“Thank you,” the guider whispered. They worried the edges of their cloak with bandage-wrapped hands as their aqua gaze jumped from Vantra and Red, to Arkie, their pirate escort, then back to the closed door that led to the temple’s healing quarters.
“Not a problem,” Arkie said with a reassuring grin and a twinkle in his brown eyes. He had helped the burned friend as best he could using the Loose Ducky’s medical supplies, and then accompanied the unlucky locals to the healing house. “Happy to help.”
Help they had. Vantra lost count of how many people the Loose Ducky took on board because their vessels had caught fire and sank. She thanked Passion that the speedy ship’s captain decided to hitch a ride to Fekj on another boat rather than suffer Dough’s glee over his baby surviving the attack unscathed while the other sat at the bottom of the river. The last thing they needed was a battle of egos lighting a fight.
She thought she heard echoing laughter, but disregarded it after a quick peek around the room. No one appeared in a jolly mood.
Red rubbed the back of his head against the mural-decorated wall upon which he leaned and studied the altar swathed in cerulean cloth with a silver bowl and pestle on top. The temple had opened the chapel to the unfortunate souls who suffered minor or no injury, and everyone not in a healer’s care sat on benches within. They even started the fountain, a strange contraption with a punctured silver bell sitting atop the water that issued thick, energy-heavy haze for exhausted ghosts.
“Good thing Zibwa and Tenathi have temples here,” he said, brushing his hand through the mist.
Tenathi? Vantra had not heard of them, but she guessed the ashen-skinned, green-eyed woman with feathery red eyelashes in several murals represented her. Zibwa healed through his hands, she made potions using numerous bowls and containers.
“We are blessed,” the guider said. They tugged a hand through their knotted, shoulder-length mane and smoothed their tufted ears before sneezing into their brown shirt sleeve. They had a large, wet black nose on the end of their hand-length snout, and it produced enough runny stuff to make Vantra’s tummy queasy.
“This was the first you’ve heard of the local tribes attacking boats on the Dryanflow?” Red asked, rolling his head so he could see the guider. They nodded and cleared their throat before spitting into a cloth a healer acolyte handed them and dumping it into a nearby bin.
“There have been some strange sinkings,” they said as they wiped their wrist over their watery eyes. “Mostly rowboats manned by fishers, but a few small guide boats as well. No one said anything about fire arrows or tribal beings, just that they took on water. Nothing’s happened closer to Selaserat, but from the Greenglimmer border to just past the Red Flower Shoals, small vessels spring leaks.”
“Hmm. Maybe our foes have progressed to larger targets?” Red crossed his legs at the ankle and jerked his head to clear his bangs away from his sky-blue eyes.
“Dithy,” and they choked. “Dithy said mercs from Selaserat started patrolling further from the port just as the Sea of Winds started getting nasty, both up and downstream.” Their voice dropped. “He said each boat has fifteen mercs and at least one whizan and one spiritesti.”
“So they know something’s up and didn’t tell Fekj?” Red pursed his lips in disgust as he raised his right hand and flexed his fingers, the brown leather of his fingerless gauntlet creaking. “Hrivasine needs to pull his head out of his ass.”
The healers and nearby beings reflected the guider’s stressed shock. Good luck, getting him to apologize for such opinions. Vantra had yet to hear him rescind any viewpoint.
Dough wandered down the side aisle to them, rubbing his hands together. He raised his eyebrows and Red nodded before bumping from the wall and patting the guider on the shoulder. “Just worry about recovering. I wish Dithy well.”
They forced a wan smile. “Thank you,” they said. “He’s stubborn, but . . .”
“Stubborn will get him through,” the ancient ghost assured them. He followed the pirate captain out the chapel door, and Vantra and Arkie reluctantly trailed them. She would prefer to wait in a mist-shrouded room with terrified beings, rather than return to the docks and stand through an administrative interrogation like the other members of the mini-Joyful.
