Council

The tent was not wide, and yet everyone who needed to be in it found room to sit, Shyreza settling down with her legs folded before her next to Gizhela, disciple of the Wolfslayer and the Maiden, and on the other side of her Saven, leaning against a couch as if afraid that he would collapse at any moment. Bright-haired Shelkenezana, daughter of cold Merya, sat beside Belek the Fey, whose face was a crisscross of scars and spirited tufts of hair, and whose eyes were bright and careless; Mezen Coppertooth sat next to Hefar, and beside them lounged Gamesha and his hounds, copper-bright Zafira and pierced, fur-patched Skullsplitter of the Wolf's Get; Adhul ever-cunning knelt beside the Wolf Lord, whose grin was bright as morning, and beside the Wolf Lord sat beast-rich Arcetan of the Scarlet Household.

Hefar spread his hands wide, his face grim. "Children of the Goddess," he said, slowly, "We are all proud, are we not? Before the goddess came to us, we were all men of war. Our dreams brushed against the sky. And yet, we allow her to work on our behalf. She keeps our hunters and our beasts from harm in the day, serves our wives and our outcasts in the night. She runs from one end of the land to the other, constantly in flight. And yet, misfortunes still plague us. We have not stood for ourselves. My son tells us that the bright goddess, sister to our Maiden, calls us all her pets. How can we be more, how can we be her tribe in truth, when we have not yet followed her commands in all things?"

"What commands?" asked Belek with a wave of his hand, his manner brusque. Shyreza did not like Belek; he was wild, too wild, a man of the hunt and of the road. But there were enough of his ilk among the Fayheran that Hefar had brought him to their meeting.

"Heal," Shyreza said, looking confidently at all assembled, aware of the eyes fixed on her. "Heal all things; she is not content with simple wounds, she looks beyond them. Heal the land who is our mother, heal the people who are sick and weary and have lost their love for those around them, let the blind see and the deaf hear and the lame walk and the heartless feel once more. These are the things she has told me, these are the things she has told us. Let the blacksmith make his sword, but only to slay the monstrous and the unclean; let the warrior know not only battle but love and kindness, and the honest toil of the day. This is what she has shown us, we who live among the rocks, between the mountains and the endless sands." Even Skullsplitter was quiet now, hanging on Shyreza's words breathlessly; Mezen was unnaturally still, his eyes filled with reverence above his brown mask. "She wishes for all men to be whole, yet for no man to be idle. She wishes for none to go hungry, none to be cast out without reason, but for each man to work for his household's bounty, and for households to be but families within one people, her Fayheran. And, above all, she wishes for us to live in peace among one another, to be united against the darkness but to show the light of dusk to those with eyes to see, and to be able to enjoy the highest arts, stories and music, dances and fine craftsmanship of all things."

Every one of these things were Fayruz's word, cobbled together from all the time that Shyreza had known her, from every motion and every wistful sigh. The highest thing, the goddess had revealed to them, was to make things beautiful for their own sake, and to be able to have a purpose that would benefit others; was she not the example to show the people? She was the most graceful dancer of all the Fayheran, the sweetest singer and the most adroit harpist, and yet she chose to bring healing to the people, for that was the purpose she had chosen for herself.

"One day, we will make the Olm a mirror of her home, and our streets will be lined with bright stones and godmade bronze. These are the words of Shyreza, her musician and counsel. We will keep our songs and our dances sacred for her, and they will be beautiful underneath heaven's eye. No man will raise his hand against another, and the monsters that plague us, and the evil spirits that incite men to worship them, will be driven past the north and the south and the east and the west by strong and noble hands. Like the lion-god will be our courageous warriors, and like the smith-god will be our clever craftsmen; none will go hungry, none will be plagued by sickness nor die in the throes of birth. And the broken walls about us will rise again!"

"Beautiful words," Shelkenezana said with a wave of her gold-bright hand. "But how do you propose to make these things happen? All around us are monsters, witches and foul spirits; the master of the black sand continues to hunger for us all. And we still hunger, after all - I don't think I've eaten in three days!"

