When Vantra thought of fierce, Darkness-inspired Salan, what never crept to mind were squeak toys and joyous abandonment that annoyed ghosts until they yearned for the Final Death. She remembered him and Rayva snapping at her heels and forcing her through the Tunnel of Memories when she most wished to curl into a ball and sob. They snarled, they growled, and she ran from them, as she ran from all terrifying things in her life.
Since running was not an option, she got to hear squeak squeak squeak as the shoulder-tall vulf circled Dei of Day’s Square, kicking up dust from the leaf debris before racing back to the mini-Joyful, happier than a giggling child opening presents. Ghosts eyed him with dread and evaporated into buildings. The living frowned and grumbled and avoided him barreling into them by the barest of hairs. Qira took the toy and heaved it across the space; the promise of revenge in the twins’ eyes for promoting the vulf’s exuberance only made him laugh harder.
Kjaelle folded her arms across her chest, tapped her foot, and with a sullen Rayva, observed the magenta-tinged tree growing in the center of the cobblestones, pointedly not looking at Katta. He attempted to squelch his smile by covering it with his hand, but could not.
“Is he always like this?” Kenosera whispered to Vesh as Salan made another round of the square.
“When he has a new toy, yes,” the ghost said, bemused. “I know the younger generations believe Rayva and Salan are ferocious guardians who force the dead to relive unwanted memories, but really, they’re just big puppies.”
Rayva growled, lifting her lip slightly, her golden eyes narrowing. Even her white underside fur seemed greyer in annoyance.
“Uh-huh.” He held out his hand, and a squishy purple bauble formed in it. He raised it, then reared back and threw it to the ground; it bounced up and into the sweeping branches of the tree.
Rayva jumped after it, her teeth missing it by a breath before plummeting to the earth. She took off after the bouncing magic and returned with it, tail wagging, eyes lively with delight. Vesh ruffled her brown-gold neck and planted a kiss on top of her head.
“Like I said. Big puppies.” He bounced the bauble again.
Vantra did not think the square was large enough for two vulfs at play.
“Qira!”
A ghost rushed into his arms and wrapped hers around his neck; he lifted her up and squeezed, set her down, and buried his face in her black hair. She wore a white chemise with a simple blue sleeveless dress, her upper arms bound in blue ribbons. Her braid sparkled with glittery blue threads woven into it, matching the embroidery on her cincher. When she pulled back and looked at him, tears filled her smoky quartz eyes.
“You’ve been away for so long.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, soft, sincere, and without the typical panache Vantra expected. He ran the backs of his fingers down her reddened cheek. “I’ll do better.”
“Better from you is taken with bitters, Qira,” she teased. His gentle smile, shimmery eyes, and relaxed pose signaled a deep, deep love and devotion. Was she his lover? Why had no one mentioned her before?
Katta laughed. “We’ve had an interesting rainy season.”
“So Jare said. We’ve been busy ourselves.” She greeted the others she knew with quick hugs, then scanned Vantra, Laken, and the nomads. “I’m Joila, and it’s a pleasure to meet you!”
“She’s the reason for my existence,” Red proclaimed.
She laughed. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s had plenty to say about that over the years.” She playfully bapped his arm as he blushed.
The ghost smiled at each of them as Red introduced them, and, like the others the mini-Joyful knew, did not have an adverse reaction to meeting a Condemned. From Laken’s tense voice, he expected derision, but she expressed nothing of it, just sincere happiness they visited. Vantra felt relief rush through her; she did not want to navigate the deep prejudices ghosts in the Evenacht had concerning those who spent time in the Fields of the UnRedeemed.
“It’s too bad Resa isn’t here. He’d love to meet the beings who put up with Qira and Dough for a voyage.”
“Jare and Leeyal are worried about him,” Qira said, his serious statement drowning the amusement over her words. Rayva and Salan trotted up, play no longer in them as they stuck their noses into the new arrival’s chest. She ruffled their coats in greeting.
“I’m worried, too. There is so much wrong, so much we never realized. Resa’s insistent it’s not too late. He’s ever the optimist, but I’m not so certain.”
