Embrez regarded the field with an expressionless visage, though his claws tapped at his waist with agitated quickness as the owner of the farm made his report from a hay-padded cart. His dark-skinned upper torso was swathed in bandages and his shaggy-furred right front and back legs were wrapped in clunky, makeshift casts that looked uncomfortable. The feathers on his shoulders and back were bent or broken, only hints of their blue vibrancy left in the shafts. Vantra thought he needed better healing care and rest, but the rivcon wanted to know what happened before the mini-Joyful’s account, and the owner had the authority and knowledge to speak.
“They were screaming about an invasion,” he said, voice worn, tired, tinged with tears. “They said we cut the Bendebares down. That’s ludicrous.”
“Bendebares?” Katta asked quietly. He sat with Vantra on a bench pushed against the main building’s wall, one knee raised, his left hand buried in Salan’s fur in a not-subtle demand for the vulf to stay put. Kjaelle stood to their side, stoic, her arms crossed over her breast, her double daggers held in her hands, Mera next to her, holding her halberd at the ready. The owner anxiously glanced at Salan, then the acolytes, before answering.
“A sacred grove of trees towards the Nest. It’s a place honoring the Twisted part of Strand. I’ve never been, but I know others who have. Ex-Wiiv members speak of it, and how the Blessing they received turned from a joyous connection to an evil weight they bear.” He winced and put a hand on his chest. “Glad I left the forest before anyone decided I needed the same.”
“Do you know anything about the circular markings on the rufang?” Red asked. He leaned against the barn’s wall between Tally and a terrifyingly stern Vesh, arms folded, a passive expression hiding deep, deep rage. Vantra caught a flash of it as they neared the barn, but he squelched it and tried for a hint of cheerfulness. It had not worked, they all knew it, and she wondered what tipped him over into anger.
“Some bit. Receiving them is part of their coming-of-age rituals. The marks differ, depending on class standing and profession. I’ve heard from ex-Wiiv that the beings with the most overlapping marks, their yondaii, or shamans, are also the most twisted by the magic. I’ve never met one, I can’t say anything about that.” He wiped at his tearing eyes; the reddened whites against the darker brown pupils made for a sickly look. “Embeckourteine has a group who helps settle dwellers wanting to leave their tribe. You should speak with their leader, Yissik. They were once a yim in the Imtri tribe, outcast because other yim thought that anyone who worked with ghosts insulted their judicial calling and spit on their ancestors. Before they were exiled, they visited the Bendebares and adjudicated some arguments between Wiiv, so they’ve experience with it.”
“I know Yissik,” Embrez murmured. “We’ve consulted them in the past.”
“So this wasn’t a typical raid, like others have experienced on the western side of the river.” Katta’s deep tone held melancholy compassion, a hint he understood the owner’s pain.
“No,” the owner said. “We’d hired guards to keep an eye on things. We’d been hit before, and we hadn’t recovered from that attack, and even though we were down to our last pebbles, we knew we needed them.” He clacked his grey beak in agitation. “Worthless lot ran back to Selasert. Now . . .”
“Let me guess. Hrivasine and Anmidorakj have made it clear to expect nothing from them.”
“They’ve sent some money to elfine farms,” he admitted. “Nothing to keep them on their feet. Richer ghosts are buying up the land, re-hiring workers for less and selling higher-priced produce. Has hit Selaserat hard.”
Red popped from the wall and held out his hand. A badge formed in his palm, and he held it between his forefinger and thumb so the startled owner could see lightning breaking a temple in two, the symbol of Talis. “I doubt you care much about ghost religions and syimlin, but if you need the help, take this to the Dark Light Tavern in Selaserat and ask for Deeahlars. She’s a Light acolyte from Dryanthium, and she’ll be around for a while. The temple can extend healing help, farm aid, and loans, and that goes for anyone in Greenglimmer who’s suffered under these raids. No religious baggage attached.”
The owner accepted the badge, shocked. “Why would a syimlin take an interest in us?”
“Why not? Especially since local authorities have abandoned their charge.” He half-laughed, his eyes glittering a menacing blue. “It’s true, syimlin tend to let ghosts live their existences as they wish. Greed and corruption are part of that, as much as love and joy, kindness and compassion, sadness and despair. But sometimes the greed and corruption are enough to prick anger, and when it comes to Talis, that’s never a good thing.”
“Is that a warning?” Embrez asked, sharp and worried.
“Yes. And you can tell Hrivasine that setting up Selaserat’s government to supersede Greenglimmer District authority, then neglecting those he brought under his control in favor of rich followers, will be a blight on him. He was there when Talis destroyed Kjiven’s first barrier and removed Light’s Blessing from the Kanderite temple. He should think on that punishment now that he’s garnered Light’s attention.” Red leaned forward. “And that doesn’t absolve Anmidorakj and Greenglimmer’s council. Something more is going on here than hate-induced raids, and they would know that if they paid any attention whatsoever to those they are supposed to govern. Abdicating to Hrivasine in favor of empty titles isn’t impressive, and now the entirety of Selaserat has corrupted magic swimming in the soil just below—and I’m not talking about the mercenaries.” He straightened, his anger dwindling. “You know that, though. You wouldn’t be here, otherwise. You’d be back in your comfy office waiting for a report.”
