“Vantra!” Jare yelled. She splashed into the shallows as another flaming log plummeted into the pool at the far side. The fire reflected off the waves, coursing towards her like molten gold. They rushed past, kicking up enough muddy swirls to hide the rocks and sandy bottom upon which she tread.

A Touch of Sun in the darkness, the man said, his mind voice matter-of-fact. The blaze protects.

Did it? It seemed to burn everything around them, rather than protecting anything.

She rubbed at her forehead with the back of her hand as she entered knee-deep water, simmering and wishing she could sweat. Ghosts rarely reacted to temperature, so having the heat affect her concerned her. Could it harm her essence? Would splashing the colder liquid on her arms and neck help her cool down?

Crack.

She gasped as the trunk of a tree crumpled and the upper half tumbled down the cliff side and into the water. It sent waves and burning branches racing across the pool, inundating the rock and the man. He turned to look as the monstrous vines rose above the treetops, violently waggling as if to throw the fire from them, but failing. They broke apart and plummeted into the forest below, sparks rising high from the trees they struck.

Vantra yelped as her foot encountered nothing, and she plunged forward. Paddling to the surface, she cursed her inattention; she should have edged ahead rather than assuming she could wade to the man. She oriented herself before digging her hands into the water and kicking with her feet, mentally chanting stretch and kick, tip head, breathe.

Breathe. She could bury her face in the waves and plow towards her destination, but it felt odd not to follow the exact movements she learned while alive. How much further? Relief swam with her as she glanced up and realized only a few more strokes and she would reach the man. Then what?

 Darkness engulfed her. Light disappeared. She could see nothing! She floated, but could not sense the water.

He tricked her!

She flipped over and slime caressed her cheek. She shrieked as the shard blazed. A wormy mass identical to that which trailed them in the tunnel zipped from her and hovered around the small golden circle surrounding her. She looked down, her tummy churning at the thought of the thing tickling her feet; what would she do, if it snagged her and dragged her under? She tread water and craned her head around, but could see nothing other than the milling darkness. Which direction was the shore?

The water. Which way did it flow? She studied the surface as thin protrusions erupted from the darker parts of the mass and shot towards her. The shard pulsed and they caught fire, burned, and broke off; the worms churning with more vigor than before.

Good?

The waves flowed to her right, orienting her. Could she swim through whatever the darkness was and reach the shallows without something bad happening? She squashed the thought as soon as it sprung to mind. No. She swam into the middle of the pool to help the man, and he and the rock were closer. Cringing, she stuck her hands in front of her, drew them to the side and back, expecting to strike something gooey and nasty and wormy. The circle shrank and pointed grey matter grew from the mass, the tips wriggling. Once they struck the brighter light, they jerked back, turned to ash, and fell into the water.

She needed to get out of there.

A trunk twirled into her space, as if it had bumped something that knocked it off-path. The rock? She clutched the shard to her chest and dug her free hand into the water, pulling forward and to the side to avoid the flaming wood. Why was she doing this? What was wrong with her? She was not a storybook hero, saving the day. She was a pathetic excuse of a Finder who could not keep her Chosen safe from the enemy.

She shrieked as fingers clamped down on her outstretched hand and drug her onto the water-slick rock.

The man. The vines tightened on his hands and ankles, and he hissed as he drew away from her, bending over in pain. She could feel the darkness creeping closer, grasping for her, and she screamed, calling Clear Rays. No response. Dammit.

Suffocating silence engulfed her. The air thickened, reminding her of an ocean’s moisture-saturated shoreline. She instinctively reached for her throat, but the shard’s power slithered around her arm and squeezed, catching her attention, then flared. She felt the spell burst, and the sound of water, of fire roaring, of the man gasping, washed over her. The crystal flashed again, and the edges along the point glinted like the sharpest knife.

She swiped at the vine wrapped around his bony left leg. Green burst from the slice, splattering the rock and catching fire briefly before snuffing out. She could harm it! Gripping the shard more firmly, she slashed the vine, turning the cut into mush. The freed end slid into the water as the part attached to his leg shuddered and vibrated. She grimaced and grabbed the squishy end.

“Retravigance.”

The shard heeded the intonation. Flames coated the vine, and she brushed at the rapidly disintegrating tendril, hoping to remove it before it burned the man.

He laughed in joyous disbelief, touching the deep welts left on his skin.

She stabbed at the thicker vine clenching his other leg. Sawing through it took longer, but it, too, became mushy and turned into clumpy ash after the shard lit it.

“Child.” His voice held the rasp of sandpaper. “He will not let me go so easily.”

She nodded, aware the dark mass continued to prod the light circle, looking for weakness. “What’s going to happen when I free you?” she asked as she dug the shard into the vine holding his right wrist.

“I’m not certain. He’s distracted, so perhaps only his confinement spell will react. Or, perhaps, he will flee his opponent and try to reach us before you finish.”