“These contaminated roots,” Katta began. She put a finger to her full lips and motioned for them to follow her. Vantra thought it odd, and so did the nomads; they proceeded with suspicion, even though the mini-Joyful appeared comfortable in her company.
Joila led them on a meandering tour of the streets, pointing out important or interesting places, accompanied by tidbits of lore and a more sarcastic view from the mini-Joyful. They traversed cobbled streets with half-timber Aristarzian architecture and wide, welcoming windows and doorways, and entered dustier neighborhoods with compact yellow sandstone elfine homes and businesses. They passed a cluster of five-story, steel buildings in the center of a grass ring that looked like a modern Talin office complex. Neon signs hung from the spaces between windows, so crowded together that many hid their neighbors.
The nomads stared at the unfamiliar design. Vantra thought they should return at night, to see the full thrust of rainbow bright shining in the darkness.
She, uninspired by the typical, instead marveled at the incidental sculpture that lined streets, decorated elfine abodes, and sat atop various fountains and waterworks. Some of the limestone works were heroic figures holding weapons and books, some curving and jutting and twisting without an obvious natural influence. Concentric shapes made of multi-colored glass beautified small parks, a contemporary Talin style in the vein of Renme Fordraze, a nymph sculptor whose purpose was to bring beauty and light to areas still darkened by the interstellar invasion of a hundred years previous. She was ambivalent to most of his work, but she loved the giant flowers he created for the Keelsland Sun and Moon celebration when it rotated to Winsun. Those transparent beauties still arched over visitors in elegant aplomb at the gate to the Two Lights’ Altar.
They stopped at a street-side cart that sold cool drinks in tall paper cups so the nomads and the vulfs could quench their thirst. The vendor was a cheerful ghost who retained her living appearance without modification; Vantra did not think many would keep their deep wrinkles, bent backs and wide girth. Of course, she had not delved into physical changes other than the color of her hair, a perverse stubbornness about her weight keeping her from altering it. Holding such spite against those who degraded her was a silly thing, but she held it close.
They reached an expansive, green-painted limestone temple with a towering entrance arch, taller pillars leading to a humongous door three stories tall, and a black-spiked, domed roof tiled in the dragon-scale style favored by Nature adherents. A brown-stained, sandstone barrier divided the complex from the surrounding homes and joined the city wall flush with the back of the building. While typical Nature temples had vast gardens behind the main worship hall, untamed forest growth filled the space at this one.
“How long?” Katta asked. Vantra did not like the forced calm that did nothing to smother the anger in his voice.
“We don’t know,” Joila whispered. “None of us are Nature adherents, so we rarely visit this part of town. We would have remained oblivious if the Sun whizan, Lokjac, had not disappeared. Resa offered to help search for him because Yut-ta was so worried, and the Sun temple’s official statement was unbelievable. When they passed this place, both of them said the corruption sickened them. It’s stronger at night, leaving the surrounding streets empty as residents hide. I’ve spoken to the acolytes and a handful of sages. No one thinks anything’s amiss, and the neighborhood gossips told me everyone assumes the taint is just a by-product of Maed Enne being a wilder Nature, which attracts Hrivasine’s changelings, making the streets unsafe.”
“How could they think this normal?” The air around them dimmed; the nomads looked about but the mini-Joyful did not seem surprised. Red winked at them, but Vantra found little comfort in his reassurance.
“I don’t know. Resa thinks Maed Enne’s Touch has disappeared.”
Disappeared? Vantra concentrated; she had visited enough Nature temples with her mother to know how one should feel. Maed Enne was a shape-changing, carnivorous-oriented syimlin rather than a herbivorous or flora-oriented one, so the sense of wildness, heat, strength and speed permeated her religious centers. She sensed none of that; had the root-fused corruption replaced her Touch?
Should she mention something? A part of her did not think so; who was she, a woman unable to attract the attention of a syimlin in a dire situation, to claim one of them abandoned their temple?
Joila frowned, her eyes flicking to the street behind them. “We can’t talk here.” She motioned for them to continue walking as if she gave a tour. She led them down the path between a road and the city wall, Red keeping step with her, as alert as Vantra had ever seen him.