"Moreover." Belek scratched at his chin. "Men are men. Weak. Cowardly. Fayruz Dragonslayer is here. Thieves still steal. Men forget teaching. Chieftains rise, enslave those beneath. Men defile her Tys."

Hefar spoke before Shyreza could respond. "That is why we are here." He gestured to Shyreza, Saven and Gizhela. "Those who have been taught by the goddess directly are here to aid us, and those mighty among the Fayheran have come here to lead the tribe."

"Lead us?" The Wolf Lord raised one pale brow, leaning forward. "Do we not follow the Maiden? Why should the people follow such as us? Are we appointed by her holy hand?"

"I believe I know what we have to do, mighty chieftain," Shyreza said. "Saven and Hefar, they helped, but I believe that I know how to guide our people to become more than simply children tugging at her dress, begging for milk. First, the people need to know that there are those who are brave and wise, looking towards our future so that we might survive this famine. Hefar, you are beloved of the goddess, and you guarded the Aferi on the night of black sand; the Fayheran will trust your hand on our neck, guiding us. Adhul, you of all men are most cunning, and your guidance has kept the people of the Olm from going hungry completely. Shelkenzana, you are a bold heart and a discerning blade, the voice of fire beside water ever-shifting and air all-seeing; Wolf Lord, you are one redeemed by the love of the Maiden, and your strength rivals that of the one who is said to slay your kin. You are as careful as the rock of the mountain, and as hard to fool. But none of you know our land as well as the hunter who sought the white minotaur, Belek the Fey, touched by the hand of the spirits in days before our goddess. He is the voice of all those who do not camp as we do at the Olm, but wander ever-onwards, carrying words and goods between our camps."

Now she pointed to Mezen, a smile on her lips. "You, mighty craftsman. The secrets of our trades must be woven into such carpets as all might read, so that we will not easily lose the knowledge of copper-smithing, or glass-shaping, or stone-carving. So, too, can we trade this knowledge with those we met - for the family of the goddess has proven to us that men beyond the barbarians of the wild exist."

Mezen smiled in his own way, his copper tooth dull in his mouth. "Haramhold, may he be given ten thousand years of fine health, has already spoken with our most esteemed copper-smiths, and our most skillful glass-shapers, and our most careful stone-carvers. We could hang on his lips for ten years upon ten years, and still not know all that he, most generous of all men, knows. Rest assured that I shall speak with our great craftsmen, so that their secrets handed down from heaven to our unworthy ears do not die with them."

Now Shyreza turned to Arcetan. "We can do nothing for our goddess if we all die of starvation. To the Scarlet Household, I give a greater burden than any of us: to find food, and bring it to the people. We need your skill, if we are all to survive this burning winter."

Shyreza smiled to herself, then. The best was kept for last. "But... last night, I heard a song. It was like our goddess's voice, but... it was almost hers, but she did not speak like a child of the rocklands, even though I heard it in my mother's tongue. And in that song, I caught something which I want to share among my people. So, too, did Saven tell me that last night, he was visited by the Mother who lives in our river, who was darkened by the black sand just a day ago, and his brother through the mingling of blood told me that he saw, in his dreams, a bright maiden who was invincible in battle and had our Maiden's dark hair." Gamesha nodded mutely; Shyreza did not let slip any of what Gamesha had confided in her in the early hours of the morning, when sweat had been on his brow and his palms had run with his own blood. That dream had been a sign, but one that had caused Gamesha, the bearer of scars, more pain. But they had decided, there in the dark, to make good from darkness. "It is obvious, is it not? Our Maiden calls us to heal the body, heal the camp, heal the land."

"Indeed, I do." Shyreza nearly jumped out of her skin, as the flap of the tent was pushed back, gently. "But not quite like that, Shyreza. You do not deserve to have that burden on your shoulders. No one deserves so much weight..." 'Except me', Shyreza could see written on the goddess's face, and it hurt.

