war-Rahi rumbled from the edge of the village, no one looked up to greet them. No one set down their tool or craned their neck to get a better view. No one even wondered who or what had come to the village; probably it was just a battalion of Makuta’s soldiers coming through, in which case it was even more important to stick to the routine.

People only started to notice when the sounds of battle rang out, and the Rahkshi began to screech in anger and excitement. The laborors looked up to see a white-armored warrior leap from his steed to meet the Rahkshi in battle. He drew his blades, jagged and sharp like giant teeth, and rushed towards the strongest Rahkshi. While his allies mobbed the other Rahkshi, the white warrior slammed into the overseer, roaring from behind his watery helm. The Rahkshi raised its staff to defend itself, but the warrior’s toothy blades cleaved through the metal, breaking the Rahkshi’s power and leaving it defenseless. Screaming, it burst open its faceplate and tried to eject its kraata. The slug wriggled out, right into the claws of its adversary. Snatching up the kraata, the warrior held it high as a trophy - then closed his fist and crushed it into a splatter of antidermis. Moments later, the other Rahkshi had gone the same way.

One by one, the villagers stopped working and looked around. Warriors of all shapes and sizes had occupied the town, standing over the ruined shells of the Rahkshi they’d defeated. Sheathing their weapons, they now turned and bowed to the white-armored warrior, stepping into the village square with all the confidence of a born leader.

Pridak surveyed the villagers through his breathing helmet. Dejected as they were, he could see that they were a resilient bunch, strong and dutiful. They would make good soldiers.

“People of the Great Spirit, hear me!”

He had their attention; now it was time to put that attention to use. “A pretender to power has banished our leader, and now misuses our lands. The Toa have gone into hiding. The Order of Mata Nui has vanished. In these times of trial, who has the courage to stand up and fight for what is theirs? To fight for the Great Spirit?”

Pridak gave the signal. Behind him, the flag-bearers hoisted the banner of the Six Kingdoms high into the air. “Your elders may recognize this symbol. In ages past, it stood for unity! For order! For devotion to the Great Spirit, and to his appointed rulers - the Barraki!

“Yes, you know of them: the leaders chosen by the Great Spirit, who joined the separate kingdoms into one League,” Pridak explained, looking out at the captivated crowd. “For a time, they ruled over a unified empire of the Great Spirit, in an age of peace and prosperity for all. But that era was cut short when the Barraki vanished. Confused and leaderless, the kingdoms fell apart, and returned to their squalid state of turmoil and warfare.

“For 80,000 years, the world has been ignorant of the Barraki’s fates - until today!” Pridak yelled. “Now, I have come to tell you what befell those divine rulers. They were sabotaged… undone… captured and imprisoned, ruined by an envious fool, the very same conniving creature that now calls himself your ruler: the Makuta!”

A gasp of shock and outrage rushed through the crowd. Behind his helm, Pridak grinned. “Yes!” he cried. “Makuta ambushed them in the night, and condemned them to an eternity of punishment in the Pit! But the Barraki, chosen of the Great Spirit, were not so easily constrained. They survived… they persevered… and now…”

Pridak raised his claws to his head and undid the clasps. Gasping through his gills, he removed his helmet and bared his fanged, yet regal countenance to the crowd.

“I am Barraki Pridak,” he proclaimed. “I am one of those chosen few, the appointed leaders of the free people of the Great Spirit. I saw Makuta’s treachery firsthand… I endured the hardships of 80,000 years… and now I have returned, to claim vengeance for the Great Spirit!”

Quickly, Pridak buckled the helmet and drew a deep breath of water. “It was Makuta himself who murdered that age of unity and elegance, and damned this world to millennia of wretched war! And now he - that plotting, treacherous, power-hungry monster - has exiled your Great Spirit! He has claimed your lands and territories! He has even demanded your service and worship!

“This despicable creature has schemed against the Great Spirit and his chosen for all of eternity, and now he sits upon his throne and thinks himself our ruler. Who will allow him to do so? Will you? Will you cower like the Toa, and let Makuta make mockeries of your courage and fortitude? Or will you rise to meet the challenge! Will you take up arms! Will you fight for what you know is right - for the Great Spirit! For Mata Nui!”

