“And I thought they were late,” the whizan grumbled, thrusting her arm at Vantra and Jare as she glared gold ice at the eight Selaserat guards who crowded the basement’s hallway. They wore no protection and clutched spears that would prove ineffective against the magic in the tainted roots.
“Whizan Chisterdelle, Rivcon Embrez must speak with you,” the lead said, his voice smooth even though his lips curled back from his fangs and his black eyes sparked in dire warning she pushed too many of his buttons. Vantra glanced at Jare, but he rested against the wall, arms folded, watching with a small smile, unconcerned at the clash.
“Oh really?” the elfine asked, her tart tone hinting at her inner fury. “Well, I’m not abandoning my maps, so he can come here if he must.”
“Whizan Chisterdelle—”
“No,” she snapped, cutting the air with the side of her hand. “I’m not leaving my work open to another attack.”
“You can bring your maps with you.”
The elfine ghost pressed her lips so tight together, they looked like a wrinkled prune. “Bring them with me?” She jabbed her finger at the pile of materials she guarded. “All of it? And how might I do that? From me to you, get a wagon with armed guards who can battle magic and provide a safe place, or tell Embrez he can—”
She stuttered to a halt and shuddered. Vantra felt it, a creeping Touch, bitter venom infusing it rather than the earthy corruption that coated the roots. Probes tested the layer of Sun that prevented it from entering the building; magic flared, filling the darker room with a midday gleam, and the Touch slowly ebbed back. Jare frowned and popped from the wall as the guards shielded their eyes and hunched over. The lead jerked around, sensing the probe, picking his boots high off the floor as if he stepped in something nasty.
A punch of power; Sun blazed, expanded, and a mental scream tore through Vantra’s head. She slapped her hands over her ears, though she knew it would do no good, and choked on the vibration that threatened her essence. A breath later, the creeping venom disintegrated, as if burned to ash and blown away.
The elfine’s shock turned into a gleeful laugh. “That Sun Barrier’s not going away anytime soon, either,” she gloated. “Kapna Vollen, I’m not traveling outside this spell.”
Jare looked at the whizan. “Who else has a full collection of maps, like the ones in the Finder’s Library?”
Her joy evaporated, replaced by sad seriousness. “Whizan Fellden maintains the district maps, so he has the charts for the ruins and other significant landmarks, and some special documents relating to Kjivendei. Mukusora is a Nature acolyte and splits her time between the Forestcat Temple here in Selaserat and Hope’s Claw. She has a myriad of acolytes she’s training in the ways of the Labyrinth because she has a charge from Maed Enne to do so. Whizen and aedefyn from Dryanthium have complete collections, but I doubt they’re susceptible to this kind of attack. The dryans maintaining the waterdome would sense it and raise an alarm.
“Luneterakj, Galthen and Duallok are nobles with large private collections and many historical documents. If the enemy’s targeted historically relevant and currently updated maps, they may be in danger, too. Hmph. A twist, if their bragging returns to haunt them.” She snapped her red-nailed fingers, and the captain jerked his head back from his study of the floor. His black nose and his white-tufted ears twitched at the disrespect. “Kapna, report to Embrez. He’s going to have a busy night.”
Kapna Vollen’s striped muzzle wrinkled in a snarl, and Vantra did not understand why the whizan decided to antagonize him. If she needed his help in seeking protection, why make that harder?
Jare eyed her. “You’ll need a guard or two yourself,” he said, a warning threaded through his tone. She opened her mouth to protest, her face darkening in magenta rage, then halted and faded into Ether Touch.
“You are right. And, me to you, I won’t feel safe if I don’t have company. I’ve been battling that corruption for two days, and no one outside my home noticed.” Her gaze slid to the kapna. “Including the multiple guard patrols who passed by on their routes without discerning trouble, no matter how loud I yelled.”
“Two days?” All eyes snaked to Vantra, and she fought the urge to hunch. “That’s the last time any librarian saw the Finder collection.” Did her voice sound as small as she thought it did?
“That’s a lot of time for mischief. We need to check on everyone who maintains maps, even those without a complete set,” Jare said. Kapna Vollen held up a claw, his eyes flashing.