"Shyreza's plan was ruttin brilliant, Fayruz," Gamesha said, breaking his silence with a flood. "See, she knew that Saven and Gizhela were learning from you, and they could have their own students to help them, and people would know they could be healers like you, and she wanted to keep our songs and our memories with some few she knows, and us and mine all ruttin protecting the people who shouldn't have to fight."

Fayruz's hand rested on Shyreza's shoulder, and squeezed gently. It was a gentle act, but it still sent a thrill through Shyreza, like receiving the kiss of a gazelle. "I think that's a wonderful idea," Fayruz said, softly, as if to herself. "We all need to know there are people we can trust. And, if I'm hurt by our enemies, if they come and take me away and do... do things to me... you need healers among you. Healers who know not only my songs, but also the herbs that sweet Merek has been teaching us, who know how to use the world's ways and the ways of the White City." She gently sat down, Gizhela obediently standing to make room for her - but then Fayruz moved closer to Shyreza, almost flush with the suddenly-hot maiden, and motioned for Gizhela to sit. "And there's another kind of healing - healing people's hearts. I... I still have much to do, so many of my own family to help, and who better to help open closed hearts and soothe broken hearts but musicians and dancers, historians and storytellers? If Saven knows the art of healing best, Shyreza, you yourself know this well, and so to you and your students I entrust it." She gestured up at Gamesha. "And, well, healers and artists, not to mention craftsmen and animal-herders, they need protection from warriors whose hearts are true and whose dedication is stronger than a griffin's grip. Gamesha, of all the warriors in the Olm, I trust you most of all, and I know that you would rather die than see harm come to anyone in this tent. Please, teach warriors in my name, teach them how to create as well as destroy, and what to fight for, and what not to fight for. This responsibility is something all three of you are ready for, have been waiting for, and so I give it to you. Saven, first among the Kindly Ones. Shyreza, first among the Artful Ones. Gamesha, first among the..." She hesitated, and Shyreza realized that Fayruz knew so little of war and battle, that even her tongue had hesitated and lost its power. But then Fayruz looked at the grinning Skullsplitter, and the grinning Zafira, and at the hopefully-smiling Gamesha, and she herself smiled. "The Smiling Ones. I trust this is all that the Council of the Fayheran requires? Please, if there is anything your servant can provide for you," And here, she looked down to the floor with all the demure grace of a serving-girl, as if she were not the Dragonslayer, the great healer of the Mother and the Olm! "Please, tell her. She is here to serve the Fayheran, and to guide them into making the right choices, not rule them."

"But we still love her," Shyreza said, shyly, and the Wolf Lord howled assent, and Mezen nodded eagerly, and Hefar himself agreed with a cry of joy.

"Now come," Fayruz said. "My brothers and sisters await me, and I would - if they would - have the people who took me in as their own with me as we speak of my family, so that you can learn just a bit more about us all."

Spoiler
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Three Minor Acts – Establish three mortal orders, the Kindly Ones, the Smiling Ones, and the Artful Ones.

Ever since their inception, the Orders of Fayruz have been bound together. They all seek to protect mortals – not just the people of the rocklands, ever since the famous Sermon of Teti upon the subject, but all mortals. They all seek to bring cures to the woes of mankind, whatever they may be. And they all have their own identifying marks, making them obvious to suspicious men. In addition, the three Orders work together at a very intimate level – for every Kindly One to heal and bring guidance, there is a Smiling One to protect them, and for every Smiling One, there is an Artful One to guide their hand.

The center of the Fayheran Orders – and not, it must be said, any offshoots that may have sprung up in foreign lands – is the Olm. It is here that apprentices to the three Orders are trained and taught the philosophy and practical teachings of the Orders, which together make up the closest thing that Fayruz Dragonslayer has to a church and clergy. From the Olm, companions are sent out, a Kindly One and a Smiling One and an Artful One, to walk the wild roads for a time and ply their trade wherever they go, until they return to the Olm to explain what they had done and seen in that time. The Orders, naturally, have a sympathetic connection with the Wanderers, and many a Wanderer has been saved by a Kindly One who happened to be traveling their way, or given an important story or message by an Artful One.

