“I don’t know. The Touch is elusive, twisting in shadows, as subtle as a midday breeze so as not to attract attention.” Katta rubbed at his eyelids, then scooted back on his bed and leaned against the wooden wall. Kjaelle placed a hand on his thigh and left it there, and by the concern wrinkling her brow, his words worried her.
They worried Vantra as well, especially if the corruption was a product of deities battling one another. She had read minor syimlin infighting histories detailing similar occurrences on Talis, and too many ended poorly, for the divine, their followers, and innocents caught between.
The magic lights in the wall sconces flickered as a breeze coursed through the open windows and into the stuffy room from the not-much-cooler night. The Darkness acolyte glanced out at the yellow haze that permeated the atmosphere and held out his hand. What looked like ceiling fan blades formed in his palm, and he tossed them upwards. They floated to the center of the room and slowly built speed, sending a shower of cold onto everyone seated either on their beds or in chairs next to the three tables.
The nomads, especially, sighed in relief. Desert dry heat differed from rainforest muggy heat, and the four found the latter uncomfortable. Vantra even squirmed under the water-laden weight, and as a ghost, temperature extremes rarely penetrated her essence.
Fyrij grumbled in his sleep and pressed closer to her neck, shuddering. She detached him from her shoulder, settled him in her lap, and covered him with the edge of a blanket to keep him warm. Why did he enjoy the water-laden heat so much more than the rest of them? His home forest in the Dark was a cooler place where snow coated everything in the colder semma, so a bit of chill should not disturb him.
“So you’ve no guess at how long it’s been infecting Greenglimmer?” Red asked before clinking glasses with Dough and taking a long draught. A worried woman wearing blue-green healer’s attire had brought them a large keg filled with a healing concoction, and those who could imbibe drained the barrel. Red and Dough conscripted the largest of the three round tables Leeyal erected during the last day, and had done little but suck down the liquid while grumbling about the lack of leadership in Selaserat. Laken sat with them, puffing on mist and nodding in sage agreement with every declaration.
“Longer than we may think,” Kjaelle said. “Remember when we attended the theater with Resa and Joila, and he said the city always seemed brighter when we visited?”
Red squinted at her. “Vaguely. When was that? Fifty, sixty years ago?”
“He took us to the Mourning Lark tour, so closer to fifty,” Mera said, leaning over the dark-stained table she, Tally and Vesh shared.
“We can check the theater histories.” Vesh pointed the bottom of his glass at Red. “The conductor has a display of past performance guides. That should tell us.”
“If we need an exact date, we can look. I think it’s enough, to realize the corruption was around several decades before anyone noticed.” Red swished the contents around before draining his glass.
Vantra fiddled with the tip of her mister, agitated. Decades meant Strans had plenty of time to plan ways of hiding the taint from a Light visit. What about the rest of Greenglimmer’s habitations? Was Laken’s arm safe in its ruin without a guardian to watch over it? Or was that why Lokjac disappeared? She stuck the tip into her mouth again, fighting the urge to bite down on it until her teeth ached. As a ghost, her essence did not react to pain in that way.
“The rivcon’s headquarters got animated when we showed up,” Dough said. “Once they saw the badge, the guards assumed we would tell Light about their problems.” He laughed and slapped Red’s shoulder. “Qira’s close enough, eh? They took us to see an inspector, Yothwan. She told us that while they’re still investigating its origins, the corruption started seeping into the mercenary quarters twenty-odd years previous. Hrivasine took care of it, the rivcon’s office assumed it was a business rival’s shenanigans, and everyone returned to their work. Then, maybe twelve years previous, ghosts living in the underground became ill. Those who worshipped the Light were struck hardest, and the healers had no idea what caused it, let alone how to heal it. Tenathi showed up at Zibwa’s temple here and warned them that the forest seeped into the city. She did not give guidance beyond a special potion, but her grimness alarmed the healers. They related their meeting to Hrivasine and the previous rivcon, Derent.”