They did not step one foot beyond the lamp-lit, arched gateway made of tall yellow reeds tied together with wrist-thick rope before Dough broke into gleeful delight. “You should have seen the look on the lead healer’s face!” he crowed. “So skeptical, when I told her that we’d pitch in to pay for healing services. Then she glanced in that pouch and her brows fled to the clouds!”
Red and the other pirate joined in the captain’s laughter. Vantra did not believe anything about the incident humorous but kept her opinion to herself. She, too, had thought to help, though a prayer to Sun and comforting words did not equal money for Zibwa’s acolytes. She pondered where, exactly, the Light acolyte had gotten that much Evenacht coin, since he had not boarded the Loose Ducky in Merdia with it.
Perhaps Verryn answered a prayer? That seemed like a small nicety the syimlin would do.
“It’s good of you,” the pirate continued. “It’s a hardship for many, to come up with healing services they hadn’t planned for.”
“Zibwa’s temple healers never turn a being away if they can’t pay,” Red said. “They’ll accept community service in place of funds, and if that’s impossible, swallow the cost.” He glanced over his shoulder at the unassuming collection of single-story buildings that had thatched roofs and blue flags with two golden healing hands hanging from the edges. “It’s a shame there aren’t more temples around, but keeping them running is a money sink. Supplies aren’t cheap.”
“Who is Tenathi?” Vantra asked as she, too, glanced back. Healer acolytes raced back and forth between the structures, but all those in need had found a place to rest. That was good, for the wind picked up and shuddered through her essence; cool, not cold, but just another torment for the injured and afraid.
“She’s an Elfiniti deity,” Dough supplied. “The Avies in the murals? That’s her. She’s a wandering healer, visiting specific parts of the rainforest at specific times of year. She has altars in those places, and the tribes will bring their deathly sick and injured to her when she’s nearby.”
“That’s why Luck’s Hold is so vital, beyond its dedication to Strans of Twisted Vines,” Red said. “Tenathi has an altar there. Most ghosts only think of the Luck blessing Strans hands out to travelers, but the healing altar’s just as important as navigating the Labyrinth.”
“Strans wasn’t out and about tonight,” Dough grumbled.
“He never is,” the Light acolyte said. Vantra smashed her lips together, concerned. Should he speak with such sarcasm? What if the deity took offense? Or did he believe that his status as a Light avatar and friend to syimlin would keep him safe?
The pirate captain chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Nothing takes the place of being prepared,” he said. “Which the Ducky always is!”
They walked across a raised wooden walkway that kept their feet out of the thick mud and rushes that spanned the area between Zibwa’s temple and the center of Fekj. Amphibians croaked and peeped in the foggy mire, insects sang, and Vantra was happy she did not have to worry about any blood-sucking bugs finding her a nightly snack.
Or maybe an enterprising acolyte designed the lamps to attract the little pests? They dangled from hooked poles rising twice her height, with thin metal edges holding panes of glass that allowed the glaring yellow light to inundate the night. The brilliance attracted the small creatures and kept them well above head level.
The lamps ran to the town square, which, even as late as it was, had a midday brightness, and took a sharp curve to the docks. Red said they lined the way to healing, and the temple made certain they remained lit, even if the rest of Fekj fell into darkness when night rose.
Vantra had doubts about how dark the town became. Circular brick huts lined the dirt pathway from the temple, and each had a bright, if small, lantern hanging above the door. Larger structures on platforms made from whole poles and thick thatch, had stout stone lanterns guarding the bottom of their stairs. The rock bulged out at the bottom and narrowed to a point at the top, with a hole carved in the upper center that held blazing light.
Well-lit, but Vantra noted only a handful of beings shuffling down the streets, and by their look, they hastened home rather than to entertainment. Considering how late it was, why provide so much light when so few used it?
Dough eyed the empty square, then squinted at one of the stone lamps with a sign that read Fruits and Nuts. “Fekj knows something’s up, too,” he commented, his voice grating against the quiet rush of wind and trickle of fountain water. “Last I knew, there was a bustling business of guides who took tourists to Rekander on ghost hunts late at night.”