These are the identifying marks of the Kindly Ones: they have been given training in not only the Blessed Art, but also rigorous education on herbcraft and natural medicine, and in haggling with lost spirits and sinful men alike. The Kindly Ones can not only cure a sickness or close a wound through their songs, but they can – and will – use a tea made from the petals of a desert rose that they carry, or loose bandages and thorns to sew up a wound. Their skill with herblore makes them popular in remote camps, where they often are happy to trade tea-leaves and herbal remedies to cure small ills for provisions, to sustain them on their journey. They wear the uniform of their goddess, the fool's robes and mask, whether they be men or women, as well as a belt festooned with herb-pouches and purses. This is their constant garment, and they are rarely seen out of it. Before being inducted into the Order fully, and being assigned a guardian and boon companion, a Kindly One must swear an oath of pacifism and dedication to his sacred trust, to bring both healing and guidance to mankind, on the Name of Fayruz. This has no supernatural compulsion behind it, but the fact that Fayruz often teaches a prospective Kindly One at least once in their apprenticeship makes them less likely to break the oath. An even more pressing concern is that there is one who will watch the Kindly One, and will not be pleased should they break it.

These are the identifying marks of the Smiling Ones: they have been given training not only in hammercraft, the weapon with which their founder declared they would train with, but in brawling, knifecraft and slingcraft, so that they might never find themselves unable to defend their charge. They all wear warpaint to varying degrees, some painting smiles upon their faces in accordance with their name, and all tracing red lines across their faces to show their dedication to their order's founder; they leave their faces bare, whether men or women, as their founder did. They all carry hammers, and most a small assortment of other weapons. However, at the behest of their founder, the Smiling Ones know much more than merely the art of battle, though it is there that they are peerless among any in the rocklands. Their knives can be used not only as weapons but to work with skins and wood, and their slings are more often used for hunting than to crack open the skulls of their foe. And most famously of all, the Smiling Ones all know, to some extent, the art of the forge. Their great hammers are as much the blacksmith's tool as the warrior's weapon. The Smiling Ones, too, swear an oath on the Name of Fayruz, theirs to never let another harm their ward while they still draw breath, to defend the weak and the wounded with all of their strength, and to value peace above war.

These are the identifying marks of the Artful Ones: they carry a harp, the sacred instrument of Fayruz, and know not only the ballads composed by such great musicians as Sonata, Fayruz and Shyreza, but also merry tunes and sad requiems, and the dances that lift men's hearts as well as the dances that entrance women's hearts. Their cunning is not only in those arts, but also in weaving, in storytelling, and in matchmaking. All wear a sash with all the colors of the phoenix woven into its pattern in pale imitation of her majesty, to set them apart as the historians and the lovers; all carry a glass blade and a curved bow, in honor of Shyreza, who saved the lives of her blood-brothers in battle with but her sword and her bow. All, too, wear their hair long, and while the women veil themselves, the men go about without masks; in this way, all three orders trespass against the clothing of normal men and women.

The bonds between the three companions are often forged through fire; their travels together often teach them that their survival in the desert depends on how much they can trust their companions. Not all such companions are well-matched, however, but since Fayruz herself helps to choose them, clashes are few, and true tales of true camaraderie and romance between the healers, the warriors and the singers spring up in their wake. These stories have made offers to join the Orders very enticing and prestigious, although the invitations are rare and only extended to the extraordinary and the truly devoted. Becoming a Kindly One means giving up violence and one's own comfortable life to spend instead giving up their strength for others; becoming a Smiling One means giving up one's selfish concerns and instead spending one's life protecting another; becoming an Artful One means setting aside one's own story to pick up the thousand stories and secrets of one's people.

All are blessed by Fayruz, the tribes say, and they understand: one shows love through compassion unveiled, one shows love through strength restrained, one shows love through cunning tempered.