Laken pushed his mister to the side of his mouth as Dough poured more drink. “Derent was upset when Hrivasine did nothing,” he said, his tone darker than the pirate’s. “He created a secret division led by Yothwan to investigate what was happening. She said she found a link between the Labyrinth of Trees and the nasty roots seeping into the depths of the city, which she thought affected the entire population, not just the ghosts in the ruins below.”
“What ruins?” Dedari asked.
“The previous Selaserat was buried by floodwaters,” Katta murmured. “The new city was built upon the remnants of the old. At some point, Hrivasine had his mercenaries muck out the ruins, and they shored them up and made them their home.”
Red rolled his eyes and placed the back of his hand to the side of his mouth as if intimating a close secret. “It’s a real underground for the underhanded. Hrivasine’s inordinately proud of that.”
Laken huffed and took a puff of the mister before continuing. “Derent and his personal guards were following up with someone around Lake Deccavent almost five years previous when they disappeared. No one’s heard from them since. Embrez took over and added more members to the unit on his sister’s advice.”
“Are you telling me he’s smarter than I give him credit for?” Red asked, skeptical. Dough nudged his shoulder with his own, highly entertained by the words.
Katta sighed, raised his knee, and clasped his hands around it. “So Hrivasine failed to care for the problems and refused to admit it, so ignored the continued invasion.”
“It’s a blow to his ego,” Red said. “He thought he eradicated the bad magics, and it turns out he was wrong. After Kjiven’s demise, he proclaimed himself the strongest whizan in Greenglimmer, and admitting a few roots defeated him will puncture his undeserved reputation.”
A not-so-polite knock preceded Resa banging the door open, accompanied by Jare, Joila, and several ghostly companions. The Light-blessed filtered into the empty spaces and regarded their brother with concern. Leeyal closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms folded, stern and melancholy.
Red’s friend strode across the room to the table and pointed a finger at him. “Explain.”
Vantra glanced at Laken, then the nomads, all of whom met her gaze with equal confusion, and they turned to Red. He squinted, raised one eyebrow, and pursed his lips in annoyance.
“Come on in,” he grumbled, throwing his arms wide. Dough ducked to avoid being smacked and slid closer to Laken to keep himself out of arm’s way. The Light acolyte clunked his glass down, clambered onto the back of his chair, sucked in a huge, dramatic breath, slapped one hand onto his chest, and raised the other. “For those of you who have yet to hear my harrowing tale, listen and listen well. Once upon a time, in a not-very-distant previous semma, there arose a dor-carous leader at Black Temple in the Snake’s Den. He was jealous of his power, saw rebellion in his people, and bought some spears from a duplicitous salesperson of unknown origin. What he got were sticks carved with runes and topped by stones held on by leather, small branches tied to the ends of the strings.”
The ghosts froze, as still and silent as only the deceased could be. If they were all Aristarzian, that made sense; they had existed during the Beast’s reign and likely knew those who suffered under his abuses.
“That’s right, the dor-carous received a shipment of mephoric emblems, and he thought they were trash tourist trinkets.”
“Mephoric emblems?” Joila whispered, aghast, and clenched handfuls of her skirt. “I thought the Shades had found them all.”
“Apparently someone still has a cache of them—and my bet’s on the Astri.”
“Not a surprise,” Leeyal muttered as the ghosts murmured agreement.
Red waved an index finger in a circle before holding it up, demanding silence. “So, low and behold, one night Rezenarza loosed a plant creature upon the Darkness Temple in Black Temple, and of course, the dor-carous’s people grabbed the emblems. The vi-van could sense magic in them and thought they could use them to protect the temple. Ended up targeting Katta, Kjaelle and me because we, poor sluzun that we are, tried to help.”
Joila cupped her nose in her hands, and Resa looked especially grim. Jare and Leeyal, having heard the exploits, nodded along, while the other ghosts’ stressed concern dampened the already depressed atmosphere.
“Well, I’m not one who wants to wallow in the Beast’s Void-cursed magic, so I erected a shield around Katta, Kjaelle and myself—and then formed one to protect the river. The magic rebounded, sent the Nevemere into eternity, struck the other shield, rebounded again, and whirled into a spiral collapse.
