Vantra trailed Jare through deserted streets, her thoughts returning to the map. How many other ways into and out of Greenglimmer did the vines block? In the Labyrinth, stepping off a path was deadly, but outside it, beings could enter the forest and bypass them. Couldn’t they? She wished she had asked the whizen the extent of the barriers; if they only spanned the roads, walking around them would work, but if they stretched further?
Fear wriggled up her essence. She jerked, whirled, saw nothing, but a dark, hateful loathing oozed through the air, a suffocating, ominous cocoon that the sparse breeze could not dissipate. Rushing to Jare, she snagged his hand, wanting to run, escape the monstrous sensation. He squeezed her fingers, a calming act, and continued. Without his presence, she would have retreated, too afraid to continue.
How was he not scared? She berated her cowardly inner self, but no words could force courage to blare through her. Instead, she clutched his hand with both of hers, pressed into his arm, and wafted with him.
They neared the square in which the Dark Light sat; the terribleness poured from the paving stones and coated the ground in an emotional residue that would affect ghost and living alike.
“Vantra?” Jare whispered. His wariness meant he felt it, too.
“I can’t step in there.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she had no explanation for the reaction.
Jare nodded and squeezed her fingers. “Yeah. The corruption wasn’t as strong at the gate or at Chisterdelle’s. It must be targeting the tavern.” He winced as he studied the square. Devoid of any presence, the emptiness, the silence, emphasized the sense of grave stillness and concealing darkness. Not even a breeze sang along the paving stones, breaking the forced quiet. “I don’t see any Light-blessed about, and there should be some patrolling. Leeyal must have pulled them inside. With both Qira and Katta’s protections, whatever this is, isn’t getting in.” He tugged her into the air. “We’ll get in from the top.”
Jittery, she looked down, expecting tainted roots to punch through the street and snatch at them, but nothing snagged their legs as they left the ground.
From the top meant the tallest chimney. He wanted her to float down that? Vantra winced, but admitted, as a Light shield sizzled around the place, the only entrance was the smoking stack. Grumbling to waylay her unease at entering a quaking chimney, she fell down the flue after the Light-blessed, disliking the Darkness that embraced them before a cheery fire met their feet.
The firebox sat in the left-hand wall of the commons room, behind a congregation of Light-blessed and other Aristarzians holding spears, thumping the butts on the floorboards in time to a chest-rattling chant. Rage and viciousness resounded off the wooden panels, jangled glasses, and rocked furniture. They looked at a man standing on a stool, punching the air with his weapon in time to the chant.
“Jare!”
Leeyal’s annoyed growl concerned her; they should not be there! The barkeep smacked the other ghost’s arm, and the Light-blessed grinned with embarrassment as he left the fire, fluffing the back of his hair. He helped her from the flame with more respect, still glaring at his compatriot.
“You gave us a fright,” one of the barmaids scolded. She and several others stood to the side, watching the buildup, some approving, some overwhelmed by sadness.
Jare smiled his apology, then focused on the barkeep. He shook his head and shrugged, then frowned as a cheeky grin bloomed over the Light-blessed’s face, an expression Vantra did not associate with the man. Leeyal exchanged hopeful glances with those around him as her companion headed for the bar. Vantra would have followed, but Leeyal snagged her hand and kept her in place.
Jare hopped on top of the counter, distracting the chanters, and patted the shoulder of the one on the stool. The man lowered his weapon as Jare held up his arms to garner attention.
The chant died, replaced by subdued, random snuffles. Had no one updated them about Qira’s condition? How horrible, to know something happened, and have only worry upon worry drowning them, rather than information. She peeked at Leeyal; the pain of losing Qira sat heavy in him, brightening his eyes and twisting his mouth down.
They had not lost him. Not yet.
“He’s alive,” Jare said in a voice that carried to the corners of the commons. “His recovery’s going to be long, but he’s alive.”
“He’ll live?” Leeyal asked in quiet desperation. His need for reassurance startled Vantra, but he was not unique. Dread concern and hurt wrinkled every face in the room, with fingers clenching weapons so tightly, some arms quivered. They expected terrible news, and retribution to follow.
“Erse Parr said Ga Son was feeding him Light, and Zibwa is healing him,” she told them, raising her voice to carry. “He isn’t well, but he’s alive and will heal.”
More silence, then a growing growl of agitation rumbled through the crowd; had she misspoke? She meant to comfort them! A tornado of agonized worry and tore through them, twisting the emotions into a tight knot of sick apprehension and furious dismay.
“His was a grievous wound, and while Katta’s worried, he’s at Two Rivers.” Jare’s voice rose above the noise. “He wouldn’t be, if Qira was dying. He’d be by his side, doing everything to keep our brother with us. Light and Darkness walk hand in hand, and they both take that charge seriously.”
