“You puked on him.”

“Yeah.”

Katta, boots on the edge of the table, arms between his legs, glared at his friend, who hunched over a bowl of warm soup, looking ill and not contrite. Vantra had no idea what to say, though she fell on the Darkness acolyte’s side of things. She did not think the sun burned brighter than she, as she stared at the green runny stuff and disgusted embarrassment flooded her. He threw up on a city emissary’s feet!

After a shocked silence, Embrez spun and fast-walked outside without a word to his bewildered men, trailing vomit. They awkwardly glanced at each other before scurrying after. Did they, too, want to sink into the floor?

Red, bent over, one hand on the counter for balance, one on his stomach, had laughed. What was wrong with him?

“Embrez isn’t an enemy you wish to have,” Xafane said, wringing his hands, worry surrounding him like a swarm of gnats.

“Embrez knew better.” Katta nudged Red’s arm with the tip of his boot. “And so did Qira.”

“I couldn’t help it,” he whined as he sipped from the over-large spoon. “Besides, it proved I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t up to visitors.”

Vantra wanted to nudge a snickering Kenosera, who had his hand clamped over his mouth and a gleam in his eyes. He found too much amusement in the incident—and he did not seem at all surprised that Red spewed bright green and not a normal color of vomit. Interrupting his mirth, Fyrij snagged a jutting bit of crust from the roll he held and yanked; he set about helping the caroling get a mouthful, shoulders shaking.

Leeyal sighed as he leaned over the counter and eyed Red. “It’s not Embrez that concerns me. He never would have stepped foot in here without Hrivasine’s push.”

“And the changelings said they worked for him,” Vantra said quietly. “It must have something to do with Yut-ta.”

“The Light-blessed will make certain anyone associated with Hrivasine doesn’t get any further than Mozarin’s front door.” Katta tapped a short rhythm on the edge of his chair. “As much as he would love to lord over the entirety of Selaserat, he doesn’t have the backing to force the general populace to follow his will. The elfines of Kanderite descent might feel a cultural obligation, perhaps, but all others see him as a corrupt leader they have to put up with in return for increased business from the toll. Why was Jare itching to fight?”

Leeyal hmphed and slid a glass of water across the counter. “He and some of the younger hotheads don’t appreciate the direction Hrivasine wants to take our beloved city.”

Younger hotheads? The Aristarzian culture died out thousands of years previous, so younger was relative. Vantra, at a measly twenty-six years, disliked her inclusion with beings many, many generations removed from her birth.

Kenosera retrieved the glass and handed it to Red, who grinned in thanks before guzzling the contents, wincing, and looking as if he might repeat his performance.

Leeyal looked to the stairs. “Anything I can get you?”

Lorgan shook his head as he floated to them, eyeing Red with skepticism. “Not right now, thank you. Perhaps after I visit the library and look up the current way to Luck’s Hold. I have detailed instructions from my previous Redemption, but from discussions last night, I don’t think they’re valid.”

Leeyal sighed for the truth of it. “The Labyrinth’s changing far more often than it used to. When I first arrived here, pathways would stay extant for centuries. Now? Sometimes a semma, if we’re lucky. Just before the Sea of Winds started bawling, the monitors couldn’t find a route for two yilsemma. Hrivasine ordered government whizen to keep the way to Luck’s Hold open once it reappeared, and they’re struggling with the edict. The Mid’s concerned it’s going to get cut off from Selaserat, and if that happens, the Wiiv will invade. They’ve wanted the outsiders out of the forest since before the flood, and destroying the only settlement in the Labyrinth proper that caters to non-natives would go a long way in securing their hold over the remaining rainforest peoples east of the river.”

“Someone mentioned the Labyrinth’s grown past its former boundaries.” Lorgan folded his arms and studied the tavern owner.

“It has.” Leeyal motioned at the door with a flip of his hand. “The vine trees have jumped the rivers that feed Lake Deccavent and are growing east, eating up the bourheight trees. It’s interesting, in a scary way, though. There’s an obvious, unnatural line between native Elfiniti growth typical of the Dryan Lowlands and the Elfine Highlands, and the breech.”