“Ghosts hunts?” Vantra frowned, annoyed. She understood ghost hunts on Talis; everyone knew ghosts transitioned to the Evenacht, and if they did not, something mysterious and likely traumatic happened to said spirit, and the nosy wanted to meet them and find out what. But in the Evenacht, where ghosts numbered in the millions and to see one meant stepping into a busy street?
“Greenglimmer, my friend, is haunted,” the pirate said with hearty aplomb, throwing his arms wide. “From Selaserat to Kjivendei, the forest is teeming with native and Talin ghosts who spend their free time scaring the piss out of beings.”
Red grinned. “Yes, and would you stay the night in Kjivendei?”
“Nope.”
“Good choice.”
Arkie hmphed. “We went there once,” he said. “We thought’d be a treat, maybe meet a ghost or two Levassa hadn’t picked up. I mean, the Wiiv lost an entire raiding party on those mountain slopes. But it’s not ghosts who haunt the place.”
“No,” Red agreed as they followed the healer lamps across the square, the click of their boots dampened by the thick mists and the rushing of fountain water. “Katta and I stayed there a few times. The magics that rise at night are an interesting study—and not for the casual sightseer to manage.” He made a circle in the air with his index finger. “Many of the elfine ruins in Greenglimmer have odd magics. Selaserat does, even if it’s muted compared to those around long-gone communities.”
“You’ve stayed in Kjivendei after dark,” Dough stated with skepticism, one eyebrow cocked, one eye narrowed.
“Yep—before and after Kjiven’s fall.”
The pirate deflated and scratched at the back of his head. “I keep forgetting, how old you are,” he muttered. “That happened what, twenty-thousand years previous?”
“Not quite. It was 19,8-something something. I think.” He shrugged, as if the exact date held no meaning. “I may be old, but I think you’ve visited more places than I have.”
“Helps to own a ship. I can go anywhere that has a shore.”
“True enough.”
The yellow glare reflecting off the mists brightened as they walked down the raised walkway that led to the docks. Vantra’s essence oozed with discomfort, and not just because the reminder of Red’s age unsettled her. That she kept company with a being who had existed while so many important empires and kingdoms and countries had fallen, so many wars had been fought, seen the transition of mantles to new syimlin . . . she pressed her hands against her stomach. She felt easy with the mini-Joyful and thought of herself as an equal member and companion, but even the twins had a couple thousand years on her. Everyone acted so . . . not old, and with youthful appearances, she forgot their days existing vastly outnumbered hers.
But how should they act? Few ghosts wanted to sport wrinkles and hunched backs, which reminded them of the aches, pains and agonies associated with an aged body. They had a chance to look youthful and spry, and took it. Why not?
A sharp crack of command drifted to them. Vantra started and bowed her head as her companions gave her an odd look. Accompanying others to the Healer’s temple kept her from answering questions, but she suspected that the four of them would end up under a dock attendant’s stern glare while they told tales about what happened.
She did not want to talk about the attack. She wanted to curl up in her bed on the Ducky, wrap a blanket around her, and shudder herself to sleep.
“Well, look who it is.” Dough’s disdain tainted the surrounding air. He focused on a tall, gaunt being in a long, dark trenchcoat, something that looked too expensive for a docks outing and too warm for the cool but not chilly night. Braided hair that stuck up like spikes ran from the center of their forehead to the back of their lower neck, a balmy blue color in contrast to their dull grey, coarser facial fur. Their muzzle was long and narrow, with a twitchy, wide nose and strong jaw. Their hands had hooked nails, like a cat’s, but did not seem to retract. Three cloaked beings stood in front of them, and by the books they held, Vantra guessed they reported on their interrogations.
At their side was a woman the pirates saved; she recognized the soggy dress, one resplendent in pink shimmers and lace, but which now stuck in saggy wrinkles to her legs. She had found a fuzzier blanket of better quality than the other victims and wrapped it about her shoulders like a cloak. Her eyes glowed gold within the darkened recesses of the makeshift hood.
