Chapter 32 Faron
FARON
D uring the Heartless King’s reign, the Unity of Leliel had been broken, and its temples and priests stripped of land, title, and the right to practice.
In return, the priests had fled west, as far as they could from the Tower Majestic.
Despite the centuries, the damage had never been undone.
The temples were mostly isolated from one another, little deviations in dogma sprouting like weeds throughout the little kingdoms.
If there was a true successor to the Unity of Leliel, it was in Cevenne, deep in the midlands of Kaus.
There ruled the Council of Worship, a collection of five priests who regulated the temples scattered across a third of the continent.
Their influence could not be denied, and it was for that reason, six months into her island-spanning campaign, Isabelle and a large portion of her army camped outside the affluent city.
“Have you a plan if the council rejects your claims?” Faron asked as they approached the city gates. They were a small group, Isabelle, Faron, her adviser, Aubert, and a handful of armed soldiers.
“How could they, given who and what I am?” Isabelle asked.
“People are stubborn, stupid, and weak to pride and arrogance,” Faron answered. “I assure you, the council has shown plenty of all four throughout its existence.”
“When appealing to matters of faith, one can never be certain,” Aubert said in agreement. “But having the truth on one’s side certainly helps.”
“As does having already conquered more than half the continent,” Faron added with a chuckle.
The gates opened, and soldiers bowed low in respect to the visiting queen.
A priest robed in white greeted them. He was a kindly-looking older man, a bit on the heavy side, and like many who lived in the midlands, his skin was a deep shade of black.
What white hair remained around the sides of his head was carefully trimmed.
A winged eye hung from a silver chain around his neck.
His robe was tied with a black sash, and a series of bells tied with blue thread hung from it, the number signifying the priest’s rank within the council’s established hierarchy.
Five bells. A member of the council, not just a representative.
They softly chimed with his movements, the sound pleasant.
“Greetings, Queen Isabelle Dior of Doremy,” the priest said, clasping his hands before him and bowing. “My name is Reglia, humble member of the Council of Worship, and I shall be your escort to our temple.”
“I am honored to have a member of the council come all this way to greet me,” Isabelle said.
“A little walk does this old body good,” Reglia said, and he smiled. It was far less pleasant than the tinkling of the bells. The priest was sharp, and his trust in Isabelle was forced. “But I must confess, I am eager to meet with someone supposedly so blessed by our beloved goddess.”
He hid it well, but Faron sensed the emphasis on the word “supposedly.” The priest had come not to greet, but to judge. Faron held back a chuckle. Oh, how great a surprise all these priests had waiting for them.
“And I am happy to meet with you,” Isabelle said, walking alongside Reglia as they passed by the homes built of the nearby salwood trees. “I suspect there is much you have heard of me, not all of it true.”
“Oh, based on the stories that have reached our fair city, I suspect much about your exploits has been exaggerated.”
“Have they now?” Isabelle asked.
“Indeed,” Reglia said, and winked. “For you are not eight foot tall and sporting wings. At least, not yet.”
The queen laughed. “Give me time.”
Cevenne was bisected by the Verdon River running north to south, while also being the closest major city to the road that led through the Sapphire Mountains that isolated the eastern coast. As such, it had become a major hub of trade from all four corners of Kaus, and that wealth showed.
Compared to the more simplistic structures in cities like Leyval and Vendom, even the smaller homes here sported little flourishes in design, windows curling near the tops and bottoms, doors carved with decorative birds and felines, and a plethora of wind chimes hanging from seemingly every house.
Cevenne was sometimes called the City of Winds, for it seemed there was always a breeze blowing in from some corner of the plains.
They next passed through a market, city guards quick to join their group and clear a path.
The smells of roasting chicken and cracked pepper rumbled Faron’s stomach, and he was tempted to abandon all the coming politics to instead feast. It would surely be a more enjoyable use of his time.
Instead he ignored his stomach and kept with the group as they arrived at the Cevenne Temple.
It had been decades since Faron had last seen the temple, and little about it had changed.