“It’s troubling,” Xafane agreed. “Lokjac thinks that two deities are in battle over land, but he’s not certain who. Strans, since he’s of the twisted vines, is likely one, but no clue who the other might be. The local forest deities lost their voice after the flood, and while still worshipped in various small village altars, they have nowhere near the followers they once did. They aren’t powerful enough to rise against Strans. Lokjac toyed with the thought maybe Tenathi is butting heads with him. He’s attempted several times to eradicate her altar at Luck’s Hold, to no success, and the bourheight trees are sacred to her for their healing blooms.”

“Wondrous,” Red grumbled as he slurped his soup. “What other bad news?”

“Sure you want it, in your condition?” Leeyal ask, pointedly eyeing the meal.

“Speak,” Katta said, eyes half-lidded, mouth pursed to the side. The tavern owner chuckled, but not with mirth.

“Well, reports from Kooldvyn aren’t good. There have been raids on the small farming communities on the outskirts of Lake Deccavent, and at least one attempt to infiltrate the dam. That scared the dryans, because no one wants a mini-repeat of the Dryanthium flood. Kooldvyn petitioned Dryanthium leaders for help—and for them, a breakaway group who finds giant lake life too restricting, to swallow their pride and ask for aid says a lot.”

Lorgan hmphed. “Maybe they should rethink their damming of water and magic, then,” he muttered. “Then it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Leeyal chuckled. “Yes, tell the dryans and nymphs and sprites they can’t build their mega-lakes. That’s a fight with no end. Anyway, those farm raids might be the most concerning. Whoever’s performing them started by hitting small farmsteads at Deccavent, continued west across the Dryanflow, and now targets the forest dwellers who decided to settle there rather than continue age-old hunting and gathering traditions. The Greenglimmer Regional Council hired extra patrollers when it became clear we couldn’t lose more farms and still feed the region in the coming semma. It’s been a boon for our bored Aristarzian siblings, and they’re making good money for their efforts.

“They’ve had a hard time capturing anyone, though. They usually arrive in time to put out the fires and save lives, but the raiders disappear before a serious fight takes place. And now we have a growing problem with boat attacks on the Dryanflow—as you experienced.”

“And what’s Resa looking into?” Katta asked.

“Dark things.”

“Anything to do with roots?”

“Yes, and odd questions.” Leeyal leaned further over the counter. “We laughed about Lokjac’s prediction last night, but there have been others interested in the return of Light and Darkness.” His voice dropped low enough they all paused and listened; even Red stopped eating his soup. “Those Finders you mentioned? I think they’re members of a group that’s been nosing around the Aristarzian Quarter. Initially, they said they were on a Redemption for an elder spirit, and their map led them to the Quarter. Finders usually conduct solitary Redemptions, but this group has between fifteen to twenty ghosts. Resa thought them odd, since having a large entourage isn’t how Gerant and Imparik want things done.

“Then they started asking if anyone had seen a rouge Finder who stole a head from the Fields. They described her companions—and since we’ve put up with you lot for more centuries than I want to count, we knew exactly who they talked about.” His eyes flicked to Vantra. “Vantra’s not who they say, in demeanor or appearance, and their lies are making it more difficult for them to extract information. Not that it matters, though. Even Qira’s detractors found them suspicious and haven’t been helpful.”

Red looked over his shoulder. “Did they talk to Thendre?”

“Yep. And he was so disturbed, he came here to speak with me about it.”

Both Katta and Red’s surprise did not sit well with Vantra. What were the Finders saying about her? Nothing pleasant, but the reaction seemed an extreme response to a few questions.

“Considering all that’s happened this morning, we probably shouldn’t go places alone.” Red turned to Lorgan.

“I’ll go with him,” Vantra volunteered. Not that she wanted to step foot outside the tavern, but she agreed with the ancient ghost, and she did not want to be around when the inevitable happened and his soup came up with a heaping swirl of violent green.

Lorgan blinked. “What happened this morning?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

The scholar sunk deep into thought after she related her busy day, and she had to drag him out of the way of several passers-by to keep him from phasing through them. She did not know what she said that required him to delve so deeply into his memories, but she hesitated to disturb him.

