The Dryanflow remained in sight of the road as they headed north, a broad, gleaming waterway with boats of disparate sizes floating up and down its waters. When the Loose Ducky turned up the river, the sense of expansive isolation wrapped around Vantra, but it dissipated as they reached the congested ports of Selaserat and West Sel. Now, rocking inside a travel wagon while observing the waves of a body large enough to be a lake, the feeling of isolation returned. She sat with friendly company, but loneliness intruded, creeping through her and cutting her off from the idle chatter and laughter.
The waves crested, sending shings of reflected light across the river, creating a soft haze of greyish white. She recalled the same effect at the Spiral Sun Temple’s lake, only the sun’s rays brought a golden hue to the surface. So bright, so enchanting. As a teen, she idly thought about bringing a love interest to the shore, and they could sit beneath a shade tree and watch the water lap the shore while savoring each other’s company. Just another fanciful dream she would never realize.
They passed under a canopy that stretched over the road, the branches of trees on either side entangling above them. The green leaves had a pinkish undertone, as did the small bushes, ferns, and other plants that lined the roadway. The sweet song of unseen birds rose from the treetops, accompanied by buzzing insects, the chirp of more than one frog, and the low chittering of an unknown animal. An enchanting, calming display, but one she could not enjoy. She focused on the darker shadows concealing the ground, the vines that hung like dead animals from the tree branches, the hollows in boulders with ominous reddish stains pouring from the bottom edge.
“Are you alright?”
She started and glanced at Kjaelle, who eyed her, then down at the dusty windowsill. “I’m fine.”
“Hmm. Concerned for Verryn?”
She shook his head. If someone needed concern in reference to Verryn, it was Laken. His sullen grumpiness filled the air wherever he floated, and while the mini-Joyful took his mood in stride, it worried the nomads and Yut-ta. She did not know whether she should explain that they stood on opposite sides of the war that took his life, but which left Verryn alive to seek out Death’s hand, or leave them to wonder because it was not her tale to tell.
“You’ve been quiet since his arrival.”
Did they take that amiss? “It’s nothing to do with Verryn.”
“Then what?”
She wished to keep silent, but she did not want the elfine to badger her with questions until she pried the answer from her lips. She felt dismal enough. “The Sun acolytes should have told a Death acolyte about Lokjac and Avarelle.”
“Yes,” Katta agreed. He lounged on the bench with Kjaelle, one of Lorgan’s pages in his hand, his amusement at the written words fading. “Death is serious about the prohibition, but she can’t monitor every act within the Evenacht. It is why the Shades of Darkness exist, and why Verryn tours the continents.” He sighed, melancholy. “But discovering what powerful beings wish to keep secret is dangerous. Many Shades have met the Void because they failed in their mission and the enemy silenced them, and unfortunately, this case is among the more treacherous. The disappearance of two whizen, who might have met their ends at the hands of another whizan with government ties and social standing, needs careful attention and handling. It’s why Deeahlars has the cover of helping farmers the Wiiv attacked.”
Vantra frowned. “But she’s a Light acolyte.”
“Yes, and a fine Shades agent. It’s a stereotype, that only Death and Darkness acolytes can become Shades, which comes in handy when one must dig out information.”
“So someone is looking into it?”
He nodded. “And the Shades will bring the perpetrators to Death. Eventually.” He lowered the page. “Deeahlars must proceed cautiously, which means slowly, if the disappearances relate to Hrivasine and Strans.”
Vantra fiddled with her skirt, her emotions as dark as Katta’s voice. “Lokjac was sent to the Final Death, wasn’t he?”
“We don’t know that,” the ancient ghost cautioned. “He is a powerful whizan. If he used that power against an attacker, there would be walls with holes and obliterated furniture, rather than a hastily abandoned office. I suspect a danger he perceived to the essence he guards forced him to act. Don’t discount him yet.”
The wagon door opened and Verryn hopped in, the notebook the inspector gave him rolled up in his hand. He settled next to Vantra, and a thrill raced through her. Yes, she had traveled with him for much of the trip to the Snake’s Den ruins, but knowing he was a syimlin and not just a Passion and Death acolyte changed how she viewed him. That a deity chose to sit beside her, and did so without reservations, delighted and terrified her. What if she said or did something embarrassing?