“And guess, dear listeners, who scooped up the people of Black Temple and set them safely outside the destruction zone, sucked up the magic, and sent it into Verryn so he could release it as far above the ground as possible. And guess, dear listeners, which brave souls stood as Grand Seal points and kept the devastating energy confined inside its barrier. Yeah, the city still turned to rubble, and the weather’s a bit odd, but we performed a miracle, and go ahead, guess how long it took us to recover.”
“You haven’t, not yet,” Resa said, his voice trembling. He bowed his head and set his fingers against his shaggy bangs. “Blessed Light, Qira. How many emblems did they use?”
Katta laughed darkly. “They had crates full of them. The backlash triggered them, whether the vi-van held them or not.”
“It snowed in the desert famous for its thirst,” Kenosera told them. “And magic fell with the flakes. The green drank from the bounty, and when the snow melted, the land bloomed.”
“Is Verryn alright?” Joila asked.
“He’s recovering in the Forest Temple,” Red said. “Zibwa came and whisked him away. He performed remarkably well for a baby syimlin still trying to learn his spells.” He deflated. “I actually can’t think of a good ending right now, so that will have to do.”
Resa shook his head. “You shouldn’t have endangered yourself at the farm.”
“I wasn’t in danger,” Red insisted, heat tinging his words. “Do you think Mera and Tally would let me fall?”
“Not a chance,” Jare murmured.
The twins grinned, though their customary gaiety was absent. “We’ve sworn to protect,” they said in unison.
“We may not be our typical spry selves, but that doesn’t mean we’re helpless,” Katta said, his measured tone aimed at Red.
“Don’t let Hrivasine find out.” Resa’s dark warning sent a shiver through Vantra’s essence. Would the elfine attempt to take advantage of Red and Katta’s recovery? They were avatars! Why risk divine wrath for revenge?
“We don’t plan to,” Red said, scuffing his hands together. “But we’re not going to hide, either. There’s much wrong here, Resa, as you’ve found out. Now that Katta and I are here, we’ll do what Hrivasine and Anmidorakj should have done when they first realized the problem. We’ll need help, but that’s no different from usual.”
Resa regarded his friend with morose bleakness. “You know what would happen to us, if something happened to you.”
“Yes. You’d mourn for a few semma, and get on with your eternity.”
No one else agreed. Red was the Light-blessed’s connection to Talis, and Vantra guessed the devastating outcome if he met the Final Death, especially while visiting them. She knew more than sorrow would smash the mini-Joyful if anything harmed him, and she . . .
A shocked jolt of realization zapped her. Rubbing at her chest, she sunk into her thoughts, Leeyal’s words about Red introducing them whirling around. The short time she had traveled with the mini-Joyful had changed her perceptions of them. She considered them her companions rather than acquaintances who would drift away to their next adventure after finishing Laken’s Redemption. If something happened to any of them, she would burn guilt for eternity for being the cause.
The crackle of anger between Red and Resa filled the room. Before their words turned hurtful, Rayva rose from the floor at the nomads’ feet and barked. Magic enhanced her annoyance and effectively silenced the room. She growled, her lips vibrating, glared at Red, glared at Resa, and stormed through the beings clustered at the door. Leeyal opened it, she padded through, and he closed it, head bowed.
Both friends regarded each other, mum and chastised.
Tally cleared her throat. “I think Rayva’s in the same mood we are.”
“Only her teeth are a lot sharper.” Katta stretched. “She knows, with care and planning, we will overcome our enemies.” He motioned to Dough and Laken. “Our two captains discovered that we need to visit with Tenathi at Luck’s Hold. Since we must also go to Embeckourteine, we call on you to aid us.”
Red slapped his hands together. “Or maybe just say dear Tenathi, we’re as concerned as you about this corruption seeping through the forest and infecting the peoples of Greenglimmer. Please, we need your advice and wisdom.” Then he blinked and looked over in disbelief. “That was extraordinarily fast.”
