“See, it’s better that we don’t have your wagon.”
Kjaelle smacked Red’s arm so hard, the trunks surrounding them echoed with the force of it—a feat, since they spied in Ether form. Katta hissed as the bored Finders glanced at the bushes behind which they hid, but, uninterested in what they believed forest sounds, turned back to the blustery merchant who insisted his vehicle came under scrutiny at the last checkpoint, and he could not afford further delay if he wished his merchandise to make the ship before it sailed.
The nymph standing at the back wheel, one hand raised with index and middle finger pointing up, head bowed so their black velvet hood covered their face, ignored the pleading.
“How many checkpoints are there?” Vantra asked, focusing on their task rather than the chill creeping through her essence. The nymph inexplicably terrified her, and she had no explanation as to why.
“Too many,” Katta murmured. “However much they did not wish for you to Redeem Laken, there is no reason for them to hunt you like this. There is more going on than Nolaris’s pricked pride and Hallowed Collective annoyance.”
Drowned Dough rubbed at his bearded chin, then jerked his head back the way they had crept.
Oddly, their campsite rested near enough to the roadway, if the Finders had wandered from the major route, they would have encountered them, along with a straggling of other annoyed travelers who did not want to put up with another search of their possessions. While the roundabout way stretched far into the Dark outskirts of Voledanthes, some preferred that to Finder annoyance.
And Dough and crew typically traveled it, because the good people of the city had long memories and held grudges close—which meant that the rough and rowdy pirates, rather than docking at the Row Quarter and risking arrest for past indiscretions, had a cozy inlet they frequented to the north. While convenient for pirates avoiding the law, it proved troublesome for the mini-Joyful, who not only needed to pick up whatever package Timmer had for them, but also place their working wagon and the horses in his care.
Vantra had assumed the wagons would travel with them to Uka’s Lament, for how else might they traverse the continent, from the far northern Snake’s Head to the far southern Greenglimmer? Despite her previous claims, she did not want to walk the entire way and possessed no funds for expensive caravan services. Verryn and Lorgan and the pirates agreed, however, that non-native animals did not fare well in the desert, and Timmer, being a trusted Joyful Caravan employee, would care for their stuff and the horses without the worry of theft.
That did not solve her lack of money, but her companions refused to see that as problematic because they had enough to support her. That they paid her way during a costly Redemption astounded her. Jheeka had told her stories about unlucky Finders running out of cash and sometimes, if the Hallowed Collective had a briar in their pants concerning wasted funds, they needed to discover other sources of revenue to complete their Redemption. If not, they had to wait for payday and hope their stipend covered costs—if they could access it.
“I admit, I find it curious,” Dough said after they placed several trees between them and the checkpoint. “I mean, me mates and I spent time in the Fields. The Finders who Redeemed us never struck me as malicious as all that. They did their duty, waved us on our way, and we’ve never seen them again.”
“You didn’t want Finders to hold your hand as you took your first timid steps into the Evenacht?” Red asked with an amused grin.
Dough’s exaggerated disgust caused Vantra to clap her hand over her mouth to keep the giggles inside. “Ill winds, no! Goodie-goodies ne’er do well with us! Always jabbering about moral this and ethical that and put that back where you found it.” He studied them while stroking his beard, one bushy eyebrow raised. “Not that I anticipate much of that from you lot. You’ve already encountered as much trouble as pirates get into!”
Vantra did not like the description, but they had grappled with quite the whirlwind of attacks because of her. Thankfully their leaving the Baka village proved uneventful, in every way—to the point disappointment stabbed her. Ridiculing the errant emotion, she watched the trees slowly pass by from Red’s wagon, morose and lonely, despite the crowd accompanying her in the interior.
And crowded it was, since the ghosts who normally rode with the elfine squeezed into the single vehicle. Kjaelle reluctantly left hers and her team behind, though an agreement between Katta and the Baka meant they would extract the sadly broken wagon from the forest and take it and the horses to the Shades of Darkness enclave in Lesarat, a not-so-simple task, but one the beings seemed eager to complete. She wondered why, until the ancient ghost blessed their diminutive altar, a nondescript pile of rock topped by an ungulate skull. The depth of power that snaked from it to cement protections around the extant buildings astonished her.
