Katta sat on an ornate bench outside the room the Sun temple ungraciously provided them, one foot’s heel snagged over the edge while he rested his forearm on his knee. Vantra kept him company; she had no healing skills, and the healer had enough help in Mera and Tally. Besides, she held the Sun badge, sword and broken wand in her lap because she had no idea where else to put them.
She did not want to set them down, a strange reaction, but one she listened to. Instead of instilling the light and vigor of Sun, the temple seemed darker, as if its lackluster brilliance hid something that waited to pounce. Of course, she compared the building to her mother’s temple, which radiated warm, welcoming light, no matter the time or weather. She should not expect Evenacht worship centers, which never experienced the rays of the sun, to contain the same potency. But Evening’s did. Why did a temple in an important port city shine so much less?
Fyrij made a cute sound, and she rubbed her cheek against his soft head; wearied by his frantic freak-out at the tavern, his flight to her, and his brave attacks on larger, stronger foes, he snuggled down and slept.
She did not understand how he knew she faced danger. He was downstairs when Kjaelle said Laken woke them with a commanding yell that she was in trouble. That surprised her, though it shouldn’t have. Finder texts spoke about the strengthening of the Redemption bond between acolyte and Condemned. Despite assurances from Katta, she assumed, because Nolaris interrupted the binding ceremony, that the link was tenuous at best. Look how much pain he experienced when she fused his head to his torso? But once she concentrated, the bond between them glowed bright. Why had she not noticed during the voyage to Greenglimmer?
She should have. Another failure, among many.
She unclenched her hands from around the sword and settled it in a more comfortable position across her legs. She had a lot of things to ponder, with little idea where to start.
Kjaelle tapped her foot and eyed the indignant Sun acolytes who remained at the far end of the windowed hallway, ever-present and angry. Were they upset Yut-ta had not died? She could not fathom turning anyone away, let alone a member of the Sun Temple, from the healing rooms when in dire need; concern and a driving desire to help would power her acts.
Vesh nudged the elfine, whose sour, responding glare did not phase him. Katta hummed a warning at them both, then at Jare, who stood on Vantra’s other side, arms crossed, vying with Kjaelle as the most pissed being in the hallway. Had Yut-ta’s dire circumstance not acted as a barrier, she was certain the Aristarzian and the acolytes would have taken their anger out on each other.
A ghost barged through the congregation and whisked to them, wringing his hands. His white beard and long, free hair floated around him like mist, while his golden sun robes flitted and flowed, leaving a trail of sparkles behind. He had the darker blue skin of sprites who honored Sun by staying outdoors during the day and tanning, which contrasted to his near-white lavender eyes.
“That’s Xafane,” Jare murmured, his stiff posture relaxing.
Xafane? Vantra’s emotions rose and crashed simultaneously. The sprite she needed to speak with rushed towards her, but she sat in company. She did not think she could keep the promise to the Snake, to look into the disappearance of his friend Lokjac without telling the mini-Joyful first.
“Yut-ta, is he alright?” the sprite asked as soon as he was within hearing distance, taking in those unfamiliar to him before settling on Jare.
The ghost nodded with firm resolution. ““He’ll be fine, Xafane. He’s lost blood, but he’s young and hale. With rest and Healer Mozarin’s aid, he’ll recover.”
He skidded to a stop and looked inside. “Lost blood?” More worry infused his tone as he wrung his hands harder. “How badly was he injured?”
“He was wounded in a fight. You’ll need to ask Vantra about it.” Jare nodded to her; she attempted a smile, hoping to mitigate some of his anxiety. “She’s the one who halted the attack before they could cause more harm.”
Xafane shook his head and stared into the room. “Why isn’t he in a healing room?”
“Your compatriots deemed him unworthy of a Sun healer,” Katta said. His smooth words mitigated, but did not hide, his dark, deadly anger over the insult.
The sprite smashed his lips together, his concern briefly replaced by eye-sparking fury. “I see.” He looked over his shoulder at the huddled acolytes, his hands curling into fists. Shoving them into the sides of his leg, he fought, and failed, to smooth his face into an emotionless mask. “Rudarig dislikes Yut-ta. Too . . . umbrareign.”
“Rudarig?” Jare frowned. “What happened to Avarelle?”
“She is as absent as Lokjac,” he whispered. Vantra caught a hint of warning, though what he cautioned them about, she could not guess.
Mozarin appeared in the doorway, holding a towel. “Xafane, we have to get him to my healing rooms.”
He looked ready to shred something. “What do you need from me?”
“A way to get him there. A wagon, a carriage, a—”
“I have a motorized cart. I know, I know, any self-driving vehicle that isn’t powered by magic is illegal in Selaserat proper. No one’s hounded me about it since I’m with the Sun temple.”
“You’ll need to come with us, then.”
“I wouldn’t stay,” he said. “Wait outside the side entrance.” He pointed down the corridor, in the opposite direction of the acolytes.
A shudder coursed through Vantra. She looked at the clustered ghosts, whose interest focused on something down the cross hall from them. Katta rose.
“Get Yut-ta,” he said, lingering on the animated Sun followers.
Vantra thought the glorious Touch of Sun typical of a temple dimmed. Something was terribly wrong, more so than the conflicts common among clergy.
