Soul of the Prophet: The Elder of Edon Book I

by David Angelo

  “Wahsmit, please,” Rocklier said, placing a hand on Black-Tooth’s shoulder. “You told Kaw-Ki to send a garrison of troops if we’re not back by midnight. And let me remind you that they’re on the fastest horses we possess.”

  “Yeah,” Black-Tooth said. “That’s if they manage to get here before we’re dead, and if they’re able to fight off Tec’s guards.” Black-Tooth turned to face Fin. “I’m not kidding when I say that these Faranchilldons are a force to be reckoned with. These aren’t the run-of-the-mill grunts that we’re used to dealing with. They’re fierce warriors, the same ones who trained Kaw-Ki to become one of the best archers in all of Edon. And they all hate our guts.”

  Black-Tooth turned back to the road.

  “Why stop there?” Chinaw said. “We could mention that the sun’s about to go down and that this area is a prime location for an ambush. But I digress. If they had the opportunity to spring on us, they would’ve done it by now. They’ll wait till we arrive at their camp before they lop our heads off.”

  “True, true,” Black-Tooth replied. “Knowing Tec, he’d want to be present for our execution.”

  “Would you two shut the hell up?” Rocklier said. “We’re about to cross over into Tec-Nan’s turf.”

  The wagon stopped near a tree at the edge of the road that looked as though it was being used as a territory marker. A wooden board nailed to its trunk warned “Trespassers Enter at Their Own Risk” in crude red letters. Next to the sign, hanging from a branch, was a cluster of round, tan objects bound by rope in a way that made them look like grapes hanging from a vine. Fin mistook them for gourds at first glance, but a closer look revealed that, to his utter disgust, they were the skulls of Faranchies and Cullidons. Strands of rope twisted through their empty eye sockets, holding them together in a freakish display of Tec-Nan’s contempt for outsiders.

  “That’ll keep most fools away,” Chinaw said.

  “You said ‘most fools,’” Fin said. “You trying to imply something?”

  “Maybe,” Chinaw said.

  “In that case,” Fin said, “what are we?”

  “We’re fucked,” Kyu said.

  Rocklier stood up and tapped Black-Tooth on the shoulder. “It’s not too late to go back,” he said. “We still haven’t entered his territory just yet.”

  Black-Tooth seemed to consider this as he and the rest of the crew looked beyond the tree and into the woods ahead. Out there, Fin thought, everything belonged to Tec-Nan. A world unto itself that not even parliament could claim. Above them the sun was sinking below the horizon, and the stars were beginning to twinkle. Driving down this road would be dangerous at any time of day, but at night it would be harder to tell if they were being stalked.

  Fin was about to suggest that they could renegotiate the meeting, perhaps to happen during the day or on neutral ground. But before he could even open his mouth, Black-Tooth lashed the reins, and the wagon started up again. Without saying a word, he had seemingly made up his mind, much to everyone’s dismay.

  As the wagon drove deeper into Tec-Nan’s stomping grounds, the woods seemed to swallow them. Everything about this part of the world seemed to make Fin anxious. The roads were rougher than before, and every bump felt like a potential booby trap. Peering into the wild thicket of trees, through the dim blue haze of early twilight, Fin thought he saw figures running between them. He knew that they were probably his imagination, a product of a mind warped by apprehension. But then again there wasn’t any way to know for sure. Faranchilldons were known for their ability to sneak up on others who weren’t paying attention, much like Kaw-Ki had snuck up on Black-Tooth on the day they first met.

  And Fin couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, from above, from below, from a distance.

  The wagon came to a dead stop, and Fin saw that the trail had been blocked by a fallen tree up ahead that was too large to go around.

  “Looks like we’re taking this on foot from here,” Black-Tooth said.

  “What about the horses?” Kyu asked.

  “They’ll have to fend for themselves,” Black-Tooth said. “Hopefully they won’t be eaten by the time we get back.”

  Suddenly, the silence of night was broken by a loud whistle that cut through the woods. Fin squeezed his nail and braced himself for the attack.

  “We don’t eat horses,” someone said.

