“Yes.” Kaiya spoke without hesitation. “Illindria is perfect.” Asanali smiled a knowing smile as she set a pot over the central fire. The rabbit meat and a surprising amount of summer vegetables went into it. Kaiya raised an eyebrow at the carrots and corn, glancing back to the tent’s entrance. A flurry of snow lifted its corner just as Asanali began to speak again.
“The horned god has gifted his worshipers with power. They can dive through the life pond, then reappear at a different shore. He has offered weapons of steel and ash and cold. Horrific beasts of blood and fire and ice that aid in battles against children and ancients. Then, when the weak have fallen, the strong are taken as horned soldiers, and they follow willingly, without pain. Without fear.” She met Kaiya’s gaze. “What can the carver of your life tree offer to those who have heard Her starry whispers?”
Kaiya closed her eyes, unable to repress her smile. What indeed?
With a contented sigh, Kaiya recalled all the words Preoii-Aleena had declared at chapel—or, at least, the ones she had paid attention to. She regretted that now. She wished she’d been the unascended that Illindria deserved. But there were other things she’d paid attention to. Things she would never forget.
She thought of the cries of the ascended Faoii’s fantoii as they swung through the air against a foe, and of the Cleroii songs that wove like breezes through wind chimes. She thought of the Oath, which swelled against the walls of chapels and hearts alike each morning. She thought of the camaraderie in the mess hall, of the jokes and laughter and songs. She thought of Mollie, and the silver bond that had been stronger than any of Thinir’s iron shackles. She thought of Jade, the quiet Preoii she had never met but who had affected the world as greatly as any Faoii Kaiya had ever known. She thought of Lyn, who, despite her cynicism, made Kaiya’s world brighter and her heart race when she came into view, and Tendaji, who made everything seem tranquil even in the most chaotic times. She thought of the sunrises that lit up the Goddess’s pale statue, lighting the soft smile that looked down upon the Faoii with an intelligence that rock alone could never convey. Finally, she thought of the sunset that brought so much beauty to life.
How can one describe something that is everything?
As Kaiya contemplated, the tent flap blew open, and thick flakes of snow fell onto the woven rugs. No one moved, stunned at what followed.
Panpipes. Soft and feathery, barely louder than the wind, accompanied by the scent of sunflowers. It only lasted for a moment, but it was unmistakable. Outside, she heard exclamations of surprise and joy. Asanali, who had begun to slice a potato into the pot, paused in her task. After a moment, she resumed, evidently satisfied.
“Ah,” she whispered, seemingly to herself. “It is enough. Those that were uncertain about following you will understand. The Danhaid will come and fight for you with hearts unburdened by fear. Your pack is growing, Faoii-Kaiya.”
23
The trek back through the snow and ever-dropping temperatures of the heartland would have been nearly impossible had the Danhaid not accompanied Kaiya and the others. Kaiya knew little of wild magic—the Faoii were taught to distrust any spells that were not their own—but she could not help but admire the Danhaid abilities.
While the magics taught in the monasteries were refined and powerful in their simplicity, wild magic was unbridled in comparison. There was a fierce, barbaric beauty in the dances and elaborate outfits that the Danhaid used in their rituals. Kaiya’s heart sped up to match the beat of the bodhrán as Asanali and her bronze warriors moved their bare feet in elaborate steps over the snow-coated plain each morning.
The days of endless marching were not comfortable, but they were easier than Kaiya expected a winter expedition to be. More than once, she and her companions would look off into the distance and see dark, angry clouds clamoring toward them on the horizon, threatening frostbite or worse. But these terrible storms never quite reached them.
While not able to say for certain—and Asanali was stubbornly silent on the matter, saying adamantly that the Goddess was the only controller of tempests—Kaiya couldn’t help but wonder whether these miraculous bouts of luck were not to be attributed to the copper-haired members of their troop. The farther they traveled, the more admiration she held for the Danhaid, and for the Goddess that offered gifts to all who worshipped Her, no matter the manner in which they prayed.
*~*
“How did those behind your stone walls feed themselves, if not by accepting the land’s bountiful gifts?” Asanali spoke softly as she crouched on the ground, streaming a magic that Kaiya did not understand into the snow.
“The people nearby offered us food and other goods. Most of our essentials came from Resting Oak.” Kaiya gasped as a snowwhite rabbit crept toward a barely noticeable sprig that sprouted from the slush. Kaiya drew her bow and aimed at the little creature. Then, releasing her breath in a slow exhale, she let the arrow fly. Caught in the side, the rabbit fell limply, with only the slightest squeak. Asanali nodded and went to gather their dinner, whispering a prayer as she approached. “Our garden had some edibles, but it was mostly for medicinal herbs.”
“The other tribes offered you their well-earned food?” Asanali’s lips pressed together as she pulled the arrow from the carcass and cleaned it in the snow. She handed the unbroken shaft back to Kaiya with a slight frown. “The winds sing sad songs when they drift here from the north. It is whispered that those not part of the tribes starve under the demands of wolves that take what they did not hunt, and the deer have no ability to fight them. You are not these wolves?”
