And it had gone on too long.
Asanali’s warriors had taken the night battles because they were less affected by the freezing air, and their still forms lay huddled in the trees behind Lyn. Eili had tried to bring a squadron around to attack Thinir’s flanks, and Emery had taken the archers to try to gain the higher ground. Lyn had not heard from either team in several hours, and though she had waited as long as she could, she needed to end this.
Setting her jaw, Lyn readied her voice for a phrase she’d never expected to utter again.
“Retreat.” Her whisper seemed alien, even to her, and she tried again. “Retreat! Fall back!” She willed her voice to carry over the din of battle as she turned her horse back toward the tree line. “Retreat!”
Terrified girls turned to run at her call, only to fall beneath the ever-advancing criukli blades. Lyn growled from her saddle, hacking at a Croeli helm before her. It split and fell beneath her fantoii, splattering brains and blood onto her horse’s barding.
She grimaced and turned to another foe. The enemy came at her in a tidal wave.
The Faoii weren’t going to get out of this. They would die here. Still hacking with her blade, Lyn could only pray that somehow Kaiya could succeed where they had failed. She could only pray that somehow, somewhere, this could all end.
Screaming rang in her ears, and the stench of blood and melted flesh burnt her nose. But there was something else, too— sunflowers. Dew. A flute.
Somehow, above the din of battle, Illindria’s presence still prevailed. And that, above all, sickened Lyn. Did She still believe even when Her followers had all given up all hope? Illindria had always taught the Faoii not to retreat, not to give up. And yet, what else could they do?
Lyn clenched her blade and hacked at another foe. He kept coming, and she hacked again, giving the woman in front of him a chance to run.
“I’m sorry, Great Goddess Illindria. But I cannot do what You ask of me.” She was about to turn and follow the fleeing maiden to the tree line when something caught her eye.
There, on a hilltop, wrapped in a black cloak, a single Croeli stood, watching the battle from behind his masked helm. He was motionless, a stone monolith surveying the progression of the slaughter below.
Rage filled Lyn in a red cyclone that beat against her breast and filled her gut with raw tension. Was this Croeli bastard so sure of their victory that he did not even feel the need to raise his sword? Was he so sure of their utter destruction that he felt he could simply sit atop his hill and watch as though it were a play performed for his benefit? She screamed and spurred her horse.
If they were to lose here, then so be it. But she would forsake the Goddess’s love before she let an enemy mock their last moments with his inactivity. By the Eternal Blade, the Faoii deserved a true enemy in this final confrontation. Every Croeli would fight tooth and nail for that final victory.
Every. Single. One.
Lyn rode up almost to within blade length of the Croeli on the hill before he even seemed aware of her. Her fantoii was slick with the gore of those that had stood between her and her target, but she did not even notice as she raised it for its final strike. The Croeli’s dull eyes flicked toward her. Too late. With a smirk, Lyn realized that there was fear in those eyes—a sudden understanding that the other warriors did not share. For a moment, the dark eyes flashed blue, pale as ice, then filled with a rage that rivaled even her own. It’s not enough, you bastard. Lyn lobbed the horned head off at the neck. The body slumped as she turned away.
Finally, the screaming began. Screams of pain and terror filled the air as Croeli dropped their poisoned blades and grasped at the oozing wounds that littered their skin. Many tumbled to the ground, exhausted and broken from a fight that had not affected them until now.
It seemed to Lyn that hours passed before she truly understood what was happening. By then, most of the remaining Faoii had already retreated to the protection of the forest, but those that remained gained the advantage. The enemy moved differently now—guarded. Aware. They were poorly organized without their unspoken orders, and Lyn realized that most of them were thin, barely able to lift their weapons. Like cattle, they fell beneath the Faoii force.
The tides changed quickly then. While the Croeli continued to swing their criukli, it became painfully obvious that these were not warriors. Less than an hour passed before the Faoii had felled those that left them no choice and captured the rest, encircling their prisoners in a bloody wreath of short swords and longbows. The field was littered with bodies, and the metallic smell of blood washed over everything.
