The dice scattered across the floor, the surfaces shimmering and leaving behind a trail of fading brightness. They tottered to a stop at various lengths away from Vision. She hummed and flicked her fingers at each as Chiddle crossed his arms and regarded the show, and by body language, Lapis decided she did not impress him.

Vision buzzed and clicked, warm sounds reminiscent of a summer’s day in a forest, when the insects erupted and gifted the trees with a busy chorus. The locals folded their hands on their bellies and waited, rocking back and forth and squealing at odd intervals. Chiddle glanced at them, then the dice.

“Vision says we shall rescind Ree-god’s commandments and free the khentauree from their enslavement. We will break the hand of Maphezet Kez and take the joy to other khentauree.”

The fortuneteller held up her left index finger; the metal flowed into a point, like an ultra-long fingernail. She tapped random dice, and the clouds brightened with each touch. The stars twinkled and the savory aroma of evergreen needles strengthened.

“Does this room connect with the exterior?” Lapis asked.

“No,” Chiddle responded.

“I smell evergreen trees.”

Her companion cocked his head. “I detect no trees,” he said. “There is perfume.”

So fake evergreen scent? Interesting. Why produce it, when the mechanical beings could not smell?

“She warns us of the scaled man. His evil infects his people. She also warns of a stubble-haired man who waddles and carries a big weapon.”

Lapis winced. “That sounds like Gredy. He’s the merc captain that went crazy at the workstation and Cuddle Bear drove him and his people off.” Her unexpected depantsing of the man and his pretty blue underwear popped into her mind, and she squeezed her lips together to keep inappropriate laughter in her belly.

“She does not name them. Do not let her deceive you. Wide descriptions mean different things to different khentauree and different people. She can claim she correctly divined for us when she only gave us vague words and sentiments that we put meaning to.”

She nodded. “Yeah. But Bov Caardinva arrived before us. The khentauree might have investigated when they realized humans returned.” Did Gredy and his mercs follow Caardinva to the Shivers? The Meergeven had his own nasty mercs, the Red Tridents; no need for Gredy at all. So why did he come to the mine if he was not an enforcer? He did not seem the type to care much about scientific research, so did he follow a trail of aquatheerdaal? And for who?

Chiddle hummed. “Perhaps. Then we must wonder why she tells us indirectly.”

“Being mysterious captures attention.”

“Ghost is mysterious. He does not try, he just is.”

Vision snapped her fingers, and the twinkles danced while the clouds fluttered, as if touched by a breeze. She held out her hands, and the dice skitted across the ground. They tumbled into her palms, and she cupped them; when she opened them, they were empty. Sleight of hand? But she had nowhere to hide so many objects. Buzzing, she snagged the crumpled cloth, slipped it around her shoulders, and rose, but not with the grace Lapis expected. Chiddle helped steady her, and she patted his offered hand.

The local khentauree hummed and clicked and milled about. Had something happened?

“The khenaturee with Patch can walk no further,” he said. “Vision said that we will see, we will understand, and we will bring longed-for happiness to the desperate. She is thin on detail, broad on proclamations.”

“Like any good fortuneteller.”

“Do you know fortunetellers?”

“No. I avoid them, just like I avoid the priests of the non-existent gods.”

He hummed, satisfied. “That is good.”

Vision slapped her hands together; the clouds and twinkles blew apart and evaporated, leaving the room in darkness but for the glow emanating from her body. Chiddle’s forehead illuminated so Lapis could see, and he trotted after Vision, who set a brisk pace.

The locals fell into step, buzzing and humming with excitement, and left them behind. Chiddle growled, unhappy, and she wished she knew what they said that annoyed him. Perhaps the situation grated? The fortuneteller expected much from them, and what might happen if they failed to achieve what the khentauree wanted? How vengeful were the mechanical beings? Did they only behave within the parameters of their programming? Her companion believed that was so, but what made him so sure?

They proceeded down another rock tunnel designed for khentauree and not for humans. Chiddle thoughtfully stayed with her, helping her up the too-tall sides of dips. She felt inadequate, needing his push and pull to scramble up rock faces and over lips, but he said nothing, not even an annoyed buzz.

The way ended at a room illuminated with white tech lighting. Three plush, white-upholstered couches sat around a shiny white table stacked with thin books. Framed, tiny watercolors on white matting decorated the walls. To the sides of the middle couch stood two vases with watered soil, as she saw in the waterfall room.

Why did they not replace the plants? The trees? Chiddle claimed they were literal in their programming. Had the coders told them to water the plants, but not replace them when they expired? That seemed odd. Perhaps the plants were no longer available and they neglected to change the type?

