Disoriented, Vantra fell to the left, plummeting out of black squishiness and sliding down a slick magical defense. She landed with a flump on the floor below, her perception quaking. A shadow towered over her; a wide hood flared out and waves raced up and down the edges as the snake’s head leaned forward. Golden eyes sparked, the mouth opened wider, and the dark purple tongue flicked out as the hiss deepened.

The fangs were half her height.

She formed a brittle shield and wafted backwards; she did not have the energy to battle an essence guardian. Her nebulous plans concerning scouting the Mourning Room, sneaking in, retrieving the torso, and sneaking back out without the Snake any wiser, vanished, and she stumbled over whirling thoughts. How was she going to confront a reptile so large that she assumed the top of its head was the edge of a cliff?

“Lorgan! Kenosera!”

No answer.

The snake rose higher, his upper body peeling away from the cliffside. The rest of his bulk curved into a giant passage, just wide enough for his girth. If Kenosera slid down his back and into the tunnel, he may be squished against the walls. Would Lorgan and Katta’s shielding protect him?

“Lorgan! Kenosera!”

Sizzling streaks the color of his eyes coursed around the Snake’s lower regions, then up and across his hood, ending in sparks at the edge. She whimpered and darted to the right, attempting to see past his upper body. He moved with her, hissing, curling over her. She skipped back and shot to the left as he struck, his mouth snapping closed over her position.

He herded her by arching left or right, his hood flaring and crackling with intensified lightning. The stray strikes that hit the tiles left smoking divots, and she did not want to contemplate what a zap would do to her essence. She smacked against a magic shield and glanced down at the display case; it held a long wooden pole with black words written on it, leather strings dyed a bright orange wrapped around the top and bottom. It reminded her of a cross between a twirler’s baton and the mephoric emblems.

The enemy in the Oracle’s sculpture had weapons similar to the mephoric emblems. Did Machella warn of the Snake using them? How did so many get into the hands of desert dwellers, considering how long ago the Beast constructed them?

The Snake’s nose bashed her protection, breaking the magic; he jerked his head back and struck. Lunging to the left, she avoided him, though he snagged a mouthful of skirt that flowed through his jaw. She felt icky enough, having initially drifted through his hood; she did not want a repeat experience starting in his mouth.

How concerned should she be that her trip through his body caused no detectable harm? Ghosts who phased through living beings without proper preparation could not only tear themselves apart, but cause damage to internal organs because the energy powering their essences played havoc with body functions. How drained was she, that Ether Touch had no discernable effect on him?

“Lorgan! Kenosera!” she screamed. “Laken!”

The Snake jerked up, then curved over her, his gaze boring into hers before drifting to her chest. Did he notice the blaze of sun crimson below Passion’s badge? She touched them and prepared for another dodge.

“And who are you, ghost?” He spoke, but his mouth did not move. Every surface seemed to magnify the sonorous voice, so he did not use Mental Touch to speak with her.

“Umm, hello,” she whispered, wincing at the polite greeting. She doubted he cared for the pleasantries. “I’m Vantra and I’m here with the mini-Joyful to Redeem my Chosen, Laken.”

“Laken,” he hissed. “And where is he?”

“Kenosera has the pack,” she said. “He fell when you moved.”

“You cannot carry your own Chosen?”

“There are enemies hunting us,” she quivered, lashing anger at the insinuation cutting deep. “Lorgan and I needed to use magic unhindered to keep us safe.”

“Enemies hunting you? You sound sure of that.”

“I am. They attacked us on the way here.”

“And who are these enemies?”

“Finders. And Knights of the Finders. And smaller snake beings. And the naro vi-van won’t be very happy we’re here, either.”

She reined in her thoughts; she babbled. Impressing the Snake tumbled beyond her fingertips, and she tried to snatch any stray thought that might help her in a battle of words, but her mental hands remained empty.

The Snake cocked his head. “Quite the list,” he said, lowering to the ground, his hood relaxing. “Is that why your essence fluctuates? You drained yourself in clashes?”