Verryn made a sardonic face at Katta. “Not much changes, does it.”
“You expected him not to sleep?”
“Between him and Fyrij, I doubt anyone within three wagons of them could rest.” He held up the notebook and released the edges, letting it uncurl. “I read through this. I know we need to visit Embeckourteine, but I want to stop at Sanctified, and maybe Kooldvyn, before we travel to the stronghold. Derent disappeared somewhere between them, and as Death’s Consort, I’m betting I can get an answer from the beings reluctant to speak with Yothwan.”
“Probably.”
“According to her, the dryan leadership in Kooldvyn knew something was wrong with the forest decades ago, but never brought it to Anmidorakj. If they didn’t trust her, they should have sent word to the Elfiniti Regional Council, or Dryanthium, if they wanted to keep it among dryans. I know they value their independence, but this is important enough to set petty conflicts aside.”
“Leeyal said that Kooldvyn petitioned Dryanthium for help after the raids on farms started,” Kjaelle said, leaning forward on her knees and folding her hands between. “And if the Elfiniti Regional Council still has Serevillis in charge, I doubt he’d bend low to aid any entity from Greenglimmer. Too Kanderite.”
Verryn smacked his leg with the notebook. “That’s something else to look into. Erse expressed her reservations when the district councils elected him leader, and he promised grudges held by his living self would not infect his decision. I know it’s simple to blame the local councils, but I think Elfiniti deserves as much scrutiny. When was the last time they sent a rep to visit Selaserat?” He raised a hand before Kjaelle said a word. “I know, I know. What else did Leeyal say?”
“That the raids began there and grew west.” Katta set the page on the bench next to him. “I’m under the impression they didn’t receive the requested aid.”
Verryn shook his head. “I think Erse is going to have to send a not-happy letter rather than a gentle reminder to the districts and regions. Too many have grown lax, and what’s going on in Selaserat is our reward. Have you read Resa’s notes?”
“No. Qira was going through them first.”
“I scanned them after he fell asleep. The farms the raiders targeted are owned or worked by ex-rainforest dwellers, but they’re more selective than that. Fields associated with outcasts aren’t being touched, just those operated by tribe members who chose to leave the forest. There’s also something going on with the Finder group you mentioned. Several farmers said they showed up the day before the attacks to ask questions about nearby ziptrails, which they thought odd because the living don’t normally interact with them. Resa asked if anything strange happened before the raids, and that was the most common answer. The Finders visited a dozen among those he interviewed.”
“I wonder how many farms they visited that weren’t attacked,” Kjaelle murmured.
“I don’t know, but I noticed something.” Verryn gave the notebook to Vantra and held out his hands, concentrating. A well-loved book appeared, the ratty grey cover holding no title or other hint as to the contents. He opened it and flipped to a spread, revealing a beautiful map of Greenglimmer, bright with color and rich in texture, and with so many colorful lines crisscrossing it, Vantra’s eyes could not make sense of them. “Show ziptrails.”
The lines faded until only yellow ones remained. Far more than she anticipated, and far more not associated with rivers and streams, littered the pages. They crossed each other, ran beneath the Dryanflow to western Greenglimmer, and under the Uprise Mountains to the east. She had little experience with natural magic flows, since the Hallowed Collective curated all those around Evening and the Fields, but she had the impression that those not running alongside a body of water were rare. Why did the rainforest have so many detached from a stream or river?
Kjaelle pulled the table down from the wall, and he set the tome on top, then reclaimed the notebook. He withdrew a crinkled sheet of paper stuffed between the front cover and first page, and settled it above the book. Vantra leaned forward; the sheet held a rough sketch of the land around Selaserat and West Sel, with red marks she assumed represented targeted farms.
“Show Selaserat,” Verryn said. The map faded and reappeared with a focus on the port. “Smaller three.” The image shrank to encompass the view of the city, West Sel, and the surrounding landscape. The marks on the sketch aligned with a thick ziptrail that wound from the rainforest, under the river and to a town called Maed, then turned south, passing West Sel and Court-lee Grace before ending in the south-western corner of Greenglimmer called the Scar.