All beings, whether dockhand, local, tourist, ghost, avoided the little cluster as they bustled about.
“That’s Embrez, isn’t it?” Red asked.
“Yeah. You’ve met him?”
He laughed, though the sharpness overrode his attempt at amusement. “He’s not that fond of the Aristarzian quarter in Selaserat.”
“He’s not that fond of any ghost in Selaserat,” Dough grumbled. “I wonder why he’s here. It’s not because of the attack; there’s not been enough time for anyone from the port to reach Fekj.”
Looks like he made rivcon,” Arkie said. “Look at his breast. That’s the official badge.”
“Rivcon?” Vantra asked as she studied the green and blue patch. From that distance, it looked like wavy lines across a tree, an appropriate symbol for a rainforest port.
“River controller,” Dough answered. “They’re in charge of everything river-related in Selaserat. That includes tolls, but also patrols, boat guiders, rescuers, and the like. Rivcons tend to stick their nose in everyone else’s business, and since they do it on Hrivasine’s authority, no one’s going to tell them to butt out.”
“Well, he sucks at his job.” Red hmphed and folded his arms. “That’s what Hrivasine likes about him—he turns the other way when dealing with his underground buddies.”
“Dare you to tell him that,” Dough replied.
Vantra’s essence tightened in worry. Why provoke him? She had traveled with the mini-Joyful long enough to know he rarely held his opinions to himself, especially if the being previously annoyed him.
“Wonder if he took custody of the surviving attackers,” Red said.
Looking around, she did not see any of the rescued foes. The Loose Ducky, despite the aggravation and flabbergasted anger of other victims, had pulled who they could from the waters, no distinction between friend or enemy. They tied the attackers up but made sure they received medical care all the same.
As Dough pointed out, it was better they remained alive for interrogation, rather than sent to Levassa’s embrace, all their information locked away in death.
A green-uniformed local with large ears that pointed up, wide eyes, and a long, canine-esque muzzle, intercepted them. “We’ve orders to take everyone’s account,” she said in a brusque tone. “If you would,” and she motioned to the staggered line leading to foldable tables. Only three beings worked them, not enough to take down the dozens of narratives quickly. They would shiver on the docks until morning came!
Red lifted his lip. “Some of them are bleeding,” he said.
“They were attacked,” the local reminded him with annoyed dislike.
“Why aren’t they at the healers?”
She clenched her teeth in building anger. “Not everyone has the funds—”
“Bullshit, a Zibwa temple heals for free.” Red stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled, silencing everyone on the docks. Heads snapped to him as he raised an arm. “Zibwa and Tenathi temples heal all in need,” he shouted, amplifying his voice with magic. “Money’s never an issue. If you’re still uncertain, I made a generous donation to help out. If you don’t think you’re injured badly enough to warrant a healer, remember, the Dryanflow has some nasty shit in the water that affects both the living and ghosts. You don’t want to have to deal with an infection in the middle of your trip without easy access to help. Just follow the tall lamps, and you’ll get to the temple.”
“YOU.”
Well, Embrez remembered Red. Vantra wanted to shrink and hide behind Dough, but kept her composure by fierce will. Both pirates grinned widely, silent support that did not help the situation. A being in charge disliked others usurping their authority, and she doubted the rivcon was any different.
The local hissed at him. “That’s Rivcon Embrez!”
“I know who he is,” Red said. He grinned and waved as beings broke from the line and made their way to the lamp-lit walkway, some needing help to limp across. “So you’re now Rivcon? Congratulations.” He placed his hand against his breast and made a shallow bow. “It’s nice to know the security of the Dryanflow is in stellar hands.”
Embrez did not reply to the jab and studied Dough, as if attempting to place him but failing. “Many of those rescued claimed a pirate ship helped them.” He looked at the being at his side. “My sister is one of them.”
“Yes, me and me mates rescued who we could,” Dough said with a nod. “We’ve equipment for it, as Merdia does a lot of rescuing in our re-enactments. We were happy to do so.”