The Selaserat Library sat in the middle of a garden surrounded by an ironwork fence and lush with blue and gold flowers, fat bushes with tiny bright pink blooms, and stately trees many times her width. The boughs stretched far from the sturdy trunks, bathing the foliage in shadows sprinkled with dots of daylight.

The satisfying rush of water soothed something in her as they neared the entrance fountain, a gigantic, time-greyed statue of a robed elfine towering over stone flowers streaming droplets into the shallow, tiled pool. The worn mosaic had a profile procession of ghosts moving in a circle around the sculpture, each holding something of value that struck Vantra as a religious offering. Did the fountain honor a syimlin? He did not look like one of the current major syimlin, so perhaps a minor one?

“Kjiven,” Lorgan murmured with deep sarcasm. She looked at the scholar, then up at the wispy beard of the stern individual holding a torch and a book. “The guiding light who created Greenglimmer. Every official building in Selaserat has to have a dedication to him, and you can tell who is more invested in supporting Hrivasine by how extravagant their honoring is.”

Hopefully she never met Hrivasine. She had the feeling she would hate the elfine.

The library was a round, four-story structure made of golden sandstone. Balconies circled each of the floors, though Vantra did not see windows, only doors. That reminded her of the Hallowed Collective’s headquarters in Evening; the library sat underground, so the only light came from candles, lamps, and one’s own magic.

A pointed tower rose at the back, wide openings too large to be windows perforating the sides. An observation deck spanned from the top, and she noted several beings moving on the platform. Would Lorgan mind if they took a quick peek? She wanted to see the expanse of the city and the forest beyond.

They walked up the ramp to the entrance doors. Nestled to the side was a tiny niche with an admission sign over its worn wooden counter. Within sat a bored elfine, her chin in her hands, her glazed eyes on a flock of small yellow and purple birds dipping into the largest flowers. She looked at them and made a show of straightening before she turned a clipboard around and slid it to them.

“Name and reason for your visit,” she said in a tone as dull as her demeanor. Lorgan retrieved a grungy pen from a holder bolted to the countertop and scribbled two names on the appropriate line—Lorgan for him, Crimson for her. Why use his real name? Could he not think of a pseudonym? A thrill shot through her as he wrote Redemption research as the reason, but the attendant took one look and pointed at the doors, unconcerned.

“The Finder Library is on the first floor. Go left when you get inside and follow the signs.”

Lorgan did not thank her, but phased through the nearest door. Vantra gave a small smile that the woman ignored and hastened after him. Had he donned the attitude of Finder sage? He could have warned her.

“Fine security,” he grumbled as she caught up to his fleeting essence. He floated down a side aisle with a glittering rope on the right and human-sized watery landscapes on the left. “This library has treasures beyond their monetary worth and no guard, no questions?”

An appropriate question, considering all the gold gleaming on sconces and decorating the wainscotting, the artwork frames, the carpet. She noted closed display cases with gold locks and padding that cradled items glowing with magic, white vases swirling with blue wave designs, and vine-edged mirrors whose reflections made the ground floor look far larger than its actual size. Each one would sell well to collectors, its provenance adding to its value.

“We should be happy they don’t have more suspicious security,” she murmured as they passed a central mosaic of a white-bearded, white-robed elfine with incandescent rays shining from his head, holding up his hands in the pleading prayer pose. She had seen similar iconography at the Temple of Eternal Light in Keelsland, and those artworks always referenced a saintly acolyte. From the tales she heard about Talis destroying the toll barrier, she doubted that Kjiven held a strong religious leaning towards Light, and she thought it irreligious, to portray him thus.

“Why?”

“What if the Finders told them about us?”

“So what if they did? The Finders are working on outdated info, as Leeyal said. Besides, Nolaris kept you sequestered from most acolytes. No one knew you, and they won’t recognize you if you don’t have brown hair and a Finder’s badge. I’m sure word will eventually get around that you’ve changed your appearance, but it doesn’t look like that’s happened yet.”