Kjaelle touched the ziptrail with a fingertip, following its course. “That’s a large line. I don’t remember sensing it when we were at the farm.”
“It’s fifteen Sunsteps deep,” Verryn said.
Fifteen Sunsteps? That was close to the length of the entire Sunspiral Temple Complex! Vantra had thought ziptrails ran near the surface, not that far beneath it.
“The atlas says it’s natural, but it’s deep and irregular enough, I think a sentient being originally created it. Most natural flows, even when their source is an aquifer, rise to the surface and join a river or stream long before they end. It doesn’t show here, but the starting point is the Nest, and the Bendebares sit atop it.”
“You’ve been to the Nest?” Katta asked.
“Yes. There were a few centuries where the Wiiv gave asylum to ghosts who committed great wrongs because they thought it harmed the faelareign in general. I went there and collected them. But that was also centuries ago, and the pathways I used to reach it aren’t viable anymore.” He half-smiled. “The Wiiv love bragging about their connection to the trees, but their community is underground. They carved caves into the Escarpment to hide from prying faelareign eyes. They still believe that elfines have a magic way to see through the forest canopy and nose about in communities.”
“Kjiven’s propaganda lives on?” Katta shook his head, annoyed. “Some legacies should stay dead.”
“Considering what he did to the tribes to gain power, I can’t blame them for paranoia. Yes, his nastiness happened so many thousands of years previous, it’s beyond a distant collective memory, but it did happen and the contemporary Death did nothing about it. He should have. He should have stuck him in the Fields with a Prohibition to keep him sequestered until he learned to behave.”
A Prohibition? Vantra knew about them but had never interacted with a Condemned that had one because a Death-maintained barrier enclosed their section of the Fields, keeping any idle wanderers out. Nolaris had regarded those ghosts as unsalvageable, though the histories spoke of several who completed their Redemptions, and forbade her from asking about them.
Curious, she had read a book about them. The mass slaughters, the devastation in the name of greed, the serial murders, the lack of empathy and sympathy that led to horrendous acts of malice, neglect and rage, left her with nightmares. While she believed every soul had the right to seek Redemption, she was grateful that lot remained sequestered and worried that those already Recollected would cause great harm to others.
While she figured out Kjiven was a power-hungry man who exploited and destroyed beings for personal gain, she now had a different perspective and was glad he no longer existed.
“And now we navigate the consequences.” Katta smoothed his hair behind his ears, despondent. “I sometimes wonder if past syimlin would have made different choices, if they knew the devastating outcomes. Then I recall the Banquet. Why did Sun let any of them live? I don’t think it fixed what it needed to.”
Neither Kjaelle nor Verryn seemed surprised at the sentiment, but it shocked Vantra. Sun created the current incarnation of the pantheon at the Banquet. Every religious sect on Talis considered it a holy act, one that altered how deities interacted with one another and their followers. Until that point, syimlin were just mortals gifted in magic. That caused many problems, from infighting during succession battles to continent-spanning conflicts instigated by the lust to swallow as much power as possible in a faelareign’s lifespan.
Sun, disgusted with the violence, invited the syimlin to the Banquet. None dared say no to the one who stood above them, so attended. Hate ruled the night, as he expected, and only nine greater syimlin guests, and twelve lesser, survived the ensuing violent clashes. Each remaining deity refused to bear arms against another divine, even attempted to calm the seething hostilities, and Sun rewarded them for their efforts.
Death, under a charge by Sun, gifted the survivors with Life. They could still die from disease or injury, but not from age. Sun also gifted them with the first mantles. The mantles, a nebulous magic he created specifically for each syimlin, enhanced their magical abilities associated with their titles, placing them above most mortal spellcasters and on even ground with their fellow deities. The combination effectively ended wider conflicts, and while stronger whizen, mafiz and the like still challenged syimlin for their titles, those became duels that did not suck followers into bloody battles.
What would have happened, if all syimlin had perished at the Banquet? Would Sun have elevated other mortals? Would he have done away with deities altogether? She sunk into her thoughts, and only Verryn rising and saying he needed to find a meal snapped her out of her gloomy meanderings. Katta and Kjaelle accompanied him, and she remained in the wagon, uneasy, depressed, anxious.