“What? No! Of course not! The Faoii are fair and just.” But Kaiya felt troubled as she again remembered the too-thin cow. She had always been adequately fed. Was that not true for those outside the monastery?
Tendaji spoke carefully from a few paces away. “You say Resting Oak and your other wards gave you food out of gratitude?” Kaiya turned toward him as she slung the rabbit over her saddle. His features were guarded, unreadable.
“Yes. Most of them didn’t have anything stronger than a picket fence. We offered patrols, soldiers. Of course they’d repay us for that security.”
“Would you have protected them even if they had not offered these . . . gifts?”
“Of course! We are Faoii!”
Tendaji’s lip pulled up in his quiet, ever-infuriating smile. “I see. Did they know that?”
Kaiya opened her mouth to give a heated reply but stopped herself. She didn’t know whether the peasants knew of her Oath. Was it possible that the Faoii had remained fed and clothed while others starved and shivered because of . . . extortion, however unintentional?
“I’m sure that the Preoii would never let the people live in undue fear,” she finally whispered. “We are not Croeli.” Tendaji froze, his shoulders stiff.
“The Croeli never hid their intentions, Kaiya. People either paid their taxes or they joined the army. Everyone knew this.” He studied his reflection in his fantoii before sheathing it and mounting his horse. “The peasants might have been starving, but we all starved equally. That was never in doubt.”
“Wait. So this army we’re going to face . . . they’re just untrained, starving peasants?” Lyn’s voice was almost mocking. Kaiya shot her a glance, aware that Tendaji was already on edge. Her brother, however, didn’t even bristle.
“No more so than yours, Faoii-Lyn. Is not the majority of our army now composed of working women from the streets of various settlements?” He turned back to Kaiya before Lyn could reply.
“Anyone that was capable of fighting was trained. The others were put to work creating armor and weapons, or put into the fields under the army’s control. Most of those that joined before I left were volunteers—possibly because they knew that they would not have enough food to provide in tax season. Volunteers were treated better than indentured servants, though no one was abused. It was . . . not a bad system before Thinir took control.”
“It must have been pretty bad. Se
ems like there was a lot of hatred taught in your homeland,” Lyn muttered under her breath.
Tendaji cast her a cold glance. “Starve enough people for enough time, and eventually they will rise against those that have food. There was only one group that we knew of that never lacked for sustenance, and Thinir uses that to his advantage. It would not have been difficult to shift that hunger from people’s bellies and into their hearts.”
Kaiya stared at passing snow-covered fields for a long time. When at last she spoke, it was little more than a whisper. “They hate us, don’t they?”
Tendaji shifted uneasily. “The ones that were fighting before I left did. Though now I don’t know. The Croeli we have faced recently seem different. There is no hatred in their eyes, no hunger or fear. Just . . . obedience. Thinir was known for using magic to give his words more influence, but this is something else entirely. He’s grown more powerful since I knew him.”
“Someone doesn’t gain that much power that quickly by natural means. We need to know how he’s doing it,” Kaiya said, eager to redirect the conversation toward a common enemy. “The men we faced in Cailivale were only shells in Thinir’s control. No matter what laws you once had, I doubt anyone willingly signed up for that.”
“And if he could do it to them, he can do it to any of us. Blades, he almost got Kai with it last time.” Lyn brought her horse closer to Kaiya’s, her eyes steely. “That’s not happening again. Ever. We need more information before we face him next. Before Kai even gets close to anywhere he might be.”
Tendaji nodded. “I agree. And . . .” He paused, his eyes suddenly brightening in realization. “I think I know who might have those answers.”
Kaiya and Lyn both perked up their ears. “Who?”
“There was a resistance before I left,” Tendaji said. “A small band willing to fight against Thinir. They might have continued making plans after I was imprisoned.” He turned to Kaiya. “Do you remember how I told you that one group was close to finding a way to throw off Thinir’s influence?” Kaiya nodded, thinking back to the hazy conversation they’d had in the enclave. He waved one hand as if her nod had proven an unspoken point. “I don’t know whether they found anything definite, but there is hope.”
“Let’s go talk to them, then. I can send a rider to Eili so she knows about the delay.” Kaiya was about to call a Danhaid Warrior to her, but Tendaji shook his head.
“If they saw a group like this coming, they’d attack or disappear before we could get close. They’re not fools. But I had good friends there. And more than a few debtors. It might be enough to get you in and out alive.”
“Kaiya’s not going anywhere without me.” Lyn declared. She turned to Kaiya. “Wherever you go, I’m going with you, I swore.”
Kai shook her head. “Not this time, Lyn. Tendaji’s right. Any Faoii presence is going to look like an attack. We must tread carefully.”
“But—”
“Besides, I need you to regroup with Eili. Train the new troops. Keep an ear to the ground and be prepared to report anything you find out about Thinir or potential allies.” Lyn looked like she was about to protest, so Kaiya raised her voice. “Is that clear, Faoii?”
“Yes, Faoii-Kaiya,” Lyn at last conceded.
“Good.” Kaiya turned back and let some of the power drain away from her voice. “We’re growing too large. It will be harder to hide our numbers. Thinir may choose to strike again if he discovers us.”