There were not many Cleroii in Lyn’s army, but the few healers they had worked with Asanali’s tribe to help those left alive on the field. There were not many. The Croeli’s new poison was terrify ing, and most women had already ceased their screaming, staring blankly at a sky that seemed too dark for midday. Those who had not yet succumbed could only cry and moan, vomiting in pain and terror as their skin boiled off in ribbons. These women were offered quick, merciful deaths by their sisters.
Lyn gave orders without faltering, cleaning up the last tattered remains of battle as she waited for news. Eili, Asanali, and Emery were all found, and they gathered around one of the wagons left standing. Emery looked down momentarily at the steady stream of blood that oozed from one bicep, his face grey, but said nothing and took his place on a fallen log at the edge of their improvised circle. It wasn’t until he moved his arm into the campfire light that Lyn saw the fletching protruding from his leather armor. The arrowhead poking out from the other side dripped steadily with blood.
“We were so close to capturing that hill,” he said, catching her gaze. His grin was weak but triumphant. “I couldn’t very well stop firing, could I?” He winced as he tried to rotate his arm slowly. “I . . . uh . . . I might have aggravated it a bit, ma’am.”
Eili barked out a laugh. “Ya got an arrow through yer arm and ya kept firin’. ‘Aggravated’ indeed. We’ll make a Faoii out of ya yet, boy.” The older woman’s voice was rough and mirthful, but Lyn caught the tremor of rage in her gaze as she eyed the arrow’s shaft. Her eye glared darkly in the direction of the Croeli prisoners.
Lyn was not sure when the band of Faoii had accepted Emery as one of their own, but there was no denying that they all cared about him. He might have been quiet and withdrawn, but he was also sturdy and loyal. Of course he would worry more about capturing a hill than about his own pain. Faoli. That’s what Kaiya had called Tendaji. A masculine conjugation to what had always been feminine. There was no doubt that Emery was Faoli too.
The sudden reminder of Faoii-Kaiya’s absence pulled Lyn back to the present. She drew her mouth into a thin line.
“Faoii-Asanali, see to him.” Lyn only gave Asanali a passing glance as the bronze woman moved to cut off the archer’s leathers and tunic. Eili, however, stared steadily for a little longer until she was satisfied with Asanali’s administrations. Lyn fisted her hands and bowed her head to the older Faoii when their eyes met.
“Faoii-Eili, I know you must be angry. I ordered the retreat without receiving orders. But if you’ll hear me out . . .” Eili drew her pale eyebrows together in irritation.
“Quiet, girl. Now’s not the time for self-pity. Ya did fine and ya know it.” Lyn brought her head up sharply, surprised and pleased. She refrained from smiling, however. No reason to make it obvious.
“The War Watcher should be pleased as well,” Asanali said. “It was the silky-haired Lyn that cut off the snake’s head and allowed the body to shed the wicked skin that had it enshrouded. The War Watcher offered this victory through her shining blade.”
“War Watcher?” Lyn glanced at Asanali. “I thought you called the Goddess ‘She Who Speaks in Dreams.’”
“Today She is not speaking in dreams,” Asanali responded matter-of-factly.
Lyn chuckled and was about to reply but stopped short. Her smile disappeared at a sudden choking groan and quick, harsh breathing. She turned back in time t
o see Asanali drop a bloody arrowhead into the snow.
“Hush now. The life pond is not ready to reclaim you yet.” Taking Emery’s shuddering shoulder in one hand, Asanali wrapped her long, bronze fingers around the drenched fletching of the shaft. Slowly, methodically, she pulled the remains of the arrow from his arm, the skin tugging against the wood and blood oozing down her dark hand. Then it exited with an inaudible shuck, and Asanali moved quickly to bind the gaping hole that remained. Emery’s breath came in quick gasps, but she only smiled. “Hush, hush, Light Arrow. You will live to draw your bow again. Breathe easy.”