She blinked back unexpected tears. “I didn’t mean to harm them. The snakes. And after I used Clear Rays, I . . . they . . .”

“You are the Daughter of the Sun.” He eyed her badge. “What do you know of Passion?”

“He’s friends with the mini-Joyful, so I’ve been traveling with him for a little while. He’s very nice.”

Very nice? She had far more to say on Verryn than that! Would he, as a syimlin, garner enough respect that the Snake would think twice about attempting to swallow her essence?

“Very nice?” He sounded skeptical.

“My enemies know I’m an acolyte of the Sun, so he thought we should use a Passion badge during travel.”

“And why are the Finders interested in preventing one of their own from Redeeming their Candidate?”

His head shot up and a long, menacing hiss vibrated her essence. He no longer paid attention to her, but the doorway at the back of the room. The too-beautiful sprite floated through, hands folded across his belly and hidden by the wide sleeves. A gangly nymph and a ghost concealed in a black hooded duster wafted after him, five others accompanying them who wore green Finder hooded cloaks and badges, but with the stylized kitty head positioned upside down.

What did that mean? A stab of alarm raced through her essence. Something about that display . . .

She started. She recognized the nymph. Fyarazal. Red had discorporated him with that stank spell during their visit to the Shades of Darkness enclave. Why was he there? Revenge?

“Well, now, I thought you were a myth.” The sprite’s gaze flicked up and down the giant, then he focused on her. “No matter. I’m certain you’ll be happy to know we’ll care for her.”

“Care for her?” The Snake towered above them, tongue flicking out, the streaks of lightning intensifying. “And what do you mean by that?”

“She erroneously spirited a head from the Elden Fields. We will take custody of the wayward Finder, and you can continue to guard its essence until an appropriate Redeemer makes their way to you.”

That was how Nolaris referred to Laken. How dare he use such a way to define her Chosen! “His essence,” she stressed, her weariness exacerbating her snarliness.

“His?” the sprite asked, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. She had the unsettling impression she spoke with a statue, carved into a flawless representation of faelareign, vacant of emotion but for a subtle smile on the lips. If he behaved in any way similar to how he looked, she should expect no sympathy from him. “Your faith in the Condemned is admirable—and misplaced.” He flicked his hand.

The explosion tore rock from the walls and ceiling, boulder-sized chunks raining into the space between a shield with the Snake’s lightning zipping over it and a Grand Seal creating a protective barrier for the Finders. Fyarazal glared daggers into the back of his compatriot while the black duster one folded their arms and dug their fingers into their essence, displeasure radiating from them.

The sprite narrowed his eyes, retaining an otherwise placid expression. “I see Death chooses her guardians well,” he said. His hollow sarcasm insulted both Erse Parr and the Snake, and Vantra bristled at the insinuation that neither took their charge seriously. If Death sought a guard for an essence rather than allowing one to rise in the natural progression of things, then she trusted and respected that being. For Finders to disregard her decision stunk of disdain bordering on blasphemy.

“Which is why Finders are not given the task,” the Snake replied. “Begone. You have no reason to be here.”

“I have every right to see justice served,” the sprite cajoled in a voice as sweet and enticing as warm honey, at odds with his sedate expression. “The vows I spoke demand no less. I will take the head to the Elden Fields and administer punishment for apprehending a Condemned. As a guardian selected by Death, surely you wish the same?”

“I Chose Laken,” Vantra said, unripened fury knotting in her chest. “I didn’t steal him, I didn’t do anything un-Finderly. I heard his call and I answered.”

“Heard his call?” The sprite did not bother to look at her, his attention remaining on the fanged head swaying above him. Fyarazal did, and his disbelief hardened her growing anger. She had heard Laken. Why was that so hard to believe? “Calls are pretty, ancient fictions, suited to a writer’s tale, not reality. Again, you prove your unworth by speaking such lies. Glaive Makerid, if you please.”

Makerid? He had arrived at the ruins? What about Rils and his people and the mini-Joyful? Had they already reached the ruins, too? The black duster figure’s hood turned to the sprite, flicks of rage-triggered fire rising from him at the request.