“That is for the guard,” he said. “If you wish to help, stay with Whizan Chisterdelle until district whizen arrive.”
He turned to bark orders, his bushy black tail swishing about, the fur standing on end. Vantra did not know if that meant anger or lingering fear infused him. Both could explain his sharpness. Grumbling, Jare lifted his lip and settled against the wall, then eyed the whizan, who looked relieved despite her attempt at an expressionless visage. The guards hustled to the stairs with insulting speed, clomps from their booted feet resounding to the basement, and the elfine snorted with contempt when the door banged shut, ringing the tinkling bell.
“Fools,” she muttered, her fingers stroking her soft blonde braid. “Embrez knows better than to send that lot anywhere near me.”
“He might not have a choice. If the district maps got hit, the government’s whizen and spiritesti will have their hands full,” Jare said.
Chisterdelle sighed for the truth of it. “I’m not certain how the spiritesti might help, considering their abilities target ghosts—and neither Touch was spiritual.” She settled on a padded chair with round armrests and rubbed at her face. If she had been alive, her dark liner and golden shadow would have smeared into a patchwork mess, but as a ghost, it remained pristine. “Something about that second Touch bothers me, but I can’t place why. I must think on it, read my diaries and notes on forest-related magical anomalies. There is badness beyond the thefts at play.” She dropped her arms and leaned her elbows on her knees. “You to me, who are my saviors? I recognize an Aristarzian Light-blessed, but not his companion.”
Jare placed his hand on his chest. “I’m Jare, and yes, I’m Light-blessed by Talis’s hand.” He flicked his gaze to Vantra, and she wondered at his faint annoyance. “This is Vantra, a Sun acolyte in the company of Katta and Qira, avatars of Light and Darkness.”
Chisterdelle’s gaze sliced across her and settled on her breast, where her Sun badge sat. Her hand rose to cover the spot, nonplussed by the interest. “I know who Katta and Qira are,” she said. “Every whizan in Selaserat does, if only by reputation.” She focused on Jare and produced a teeth-filled smile. “Some of us remember a bit more than gossip.”
He nodded in acceptance. “If you like, one or the other can Touch your home.”
“That . . .” She paused and sank back into her chair. “How can I refuse?” She fanned the air with her hand. “Two days ago, I would have sent you on your way, insulted by the suggestion. Now that I’ve experienced the attack, I appreciate the offer. Holding those shields drained my reserves, and I’ll go to the Final Death before I let whatever that was steal my life’s work.”
“There will be a condition,” Jare said.
“Of course.”
“Another member of the mini-Joyful needs to look at the maps. He’s Lorgan, a human scholar trained at Reddown under Lake.”
The whizan’s eyes popped. “Reddown under Lake, you say? That says much without my having met him. Is he a mafiz?”
Jare looked at Vantra, who half-smiled, uneasy that he expected her to answer. “He doesn’t hold the title, no, but he has enough power and knowledge to be one.” She did not think he would appreciate her declaration that his temperament did not lend to nose-in-the-air snobby hubris, which seemed to be the only type of faelareign who became a mafiz.
“If he studied at Reddown under Lake, he certainly does. That institution is notorious for only accepting the brightest of the bright. They’ve turned down royalty, for Talis’s sake.”
Jare chuckled. “He provided study materials to Katta and Qira.”
Chisterdelle stared, aghast, then broke into gales of laughter. “Oh, my, from me to you, that is . . . I don’t even know what that is.” She slapped her hands over her mouth to contain her snickers, and Vantra looked away, confused. She did not understand the reaction when the Light-blessed in the tavern howled in laughter, and she did not understand the whizan. Yes, they were ancient ghosts and had thousands of years’ experience on Lorgan, but still.
“I’ll get Qira, then,” Jare offered. “Vantra, would you mind staying here?”
“That’s fine.”
Chisterdelle held up a hand. “Light-blessed Jare, I would ask, from me to you, to send a courier to Birdstep on Cander’s Way for Ildersa.” She folded her hands across her breastbone and a brief flash of pain caused her lips to tremble. “She warned me that odd ghosts claiming themselves Finders asked after the maps. She said no Finder in her acquaintance had ever left her uneasy, but this group did. I scoffed; Finder personalities have never leaned towards good company. But she saw what I did not.”