  A young Faranchilldon male got up from behind the tree and rested his leg on the trunk, his knee bent. A white loincloth was wrapped around his waist. Cryptic symbols and elaborate designs had been stamped into the fabric with dark dye. The Faranchilldon carried a blunderbuss, which he rested on his knee, the barrel aimed directly at them.

  Fin heard a click as he pulled the hammer back.

  “What brings you here, purebreds?” the Faranchilldon said. Judging from the pitch of his voice, which had not yet cracked, the Faranchilldon was barely a teenager.

  Black-Tooth cleared his throat. “My name is Black-Tooth, and we’re here to see your leader, Tec-Nan.”

  The boy hesitated, his eyes narrowing at the wagon. He stepped off the log and lowered the gun’s barrel.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  “And our horses?” Black-Tooth asked.

  “We’ll take care of them,” the boy said. “Contrary to what you might’ve heard, horses are far too valuable for us to use them as food. We only ever consume them in times of desperation, which we are not in right now. Also, as a word to the wise, we find that stereotype to be highly offensive, so please don’t repeat it when we’re in earshot, unless you want to lose an eye.”

  “Well excuse me,” Chinaw mumbled sarcastically.

  “What was that?” the boy asked, peering over at the wagon.

  “Please pardon my friend,” Black-Tooth said, giving Chinaw a dirty look. “For all his talents, tact is not one of them.”

  The boy glared at them, then turned and walked up the road. Fin and the others climbed off the wagon and followed. He looked back and saw a group of Faranchilldons emerge from the shadows and descend upon the wagon. One of them carried a bag, from which he took a carrot and gave it to one of the horses. The manner in which they moved, so silently and swiftly, all but confirmed Fin’s suspicions from earlier. From the moment they passed the tree, they had not been alone.

  “When did you settle in this location?” Rocklier asked. “The last time we came into contact with your tribe, it was farther south, in Cape Mercury.”

  “We’re still based there,” the boy said. “This is just one of many tribal lands in Tec-Nan’s control. We share it with another tribe, who built an alliance with us many years ago.”

  “Seems like a pretty powerful man,” Kyu said.

  “Indeed,” the boy said with a touch of pride. “Tec-Nan has parcels of territory all across southern Edon, and he has built allegiances with nearly every Faranchilldon tribe in existence. In fact, we happened to acquire this land not long after you took Kaw-Ki away from us.”

  The boy stopped and turned to observe all who were present.

  “By the way, where is Kaw-Ki?”

  “She’s not coming,” Black-Tooth replied sternly.

  “Tec-Nan’s not going to like the sound of that. I must warn you, he is not in the mood to be trifled with.”

  “Neither am I,” Black-Tooth said.

  The boy noticed Fin, who had tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible since they got off the wagon.

  “Tec-Nan warned us of a bloodred purebred,” the boy said, motioning toward him. “He said you would attempt to make us believe purebred lies with acts of tomfoolery. Are you who I think you are?”

  “If you meant to say the prophet,” Fin said, stepping forward, “then yes, I am the person your chief warned you about.”

  The boy raised his blunderbuss slightly. “Your acts of deception will not work on us. We see through all of the church’s lies.”

  “Then how do you explain this?” Fin said. He removed his glove, care
ful not to drop his nail, and held up his right hand. “Does this look like tomfoolery to you?”

  The boy peered at the glowing burn, then scoffed. “Purebred trickery knows no bounds. How do I know that’s not an elaborate tattoo that shines in the moonlight?”

  “Oh, trust me,” Fin said with a smirk. “Shake my hand and see for yourself.”

  Fin held out his hand, and the boy looked down at with apprehension. Finally, after a brief pause, he switched his blunderbuss to his other hand.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” the boy said.

  “It’s just a handshake,” Fin said smugly. “How hard could that be?”

  Fin could hardly contain himself as their hands came closer. Of course, he wasn’t going to hold on too long; the boy was arrogant, but he didn’t deserve to have the flesh of his hand burned off. He just wanted to send a message to the little twerp, and besides, the boy was packing iron, so it probably wasn’t a good idea to hurt him too much.