The Baka considered it a miracle. She did not blame them and pondered at the close connection between Katta and Veer Tul, that he performed such magics in his name. Did his divine power infuse his avatar? If it worked the same for Red, then that explained their depth of ability; they rode a syimlin’s strength.
Lorgan moved the crates containing his scholarly information to the Light wagon, Kjaelle packed a few items into a trunk, slid it under the shelving, then snuggled into Katta for comfort. At least the layout mimicked the one they left, so Vantra did not feel so out-of-place, but it still did not seem as homey as the elfine’s accommodation.
The why of it puzzled her because the wagon was equally comfortable. The part of her associated with Sun basked in the sense of Light within the interior, supping at it and drowning in the wondrous Touch. Dark-stained wood peeked out from behind soft yellow bedding and tapestries and drapes, and her altar flared in response once it crossed the threshold. It sat on a shelf, softly gleaming and quite happy to wallow among the Light-infused things.
“You walk with good company, if trouble’s your candy,” Kjaelle told the pirate with dark dryness. “There is rarely a dull moment with the Joyful Caravan.”
“Too bad you can’t pat trouble on the head and tell it to stay,” Red muttered.
“No fun in that,” Dough commented. Of course, the pirate had a few more derogatory opinions on the current ‘fun’. The carolings refused to return to their native spot in the Dark, insisting on accompanying them to the sea, and made nosy pests of themselves. Even Katta’s firm command, backed by a push of Darkness, did not sway them. Perhaps they did not know the way home?
Vantra would miss their company. One had chosen her as his preferred roost and nestled between her shoulder and her neck, content to tweet at her, rub his head against her jaw, and rumble like a cat. She did not have the heart to shoo him away.
“If they’ve set up roadblocks on the major thoroughfares, then they probably have Finders nosing around Row Quarter,” Kjaelle said, resigned, absently swishing her skirt about her legs. “Qira’s wagon isn’t as atypical as mine, but it’s still recognizable as Joyful Caravan. Even if we sneak in, we’d need to disguise it and the horses somehow, and make certain that disguise lasts until Timmer can get them all to Lesarat.”
“Lesarat?” Vantra asked, frowning.
“We don’t want to give the Finders a reason to go after Timmer, and a close inspection of the wagon will do that.”
“You see, things Qira and I interact with retain our Touch,” Katta said. “It’s something obvious to anyone sensitive to magical auras, like the nymph inspecting the wagon. I’m betting the Hallowed Collective has deployed several aura-sensitive beings to checkpoints along the western seaboard of Fading Light, searching for telltale Light and Darkness Touch. This is a problem, since Qira and I can’t effectively hide our association, and the rest of the mini-Joyful are seeped enough in their magical leanings that concealing the bond from a strong divinator or spiritesti might not be possible.”
Vantra looked at her hands. Did she lean enough to the Sun for others to notice? Previous encounters suggested they would not until they beheld her badge. “I’ll go,” she offered. “I don’t lean to Darkness or Light, and since no one knows I’m a Sun acolyte by looking at me—”
“Not true,” Red said, patting her on the shoulder. “Anyone with a passing sensitivity to divine auras will immediately recognize your power as Touched by Sun, and since the Finders know of the association, it’s something they’ll be looking for.”
“There’s a twist to your power, an obvious indicator.” Katta sighed. “I’m certain that’s behind your difficulties with other Sun acolytes—and the snobbishness you mentioned concerning the Great Temple of the Golden Sun in Evening.”
“A twist?” She hated the sound of that. Priests had called her warped while alive, though her mother, if she found out, banned them from the temple for their cruelty. When very young, she cried over the hurtful words but later decided that their nastiness came from jealousy over her parent’s position, not something inherent in herself.
She thought.
