The Last Faoii

by Tahani Nelson

  “To the capital,” she finally decided. “The Faoii don’t have a lot of political strength behind the king’s walls, but we’re still respected as diplomats. If I’m quick, I can warn the capital before Thinir sets his eyes on it.” Kaiya did not stoop to call the sorcerer by his title. “With the king’s help, I can rally against these . . . beasts.”

  “It seems a good plan. Goddess guide your footfalls, Faoii.”

  “And yours as well.”

  Ray arrived with Kaiya’s horse. She thanked him and mounted silently. The beast perked its ears forward and pranced uneasily in the Goddessless street.

  “How much do I owe you for the stable?”

  “Nothing, Faoii. The proprietor asks only for your blessing as you pass, if you would be willing to give it to a man who has removed the Goddess’s symbol from his windows.”

  Kaiya frowned. “He wasn’t the one who tarnished Illindria’s name here. I can’t blame him for choosing obedience over death.”

  Astrid smiled sadly. “Nor can I, but I wish he’d come with us now that we have an idea of what to do. We can take the horses you have offered and make our living far from here. In the country, we can hang our symbols and feel Her protection again. But Leonard . . . he won’t leave his stable and his smithy. His wife is buried in our graveyard, and he’s still hoping his children will come back some day. Resting Oak is his home.”

  “I understand.” Kaiya smiled warmly at the poor couple. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask the Eternal One to watch over your friend.”

  As Kaiya spoke, it dawned on her that she was Cleroii now too—worthy of singing Illindria’s songs of praise and glory. But more importantly, she was Preoii. She could truly bless people and not worry about insulting Illindria with a tongue unworthy of Her voice. As the last of her Order, Faoii- Kaiya took on all of its roles.

  The thought was frightening, but she didn’t let them see.

  *~*

  The streets of Resting Oak were quiet. Rain pattered softly, dampening the smell of ash. Most of the villagers ducked their heads as Kaiya passed, peeking out from beneath their brows in shock or shame. Kaiya read all the signs. The eyes that used to show awe or reverence were now chagrined as they appraised the Faoii. Many knew what she was, but none dared to even hail her.

  Kaiya tried to bury the feeling of betrayal as she moved forward. Mostly, she felt pity. It was like she was riding through a graveyard, the people around her only shades. Did they feel the chill in the air or see each other as they passed? Could they remember what laughter was, though it had only been two days since this gloom had fallen?

  Rather than being offended, Kaiya ached for these people. But she could not defeat the Croeli by herself, and any mention of the Goddess would only bring a gruesome death by the hands of the Resting Oak’s new overlords. If she stopped to right the evils here, Kaiya knew she’d never reach the king or stop Thinir.

  With straight shoulders but a heavy heart, Kaiya rode through a town that was letting itself die and, worse, was preparing to bow to the people wielding the blade.

  *~*

  The smith was not hard to find, though Kaiya had never sought him out in her travels here—the Faoii crafted their own blades and armor. She heard the steady clank, clank, clank, of a hammer on anvil long before she saw the open shop, little more than a roof on raised support beams. She slowed her gelding as they approached.

  A huge man with arms bulging from tattered sleeves stood behind the anvil, his hammer releasing a remorseful, continuous toll. His braided beard was greying, but his arm still rippled with the force of each mallet strike. Kaiya gave a cursory glance to the aging smith, prepared to whisper a blessing as she went on her way, but she found herself frozen under the piercing gaze of Leonard’s too-bright eyes. An overwhelming flood of sorrow and regret rippled out from him, washing over her even from across the street.

  Stunned, the Faoii gripped her reins and watched flashes of a life that was not hers dance sporadically over the damp cobblestones. A wife who had loved the Goddess and crafted delicate tapestries in Her honor. Two children who had sat on the crates in the back of the shop and watched the hammer fall rhythmically before growing up and moving on. A grave with an iron Goddess symbol at its head, crafted by the smith himself. A rainy night and bloody hands tearing the marker from the ground. A broken edge. A tortured cry.