Lapis glanced at the materials on the table as they passed; not books, but magazines. The bright covers had a variety of images. One had an illustration of men and women in cocktail formals fighting others in grungy overalls, no shirts but stout boots, and deep farmer tans. The loud title was in a script she did not recognize. Another contained a bubbly stew in a pot, yet another a model with pastel makeup and a fake smile on glossy lips.

A waiting room. She recognized the setup from her childhood, when she accompanied her parents to the Meint-run medical offices. The religious order built them deep underground to hide them from the puppet king and Dentheria, so they did not have much space for bored children to run around. Hence, the cheerful children’s books.

When she was very young, she always wanted to visit the offices because they had a picture book she loved. She would sit on her mother’s lap and flip through the pages, speaking the memorized text and adding a few bits of her own ingenious plot variations. Her mother would laugh and ask questions about her creative changes, which kept her busy enough not to bother sick family members.

They passed doors with the same sterile plaques, but windows that allowed her to peer inside. She glimpsed white equipment with long arms, white tables, white chairs, before whisking on. The obsession with the color left a sour taste in her mouth. It faked piety, a sheen placed on things so the owner could pretend his values aligned with a higher purpose. No amount of gleam or glow could cover the stench of sham holiness.

The change from white everything to gold everything did not encourage her. Although they needed to catch the other khentauree, Chiddle slowed his step once they crossed the obvious line between the two. He eyed the artwork hanging from the walls; Lapis recognized several myths relating to the Stars, with blatant symbolism in the dream-like images of religious heroes and the half-human, half-animal deities. How old were the stories?

At least six hundred years, but Gedaavik and Maphezet Kez and Ree Helvasica lived long before the end of the Taangis Empire. Lapis realized she did not know the exact date. Who should she ask about him? Jhor or the khentauree?

The hallway ended in a marble arch that looked like a transplant from ancient depictions of the Star’s Grace Temple. It had fluted, load-bearing columns, a chipped, blocky base, flowers ringing the capital, and small engraved columns on the architrave and cornice. The fractured frieze had a large, central female figure facing outwards, with glowing hands raised. She had a canine lower body that sat on a jutting, snow-topped mountain, and two glowing tails stuck out on each side. Smaller figures with faces turned outward but bodies in profile pointed towards the center carried random objects like fruit and stalks of grain. Flecks of old paint hinted at the bright colors that once adorned the stale white stone.

How old was the arch? Was it a forgery or had Kez stolen it from some ruin? Temples like Star’s Grace were used by northern Taangis peoples over four thousand years ago. She discovered them in one of her uncle’s histories as a child, fascinated by the pictures, though she ignored the text. The height, the splendor of the carvings, held her attention, but the tiny words, not so much. Now she wished she had read what the author had written.

She knew the woman with a canine lower body represented Kilketherin, a minor deity who acted as a handmaiden to the Stars and bathed them in the cleansing mists of time, but nothing beyond that. Her family never ascribed to a religion, and the streets of Jiy had obliterated any righteous awe for grand celestial beings who cared enough about humans to demand worship from them but provide nothing in return. 

Inside, a golden chandelier the size of the ceiling hung in splendor, hundreds of candles reflecting off the shined surfaces and blinding Lapis. She squinted through tearing eyes at the room; fractured columns circled a round carpet with holes and faded red color. Gold thread trimming the edges had frayed, bits of string snaking along the wall.

A mural covered the walls, with people in white and gold tunics carrying offerings towards the doorways on the opposite side of the room. They had different hairstyles and adornments, some of which looked out-of-place against old-fashioned religious attire. Did they represent real people? Lapis bet they did.

Each doorway had a frieze above them representing other Star-blessed deities, the Foxlets, triplets who honored both the Seven Gods and the Stars, so acted as go-betweens. This was important because Dentheria smashed two Taangin religions together to make the Seven Gods and the Stars, but she did not recall why.

She needed to remember that this workstation existed before Dentheria created their religion. The Stars meant something else to Ree-god and Kez, and she could not rely on her vague knowledge of current sects to understand what she saw.

The local khentauree waited for them in the center of the room, prancing and milling and humming, but she did not have the impression of boredom or impatience.

“Heven says this is the Cloister,” Chiddle said. “It is for religion. Maphezet Kez collected many things, and they take care of them for him.”

“He’s dead,” Lapis said.

“Yes. But they were told to care for them until he returned.”

“Like the plants?”

His buzzy laugh startled her. “You noticed? There are many similar behaviors I see. Perhaps Vision is like Ghost. But the khentauree here are not. They are blind.”