Finders? Probably the same ones that bothered the Aristarzian. Vantra suspected they slapped Knights in front of their titles.
“I’ll send for her,” Jare said. “Do you believe the Finders had something to do with this?”
“I can’t be sure, of course, but it strikes me they asked nosy questions about my collection a day before I came under attack.”
“And they visited the Finder library before that collection disappeared. It may be a coincidence, considering the changing Labyrinth pathways. They might have just wanted to double-check the safety of the trail to Luck’s Hold. But it’s something we need to consider.” He triggered Ether Touch and soared through the ceiling.
“I have stairs for a reason,” the whizan muttered, then her gaze turned to Vantra. “The mini-Joyful, eh? From me to you, may I ask who accompanies Katta and Qira?”
She nodded; they did not keep the secret, though she pondered why the elfine would want to know. “Kjaelle and Vesh are Darkness acolytes, and Mera and Tally are Light acolytes. Rayva and Salan have joined us, as have four nomads from the Snake’s Den.”
Her brows knit. “Rayva and Salan? Perhaps events are more dire than I thought.” She folded her hands together but for the index fingers, which she tapped together in thought. “I’m certain the Light-blessed have said something, but oddness underpins Greenglimmer, these last few years. The Labyrinth has always been a twisting maze of vines and trees, but it is as if it can no longer control its growth or its presentation. Sages in Luck’s Hold speak of the forest encroaching on the temples, and wandering Tenathi has refused to leave. She declared the pathways would close to all if she did, and so remains, healing those afflicted with a withering disease. Healers and shamans can’t cure it, and only her Touch will negate the toll it takes on a living body. The forest dwellers claim that the Wiiv remain whole, while other tribes wither away, and they now see an agonizing death in the trees’ shade instead of a quiet life.
“Selaserat is not exempt. Hrivasine has withdrawn into shadows, and his mercenaries roam the streets, unchecked. Anmidorakj has secret meetings with Dryanflow leaders and sequesters herself after every one. Attacks have grown on rainforest dwellers who till the earth rather than live beneath the trees, catching unlucky ghosts in the middle. Each problem began years ago, each one ignored to solve larger difficulties. Now they roost as one, and shit covers the ground for wagonlengths in all directions.”
That was one way to summarize it. “Do you believe the attacks on the maps are part of it?”
“These maps are a lifeline for both the living and the dead. Without the ability to reach Luck’s Hold, one’s progress on the threads of life means nothing. You will get lost in the vines and trees, and you will suffer and you will expire, whether to your First or Final Death. But . . .” She sighed and shook her head. “But I need some tea and a mister. Would you mind, standing guard? In normal times I would doubt a return of evil tonight, but I think predictions are unwise.”
“Alright.”
Vantra strained to hear, to see, to feel, anything but a typical home, after the whizan floated up the stairs. She had no confidence the roots or the venom would remain quiet and absent, and she prepared to use Retravigance. Without Jare’s shield keeping her Touch confined, she did not trust her radius.
The bell rang above, and she held her breath; had Jare returned? She did not think enough time had passed for him to reach the Dead Light and come back. Or had he used a ziptrail? She did not know their locations in Selaserat, and that would prove a far speedier mode of transportation than floating.
Clomp clomp clomp down the stairs, the sound accompanied by the sweet Touch of Light. Red had arrived.
He walked into the room, wincing as he rubbed the heavy smudges below his eyes. At least he lacked the green tinge he had earlier in the day, though by the untucked white shirt half-buttoned down his chest and free black pantlegs brushing his boots, he had not recovered enough to care about presentation.
“Jare told me about the attack. Remind me never to get you pissed enough to use Clear Rays at me,” he said, his chuckling not forced.
Resentment burned. Why did he laugh? “That’s because I can’t control it.”
“Maybe you don’t want to control it,” he told her.
What? But . . . that . . . no. “I discorporated Yeralis. He yelled at Kjaelle about it.”