Expressions changed to strained hope, and grips on weapons relaxed.
“We have a role to yet play. Katta may yet need us as warriors.” Something changed in him, something Vantra could not quite identify, but the attention of those surrounding her riveted to him and stuck, as if they beheld Qira himself. He lowered his arms and changed his stance, intent on meeting the gazes of those listening to him, especially the Light-blessed on the stool. “So prepare—but don’t invade the Labyrinth until he calls. Do not waste your existence before we need your strength and your weapons. That helps no one.”
“Do you think Katta will lead us into the Labyrinth?” Leeyal asked.
“If Qira dies, he will,” Jare said, his quieter voice drifting over the silent group. “No one could hold him back. The forest will burn under his wrath, and we will follow, watering the ashes.”
“Kjaelle would try.”
He laughed at the barkeep’s confidence, the easy-going nature of Jare returning. “Maybe, if she were there. She’s here, in Selaserat, going after Yeralis.”
“Why?” Leeyal asked, annoyed, as knowing laughter trickled from the crowd. “There’s plenty to do at Two Rivers and upstream. No need to target Yeralis.”
“Have you heard we found the real Strans?”
That caught everyone’s attention again.
“The real Strans?” the man on the stool asked, incredulous.
Jare raised his hands, and silence drifted over the gathered humans. “Yeah. Me, Vantra and Laken found the real one, sitting in the middle of a pool, a captive of the fake. And you’ll never guess who the fake Strans is.”
“No games, Jare,” Leeyal muttered. “I’m beyond my capacity as is.”
“Kjiven.”
The dead could be very silent, when the dead wished to be silent.
“He didn’t meet the Final Death in the flood?” the man on the stool asked, aghast.
“Nope. He somehow escaped into the forest, and while the real Strans isn’t talking about how it happened, he stole the twisted mantle and set himself up as a deity. You want to know why the forest is a mess? That’s why.”
More than one said words Vantra did not recognize, but the nasty tone gave away their intent.
“There’s more going on; another hand pours darkness into Greenglimmer, one unknown to us. But since we know Kjiven’s manipulating the forest and the Wiiv, that gives us something to work with.”
“Did he have a hand in Qira’s injury?” Leeyal asked. The dire anger radiating from him boded ill for Kjiven, if the two ever met.
“Yeah, I think he did. I think he and the Knights are working together, and with the unknown darkness that underlies Kjiven’s handiwork. Why else were they prepared to use a mephoric emblem the moment the flood reached Two Rivers? Qira intercepted the magic and saved everyone on the top of that hill, because they meant to take out everything and every being.” Jare held up his arms for silence; the hissing and rage did not die, though it lessened. “I know you want to harm the one who harmed our Qira, but still your hands until Katta gives the word.” He shook his head, and a sprinkle of rainbow light cascaded from his hair. “You remember, don’t you? Recovering the drowned, comforting the orphans and the beings who lost everything and everyone? The callousness of the elfines, no food, no clothing, no shelter, the disease, the desperation, us trying to get the survivors to Luck’s Hold because Yjoudespayr was wiped out? Light-blessed and friends, I ask, help in the recovery efforts. Provide hope for the forest until Darkness calls for your spear and your rage.”
Again, Vantra had the feeling those words did not originate with Jare. He spoke them, but the weight of them, the way they knit together, reminded her of Qira.
“Vesh said that the Light and Darkness Temples are paying for the rescue and recovery because Greenglimmer isn’t,” Leeyal said.
“That’s true, they are. And Badeçasyon ships are flying everything to where it needs to be.” Jare lowered his arms. “If the corruption gets worse, we’ll need you as guards, to help those who help others.”
“Hey, Leeyal! Jare!”
Eyes snapped to the door; a Light-blessed held it open as Dough and two companions hustled through, looking as if the sludge of emotional magic bit them and wrung them into wisps.
Arkie accompanied them; Vantra had not spoken much to the pirate since Fekj. He was bent over, grimacing as if he had just walked through a pile of manure. She recognized Janny from Merdia, though she had not sailed with them to Greenglimmer. She had a bright blue cloth tied around her head, keeping her wavy dark hair from her eyes. Gold hoops dangled from her ears to her shoulders, a bright contrast to the dark blue stripes of her shirtsleeves. A blue sash wrapped around her waist, a decoration for the knee-length ratty black pants and the tall, well-worn boots.
Her defining feature was a scar that ran from her right eye, across her nose, and to her left cheek. Since ghosts altered their appearance to remove such things, she must want it as a prominent part of her façade.
“I’ll get you some mist,” Leeyal called. “Qira’s blessed it, so the residue shouldn’t get in and mess with your essences.”