Interesting way to phrase it.

Vision took the right-hand doorway, each hoof strike producing a ringing sound off the white, gold-veined tile. A ninety-degree turn led to a long hallway far colder than the other workstation areas. Did it lead outside? Maybe; ceiling-tall figures carried items to the end, so perhaps it led to a mountain altar? She studied the hall; a tight squeeze, but the terrons could move down it. How far might the exit be from Ragehill?

Two open doorways sat opposite each other in the center, and the fortuneteller trotted into the left-hand one.

Patch.

Her heart, her emotions, leapt into high joy. She raced to him and he planted kisses against her head, ignoring the awkwardness of her pack to hold her close. She clutched the front of his coat and buried herself in his embrace.

“You’re not hurt?”

“No. I landed on a part of the lip that fell. It didn’t have the debris on it that the floor had, so I didn’t hit a rock and twist or break an ankle.”

Chiddle patted his shoulder. “That is good. You were able to help the fallen.” He turned to the khentauree who crowded around their stricken compatriot. The broken one lay on a table with a tech screen to the side. Other equipment that reminded Lapis of Jhor’s lab sat around the room. Cabinets filled one side, all shuttered save one; its interior housed many cans, some open. A couple lay next to the table leg, and Lapis knew sponoil when she smelled it.

“She’s leaking badly,” Patch said, soft enough not to draw attention. “She led me here, and I found sponoil in a cabinet, but that’s not going to fix the chassis problem.”

“No,” Chiddle agreed. “Heven says that they know how to care for such harms. It is part of upkeep. Path and Duxe do the same for us.” His head swiveled to the door. “But the static noise is stronger here.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” her partner said. “It’s a weird signal, too.”

The khentauree pivoted and headed out the door. Vision followed, and concerned, Lapis pulled from Patch. She did not want to leave him alone with her. Her partner snagged her hand, and they exited into the cold hallway.

The two mechanical beings buzzed at each other—and neither sounded happy. Patch eyed her, and she managed a huffy laugh.

“That’s Vision,” she said. “She’s a fortuneteller. She rolled dice, then told us we’d free the khentauree here. Chiddle doesn’t trust her.”

“I wonder why,” he muttered.

“The locals said she isn’t beholden to Ree-god like they are. She seems to act more like Chiddle than the others.” She glanced at him. “This place is odd.”

“Yeah. It’s like a weird temple.”

“It is, because Maphezet Kez owned this place. He employed an overseer called Gajov Miaam, and they both thought the khentauree should pray to their gods. So they had Ree Helvasica program them to do so. Gedaavik’s anti-religion code isn’t working as well in them, so they follow those orders.” She pursed her lips. “They made the tera-khent a priest. All he wanted to do was go outside. He hates being cooped up. But they told him he had to stay put and lead prayers on a strict schedule.”

Patch winced.

“Apparently the khentauree who are at the Shivers are from this group. They splintered off and followed Luthier instead. They don’t pray, so the ones here are upset about that.”

“So Kez built an underground temple.”

“You saw that chandelier room, right? Where else would you find something like that?”

“Yeah, I saw it. We came through the other way. It’s . . . there’s a fortune of art here, Lapis. Collectors would pay thousands of metgals to get their hands on the sculptures and paintings here. I don’t think they’re forgeries, either. I’m betting Kez bribed ruin curators and took what he wanted, because some of those pieces look like they were part of a temple’s inner sanctum.”

“The front door has an arch that looks like it’s from the Star’s Grace. It was a temple in Taangis over four thousand years ago. I saw pictures of it in my uncle’s history books when I was a kid.”

“Typical rich shit,” he muttered. Lapis agreed. Money that might have helped other humans went to lavish expenditures that did nothing other than grow the man’s ego.

The hall ended in a circular room with a glass wall circling the interior. The cold of snow-blanketed mountain peaks poured down on them from slats in the ceiling. Lapis shivered and wrapped her scarf around her face, annoyed. Why make this place so chilly? Her partner glanced up, his nose flared in dislike, before he chaffed his hands together and scanned the walls.

They had numerous blinking lights and screens flashing numbers and symbols, everything in order and functional. What purpose did it serve in the temple? For it to remain usable, the khentauree had to practice upkeep, so it held some sort of important role.

Why have a glass partition . . . Lapis slapped a hand over her mouth as her gorge rose. Floating behind the glass, in the center of the room, arms tied by thick wire to horizontal, hovering discs, was a corpse.