“I would like to speak with you, Qira, Captain,” Embrez said. Red and Dough eagerly took the invitation; Vantra looked at her snickery pirate companion, and trudged after them, ignoring the local’s shock. How badly would the two insult the rivcon? She did not need yet another revengeful being interfering with Laken’s Redemption! She had enough to worry about with the Knights of the Finders and Rezenarza’s unwanted intervention!
Embrez’s gaze drifted to and lingered on the twisted-ovals patch displayed on her wine-red cloak. Kjaelle suggested it, and wearing Passion’s mark had made her feel safer. Would it protect her from the rivcon’s wrath if Red and Dough got snarly with him?
He turned his focus to Red. “I would think you’d have had a hand in this, but the reports state otherwise.” His sister looked at him, and from her stance, Vantra could tell she disapproved of his words.
“I wouldn’t endanger anyone, living or ghost, in any way,” the Light acolyte replied. “I’m not an ancient elfine intent on guarding my money flow.”
The rivcon’s eyes narrowed as his sister looked down and put a blanketed hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter. “And where is your companion?”
“Delving into Darkness.”
His eyes narrowed further, to thin golden slits. “Are you traveling to Selaserat?”
“Yep.”
“You will report to the Westel Dock Authority, what he finds. Ask for Inspector Yothwan.”
“We will ask for Inspector Yothwan,” Red agreed, then his smugness evaporated. “This may just be an escalation of tribal animosity.”
He nodded. “Yes, but neither of us believes that.”
His sister raised her head. “I do not have much ability, but I can scree-aller and tabulate,” she said. “There was something riding with our attackers, something subtle, just beneath the surface. When more light exposed it, it receded, like waves on the shore.” Worry entered her tone. “I fear, that when it returns, it will destroy all it touches.”
Did that explain the brilliance spell cast over the river during the attack? In all the rush to care for the rescued, Vantra forgot to ask about it.
Wind rushed across the docks, and the sister shuddered. Embrez set his hand on her back, then nodded to them. “Gentle waves to you.”
Vantra barely comprehended the dismissal before Red snagged her arm and whisked her away from the two. Her companions did not speak until they reached the Loose Ducky, by-passing the lines of victims and the uniformed handing out supplies.
“That explains the number of ships,” Dough said as he stepped foot from the plank and onto the deck.
“An entourage,” Red agreed. “Embrez’s family has gotten wealthy from sticking their heads up Hrivasine’s ass, so it’s not too surprising to have a member traveling with a huge escort. It’s a way to brag about their riches and connections.” He sighed. “And I’m betting he thinks that’s why the attack happened—a rival, either his or Hrivasine’s, targeting his sister and using tribal animosity to advantage.”
“Nothing like that’s happened to associates of Hrivasine and Anmidorakj in centuries,” Dough said. “The criminal element found it more profitable to snuggle up to them than fight them.”
“Yeah, which is why I don’t think the attack specifically targeted his sister.” He quirked a smile. “She was demure, about her ability to scree-aller and tabulate. I don’t know why.”
Vantra hated asking, but she did not know what that meant. “What is scree-aller and tabulate?”
“Scrying,” Red replied. “The Caverns Academy on The Quiet uses that phrase instead of scrying because it’s supposed to sound more Evenacht-y. Have you heard of the Caverns? No? It’s the academy where the wealthiest from across the Evenacht send their kids so they get to slap a glorious institution’s name onto their graduation certificates, talented or no. She has a talent, though I don’t know how rigorously she trained it.”
“You sensed what she did, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. And it didn’t ride with all the attackers, just certain ones with red markings on their faces. She’s concerned, but I don’t think the enemy expected any retaliation, and I’m betting another, overt attack like this one isn’t going to happen again. They lost too many, a clear rebuke of what their leaders hoped to accomplish.” Red smacked Dough’s arm. “Cannons have a way of changing minds. Now let’s go find Katta.”