The shard flared in unison with her spike of fear, and the vine melted into goo. Ew. “I don’t think Kjaelle’s going to let him escape.”

He waggled his arm to remove the stuff. “Perhaps not. She’s an enthusiastic fighter.”

A root-looking spike from the darkness rushed to her, burst into flame, and disintegrated into clumpy ash that plopped into the pool. The shard’s golden hue took on a darker red gleam and the mass backed further away. “The darkness looks like it has worms in it.”

Had she nothing better to say than the obvious?

“Yes. The corruption of the earth seeps upwards into the Labyrinth. He thought it nurtured; it only destroyed.”

“He?”

“Release me and we will speak of him.”

What else did he think she was trying to do?

The wriggling of the mass intensified as she focused on the final vine. More points erupted from its surface and attempted to strike her, but each sizzled into clumpy ash that plopped into the water and disappeared. A buzz rose from the darkness, coinciding with a distant roar.

“He calls, but the forest is in pain and can’t answer,” the man said.

“I’m sorry.” Guilt smacked her, and she fought not to sob. “It’s my fault.”

“No. The destruction was inevitable, set in place long before you were born.”

Small bubbles formed on the green surface, popping and splattering them both with goo. The freed end pooled at his side, sizzling, then slid over the edge, leaving green foam in its wake. He tipped his head so his hood fell back, ecstatic joy lighting his pale emerald eyes as he raised his hands and flexed his webbed fingers. The soft bark pattern that decorated his skin faded to a smooth, opalescent blue.

“He promised the Daughter of Sun would free me,” he whispered. “He swore to it. And you did.”

Still-blazing branches entered the space, striking the rock and spinning to the sides. The darkness arched back, and the circle widened. It did not like Sun magic, did it? She grabbed the nearest one and heaved it onto the rock, where it spitted and sputtered, but the flame continued to eat the wood.

“We should swim back to shore before the darkness gets bold.”

The man dropped his hands and shook his head. “I am weak enough, I would sink.”

“Can you hold onto me? I can swim us out.”

“I would be a burden.”

“I’m not leaving you to whatever that is.”

He cocked his head and his brows dipped towards his nose. “You have freed me. Yet you still think of rescue?”

“I didn’t swim through the terrifying wiggly thing to leave you here,” she snapped testily. She grabbed another, thinner branch with blazing twigs and set it on the rock. “Do you think this darkness extends to shore?”

“No. The light from the blaze has weakened it. It only circles my prison, rather than filling the hollow with decay, because it can’t manage more.”

That was good news. “Can you hold this branch?”

He flexed his fingers. “My grip is weak, but I’ll hold it as long as I can.” His hand trembled as he wrapped his fingers around the unlit end.

The milling of the worm-like wiggles sped up, protrusions forming, breaking, and reforming, the tips reaching for her. A large half-trunk entered the circle, the thick branches bright with Sun-drenched flame. The darkness zipped away from it, bubbling and popping, clearing an even wider space. Could she use the fire as a shield, to protect them as they crossed the barrier?

“Will the darkness follow us?” she asked.

“It may try, but the inferno above saps its strength to succeed. It is of deep corrupted earth and leans towards the grave; the light of Sun is anathema to its existence. As long as we leave before the flames die, it will not Touch us.”

She nodded, tamping down on her thrill of fear. She dreaded entering the darkness again, but neither of them could stay on the rock. Chanting encouraging words she did not believe, she reached for the trunk, but her questing fingertips could not quite grasp the thick twigs that pointed her way.

They needed that fire. Wincing in anticipation of attack, she entered the deeper water, snagged a thicker branch by the base, and hauled the wood to the rock. Nothing grabbed her legs as she crawled onto the slick surface, and with heavy relief, pulled enough of the trunk up the side to keep it from floating away.

With the help of Sun-inspired flame, they could make it to shore.

Readjusting the shard in her palm gave her a moment to gather wobbly courage. She would get them both to shore. The darkness would not touch them if she kept Sun-fired wood near them. Sun would keep them safe.

Waves unsettled the trunk. She scurried to snag a branch attached to the less fiery end, and it swung wide. The darkness fled away and the man waved the stick towards the other side of the rock; the wormy things ignored the flame and edged closer from that direction

They had to go.

Vantra scooted down the rock, leaned over her knees, and looked back at the man. Wincing in pain, he crawled to her and slipped an arm over her shoulder and across her chest. She grabbed his fingers in the same hand as she held the shard, tightened her grip on the trunk, flexed her legs, and pushed away.

The darkness fled from the blaze, parting; through the window, Vantra saw Lorgan and Jare standing on the shore, but the opening closed before she could tell what they were doing. Well, at least she pointed in the right direction. She kicked since she could not use her arms to swim; the man hissed as she connected with a leg, and while guilt poured through her, she could not stop to readjust.

She kicked harder, the blaze took on a reddish hue, and the window again. Jare was in the water, and Vantra aimed for him before the view disappeared.