The upper body sagged down, head at an angle and propped up by the overlarge metal earmuffs still protecting the ears. Thick, grooved tubes ran from the middle of the muffs to a transparent mask. A round black perforated grate protruded from the mouth, reminding her of speakers. It retained over-white teeth, a sunken nose, and eye cavities, with the cheek facing the ceiling a black hue, the rest of the head a mottled yellowish tan.

Strands of straggly white hair acted as if infused with static, floating in waves around a large white tube. The twisty thing ran from the back of the skull and through the glass, connecting to a tech box on the opposite side of the room.

The yellow dress of fine silk had long belled sleeves that did not hide the mottled hands, and hung loosely from the frame. A sagging pale orange sash threatened to fall from bony hips. Random spots shimmered, but the beauty the items once had was long gone. Gold rings with time-dulled gemstones decorated the shrunken fingers. Tarnished gold bracelets dangled from the wrists and ankles. White sandals with heels the height of a hand lay on the frosty floor beneath, between discs that matched the floating ones above them. On top of the shoes were dusty bits she assumed came from the decaying body, and a gold tiara with ring-matching jewels.

Behind it, outside the glass, stood a khentuaree, coated in frost, its legs stuck to the single-step platform by clamps.

“Vision says this is Ree-god,” Chiddle said. “The tube at the back of her head connects to the console, and there is still a signal.”

“She’s beyond dead,” Patch snarled. “It’s unconscionable to keep her like that.”

“Yes. But the mask is sending signals. The khentauree think she is still alive.”

“She isn’t,” Lapis whispered. “How could she be?”

“How’s the tech even still working?” Patch asked. “It’s been how many years, and there’s still a signal.”

Chiddle looked at Vision; Lapis thought her disgust apparent. “She says Maphezet Kez believed Ree-god a Stars saint. He did not think she would die. They built this room so when her body failed, she could live on, like a khentauree.”

“This is nothing like a khentauree,” Lapis hissed.

“No. They wanted to transfer her to the chassis behind her. It did not work; the blank remained silent after Ree-god went to silence. Maphezet Kez kneeled and screamed at her for days. His followers removed him and the khentauree do not know what happened to him.”

“He went crazy,” Lapis supplied. “They probably put him in an asylum and another rich ass snagged his fortune.”

“Maphezet Kez had many followers. One coder took up Ree-god’s work and told the khentauree to care for her until her chassis activated.”

It never would. They forced the mechanical beings to care for a corpse because they could not admit their god died. Lapis turned away, shaking, but from shocked sorrow or growing anger, she did not know.

“How is she floating?” Patch asked.

“Magnetic field.” Chiddle waited as Vision buzzed in staccato. “She says Maphezet Kez had rooms built where Ree-god could float above the ground in a chair and pretend she was a Star. After she died, her followers built a special khentauree to take care of her. He worships with the temple khentauree, and makes a pilgrimage to her every year.”

“The temple khentauree?” Lapis asked. “Are they here?” She looked over her shoulder at the door; it seemed odd, to make a pilgrimage to a nearby room every year.

Chiddle asked, then hummed. “Vision says no. The temple is in a room near Dreamer. Luveth is the priestess and her khentauree take care of the temple for the return of the Stars.” The fortuneteller waved at Ree-god and growled, angry. “Luveth will not be happy with us breaking Dreamer. She will want to punish the khentauree for fleeing him instead of harming us. It is her way because they programmed her to represent Gajov Miaam.”

Not good. Lapis already had enough of human-forced khentauree attacks to last a lifetime.

“They’re smaller khentauree,” Patch said. “They can leave through the tunnels when the tera-khent couldn’t.”

And endanger their infiltration group!

“They are coded not to harm stranger humans.”

That did not reassure Lapis, and by her partner’s skepticism, he did not trust the code, either. The tera-khent attacked them, after all. He did not seem inhibited by any prohibitions against harming humans.

“What about stranger humans meddling with their Ree-god?” Lapis asked. “Will they attack us?”

Chiddle shrugged. “There is no Ree-god. There is a human who has gone to silence.”

“Then why do they think she’s still talking to them?”

“The static.”

“She’s dead,” Patch said. “There’s no communication.”

Chiddle hummed at Vision, she responded, and he turned to them, clenching his hands. “Vision says they make things up because they must, so they divine words in the static. But they are literal. They believe that the noise has a pattern, and calculate to find the nearest human words to the pattern. They do not agree on which words.”

“So what happens if the static stops?” Patch asked.

The star khentauree looked at them, her humming taking on a cajoling tone.

“She says good things. I do not trust her.”