Vantra did not agree, but groped with words to explain the deep, unrelenting waves of fear concerning discovery. Lorgan, as nymph-taught, had an incredible understanding of his power and how to use it, so she expected his lack of concern. She, however, did not have the benefit of centuries of study in Mental Touch or a strong gift. She kludged what she had together and hoped it worked as expected. That deficiency left her and Laken vulnerable to Finder menace.

Tingles raged through her essence, and she clamped down on her thoughts. Too much worry battered her. She yearned for Lorgan’s self-assurance and breezy disregard of danger, but could not grasp it.

What if the Finders showed up?

She looked up at him, the thrill of uncertainty pinching her. He gazed back, eyes narrowed, mouth firm, and her distress intensified. He felt it, too, the brush of tainted magic. She found it too similar to that which animated the roots to ignore.

What did it herald? Were the enemy already in the archive? She did not see any familiar names written above hers and Lorgan’s on the log page, but she had met few acolytes during her training. Lorgan knew many more, and he mentioned nothing.

They reached a sectioned-off hallway marked by a huge white sign with ‘Finder Collection’ painted on it in stark green. The human ghost sitting behind a podium set beneath the sign looked up from her book, a volume as thick as she was wide, and peered at them over her pointed glasses. Ghosts did not have perception problems that required eyewear, so she must wear them because popular perception associated scholars with the style.

“Can I help you?” Her words echoed her disdain for their attire as her gaze swept over them.

“We are Finders on a Redemption, and need access to the archive.” Lorgan smiled, absent his typical confidant nonchalance. The feel of the building must have affected him more than she realized.

“Are you now?” she asked, folding her hands and planting her gaze on shoulders missing a Finder badge.

Vantra had not thought to bring hers; before she could panic and come up with an excuse no one would believe, Lorgan dug into his pocket and held up his—a sage badge, which startled Vantra. Due to his demotion, she thought he only had a membership badge, or even a lowly acolyte one like she did. Relief flooded her; few questioned a sage’s demands.

“My acolyte and I have discovered that Finders are not as welcome within Selaserat as we once were.”

The woman winced at that but quickly covered her reaction with a deeper dive into suspicion. “I’ve not known a Finder to let public perception dissuade them from promoting their cause.”

“Oh?” Lorgan cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. “It’s funny, how flaming arrows change that want.”

She did not believe the statement. She squinted at them and opened her mouth, but Lorgan whisked past her and into the sterile, white-tiled hallway, cold sage aplomb wafting from him. Too many Finders had dismissed Vantra in an identical manner, and the play scratched her sense of self-worth and outrage—and by the lifted lip and gritted teeth the ghost flashed at his receding form, she felt the same.

It also hinted at how many sages the woman dealt with, that she refused to stop him.

Vantra smiled in strained politeness, reflective of her silent apologies for Nolaris’s actions, bowed her head, and zipped to the scholar, half-seething, half-relieved.

His smirk pushed her into full seething mode.

“That wasn’t nice.”

“Sages aren’t supposed to be nice. You’re playing the part of embarrassed acolyte well.”

“Maybe because I am embarrassed.”

He chuckled. “If things had turned out differently, I doubt you would have lasted long as a Finder. You have a want to do good that so many of them lack.”

How was she supposed to take that? He phased through the white, bumpy-glassed door as she attempted to form a nasty comment about his absence of faith. She gave up; the Finders she knew who wished to help the Condemned find Redemption rather than promote their own careers belonged to the Clastics and got the boot from the Hallowed Collective for the association.

Even Lorgan, who had completed over a thousand Redemptions, suffered humiliation as they unceremoniously stripped him of his rank at Nolaris’s jealous insistence. They had no care for competence, only loyalty to sage whims.

She floated through the door, attempting to straighten her jumbled thoughts.

She stopped.

She stared.

Empty shelves.

Lorgan shuddered, swore, turned on his heel, and zipped through the door as her emotions threatened to crash to her feet. Shelving that should have held volume upon volume relating to Greenglimmer stood bare. Dazed, she walked to the cabinets that customarily contained copies of newspapers on slides; the boxes held nothing.

Darker squares hinting at the size of absent paintings littered the faded walls. No tables, no chairs; the dispenser for writing utensils was gone from the sideboard, and no scratch paper filled the shallow box.