Vantra’s eyes widened. Standing next to Dough was an ashen-skinned, green-eyed woman with feathery red eyelashes, wearing a simple brown skirt, a brown midriff top with thick straps, and leather bangles on her upper and lower arms. She was the figure from the murals at the Fekj healing temple; Tenathi.
Tenathi answered Red’s jesting prayer?
“I have waited,” she said, her voice soft, yet Vantra would never dare speak over it. “I knew you would return, as I knew you would recognize the sickness and act. We must talk, but I can’t be away from Luck’s Hold for long. The creeping darkness will swiftly race to fill my absence with rot.”
“We can go there,” Red said, hopping down from the back of the chair. Katta slid from the bed, and Salan wormed around him, through the beds, and whuffled at Tenathi before sticking his nose in her chest. She smiled and slipped her fingers through his thick fur.
“You are most welcome to join, dear Salan,” she said. “The healers cook duck, and I’m certain I can ask for a vulf-appropriate portion.”
Salan’s tail threatened to fall off, it wagged so hard. It beat against the table, which rocked Red’s glass and Laken’s mister, and Fyrij awoke to the tink tink. With a shrill tweet, he took off from Vantra’s lap and flew to the top of the vulf’s head. He raised his wings at the new arrival and sang with obvious excitement.
“Well met, Fyrij the Caroling,” Tenathi said with amusement. “I am certain we have fruit to suit your discerning tastes.” All five faded, then disappeared.
Vantra did not have time to feel embarrassed over the little avian butting into a conversation he should not join. While she knew Evenacht deities could travel between places with speed, would it hurt, to slow down and let her scold the caroling for his audacity?
Kjaelle rose from the bed, swatted at her skirt, and glanced at the congregated beings. “Well, I suppose any further discussion will have to wait until after she stops spoiling Salan and Fyrij.”
“Yeah.” Resa gripped his upper arms before employing Ether Touch and phasing through the floor, refusing to look at anyone. Jare slipped after him and Joila followed, while the rest trailed with wide-eyed, flabbergasted anxiety. Mera and Tally regarded Kjaelle, who gave them a slight nod. They sank through the floor as well.
“He’s really upset,” Vesh said as silence descended on those remaining in the room.
“They are each other’s heart,” the elfine murmured. “They both know it. I think Resa’s upset he didn’t recognize that something was wrong.”
“It wasn’t like the situation was conducive to questions.”
Dough shook his head and thunked his glass down on the table. “Shouldn’t surprise me, you know Tenathi,” he said. Kjaelle and Vesh chuckled in dry amusement.
“She takes her duties seriously,” Kjaelle said. “That’s caused a bit of head-butting between her and Red. But add in a vulf to run interference, and they can get along and do whatever needs to be done.” She raised her hands high, then rocked her head back and forth, as if stretching her neck. “We should head downstairs and soothe some ghosts. The Light-blessed are sensitive to Qira’s state, and this will bring out their protective side—and that’s not what we need right now.”
“And I need to get back to the Loose Ducky,” Dough said. “Me mates and I are sailing through the waterfront taverns this evening, to hear what we can hear. On the docks, other crews are talking, and what they’ve had to say is worrying. I think Embrez is trying to keep things hushy shushy because Hrivasine’s his employer, but he’s failing. They know something’s wrong and see his and the mokosie’s indifference as a threat.” He tapped Laken on the shoulder. “You should come. Will do you good to socialize with the rabble.”
Laken blinked, surprised, and Vantra smiled. While too many prejudiced ghosts shouted their ire about a Condemned among the righteous, she doubted Dough would expose him to anyone of that mindset during an excursion. Of course, he and his crew had wallowed their fair share of years away in the Fields, so they understood his experiences and his hesitation and would defend him if necessary.
Dough tipped his wide-brimmed hat at the rest of them. “And, of course, any mini-Joyful are welcome to keep us company.”
“Tempting, but I think the nightly meal would be nice,” Dedari said, rubbing at her stomach. The other nomads agreed, preferring to eat rather than drink, and everyone broke apart to do their own thing.