  But when the burn made contact with the Faranchilldon’s palm, nothing happened.

  “What is this?” the boy asked as he and Fin held hands awkwardly.

  Embarrassed, Fin let go. “Nothing,” he said. “Just…carry on.”

  “The ways of your kind never cease to amaze me,” the boy said. “Now, enough with the theatrics, and let’s not wear Tec-Nan’s patience any further.”

  The team continued their trek without saying a word, while Fin sulked at the back of the group and looked down at his palm, unable to understand why his burn had failed him. Rocklier fell back to where Fin was standing, obviously just as curious as he.

  “What the hell happened?” Fin asked.

  Rocklier shrugged. “Perhaps they’re not as big of a threat to us as we thought.”

  “But they don’t even believe in the Elder,” Fin said. “You’d think the Soul of the Prophet would want to give them a taste of her divine justice.”

  “We can only wonder,” Rocklier said. “Perhaps belief is irrelevant, and she only judges us based on our actions. Blizzard may be an omnipotent being, but the more I learn about her, the more I begin to realize that she sees things differently from us, not in black and white, but in shades.”

  “What are you two talking about back there?” the boy asked.

  “Nothing,” Fin replied. “My colleague and I were just talking about stuff you don’t believe in.”

  “Save it for Tec-Nan,” the boy replied. “I’m sure he’d love to hear about your smoke and mirrors.”

  Fin sighed and put his glove back on. The nail was still in place.

  A deep, rhythmic hum met them as they drew closer to the tribe’s campsite. It sounded like nothing Fin had ever heard before, an instrument that was alien to his ears. He balled his fist, the jagged part of the nail digging into his palm. He’d worked out in his head how he would use it in an adverse situation and what would happen should push come to shove. He caught a whiff of woodsmoke and knew that the camp was closer than he’d thought. Fin took a deep breath and tried to act calm, but he couldn’t help but feel tense. He clenched his jaw and walked rigidly.

  They rounded a bend in the trail and were met by two lit torches on either side of the camp’s entrance. Beyond them lay the round, bulbous shapes of over a dozen huts made from reeds and straw. They reminded Fin of the tents they used in the Fist, but these were much bigger, able to house entire families. Tall pillars of smoke wafted from squares cut into the roofs, while the amber glow of campfires spilled out onto the ground from their entrances. He could see other Faranchilldons walking between them, going about their lives, oblivious to their approaching guests. Below the ambient noises from the camp, the hum continued undeterred. As they got closer, Fin could distinctly make out another sound, a flute, accompanying the hum. The two notes worked in tandem to create a melody that was equal parts harmonious and haunting, like a song from another world.

  The activity inside the camp came to a dead stop when they passed the torches. Faranchilldons young and old dropped what they were doing and watched their every move like onlookers at a parade. Some glared; others spat on the ground. Others just looked at them blankly, more out of curiosity than malice. Fin assumed that for many, especially the younger ones, it was their first time seeing one of those damned purebreds they had been told about all their lives and taught to fear.

  It was a role reversal that Fin never thought he would ever experience.

  At first glance they all looked remarkably similar to Kaw-Ki, with teal skin; sharp dorsal spines; long, slender tails; and thick, stocky chests. But as he looked closer, Fin noticed subtle differences between each individual Faranchilldon, such as varying intensity of their skin color or minor changes in their body structure. Some had short tails, while others had long, whiplike tails that coiled around their ankles. Some had shorter, rounder faces, like a Cullidon, and others had faces that were long and slender, like a Faranchie. A few even had visible markings, usually in a darker shade of teal, resembling the patterns Faranchies typically had. And while most were teal, there were others who were of a more vibrant color palette, with reds and blues and yellows like those seen in the Faranchie community.

  Some of them had tattoos on their arms, legs, and faces. Fin assumed that they indicated rank and seniority, since only the older ones had them. The ink they used was black, and the tattoos stood out ever so subtly upon their worn and graying skin. Both men and women were among those who were inked, and it appeared that both genders shared authority equally.