She glanced over her shoulder, glimpsing spear-bearing guards and a cloaked figure leading them. Kenosera hissed under his breath, but his attention remained on the temple rather than the beings trailing them.
“He’s persistent,” Tally grumbled. “He should have respected my warning.”
“Rayva, go have a talk with Yeralis,” Katta said.
Yeralis? Why did he follow them?
Salan growled, biting down on his toy as the other vulf streaked away. The squeak sounded as if the dragon met its final moment, and the pudginess deflated.
The Darkness acolyte shook his head. “I don’t want him discorporated.”
Salan rumbled, and Kjaelle slung her arm over his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered. He whuffled and dropped his toy to lick her face. Kenosera retrieved it and gave it to him before squinting at the receding temple.
“That feels like the Zhoum Jerace,” Lesanova said, wincing in unease as she hunched and shuddered. Dedari slipped her arm around her and hugged her close.
“Zhoum Jerace?” Red asked, looking back at them.
“It’s a dire place,” Kenosera said. “It’s a giant hole in the earth near Howl. It reeks of burnt sugar and rotting flesh, and black, bubbling secretions creep along its cracked walls. No plants grow in the vicinity, no animals live near it, and the earth is lumpy and littered with rock debris. Any bird that flies over it dies mid-flight, and plummets into the maw. All nomads, whether Nevemere or Voristi or smaller tribes, make religious journeys there to pray to Runa and give offerings. They wrap sticks together with eronj rope and then soak them in kausen oil, Runa’s favored scent. They light them and toss the bundle into the hole. Once lit, the oil is difficult to extinguish, and the flames burn the secretion, making certain it doesn’t reach the top.”
Dedari nodded. “The Voristi say it exists because a corrupted shem-towry created it. Long before the rainforest died and left us bereft, this ancient shem-towry found favor with a deep and dark creature in the deepest and darkest part of the forest. They were hungry for blood and souls, and wished the shem-towry to bring them both the living and the deceased to consume. The shem-towry did so, first sacrificing her people to its insatiable hunger, then targeting all who came near the village. Neighboring communities quickly learned to avoid it, so she had to lure non-local victims into visiting.”
“Are they sure it wasn’t an Astri?” Red asked with straight-faced sarcasm. Joila smacked his arm and glared.
“Too bad it wasn’t,” Kenosera said. “We know how to fight Astri.”
“A vi-van, drawn by rumors of a missing village, traveled to the area,” Dedari continued. “ She arrived to find the shem-towry slaughtering a traveling merchant in the red-stained square. She fled and the vi-van followed her to a hole in the ground that smelled of blood and rot and evil. The shem-towry shouted for the creature’s aid, and to prevent the vi-van from defeating her, the creature ate her—and threw up her ghost.”
Red winced, pulling his face down in comical enough disgust, Vantra had the urge to laugh despite the dire tale. Dedari waved at him, annoyed.
“The vi-van was not a spiritesti, so fled, the ghost on her heels. She ran for days, unable to rest, for the shem-towry would kill her and consume her if she did. She climbed over the Snake Mountains, and made her way by a river to the Snake Temple. The Snake heard her pleas outside the gates and drove the shem-towry away. The evil ghost screamed that her vengeance would never fade, and disappeared into the night. The vi-van, grateful for his aid, pledged the loyalty of her people to him.
“The Snake accepted her vows and questioned her about the shem-towry. He did not like what he heard—and neither did his patron, the deity Runa. Runa bid him find this place of evil, and when he reached it, to call for her. He took up the charge and the vi-van retraced her steps, sick in terror, but unwilling to let him face the shem-towry and the creature alone.
“It was the darkest of nights when they arrived at the village; ill winds and ill mist flavored the air. Plants wilted, animal carcasses lay scattered on the ground, sucked of blood and life. The vi-van led him to the hole, near blind with fear, but determined to do her duty.
“The ghost of the shem-towry floated from the maw, bringing with her the essence of death. The Snake called to Runa, as she bade him, and she appeared, bright with the light of justice. The creature rose to confront her; they were as the Snake, but with eight eyes, horns, and many tiny arms running the length of their torso. Runa and the creature battled as the Snake and the vi-van confronted the shem-towry.