  Kaiya saw all these pictures in a span of seconds but didn’t have to ask in order to know that the Croeli had demanded the tombstone of Leonard’s wife destroyed. Even now the smith hammered the Goddess’s symbol into an indiscernible mass of iron on the very forge that had crafted it in the beginning. Astrid hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that the Croeli had forbidden any sign of the Goddess’s existence. They didn’t even hold grave markers sacred. And yet the Goddess’s presence still remained.

  Kaiya concentrated, searching for the magical domelike sense that an Illindrian symbol creates. Her ears picked up a steady dripping that did not come from the rain, and her heart sensed a glow from a fire that no longer burned. Kaiya’s eyes narrowed in on the smith’s bulging arm and saw blood drip steadily from it.

  Beneath the tattered sleeve, the Goddess’s symbol could be seen, and in another flash of memories that were not hers, she watched Leonard carve it into his own flesh with the rusted edges of his wife’s broken gravestone. Blood still dripped from the unhealed gashes. His gaze still froze her to the spot.

  Kaiya realized now why Leonard had asked for a blessing. It was not to make this life better or to feel the Goddess’s embrace during times of darkness. Leonard knew the Croeli would never overlook his self-inflicted brand. He was not looking for a sweet song of summer blessings from a Cleroii on her way out of town.

  The smith had asked for a dirge.

  As though reading Kaiya’s thoughts, Leonard gave an almost imperceptible nod and lowered his gaze back to the anvil. Kaiya closed her eyes and turned away as she felt a song gather in her throat.

  She sang quietly, trying to ignore the sound of a dozen sabatons as they rounded a corner behind her, steering toward the smithy. She turned down a side street and out of sight, resisting the urge to sing louder as the clank, clank, clank stopped abruptly and a crash of iron on stone thundered down the street. She tried to ignore the sound of someone screaming in agony.

  But it was no use. With all her heart, Kaiya wished that the song of memories and loved ones could be louder than the sound of pain and loss that rose behind her. Then, when the screaming was cut short, she wished with all her heart that the world wasn’t so silent.

  6

  If there had been anyone on the streets of Resting Oak when the commotion at the smithy started, they weren’t there now, but the town still felt full of accusing eyes. Will he join your choir, Faoii? Even after you abandoned him?Kaiya shuddered as she tried to push past the loathing in her gut. Even with Mollie at her back, she wouldn’t have been able to take down so many Croeli. She’d had no choice. The smith had chosen his fate, and she had done all she could for him.

  So why did she feel like she’d betrayed all Faoii with her lack of action?

  You were too afraid. You shouldn’t be here. Illindria should have chosen someone else.

  The accusations echoed in her head incessantly as Kaiya turned onto a street leading out of Resting Oak. Up ahead, a lone Croeli leaned against the city’s outer wall. He did not look up as Kaiya dismounted, only waved lazily for her to continue on her way.

  Kaiya kept her head down and her gelding between them as she headed through the opening in the outer wall. The Croeli was apparently unbothered by it and didn’t even raise his eyes as she passed. Kaiya stopped, suddenly infuriated by his insolence and her own previous inaction. Were the Croeli really so sure of their hold on Resting Oak that this beast could just wave her by, even in her armor and helm? Could they be so arrogant?

  Or worse—could they be right?

  They couldn’t be. They had to know that there were other monasteries in the
world, that the Monastery of the Eternal Blade would be avenged. There’s no way they could have gotten to all eight of them, right?

  No. Preoii-Aleena would have known whether the other monasteries had been attacked. Even if there wasn’t much communication among the monasteries . . . she’d know. Right?

  In truth, though, none of the eight Faoii monasteries had seen a true threat in centuries—only small skirmishes, and those were hardly reason to call another monastery for aid. Each faction was self-sufficient. In control. They’d never needed to talk to the others. Did Faoii messengers even exist?