“We will be prepared for his coming.” Kaiya had almost forgotten that Asanali was still with them, she’d been so quiet. Now she spoke with an assurance that was both comforting and sound. “The horned god has strong, far-spreading roots, but they have not yet dug so far into the soil that it does not yield true magic. Your dancers will know their steps before the sun brushes his warm fingers against the frosty crone. We will meet with your Eili and prepare the dance.” She smiled broadly at the gathered forces.
Lyn frowned. “Uh . . . what?”
“She says she’ll have the troops ready before spring,” Tendaji supplied.
Kaiya smiled. “Good. Emery and the enclave girls are almost directly west of here. Faoii-Eili should have met up with them by now. If you two continue on this route, you should meet up with them inside a week. Tendaji and I will be heading . . .?” She paused, looking to her brother for guidance.
“North,” he responded simply.
“North. We will rejoin you with information as soon as possible. Look for us within the month. Keep your eyes and ears open. We still don’t have all we need to win this war.”
Lyn stacked her fists, her dejection melting away. Her voice was free of discontent when she spoke. “Goddess guide your battles, Faoii. And . . . come back, okay? I don’t want to lose you.”
Kaiya smiled warmly at her and reached out to grip her hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll meet on one field or another again soon.”
Asanali also gave her well-wishes and prayers before moving with Lyn to the front of the nomadic flock that continued to push its way westward. Meanwhile, Kaiya and Tendaji turned their horses to the north and spurred them forward.
24
Kaiya and Tendaji traveled for weeks in the biting cold. Without the Danhaid nomads with them, however, the weather suddenly became vengeful and cruel. Many overcast evenings found them huddled in their cloaks around a windswept campfire, and the few inns they visited were only marginally more welcoming than the storms.
In each new town, Kaiya and Tendaji weathered dark glares and thinly-veiled hatred from angry, desperate residents. Kaiya remembered how she’d bristled at their wariness when she’d first traveled this way. She’d wanted to scream and fight their stares— make them understand that she was the hand of justice and that the Faoii deserved recognition. But even the word “justice” had taken on a different meaning since then. And she was no longer sure that Faoii was synonymous with it.
So they trekked on. Kaiya’s heart dropped with each new landmark she recognized. The slope of that mountain on the horizon . . . the smell on the wind that reminded her of red hair and an easy smile . . . it all weighed heavily. Even without asking, Tendaji sensed her unease.
“Don’t worry, Kai. We won’t be going that far.”
She frowned. “I didn’t realize that there were Croeli this close. I spent my entire life thinking that you were just stories.”
Tendaji shrugged easily. “We were taught well. We knew how to keep ourselves hidden. When Father was still our leader, we scouted the area primarily for knowledge of custom and rituals, things necessary for acclimation. The main force of our tribe always remained in the Blackfeather Wilds, but there were usually at least a few of us here.”
Kaiya wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
*~*
Days passed as Tendaji led Kaiya further north. They had just reached the edge of a vast, sprawling forest that would eventually lead back to the rocky bluffs of her childhood when he unexpectedly dismounted.
“We’ll have to walk from here,” he said, motioning to a deer path barely distinguishable between the trees. “We’ll lead the horses.”
“How far away are we?”
“A few days. If the Croeli don’t already know we’re here, they will soon. Be ready, just in case.”
Kaiya nodded. After a moment of focusing on details she couldn’t distinguish, Tendaji motioned her forward and began picking his way through the underbrush.
“What about traps?” Kaiya asked, glancing around.
“I know what to look for. We’ll be all right.”
They traveled in near silence for almost a day, navigating paths that were practically invisible to Kaiya, but Tendaji glided over them with a practiced ease. All the while, both warriors kept a wary eye out for their Croeli hosts.
It took much less time for them to be discovered than Kaiya had anticipated.
Dusk was barely falling, casting its long shadows through the woods, when one shadow separated itself from an overhanging br
anch, peering down intensely at the duo. Its booted feet made only the faintest crunch in the snow. Kaiya, despite her attentiveness, was slower to respond than her brother. He was on his feet even before Kaiya was truly aware that they weren’t alone.
“Torin.” Tendaji’s voice was steady, but Kaiya still caught the faintest hint of surprise there. She glanced between her brother and the shadow, agitated and wary.
“Croeli-Tendaji. You’ve returned.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“I have.” The shadow swung down into the light of Tendaji’s campfire. A lean man with light hair and wary eyes crouched in front of them. His dark leathers were muted, even in the firelight. He did not quite smile when he looked up.
“Most of the others will be pleased. Many will be surprised. A few will not be happy.” The man rose steadily until he reached full height. He was not quite as tall as Tendaji and was narrower in the shoulders, but his body was lean and muscular, and when he moved, it was with a smooth grace. He put a hand out to the darker man. “I, for one, am pleased to see you. Leadership under Croeli-Amaenel-Tendaji has not been easy.” Tendaji reached out to clasp Torin’s arm while Kaiya raised an eyebrow at the given title but remained silent. Tendaji had told Eili that Croeli attached their superior officer’s name to the end of their name and title. But that couldn’t be right, could it? Torin looked her over appraisingly.
The Last Faoii Page 19