“Now, depending on how deeply Voristi storytellers want to emphasize how evil a corrupted shem-towry is, the battle either raged for a day or for a season. Runa, desperate, filled her spear with her remaining light and threw it down the creature’s throat. It exploded, leaving behind the bubbly contamination. The shem-towry screamed in fury and disappeared. Some stories end with her becoming the first greddel, to honor the creature who sucked the life from beings, but others end with her hunting down and turning ghosts into thoughtless energy eaters, who would fill themselves, then return to the hole and give the power to her so she could resurrect her corruptor.
“As for the Snake and the vi-van, they carried the unconscious Runa back to the Snake Temple. Levassa waited for them, gathered her into his arms, and they disappeared. The snake gave the vi-van a charge, to ever be wary of the hole, for if the creature regained its form, another cycle of death would follow. The vi-van related his words to other vi-van, and the shem-towryta, deeply embarrassed by the fall of their sister, accompanied them to the hole and lit the place on fire.” Dedari waved her hand in a circular motion. “And it goes on about how the vi-van and shem-towryta finally discovered the correct offering, and how they honored Runa in her final glory. That’s how it got its name, Zhoum Jerace—Final Glory.”
“Isn’t that odd, honoring a priestess from another nomadic tribe over one’s own?” Red asked.
Kenosera laughed. “The Voristi use it as a cautionary tale. Do you want the vi-van to be seen as holy while we are base and unworthy?” He shook his index finger. “Don’t fall to evil, or the desert is lost. My people tell the same story, but say we should emulate the vi-van, finding courage and strength despite deep fear.”
“I wonder if there’s something to the tale,” Red murmured.
“We can ask Levassa and the Snake.” Katta said, then looked over as Rayva stuck her nose between his body and arm. She wiggled beneath his appendage, tail wagging, panting, happy. “Did you have a nice chat?”
Giggling ensued as Vantra turned to look; sure enough; no cloaked figure or guards remained behind them. She wanted to join in the laughter, but could not dispel the dread lingering after the tale. Should she say something? She did not need a grandma hug from Mera and Tally, and she might well embarrass herself by feeling afraid when the others considered it an interesting tale, nothing more.
Why not embarrass yourself?
She started as Rezenarza’s mental voice rang through her mind. Katta turned to her, and the ex-syimlin’s laughter faded and disappeared. A retreat?
“Are you alright?” the Darkness acolyte asked, his gaze penetrating, intrusive.
“I . . .” All eyes looked at her, and she tried to don her courage like a cloak. It did not fit, her fear jutting out and making holes in the illusionary fabric.
“How often does Rezenarza talk to you?”
Apparently her disgruntlement spoke loud enough, she did not have to voice it. Empathy from her companions swirled around her, providing a rush of comfort.
“Rezenarza?” Joila asked, frowning. “What interest does he have in a Sun acolyte?”
“Eavesdropping,” Red said.
Vantra’s emotions crashed to her feet. Eavesdropping? That made sense, and it explained why he harassed her. But why her? Was her Sun Touch so tainted? Katta said there was a twist to her magic, and while he viewed that as normal, she did not. No wonder Ga Son did not save her from her poisoning. She did not belong, as the nasty priests and their acolytes had constantly told her.
“He’s pushing boundaries,” Kjaelle said, her voice a deep, dark hum. Katta shook his head.
“Nothing within Selaserat swims in his embrace, so he has to hitch a ride with a conduit.”
“Must frustrate him,” Red muttered.
“And who was it, who kicked him out of Selasert in the first place?” Katta asked drily, eyebrows raised. “Who said Light should illuminate the Darkest of wilds?”
“There’s another area you should see,” Joila said in a prim, warning tone before Red replied. “It’s not a tourist stop, but it’s not far. And then to the lighthouse.”
“The lighthouse?” Red asked, with all the enthusiasm of a sulky teen asked to babysit his siblings when he was supposed to be on a date.
“The lighthouse,” she reiterated, firm enough Vantra did not think a flood would change her mind.