“Light Arrow?” Emery chuckled through clenched teeth. “I kind of like that. Thank you, ma’am.” He gasped again as Asanali set her palm against his shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.
“It is a fine name,” Asanali replied. “I was going to call you ‘ma’am-caller.’”
Eili barked out a laugh, and Emery offered a pained grin.
“I’m just glad that they don’t coat their arrows like they do their swords, or I’d be gone already,” he managed through clenched teeth. Asanali’s smiled faded and she nodded.
“It is a dark brew indeed. Not of this world. It smells of blood magic and despair—the work of a vengeful god left to his own dreams for too long.”
Eili raised her remaining eyebrow as Asanali spoke. “Actually, that’s a fine thing to muse about.” The blonde Faoii turned to Asanali and Lyn, her scarred face pulled into a scowl. “This poison is different than what we’ve seen before. Do we have any idea as ta why?”
Asanali’s response was quiet but sure. “It is tonicloran.”
“Tonicloran?” Lyn screeched. “They used tonicloran against us?” She clenched her fists.
Asanali nodded. “The horned wolves have crossed a river that even the vilest serpent would not breach.”
“Tonicloran.” Eili shook her head. “Were we such a threat that they would stoop to that?” She looked toward the dead scattered on the field. “Eternal Blade. They were only girls. What did they do to deserve tonicloran?”
“I don’t know.” Lyn shook her head. “But someone has to.” She called two young Faoii to her. “Find a prisoner that knows about the poison they coated their blades with. Bring him to me. Let’s make all this death mean something.”
30
Almost an hour passed. Lyn and Eili helped Asanali administer to Emery as best they could before guiding him to the wagon to let him rest. Twice Eili tried a Cleroii song, but to no avail. The women did not know whether the tonicloran-tainted blood had sucked the magic from the field or whether it was only Eili’s heavy heart that dampened the song’s power. Dissatisfied, the aging Faoii had offered her cloak to the archer and prayed for his health. He was asleep now, his face grey but peaceful. Asanali had assured Lyn that there would be no fever and that he would recover completely in time.
Lyn was about to go looking for the women she had sent when they came into view, dragging a struggling Croeli between him.
“We are sorry for taking so long, Faoii,” one of them said, bowing her head. “The Croeli don’t seem to want to talk about the poison. But this one might know something.”
Lyn and Eili both turned to the Croeli. The man at their feet was thicker and sturdier than the other prisoners, but he raved madly, his voice hoarse and his eyes wild.
“Kill me! Kill me!” His plea was sharp and angry, though there was terror hidden there as well. Lyn peered down her nose at him and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Why are you so desperate to die, Croeli scum?”
“It’s not over. It will never be over.” He pulled against the women that still held him by the arms, thrashing wildly. They restrained him with a surprisingly collected agility. “They’ll assign a new lieutenant and it won’t matter anymore. All of us that you refused to kill? That mercy you hold in such high regard? That will be the death of you—and us! Thinir will call us back to the other side and bind us again. The cycle will continue, and you will fall. We’ll all fall!” He fought to bring his hands up in a pleading gesture, though it was somewhat less effective while the Faoii restrained his arms. When he realized his helplessness, he sagged, and the rage in his voice ebbed slightly.
“Please . . . Please, Faoii. Kill me with your fantoii. Or give me my own poisoned blade. I’d rather die that terrible death than be controlled again. Please.”
Lyn narrowed her eyes, and her words were biting. “Maybe I should. You’re willing to suffer through the tonicloran death? So be it.” She motioned to the corpses on the field. “You showed no mercy to them. Why should I?”
A sad, sobbing laugh escaped his lips as he dropped his head. “No mercy? No mercy?” The edges of hysteria crept back into his features. “You don’t understand, Faoii. Not at all. The poison was our way of saving you from our fate. It was merciful.”
Lyn barely registered the words. All she heard were her sisters’ terrified, agonized screams. All she saw were the boils and ribbons of flesh. Her eyes filled with fire, and she grabbed the Croeli by an ear and dragged him a few strides toward the field. Asanali and Eili trailed behind.