They burst into sound, into smoke, into the bright blaze of gold reflecting off the wind-ruffled water. A screech as shrill as a panicking nightjack bird scratched at her, and pain shot through her essence. Jare grabbed the man, a good thing, for she lost her grip on him. The Light-blessed slid his arm around the being’s chest and kept him above water as he side-stroked to shore. She looked behind; the darkness swirled, writhed, punched at her, but the protrusions burned into nothing before they grew to more than a finger-length. Fresh fear rode with her to the shallows, as bright as the trunk’s fire.

Jare helped the struggling man to Laken, who eyed the mass as if he could see it. Maybe he could?

“Do you know a way out of here?” the Light-blessed asked as he settled the ex-deity next to her Chosen and looked at the pool.

“Yes, but it will be a slow evacuation,” he said, dropping the extinguished stick to wring out his cloak. “Confinement weakened my body, and it’s a long trek.”

“What is that?” Laken asked, disgusted. The darkness jerked back and forth, as if it attempted to avoid something sharp and failing. Ash wafted from it, coating the water beneath in a thick layer of grey that flowed with the waves towards boulders that blocked the fiery branches from entering the tunnel’s stream.

“My guard,” the man said. “It’s watched over me for all these long years.”

“Who are you?” Jare asked as Vantra slogged to them, dragging the trunk with her; she needed to get her Chosen as far away from the nastiness as she could, but even terror of the wiggly thing could not prod energy into her weary essence and quicken her step.

“I once answered to Strans. Now? I . . . don’t know.”

“Strans?” Laken squeaked. “The forest deity?”

“No longer,” he replied wearily. “Another bears the mantle. I would once again don it, but we need to leave the pool first.” He sighed, a long sound filled with hate and sorrow. “This place cradled my mother as she gave birth to me. He corrupted it as punishment for rebuffing his arrogance. I will see it avenged.”

“I’m sorry,” Vantra whispered.

“You are not the one who confined me,” he reminded her. “There is no need for regret. But loathing for the one who did?” He raised a hand and stretched his fingers. “Diminished but not gone.” He turned his palm to them. “Blessed of the forest, so the winding pathways lead to plenty instead of shadows.” He looked up as another tree toppled into the pool. “If there is a forest left to accept the Touch. It may become a shadow itself.”

“Which way?” Jare asked, his tone short.

“Around this shore.” He pointed to a sharp cliffside edge that jutted into the pool. “That marks a gully that leads away from the pool and to safety.”

“Right into the flames,” Jare grumbled.

“Our choices are few. The tunnel wriggles in darkness and the enemy barricades the exit. Unless you want to cross to the other side, walk up the shallow steps of the larger water source that feeds the pool, and enter the inferno, our only option is the gully.” He leaned over and coughed, his entire body shuddering with the effort.

“You need a mask,” Vantra said, worried. She tried to form a shield, but her magic spit and sputtered and did not populate. Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes. “Anonvre fin uxe Pe-eucton.”

Nothing.

“Vantra, do you have a living-centric healing kit in the pack?” Jare asked.

“Kjaelle made certain I did, since the nomads travel with us.” Ghosts may not get hurt, but the living might, and she gratefully accepted the offer.

Laken leaned forward and Jare dug for it, rocking the pack about. He finally pulled a silken sack from the interior and tugged the strings apart.

“Leave it to Kjaelle, to neglect a metal case,” he said, dumping bandages, gauze, an emergency mist packet, and several smaller healing items into his palm and transferring them to a padded side pocket but for the short knife. He used the blade to cut the sides, creating a long rectangle. He made holes in each corner, took both strings, and threaded them through. While crude, when he positioned the cloth over the man’s face, it covered his nose and mouth. He tied the strings around his ears to keep the mask in place.

Another shrill shriek came from the darkness, and Vantra whimpered, cringing.

“Do you know anything else about your guard?” Jare asked as he helped the man to his feet.

“It hates the Sun.”

The Light-blessed’s exasperation at the obvious brought a grin to the man’s lips. “Can it follow us?”

“It can strike until we reach the gully. A seal prevents it from leaving by that route, or it would have vacated its duty long ago despite being a thoughtless puppet. I don’t think it will attack us; it’s too busy fighting to remain extant.” He motioned to Vantra. “Her Touch is potent.”

“Yeah.” Jare gripped the pack and hefted Laken up. Vantra dragged herself to them and slid her arms through the straps, grateful Laken weighed so little, dreading a trek along the water. The Light-blessed wrapped his hands around a larger branch from the trunk and with effort, broke it from the base. The flames spluttered but did not go out. “Vantra, keep the shard out. I’ll use this.” He heaved it up, then eyed the man. “Since you’re no longer Strans, what do you want us to call you?”

“Navosh will do.” He accepted the hand Jare offered and rocked to his feet. “It is what my mother’s people called me, before they forgot I came from them. Moon-blessed, though I feel less so now than I did back then.”

“Alright, Navosh. Let’s go.”