Embrez narrowed his eyes. “Is it better or worse?” he asked. The question confused Vantra, but Red just smiled.
“Worse. Lots worse.”
“We’ll be visiting Yissik,” Katta said, rising. “We’ll send a report if you like. And Embrez.” He waited for the rivcon to look at him, unconcerned the being disliked the use of his name without title. “The mapkeepers are not safe, not here, not in Dryanthium. The strength of elfine whizen and nymph mafiz is legendary among the faelareign, but even they can be whittled down to nothing before the final strike. Tell Hrivasine and Anmidorakj that if they want to retain access to the rainforest, the mapkeepers need guards seeped in magic, and several on duty at the same time. Letting them fall to a twisted deity’s twisted magic for the sake of ripping cheapened land from umbrareign hands isn’t the winning strategy they think.”
“It is Strans, then,” Embrez whispered.
“Monster attacked using twisted vines. I don’t know what else he could do, to hit you over the head with his identity.” Red shrugged. “Who knows, maybe ignoring his encroachment wasn’t the most prudent choice.” He walked away, Tally and Vesh at his side, weapons ready, leaving a dumbfounded owner holding the badge, and a rivcon whose fur stood on end.
Katta followed Red with Salan and Mera. Vantra trailed them, and Kjaelle kept her company, calm, collected, and darkly amused.
“Strans?” she asked when she deemed them far enough away that the locals could not hear. “That monster was Strans?”
“No, the monster was a manifestation of his power,” Katta said over his shoulder. “Strans manipulated it like a puppet, just as he manipulated the rufang who fought for him.” His gaze drifted to the Light-blessed who intercepted Red, his motions tight and jerky. “That’s concerning, but not our primary worry.”
“It’s not?”
“There is a more sinister Touch than Strans’ at play.”
Vantra frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Qira and I have encountered him before. His power and mind were akin to the twisting pathways in the Labyrinth, and he proudly admitted it. His thought processes were meandering and could leap in odd directions, but he never had evil intent. He simply had a different way of looking at and connecting things.
“Something’s changed, and I think it’s that corruption. Wallow in tainted magic long enough, it will change you. He’s seeped in it now, so much so I would never have recognized his power had the monster not used twisted vines to attack. And since he tried to set a curse on Qira and failed—”
What? Vantra stared, aghast.
“—I suspect we will have to face him or another of his puppets again.”
“Curse Red?”
“Clear Rays destroyed the attempt,” Kjaelle assured her. “Strans didn’t expect it and had not prepared a proper defense. Combined with Red’s Light, the spell did as intended—and he fled, rather than let it Touch him.”
Red, Tally and Vesh headed for the end of the field, and Katta hurried his step to catch them. The rest of them sped up, and Vantra reluctantly followed. She did not want to be anywhere near the remains of the creature. She was the last to arrive and floated next to Kjaelle as she regarded the blackened splat of burned earth that denoted where the monster had stood. In the center were black flowers glowing with energy.
The petals held the same taint as the roots, and Vantra wanted to wrap her cloak around herself, curl into a ball, and hide from it all. Red looked at her, expectant, and she steeled herself for touching the plants. The taint, if not the black color, fell from them in ashy clumps.
“What flowers are those?” Katta asked.
“Blue francil.” Resa squatted and hovered his finger over a petal. “Because the blooms and leaves are so wavy, the rainforest dwellers call them flames-on-the-ground. They’re the most common offering given to Strans at Luck’s Hold, so locals associate it with good luck and successful travel through the Labyrinth.”
“Does it come in a natural black?” Katta asked.
“No. Mostly blue and red, sometimes yellow.”
“A warning, then.”
“That fits, especially since he tried to curse you, Qira,” Kjaelle said.
Vantra stared at the flowers, a strange foreboding rising. “Rezenarza told me another had sucked up his Touch, and they hooked up with someone he knows to betray him.”
Kjaelle pursed her lips and focused on Katta. “Don’t give me that look,” he said. “I can’t explain why he’s so fond of speaking with Vantra.”
“He is deception and lies,” she warned.
“Yes, but our presence has brought his attention to the rainforest. If he hasn’t checked on it in a while, he’s probably shocked at the twisting of his power towards someone else’s purpose.”
“Sharing’s not his strong point,” Red said. Kjaelle’s lack of amusement sparked his, but the underlying anger remained just beneath. “How long are you going to be here, Resa? We need to talk.”
“If Embrez is here, not long. We’ll report and leave his people to clean up.” He slapped his hands on his thighs and rose. “But before we meet up, we Light-blessed need to see a healer, and one who understands the link we have with our gems. Vantra cleared the obvious Touch, but I want to know if it tampered with the bond.”
“Good idea,” Katta murmured. “We are dealing with an enemy who slips beneath and hides without others the wiser. While I doubt a hidden aspect evaded Vantra’s Clear Rays, it is best to be absolutely certain.”
Absolutely certain. Vantra looked at her hands. She had cast a spell without intonation, but that small victory seemed even smaller, compared to the divine threat that faced them.