It was a lovely mix of white stone painted blue, open-aired and lined with imposing pillars whose surfaces were carved with the names of priests who had lived and died spreading Leliel’s grace.
A grand statue of Leliel herself awaited at the top of the stone steps leading into the temple, her arms spread wide and the eyes upon her wrists gazing out upon the city.
Her face was blindfolded. The six wings stretching from her back were bound with rope and chain.
It was a reminder of the days of the Anaon Kingdom and the persecution the faithful had endured.
At her feet, written on four stone tablets, were the Four Pleas, the words supposedly given to her beloved on the day of humanity’s creation and the goddess’s subsequent departure from the lands of Kaus.
“Offer love when tempted with hatred. Show compassion when treating the broken. Be joyful when those around you fall to despair. Be kind, my children, for you all belong in my arms.”
As long-lived as Faron and his siblings were, he did not recall the moment of humanity’s creation, nor hearing the voice of the goddess.
So far as Faron was concerned, the Four Pleas were simple, basic concepts asking for humanity to be less awful toward one another, but as usual, they managed to fail miserably no matter how faithfully they served the goddess.
Given its open structure, there were few walls, and instead many blue curtains fluttering about to segment the structure into various “rooms.” At the apparent entrance, a priest demanded that all who would enter surrender their weapons.
The soldiers remained outside, while Isabelle and Faron reluctantly handed over their swords.
They then traveled deeper inside, down a hallway formed almost entirely of thick curtains, which ended at an entrance whose curtains were black.
“Within is the temple heart,” Reglia said. “It is there we will discuss your conquest. I pray you show proper respect and remain silent if you are not addressing our members.”
As with all parts of the temple, there was no ceiling, only open sky.
The room was surprisingly large, made up of pillars forming a perfect circle, the gaps between them filled with black curtains.
In the center were five chairs, the wood polished, the cushions crimson, and the backs and arms decorated with little gold and silver wings.
All five chairs were empty, but that would not last for long.
Already one of the other curtains pulled back, and robed members of the faith slipped inside.
“Stand within the heart of the circle,” Reglia ordered Isabelle. The queen nodded and obeyed. Faron started to follow, but the priest held out his hand.
“Our laws decree only the council may be seated within the temple heart,” Reglia told Faron and Aubert. His eyes twinkled. “Seated, I would point out. Thankfully, there is no law about standing and observing by the door.”
And so the pair waited near the entrance, bystanders to Isabelle’s meeting with the five members of the council surrounding her in their ornate chairs.
“Her belief is unassailable,” Aubert said softly beside Faron as they watched the five members take their seats. “Will that aid her or harm her, I wonder.”
Faron held full trust in Isabelle’s abilities. Her words were gifted with radiance, granting them power. Of course, Aubert would not know or understand that.
“Our queen is quite convincing,” he told the adviser. “And besides, as you put it best, the truth is on our side.”
Once the five members of the council were ready, one of them, a tanned man whose head was fully covered with a blue cloth lined with silver threads like spiderwebs, lifted his hands to signify he would speak first.
“Welcome, Queen Isabelle,” he said. “We have watched Doremy’s conquest with great interest, for even when you were but a princess, grand claims reached our ears of your supposed blessing.
At first, we scoffed, but with each subsequent victory of yours, and your slaying of a rampaging dragon, we have now begun to wonder. ”
“But conquest does not mean sanctification,” the lone priestess of the five said. She looked the oldest, her head wrapped in an ornate bonnet and her neck positively drenched in silver chains containing wings and eyes. “That is why we have called you here, to judge the truth of your claims.”
“And how will that be done?” Isabelle asked. “Will you pray to Leliel and demand she answer?”
“We have our methods,” the first priest said.
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Isabelle said, slowly turning in place. “But none that matter. If you cannot hear her voice, then you are in no position to judge me, she who has felt the very touch of the goddess.”
“I see we are not here to make friends,” Aubert whispered beside Faron.
Insulted glares and mutters from the five. Faron smirked. If they expected Isabelle to grovel before them and kiss their feet in hopes of receiving their blessing, they were sorely mistaken.