Patch glanced at Lapis. “There’s one way to make sure they target us and not the others.”

“Are you going to act on the bad idea of bad ideas?”

His mischievous grin did not placate her. “You know me too well.”

“Patch, that’s a really bad idea.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to do yet.”

“It is a bad idea,” Chiddle agreed. “I will help.”

Lapis did not appreciate the camaraderie as the two sauntered around the glass and to the tall metal box with a glass sphere at the top. What if Kez’s people predicted this eventuality and planned something nasty for anyone messing with Ree-god? Khentauree may be literal, but humans were vindictive, and she did not doubt that the devotees of a dead Star might leave hateful code behind.

Vision’s hum sounded too happy. Lapis bustled to the two, nervous anxiety bursting through her.

“We need to contact Jhor first!” she called. “He can—”

Chiddle wrapped his hands around the tube connecting the corpse to the tech consoles and yanked. Sparks flared and poofed out in grey smoke as the wires tore away from the console. He yanked again, completely severing all contact. A box appeared on the screen embedded in the wall next to it, flashing a warning orange as black symbols ran across it and repeated.

The khentauree snagged the wiring and jerked. The head rocked back, skin peeling away with the attachment, and the magnetic discs slanted backwards. One fell, taking the body with it; the other wobbled and stayed in place. The left arm pulled away from the corpse, remaining tied to the disc while everything else collapsed in a heap on top of the shoes and crown.

A blare of alarm resounded through the room. Orange flashed on numerous screens. The screams of khentauree rose above it, shrill, disjointed. Hooves rang in cacophony on the tiles; Lapis jerked her gaze from the crumpled body and looked through the glass. Vision stood in the doorway, arms braced against the sides, as a jumble of khentauree bodies slammed against the walls beyond her, wailing, pivoting, arms flailing.

“Do you think this is going on with all the khentauree?” Patch asked as he cocked his elbow and drove it through the screen.

“All that heard Ree-god’s voice, yes.”

“So the ones here, and the ones in the Shivers, and what about Luthier?” Chiddle stared at Lapis, and she sucked in a breath. “How do we get them to calm down?”

The khentauree kicked the base of the console, denting the thing into oblivion, before answering. “Their program should complete and they will be calm again.”

“Should complete?”

“Lapis, get a hold of Linz,” Patch gritted as he turned to the khentauree shell Ree-god was supposed to inhabit.

Chiddle caught his arm. “It is a blank,” he said. “There is no reason to harm it.”

Vision stepped back and pressed an unremarkable space near the door; it slid shut. Multiple thumps echoed into the room, and the shrillness intensified to a continuous call. Lapis covered her ears as the fortuneteller hummed, not sounding happy, and Chiddle growled.

“She says they will not listen to her. She does not know why. The injured khentauree is running a diagnostic and is not affected, so she believes if we reboot them, the bad code will wash away. But we destroyed the main console.”

Lapis shrugged out of her bag, unamused. “So how else can we do that?”

Chiddle put a hand to his head. “Ragehill knows the khentauree went crazy,” he said. “Sanna . . . is not pleased.” He looked at the destroyed console. Regretful, perhaps?

“Ask her if Jhor has any ideas.” She grabbed the comm device and thrust it at the khentauree; he turned what needed turning, and she put it on. “Linz?”

“What in Rekarsius’s Hand are you doing?” the urgent whisper came after tense moments of silence. “Do you not know what careful means?”

“How do you know we did something?” Lapis asked, nonplussed.

“Chiddle and Patch,” they said. She waited for an explanation, received none, and grumbled. She thought she heard the tera-khent’s roar, louder, desperate, through the device.

“Um, well, yeah, you see, the khentauree were hooked into a dead human’s head by tech, but, since she’s dead, all they got was static they pretended were the words of their god. Heh. And um, we—”

“I disconnected them,” Chiddle said. “The khentauree are now broken. We need to force them to reboot.”

“We just found a way in for the terrons,” Linz said, exasperated. “It looks like a stream once ran through a large cave here, but it’s dried up. We’ll find you as soon as the rest of our group gets here.”

“Force them to reboot?” Caitria’s disbelieving voice asked, as Chiddle tapped the glass to capture Vision’s attention and buzzed at her. She replied, and the khentauree leaned closer to the device.

“We know where you are. We will rejoin you.”

A static burst accompanied his last words. Lapis winced and jerked the thing from her ear. Patch set a hand on her shoulder, as several of the wall lights flickered and dimmed or extinguished completely. More orange boxes appeared, flashing maniacally.

“The interference we experienced in Ambercaast? It just activated,” he said.