  But the one thing every Faranchilldon had in common, from the children to the seniors, was that they wore the same loincloth. Fin was confused, since he had never seen Kaw-Ki wear one. Eventually, Fin’s curiosity got the best of him, and he gave Rocklier a quick nudge.

  “What’s with the loincloths?” he asked.

  “It’s traditional Faranchilldon garb,” Rocklier said, “a form of identification between members of different tribes. Each symbol represents a tribal membership, and subsequent symbols are added when tribes form allegiances or merge with one another.”

  “Does Kaw-Ki have one?” Fin asked.

  “Not anymore,” Rocklier said. “She did when she was still part of Tec’s tribe, and she wore it all the time when she first met Black-Tooth, but she burned it after she joined the resistance. It’s considered disrespectful for ex-members to wear the cloth, and they’re expected to destroy it after leaving.”

  As they walked Fin heard chatter among the Faranchilldons in a language he did not recognize or understand.

  “What are they saying?” Fin asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rocklier replied. “No one has ever bothered to translate their language before. But judging by the tone of everyone’s voice, I have a feeling that what they’re saying isn’t very nice.”

  Rocklier was right; almost every word they said was tinged with anger and resentment. Listening closely, however, Fin did recognize a few words in the Edonion language, all of them curses.

  At least that was something the two races had in common.

  The chatter intensified as the group were led to the front of a large, round hut whose entrance was draped with a curtain of multicolored beads. A large, rectangular table, made of finely polished dark wood, sat just outside the entrance, with matching chairs surrounding it on all sides.

  “How is Tec-Nan able to afford this?” Rocklier asked, admiring the table’s craftsmanship.

  “He traded for it,” the boy said. “Usually, it belongs in our meeting tent, but because purebreds are not allowed inside, we’ve moved it out here. Please be seated.”

  The boy disappeared into the hut, and the group took their seats. A few nearby Faranchilldons removed the unneeded chairs, leaving one behind for Tec-Nan. As they sat and waited patiently for the chieftain’s arrival, the humming and the flute, which Fin realized were coming from the inside of the hut, stopped abruptly. Fin had grown so used to the hum that, without it, the camp and the woods around him felt unnaturall
y quiet, save for the crackling of nearby campfires and the chirping of crickets.

  “Must have been a horn of some kind,” Rocklier whispered, “played by someone with pretty big lungs.”

  Chinaw sniggered but did not respond. The longer they waited, the worse the tension grew, and the more anxious Fin became. A rustle of the curtain caused everyone’s eyes to lock onto the entrance of the hut. The boy emerged, followed by an older male who was significantly taller, with a more imposing physique. The male said something in the native language to the boy, who nodded his head in response and ran inside.

  Rocklier nudged Fin and leaned over to whisper, “If I’m not mistaken, I think that’s Elk-Jun, Kaw-Ki’s former mate before she met Black-Tooth.”

  “On behalf of our tribe,” Elk-Jun said, “it is my pleasure to introduce to you the honorable Chief Tec-Nan.”

  Elk-Jun stepped aside, and the curtain was thrown open. A significantly older Faranchilldon exited the hut and strode toward the table with an air of exuberance. Of all the Faranchilldons who sported tattoos, he had the most extravagant and diverse. Streaks of dark ink covered his face and upper body like the lines on a map. He’d even managed to get his right eyeball tattooed, his pupil an inky sea of black within his iris. It made for a disturbing sight that Fin at first mistook for a trick of the light. But no, rather it was a work of cosmetic mastery that was as striking as it was unsettling.

  “Good evening,” Tec-Nan said in a voice that was deeper than what Fin expected. “I am glad to see that you have taken my offer to heart, Wahsmit. You must be very desperate if you are willing to give so much.”

  “What makes you think I’m willing to give up Kaw-Ki?” Black-Tooth asked.

  Tec-Nan laughed, more like cackled, and sat down in his chair at the head of the table. “Oh, Wahsmit,” Tec-Nan said, shaking his head. “Even in your time of need, you are unable to understand that this fruitless endeavor of yours is not worth the effort. How many more barns must be destroyed before you realize that you can no longer postpone the inevitable?”