No litter, no dust, nothing to indicate an archive’s worth of material once rested there.

Vantra whirled as the librarian huffed through the doorway, snapping something at Lorgan. Her rage froze, broke, and her mouth fell open in astonishment. The scholar settled at her side, more than fury animating him.

“But . . .” The librarian floated, entranced, to the first shelving unit and touched the middle shelf with trembling fingers. She raised them, rubbed the tips together, and studied the empty room as if she had never seen such an odd sight. “It was here,” she whispered. “The entire collection! A group of Finders just used it two days ago! I checked to make certain all was in order after they left. Everything seemed fine, and they didn’t trigger the theft detectors.” She drifted down the central aisle, shivers coursing up her arms and into her body. “I don’t understand. Two days! It’s only been two days! No one could have lugged that much stuff out of here in two days! And I would have noticed.” She stopped, turned, her lower lip in her teeth, tears in her eyes, and raced out of the room.

“Finders?” Vantra asked, pressing her hands against her stomach. “The ones Kjaelle confronted?”

“Maybe.” Lorgan’s nostrils flared. “She had to have known the items were missing.”

“She didn’t act like she knew.”

“There were so many things here, Vantra! The cases of artifacts! Some of the paintings were equal in worth to one of the high rises in Evening! Those don’t just walk out and no one the wiser.”

A gaggle of ghosts burst inside, chattering, followed by living employees who had to open the door. Each one stopped, stared, and blubbered in genuine shock. One, an elfine ghost with greying brown hair and glasses held around her neck by a beaded chain, looked as if a procession of carriages had rolled over her in succession while she remained in Physical form.

The elfine floated further into the room, hand rising to her chest, then turned in a slow circle, her eyes rounding to the point they bulged out by the time she completed her twirl.

“No.” Heartbreak cracked her voice. “It’s . . . the collection. It’s gone?”

The librarian who manned the podium whisked to her and settled her hands on her shoulders as she slumped, her essence shrinking into a quivering mass.

“The materials, the artwork.” If she still inhabited a living body, tears would have accompanied the words. “I . . . but . .  how?”

“I don’t know. Everything was here two days ago. I know, I checked, after the last group of Finders left.”

The elfine pointed at a larger square on the wall. “My father’s portrait. It was painted by Licune Ribari, but other than that, it holds no value. Who’d want to take it?”

Vantra heard the grief and the disbelief. She peeked at Lorgan; the scholar lost his edge, as if, despite his initial declaration, he realized someone emptied the room without its caretakers’ knowledge. He turned to the employees, his expression softening.

“If the collection was here two days ago, someone moved it by non-physical means. I can look around, see if I can determine what spells the thieves used. They would need a certain set, to keep delicate artifacts intact.”

If they wanted them to remain intact.

The elfine nodded and set a hand to her head, her essence flickering fast enough Vantra worried she might discorporate. Her compatriot must have thought the same, for she turned her around and guided her from the room.

The others trickled out, silent as a funeral procession, except for a dryan, who had her hands folded at the back of her neck. She studied the room as her fingers slid down her dark cyan braid to play nervously with the splayed ends, then focused on her and Lorgan. “Thessara has maintained this collection for centuries. Her father started it, and when he retired from the library, she continued in his stead.”

“This isn’t a Finder library?” Vantra asked, surprised.

“No. It’s Thessara’s family legacy.” She waved a hand, annoyed. “The Hallowed Collective claimed it as their own since they pay a fee to use it, but he was the one who built this room to house the materials he acquired as a sage. Everything else has expanded around it.”

“Do you know if anyone other than the Finders had business in this room?” Lorgan asked. “Not necessarily in the last two days, but the last couple of yilsemma? Anyone who might have spent long enough in here to place some sort of spell, or anyone working late at night?”

“I don’t know. We’ve had more visitors since the Labyrinth’s paths have changed so drastically. The guide companies must check before every trip, and if we have an overflow with the public maps, we send them here. You need to speak with Drewy about specifics, but she’s caring for Thessara. I can bring the sign-in book.”

“That’s a start, thank you.”