“You know Light and Darkness walk hand in hand in the Evenacht,” Red told her. “And the reason you know this isn’t because religious texts insist on it or that you believe what you’ve been told, but because you have the touch of light and shadow within you. That’s why others don’t recognize your association right away, and when they do, it makes them uncomfortable.”
That . . . was fantastical.
“When Ga Son first acknowledged that light created shadows and those shadows softened the glare of light, he might as well have been describing you,” Katta said. “Your power is the sun half-risen from behind the shadowy mountains, or half-set behind the clouds. Sun is far more diverse than most acolytes admit because they prefer the glare to other aspects. And that’s why so many have difficulties in the Evenacht, because that brightness doesn’t dwell in the lands of ever-mist.”
“Tanning is a bit difficult for ghosts,” Kjaelle commented with bland disgust.
“You’re drawn to both Light and Darkness, aren’t you?” Red asked. She attempted to gather her thoughts on the subject but failed, and not wanting to insult him by not replying, she blurted the first thing to pop into her head.
“I never saw the Darkness acolytes who visited my mother’s temple as scary, but others did.”
Katta groaned as both Kjaelle and Red grinned widely at him.
“And that’s why you intimately understand that Darkness cradles and Light sings the lullaby,” Red continued. “It’s a special gift.”
“But . . . you and Katta live it.”
“And that’s why we recognize it in you.”
“Auras aren’t a problem with me and me mates,” Dough said. “Could drop off the horses and wagon for you, though we’ve quite the reputation in the Row. Finders might not think much of us, but the local constabulary isn’t so forgiving.”
“That’s what disguises are for,” Kjaelle reminded him.
“Not all ghosts manipulate their essences like you lot,” he replied, using a smile to prove he meant no offense. “We’re pirates, not grand spellcasters.”
Vantra did not think the awe warranted, but the intense scrutiny she received from the bawdy when her appearance wavered halfway to Voledanthes and Red helped her set her look, made her uncomfortable. Unlike hair dye, she could not place the change, then ignore it until the next session. The minute manipulations required low-key recharging, which, Kjaelle told her, accounted for the amount of physical makeup and wigs she owned. It was more efficient to use Physical Touch and wear external items than to manipulate Ether essence and constantly feed it energy.
Was that why ghosts turned into blobs, as Red claimed? What about the permanent changes? What different spells did someone need for those?
Perhaps she needed to ask more questions, rather than think them but demure from speaking them. The disgust Nolaris expressed at her inquisitiveness kept her silent, and while she had no reason to believe the mini-Joyful held similar contempt for her, overcoming her reticence proved a non-trivial task—especially since, when she did courageously ask how Red whisked his wagon, the twins and the horses to a far-distant village without the use of a lock chain or similar spell, he grinned and claimed it a Joyful Caravan secret.
“You don’t need grand spells to change hair color, though it’s nice to have if you want to rework your face,” Red said. “And Kjaelle is an expert at making physical disguises look real.” He pulled at his lower lip. “I don’t think they’ve made the connection between us and Verryn. Even if they sense Death and Passion about him, those associations are commonplace in the Evenacht, so no one will think much about them. And Timmer knows him, so it will eliminate any suspicion on his part. Dough, if your mates don’t mind going with him to help with the horses, it should be a quick in and out and we’ll be on our way.” He grinned. “For a modest fee, I’m sure.”
The pirate had the grace to sheepishly glance away. Vantra understood; asking a deity’s payment for anything seemed crass. Pirates, however, did not follow prescribed rules—why else did they become profiteers?
Not that these pirates struck her as very pirate-y. Their joyful exuberance about the afterlife clashed with her image of rough beings killing, kidnapping, looting, sinking ships. Should they not have taken advantage of the mini-Joyful and attempted to extort something from them? Had Verryn’s unmasking frightened them into more gentile behavior? She checked her comportment when around him, though his friends neglected any such respect. Katta and Red, in particular, teased him with more bite than she ever would.
Had show business changed them? Or had the threat of Final Death reined in their more treacherous ambitions when it came to harming others?
More questions, but she considered them rude enough to keep to herself.