Katta sat on the rumpled bed he shared with Kjaelle, hands on his knees, eyes closed. A mental darkness filled the space, purplish-grey wisps curling through the air like smoke, before dissipating. Red peeked in, raised an eyebrow, and looked at Kjaelle, who paced the hallway. She paused and met his gaze with a half-lidded, annoyed glare.
“Did he talk to anyone at the docks?”
“No. We didn’t tell them he’s on board.” The elfine glanced into the room, her fingers thrumming a fast rhythm on her upper arms. “Red, he shouldn’t be out this long.”
“Not unless something caught his attention. You haven’t called to him, have you.”
She pursed her lips. “You know I hate doing that,” she said.
“Then have Vesh do it.”
“Red—”
Fyrij zipped past them and zoomed into the room. He fluttered to a stop on Katta’s shoulder and cheeped at him before rubbing his head under his chin.
“Fyrij!” Kjaelle hissed. The caroling tweeted at her and rubbed his chin again, with enough pressure to tip his head to the side.
The Darkness and the wisps faded, then dispelled. Katta opened his eyes; they glowed a deep sunset blue, illuminating the room in a brief but beautiful light. That, too, dwindled, and he raised a hand to stroke the little avian’s head. Fyrij chirped a scolding and snuggled into his neck.
“See?” Red said, motioning to them with both hands. Kjaelle glared harder, then bustled into the room as Katta winced, planted his hands against his lower back, and stretched.
“I shouldn’t have stayed in that position so long,” he grumbled, unfolding and rising while not jostling the little avian.
“What did you see?” Red asked.
Katta held out his right hand, the palm facing up. “Rezenarza has always liked the Elfiniti,” he murmured, spreading his fingers. “He loved the darkest niches, the sunken paths, the bottomless ruins. His touch mingles with the trees, creating affinity, but that is not all I sense.” He took his other hand and made a wave motion under the overturned palm. “Beneath his touch is another, of twisting ways and warped designs. It hides in Rezenarza’s shadows, and I don’t know if he realizes that another warps his intent.”
“This other hand guided our attackers?” Red asked.
“I believe so. Sacrificial smoke rises into the air, tainted by blood and hate, and this other laps at it as if it were the sweetest wine.” He shook his head. “Qira, there’s more wrong here than the last time we visited, and I haven’t recovered enough to properly delve into it.” He lowered his hands. “I’m not certain if we should search for Laken’s essence before we are whole.”
“And how long will it take to fully rejuvenate your magic?” Kjaelle asked with sympathy and a knowing, sad smile.
“Too long.” Red stretched his arms up and then entwined his fingers behind his head. “Well, we’ll see what Leeyal has to say.”
On the voyage to the Dryanflow, Vantra heard tale after tale about Leeyal, who owned the tavern the mini-Joyful stayed at during visits. Most involved him pulling Katta and Red out of whatever mischief they fell into. She asked about it, for it seemed a lot of effort to keep them on the straight path. Red just held up his fist and said, as Light-blessed brothers, they watched out for each other.
“We might not have a choice but to rest,” the elfine said, slipping her arms around Katta’s side. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “If Lorgan’s notes are as out-of-date as we think, we’re going to be spending a lot of time trying to figure out a way through the rainforest labyrinth.”
Vantra tried to quell her depression. She hoped the Labyrinth of Trees slowed down any Knight who sought to again interfere in the Redemption. She hoped the mini-Joyful discovered the proper paths through the twisting ways of trees first and located the ruin that held Laken’s right arm essence. Doubt, however, refused to give way to that hope, and it pounded against her, an insistent, noisy companion. She had not kept Nolaris from desecrating her Chosen and stealing his heart. How could she succeed in her next endeavor?
“Eh, it’ll give Katta time to write up the report of his findings for Embrez,” Red said with an exaggerated shrug.
“What?” Katta asked, disbelief wrinkling his face. The ghost snickered and took himself away, leaving Vantra standing in the doorway, the receptacle for the Darkness acolyte’s glare. She half-laughed and winced a smile before relating the encounter.