Vantra waited until the woman wafted far enough down the hall, she could not hear. “Do you think that feeling has anything to do with it?”

The scholar eyed her sharply. “Yes.” He swished his fingers through the air. “I can’t define it, but it feels . . .”

“It feels like the roots I cleansed,” she whispered.

“And Clear Rays guided by your hand eradicated them. You might have to do that here.”

Her reluctance to initiate the spell slammed into her. What if something happened, and she ended up obliterating every being in the library, instead of ridding them of the taint? “Katta should look at this.” He could mitigate her Touch, keep it localized.

He nodded slowly. “An older pair of eyes would be welcome. Someone as seeped in Darkness as he will easily sift through what I sense.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s almost like whoever cast it warped a waterdome transportation spell.”

“But don’t those only target living beings?”

“Yes. They detect body heat when a dome fails, and transport everyone to dry land. There’s no reason someone couldn’t switch the target, make it paper or whatnot instead of heat. Maybe they made a mistake and ended up twisting the implementation somehow. I hate to say it, but Rezenarza’s Touch is sweet perfume compared to this, and that’s saying something.”

“As your acolyte, I should go get him. Do you think the librarians will let me back in if I leave and return with another guest?”

“I don’t know. They should—it’s obvious we didn’t take the collection, but I’m not sure they’re thinking straight right now. Why don’t you just pray to Veer, and he can tell Katta.”

She bowed her head, her eyes glued to the shiny white tiles below her toes. “That doesn’t work for me.”

“What?”

“Praying.”

“That’s silly.”

Her fists tightened at his exasperation. It was not silly! She knew—who ignored her when Yut-ta desperately needed help?

His essence floated into her sight, the edges of his robe wafting about as if underwater. “Vantra? Of all the ghosts I’ve met in the Evenacht, you have a true religious gift.”

“I don’t. I prayed when I found Yut-ta, and emptiness met me.” She shook her head, wishing she could sink into the earth and avoid the embarrassing admittance, but she did not want to encounter those roots again.

“Then try contacting Verryn.”

“Verryn’s recovering!”

“Yes, which means he’s bored.”

“No need.” They both turned; Kjaelle floated just inside the doorway, regarding the empty room with firm-lipped revulsion. “I thought I’d come help, but, well.”

“The staff said that a group of Finders used the library two days ago,” Lorgan said. “The collection was here at that point. An assistant went to get the logs, and we can see who visited. I’m not certain how helpful that will be.”

She lifted her lip. “The Touch in this room is sour.” Her gaze lingered on the shelves, the cabinets, the spaces on the walls that once contained artwork. “I don’t think the spell is still active. It remains, though, like the rancid taste of rotting fruit.” She wafted to a shelf and ran her fingers over the unit. “Even the dust? Hmm. How is this going to affect our search?”

“It depends on whether we can get access to Labyrinth maps similar to the ones housed here. This archive has historical records with annotations concerning ruins, and how to find them without a direct path using Strans’ Blessing. The public maps the library keeps don’t have that specialized information. I’m betting the Greenglimmer Regional Council does, and I’m betting the Selaserat Council does, but we don’t have access to them. We can ask the whizen who update the paths if they have more extensive records, but whether they’ll speak to us is a different tale.” Lorgan tugged on his beard, annoyed. “I found Laken’s essence in a Labyrinth ruin complex. There’s no reason to think it didn’t respawn in the same locale when I ended the Redemption, but my notes about reaching those ruins are useless if, as Leeyal says, the pathways change every semma.”

“Well, I doubt Hrivasine will grant us access to any maps the city keeps,” Kjaelle said. “And Anmidorakj will follow his lead because he’s older kin.” She lifted her lip. “Kanderite kinship ties outweigh most everything else, so we won’t find help in either of them. Is there another Finder library nearby?”

“Dryanthium has one, but I’m not sure the extent of their map collection. I doubt it’s as up-to-date as we need—if we could even get in. They require pre-registration and check with Evening before they allow anyone access.”

Kjaelle rolled her eyes. “So asking whizen is our best hope of getting current, accurate info.” She cocked her head, contemplative. “Katta’s coming. We’ll discuss it with him when he arrives.”