There was a moment of powerful, resonant silence. Then, with the weight of a thousand words, one crafter threw down her hammer into the dust. The sound echoed through the town.

Another hammer hit the ground. Then another tool, and another, and another and another and another. Smiths abandoned their forges, and drivers disembarked. Crafters stepped away from their unfinished projects and exchanged their tools for weapons.

“Rise, soldiers of the Great Spirit!” Pridak exhorted. “Take up your arms and fall into line. Ready your fighting arm and let divine vengeance grow within you!”

His officers were among the crowd, directing them, herding them into lines and columns. In a matter of minutes, a town of workers had become an armed, angry, and dangerous regiment. From his perch atop the platform, Pridak gave a hungry grin, and thrust his blade into the air.

“We march!”

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Ehlek felt a simple joy as he swam further into the depths of the Silver Sea. This was his true home, here in these warm, bountiful waters, not the cold, black waters of the Pit. Here were his comrades, his creatures… and his armies. The Matoran, the Makuta, and all the other land-dwellers thought themselves Mata Nui’s chosen… but the sea was larger than the land, and home to more powerful beings by far.

He had already traveled to the hidden enclaves beneath Zakaz, and the sunken palaces of the other oceans. All who lived there had agreed to join him. Not all would survive the trials of war, of course… but they were many, they were strong, and few enemies expected an attack from underwater. When all was said and done, Pridak might no longer be the leader of the Barraki.

His army stood waiting off the shores of Karzahni, but Ehlek had one last summons to make. His search was based on apocryphal records and half-remembered stories, but recent rumors from Metru Nui had convinced him his quarry still lurked in the dark parts of the ocean. He only needed to find them, and call them to action.

Through the eyeholes of a Kanohi Zatth, pillaged from his latest raid, Ehlek saw the kelp-tangled shrine he sought. His tri-talons made short work of the barrier, and then he stood in the ancient spot as the prophecies had said. The equipment was there, ready and waiting for the Zatth. Almost reverently, he placed the mask on the idol’s weathered face.

The mask glowed, and Ehlek felt a shudder emanate through his body and the shrine. As the shrine’s mechanisms echoed and amplified the mask’s power, a wave of unseen energy rippled through the ocean.

Somewhere, in the furthest corners of the ocean, something stirred. Something huge.

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Even as his skiff’s speed sent white spray surging into the air around him, Kopaka kept a keen eye pointed ahead, using his mask to pierce the chilling fog. The air around him was far colder than that of Stelt or Metru Nui. Except for the hum of the boat’s engine, silence reigned over the water. On the open sea, he was utterly and completely alone. Despite the circumstances, he felt a gentle comfort in his solitude.

It couldn’t last. Kopaka was jolted out of his reverie by a shudder in the water, and barely kept a hand on his controls. Steadying his skiff, he looked starboard and saw an enormous shape rumbling through the water, headed straight for him.

Thinking quickly, Kopaka swerved the skiff into the path of the water. Shooting under the crest of the great wave, he raised his weapon and released a pulse of elemental ice, freezing the water in its tracks and buying himself just enough time to dart out of its path. His skiff moved out of the wave’s shadow just as it toppled and fell into the ocean with a crash.

To Kopaka’s surprise, that was the end of it. The waters did not turn on him, but the disturbance simply kept moving, headed due northeast. That… wasn’t Makuta’s doing, he realized.

He activated his mask and peered through the waters, then quickly wished he hadn’t. Something huge, something unbelievably vast, was moving through the ocean, headed inexorably towards the lands of the Matoran.

Kopaka felt torn. His instincts told him this monster had to be stopped, before it could harm any of the Matoran. But he had a job to do here, and logic told him that if the creature disrupted Matoran labor, Makuta would put a stop to it. Still, it hardly felt right to leave protecting the Matoran to Makuta.

With a heavy heart, Kopaka turned and steered the boat onwards, into the icy waters of the south.