Red hissed through his teeth, his eyes narrowing. “Yeralis knows Kjaelle’s in town? I suppose it was just a matter of time, but that’s unfortunate.” He roughly rubbed his palms across his face. “Mera and Tally should have said something. We don’t need him trying to exact revenge right now. Maybe Katta will finally get fed up and show him the might of enraged Darkness.”
Apprehension filled her. Might of enraged Darkness? She knew myths concerning retribution carried out by Veer Tul. While considered an easy-going syimlin in most respects, if one landed on his bad side, the Final Death would be their only escape from the agony—and if he stuck them in the Fields, that would be eons in coming. Did his avatar reflect this anger? She had seen no evidence of it.
Red looked at the floor, then the walls. “That’s a nice Sun Shield. Exactly what you needed. I don’t think I’m going to mess with it. I’ll create a Light protection around the whole house, forming a double barrier.” His eyes glazed as he returned to pondering the floor. “I guess that’s the residue from the second attack? Nasty.”
“That’s your best descriptor?” Chisterdelle entered the room holding a cup of tea and a silver mister, which she placed on the desk. The thick mist had an infusion of something heavy but sweet, like dark fruit just before falling to rot. It filled the room in a matter of moments, driving away the lingering unease and sense of violence.
“Oh, I could come up with something, but I’ll leave the unsightly descriptions to you. Elfines are an inventive lot.”
“So are Light-ascended,” she muttered as she sat and sipped at the liquid. “There’s something about this corruption, avatar.” Vantra could not tell whether she meant disrespect with the sarcastic use of his title, or if she hinted she understood something about him he preferred to keep hidden. “I know I’ve touched it before, in long centuries past. Something vile, a seeping foulness, a trickle at first, a rush when least expected. You must speak with the elder whizen and aedefyn, and I will delve into my notes, my diaries, and see if I can remember what pricks me. When I think of the attack, fear infuses me—and it’s a dire day, when fear overtakes a whizan.”
Red cocked his head, then slowly nodded. “Jare said you battled the corrupted roots for two days without help.” He held up his hand and snapped his fingers; Jare must have told him about her behavior with the kapna. Light rushed around the room and expanded, shimmering and sparkling, not quite concealing the underlayer of flames in wait. “No one but you or a member of the mini-Joyful can bypass this shield without a trigger,” he said. “Expect Lorgan tomorrow, probably early. He seems like the rise-at-dawn sort.” He sighed and ruffled his bangs. “Your strength and endurance brought you success. Other map caretakers weren’t so capable.”
Chisterdelle frowned as Vantra’s essence clenched. “Not as lucky?” the elfine asked, lowering her cup.
“Hmm. Apparently every being associated with maintaining district maps had a very bad couple of days—including clerks, housekeepers, anyone who came in contact with the collection.” He leaned forward. “I’d get reading those diaries. It might save you from the Final Death.”
“Fellden’s gone?” she asked, horrified, sploshing tea over the cup’s edge.
“Not gone, but discorporated to nearly a greddel. It’s going to take yilsemma and careful mist management before he sucks up enough energy to employ Ether Touch. He’s in a too-delicate state to rush it. Don’t be surprised if Selaserat, Greenglimmer, and Dryanflow district representatives show up for an interview on how you kept you and your work safe.” He stepped to the table, snagged a modern Talis-style click pen, and rolled up his sleeve. The whizan straightened, a protest on her lips, then deflated as she watched him write whatever it was on a small scratch paper.
“I see.”
“Don’t discount shadows for hiding unwanted listeners.” He grinned and twirled his finger. “Of course, they’ll have to get past that. And they won’t.” He looked over his shoulder at the doorway. “I think your friend just showed up. Convenient; you can try that out while I’m still here,” and he tapped the paper. “Then we’re off. We have a day of site-seeing tomorrow!”
“Site-seeing?” Vantra asked, flabbergasted. At a time like this?
“Well, yeah. It’s innocuous, expected, and we get to see the size of the weird magic roots infection.” His eyes narrowed, and a shudder raced up her spine. “Hrivasine and Anmidorakj have a lot to answer for. We’ll see exactly how much.”