  We became too sure. We were unprepared. The watchers at the gate, the patrols and lookouts—all these things seemed so insignificant and ineffective now. We should have been ready for an attack like this. We were overconfident.

  Only a part of Kaiya truly believed this, though, as she thought of how fiercely the chapel fight had raged, despite a group of unarmed girls facing trained assailants. She thought about the bodies she had passed in those halls; so many had been Croeli. Her sisters had done more than should have been possible. They were not weak. They had never been weak. She felt ashamed for thinking otherwise.

  “Hey there, sugar,” someone drawled, pulling Kaiya from her thoughts. “You plannin’ on goin’, or you waitin’ for me to make an offer? I got a few coins on me.” Kaiya bristled. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been lost in thought, and only now did this so-called “guard” take notice of her? And, worse, she was still hiding her face from the other side of her gelding. Why was she avoiding a fight here? She couldn’t have fought the soldiers that rounded on the smithy, but this was a solitary Croeli. One who dared mistake her for a common harlot. She’d started fights outside the chapel for less than that.

  We had no messengers. We had no fear. These men will not be as lucky.

  Kaiya’s hands clenched, and her heart raced as she stepped around her horse.

  “I am Faoii. Not ‘sugar.’” The guard’s eyes widened in surprise, but then he laughed.

  “Funny, lass. No one could escape Thinir and his soldiers. None of the previous Faoii did, and none from up that mountain coulda, either. So my guess is ya found out the Faoii bitches were gone, and ya decided to strap on some armor that’s too big for ya and call yourself a warrior now that them whores ain’t able to say otherwise. Heh. Yer a little stern-lookin’ to make much money around these parts, though those pretty eyes o’ yers sure are somethin’. Never saw eyes like that on a dark girl. But if you wanna go make men’s fantasies come true since the Faoii are just stories now, ya might make yerself enough to buy yer own brothel.” His chuckle smelled of smoke and ale. “That little outfit o’ yers ain’t perfect, but it’s close enough to make some men go hard just lookin’ at you.” He grinned. “Wanna try yer first attempt at Faoii-playin’? I seen them whores when they were still alive, even played with a few when they couldn’t fight back anymore. I can help ya make yer name.” He reached out toward Kaiya, who sidestepped swiftly. His eyes narrowed, but realization came too slowly.

  Kaiya’s fantoii sprouted from his outstretched palm. The man gaped, but before he could utter a sound, her elbow was wedged against his throat, pinning him to the wall even as his eyes bugged.

  “Listen, Croeli,” Kaiya hissed, bringing a knee up against his groin. “I’m not going to kill you even though I should. Blades, I should turn you into a eunuch after what you’ve done to my sisters.” She paused. “Maybe I should anyway. Even a eunuch can be a messenger boy.” The stench of sweat and ale mixed suddenly with urine, and the knee of Kaiya’s breeches became warm and wet. The man blanched.

  “Here’s your message, filth. Go to your superiors. Go to your brothers. Go to the other murderers and rapists. Tell them that the Faoii are still alive and that they sing with the chorus of a thousand vengeful voices. My sword swings with the strength of every dead sister, and the voices will not quiet until each of you lies unburied in your own stench. I will find each one of you and cut you down. And in the end, Croeli-Thinir will stand at the base of your piled bodies, sick and weary. And I will be there to end him. You tell him that he cannot escape the choir.”

  She brought her knee up with a sudden jerk, and the man crumpled forward, his neck pressing into her elbow. He gasped audibly, trying to suck air into his lungs, but Kaiya only pressed harder, her teeth clenched in anger and disgust as she thought about this scum pleasuring himself at her sisters’ expense. She thought about Leonard’s resigned eyes as he pounded away at his wife’s burial marker and of Preoii-Aleena’s tortured body hanging from the chapel.