Lyn stopped in front of one of the dead Faoii, her red, blistered body left uncovered beneath the noonday sun. The young woman’s lifeless eyes stared imploringly at the Croeli as Lyn shoved him forward. He stumbled toward his former enemy, staring at the ruined flesh that had been flayed like a fish’s scales. Lyn’s voice practically dripped acid when she spoke.
“Merciful? Look carefully, Croeli. This is what your mercy has done. The criukli poison was one thing. But this . . . You turned to the most hated of all poisons. You deserve far worse than death.” The Croeli stared, his face ashen. He licked his lips once before replying.
“The old poison was not potent enough. It used to be able to burn out the sound of the bells, but he grew stronger. He overcame it. You couldn’t die free. You got up, picked up your blade, and followed his will. But the tonicloran . . . it burns out the bells’ cry.” He suddenly grasped at his head and yanked at his hair.
“Curse those damned bells! They drive your mind to the other side, and when you come back, your thoughts aren’t yours! You just . . . follow. They bring you to your new lieutenant. They bind their blood to your blade so you can cut down new recruits. Then the salve we weren’t given before, the tonicloran . . . it becomes our bane. It’s adulterated, tarnished. Made into a drink. And it doesn’t kill you like it should. It just opens up a door you’re not supposed to go through; makes you Blink. And you’re his.”
The Croeli’s voice rose to a screech as he spoke faster, seemingly afraid that he wouldn’t have a chance to finish. His wild eyes rolled in their sockets. “The tonicloran is supposed to kill you. It was supposed to be our salvation. It was supposed to kill us all. It’s not supposed to be made into doors that he can control. It’s not supposed to make you into his slave. But he’s tarnished it. Now Thinir only has to control a dozen people, and each of those can control a hundred more. It spreads across the land like a spider’s web, like a plague. Like the wind.
“We don’t feel pain or fear. We see our target and we destroy it. But we can still feel the bars, hear his bells. We know we’re trapped. And it’s the part of us that knows the truth that wants to escape. It’s that part of us that turns our eyes and hearts to something else. Something quiet. Panpipes. Flutes. Sunflowers. We focus on those things. Whatever it is that lets us hear those songs, smell those scents . . . that’s what lets us gather the poisoned leaves scattered across the fields and roads. That’s what lets us resist Thinir’s will long enough to brew our poison and dip our blades. That’s what lets us pray that it gets to you before he does. We use those songs to turn his instrument of enslavement—his tonicloran—into the key to your release.” He cackled wildly, sobbing through his teeth. Faoii-Eili came up behind him, her face pulled together in a scowl.
“Ya keep saying yer able to resist Thinir despite his power. That the Goddess finds ya anyway. What else do ya kn
ow?” The Croeli sobbed harder.
“There are rumors… and cut me with the broken blade if I don’t believe it…All of this—the bells and the sunflowers, the willpower that keeps us out of his reach—it’s all because of a Faoii!” He laughed, and the sound was wild. “I grew up hating your kind, and yet I am more grateful to her than anyone alive. A Faoii saved all those out there on that field. She saved everyone! And if you give me back my blade, she’ll save me, too!”
His laughter became more maniacal, and it grated against Lyn’s eardrums. She turned away from the mad Croeli, her skin crawling. “Take him back to the others. Do not harm him.” The two Faoii picked him up by his arms and carried him away. His laughter echoed in his absence.
“Do you think any of it’s true?” Lyn asked Eili.
“Who can tell? He seems ta have a few cogs loose. Maybe he ain’t even sure of what he’s sayin’.”
“Maybe the others know more.” Lyn glanced up at the sky. “We’ve got some time to question them. The soldiers need to rest anyway. And we need to determine the true extent of our casualties. It will be a few days before we leave here. Let’s bury our dead and see what there is to do for the living.”
The Last Faoii Page 24