“Good,” Dough said, his gratitude ringing through the air as the pirates walked to the bar. “It’s not like this near the docks, but the square outside?” He shuddered, and Vantra swore brownish wisps drifted from his shoulders. The man on the stool must have caught that as well, because he slid over the counter and rummaged around in the back before Leeyal slipped behind the bar.
“Zhedeç says they and their crews are seeing similar patches throughout Greenglimmer,” Janny said. “And only Greenglimmer—the rainforest in other districts remains pristine. They’re marking them and giving copies to the map caretakers and to Darkness.”
Zhedeç? Vantra remembered them; they were the in-demand Badeçasyon shipwright who worked on the Loose Ducky before they sailed to Greenglimmer. How compassionate of them, of Janny, to help during the terrible time.
“Just call him Katta,” Jare advised. “He won’t respond to much else in the Evenacht.”
Janny’s lopsided grin and twinkling eyes made Vantra wonder what mischief she enjoyed. “Never thought I’d meet a syimlin, let alone three. They don’t act how I’d thought syimlin would act.”
“No?” Leeyal and his helper plunked the mister on the bar. “On Talis, there’s lots of pomp, lots of ceremony and rules to follow, and they need to appear and behave in an expected way. In the Evenacht, they’re free to express themselves outside the confines of a temple because they have more in common with ghosts than with the living. Well, at least Qira, Katta, Verryn do. Erse has a different role in the evening lands, but get her wined up, she’s fun.”
Janny’s disbelieving laughter echoed Vantra’s. Get Death drunk? That seemed so . . . un-syimlin-like.
“What brings you here?” Jare asked, sitting down on the counter rather than finding a chair. “I can’t imagine you’d brave the square for a sip of mist.”
“I’ve been helping Zhedeç fly supplies to Selaserat,” Janny said, brushing at her arms as if to rid them of a fine dust. “Their construction ships have a lot of cargo room, so we’re using a couple to ferry goods from the Light Temple in Dryanthium and the Darkness Temples in the Parley’s to here. And I saw something strange, this last unloading. I thought you should know, I swore Kjaelle was being escorted by armed mercs to the area we think has an entrance to the undercity.”
Concerned fear crashed through Vantra. The enemy captured Kjaelle? They had to rescue her!
“It is Kjaelle,” Jare said, rubbing at his face. “And she must want to be there, if she’s meekly complying.”
Dough pursed his lips and shook his head. “Hrivasine’s mercs don’t cart just anyone down there. Janny thought she was a captive.”
“How did they catch her?” the stool man asked. “It’s Kjaelle.”
“Must have something to do with Yeralis.” Jare glanced around, then pressed his fingers together and tapped them against his lips three times before raising his index finger, an obvious act that Vantra assumed meant that what he said was confidential. “It looks like Hrivasine knew Kjiven survived the flood and stole Strans mantle. And you know who loves sniffing Hrivasine’s boots? That’s right, Kjaelle’s ex. She must have gotten caught sneaking in to have a chat with him.”
“Most of the affluent elfines are gone,” Leeyal said as mist puffed into the air at a fast, steady rate. “Probably traveled to Dryanthium to wait out this storm. And no one’s seen anyone of authority from the Gubs in days.”
“So gone, or in hiding,” Janny grumbled. “Aren’t they a swift, courageous bunch.”
“If Yeralis vacated, he left guards behind—and Hrivasine’s guards, at that. But why are they taking her to the undercity?” Jare hopped off the counter. “Vantra and I need to check in with Vesh, and then we’ll go after her.”
Vantra took that as a sign and hastened over to the bar to join him and the pirates, ready to move, to do something, to go after Kjaelle. As much as she disliked the silence surrounding the syimlins’ identities, she did not want anything horrible to happen to the elfine, either.
“Be cautious.” The barkeep folded his arms and leaned over the counter. “Resa and Joila’s place is a bright beacon in a sea of corruption. Xafane’s there, too. Seems the Sun Temple isn’t exempt from this nastiness, and he didn’t want to stick around to find out why Rudarig wasn’t doing anything about it.”
“Cowardice?” Jare hazarded. Or something else; Vantra knew Yut-ta thought the nymph had a nefarious hand in his predecessor’s disappearance. What else might he do to retain power?
“If you wait for us to get refreshed, we’ll come along,” Dough said, his normal good cheer replaced by a serious, captainly air. “The more with you, the better, considering what’s out there.”
Jare nodded. “True.” He clapped to capture attention over the shuffling of feet and screech of chairs moving. “Light-blessed and friends, stay alert, prepare, wait for my call. Instead of the Labyrinth, we might be invading the merc quarter instead.” He looked at the stool man. “That goes for you, too, Mica.”
Mica’s response drowned under a cheer loud enough to shake the shutters.