  His eyes streaming, the Croeli frantically tried to pry Kaiya’s arm off his throat, but she yielded nothing. His eyes bulged and his lips turned blue as his throat swelled under the pressure of her elbow. Finally, his purple tongue fell from between his lips, and Kaiya relaxed her forearm. Fantoii flashing, she released the man and pulled at his tongue. Her blade sliced through it cleanly.

  The Croeli crumpled, trying to grab both his crotch and his mouth at the same time, blood and urine spreading across the cobblestones. Kaiya flicked the swollen tongue at him as he writhed. “You will live, Croeli, and you still have most of your parts. I have been merciful. In return, you will spread my message, even without your forked tongue. Go.” Kaiya watched as the man crawled away from her, stumbling. Then she mounted and guided her gelding out of the gate.

  The capital was waiting.

  *~*

  Croeli-Thinir chuckled darkly as he peered into the chalice’s inky water. The Faoii, Kaiya, had fought him bravely in her chapel. But she was young. Inexperienced. Weak. She was filled with hatred and anger now, but that would fade. Soon, she would return to the Faoii’s more natural temperament. They had all grown soft around the eyes, quick to smile and slow to anger. She had no concept of what her land needed, what the people needed. She was Faoii, there was no denying that, but the Faoii had grown indulgent in their unopposed reign. She might have had the steel to tear down her enemies, but that willingness to fight was never forefront in her mind. She, like the others, had grown accustomed to ease.

  He sneered into the chalice, spitting into the dark water. The image faded, and his own reflection glowered back at him. How could it be that he knew so much more about this child than she knew herself? Had her precious Preoii kept so much from her?

  Even after all that he had accomplished, it had not surprised Thinir that this would be the Faoii to stand against him when all others fell. After all, he knew of her, knew the traits that she herself did not realize she possessed. It was only fitting that she should continue through the maze that he had steadily built over the last decade. She was the most fitting piece in the puzzle.

  He was sure that her parents would agree, and that made him smile.

  Thinir ordered the refurbished slave in front of him to remove the goblet as he drummed his fingers on his blade.

  The Faoii Order was sick, festering. Its injuries were covered and decorated with silken finery, but the wounds below oozed with decay. The people “protected”—“ruled” would be a better term—by the Faoii Order smiled as they stabbed each other in dark, fetid alleyways, far from the influence of the “all-encompassing” light of the monasteries. In the Faoii’s quest to protect the citizens of the heartland, the women had forgotten justice.

  They hid in their chapels and offered prayers or songs that did nothing to feed their people. Meanwhile, in the villages, the sickness showed itself.

  In a land that had grown accustomed to having more than its share, the people had acquired a taste for wealth. The Faoii had the power to make sure that it was doled out evenly so no one starved while another thrived. But they did not. Instead, they sang, they prayed, and they failed.

  He could fix that. His people were starving, but all starved equally. When the Faoii lands were in his control, there would be balance. All people would have enough to eat. All would have enough land to live in comfort. He clenched his fist until his palm bled, think
ing of the acres of unsown pastures around the Faoii holds.

  By the rich Goddess’s broken blade, those lands would belong to his people.

  Thinir chuckled again as he pulled an elaborately carved ebony box from beneath his seat. Defeating the eighth and final monastery had gone better than he had expected. Puzzle pieces he had not foreseen had settled into place with only the smallest push. Setting the box on his knees, he lifted the lid slowly. A simple bronze dagger rested on a velvet pillow, the blade still coated with rust-colored blood.

  He had been correct in his assumption that Aleena would heal Kaiya-Faoii before the others. The Preoii’s prolonged death had served him far better than a simple beheading would have. It had been a stroke of luck—no, not luck; it was in her blood, after all—that the Faoii Kaiya had reached him in her fury. That he had been able to plant his blade in her belly so readily.

  And then the soft-eyed Aleena had healed her and sent her on her way.