Anxiety wrapped around her anger, squeezing it into spite. She could not take them out, but she could hinder them. “Hide your eyes, Guardian Snake,” she said and flung a brilliant ball into the air.

Sizzle accompanied the light, one she did not purposefully imbue, and smoke rose from every surface. How had she done that?

“Into the tunnel, ghost,” the snake thrummed. Even with her back turned, she could not see much through tears, and zipped to the big blobby snake body, following it into a blessed darker space.

Darker? No, Darkness swirled, though the application felt old. Why did Veer Tul need to hide this passage? She set her hand against the warm scales and flew through it, setting the thought to the side. Other concerns needed immediate attention, and once she retrieved Laken’s essence, she could ask Kenosera about it.

Lorgan. Kenosera. Where were they? She was leaving them to the Finders!

She entered a twilight-lit cavern that retained its natural appearance, orange rock flecked with chunks of black stone. The rest of the Snake’s body curled around itself and filled most of the space, and the sight smashed through her worry and anger, igniting chittering fear instead.

How could she ever hope to battle someone so enormous?

“Next time, perhaps a moment or two more warning?” the Snake said as he pulled his head from the tunnel.

Next time? She had already failed? Even the fear cracked on the disheartening words, showering her with bits of despair. What did he plan to do? Kick her out of the temple? She had no idea where anyone else was, had no idea how to regroup with them. She knew the caravan would reach the ruins, but how long would it take her to happen upon them? Would she discorporate in exhaustion, maybe even turn into a mindless, power-sucking greddel because the desert had no mist to recharge her essence?

“Come. Your companions are in the Mourning Room.”

She blinked up at him. He stared down, then moved his head to point at the shadows on the opposite side.

“But the enemy—”

“Despite their confidence, it will take them time to extinguish the light and break through my cage. They thought intimidation would easily grant them access into my inner sanctum, as seeped as they are in their disdain of my position. I have denied others of their carriage, and I see no reason to capitulate to their mediocrity.”

He sounded like a scholar annoyed that a less-astute reader proudly proclaimed the meaning of a book when they obviously missed the author’s entire point.

“I do appreciate that you thought to abet my escape, rather than see me as another enemy.” The tip of his tail nudged her, proving he had an excellent understanding of magic, using it to interact with her Ether form. Then why not snag her skirt when given the opportunity, instead of letting it flow away? She floated to the destination, uncertain how to respond to him. Did he mean to help her against the Finders?

They traversed a tunnel wide enough for the Snake to move through, the atmosphere a dim, inviting bluish-grey. Multiple open ways littered the passage, but since he said nothing—and his head was near enough her backside that if he spoke, she would hear—she continued in a straight line. They reached a break of three ways, and he nudged her to the left.

He had a gentle touch for so large a being. She expected rougher behavior, considering the stories about him scaring travelers out of their skins by pretending to be a cliff overhang. As her fear of him dwindled, so, too, did her vigor, and by the time they reached a humongous cavern, she fought the familiar pit-of-stomach nausea caused by energy drain.

The cavern was enormous enough to hold a swath of ruined buildings, but did not. Other than a precisely cut wall of black stone hiding the natural rock and a tall, gold-glowing barrier with symbols reminiscent of a Grand Seal, the place was empty. No debris, no stones sticking out of the ground, and the dirt was hard-packed with little dust. Why was it called the Mourning Room? Should it not have an altar, a crypt, maybe sarcophagi or urns?

Lorgan stood in front of the spell, hands on hips, Kenosera sitting down and holding Laken. She zoomed to them, quivering in relief.

“Are you alright? Were you hurt?”

The nomad glanced at her and grinned. “We’re fine,” he said. “Lorgan’s solved this puzzle before, so he just has to remember exactly how he did it.”

“Well, a group of Finders showed up in the other room. The sprite led them, and Fyarazal and Makerid were with him.”

“Fyarazal?” Lorgan asked in distaste. “He’s their mafiz? What’s he doing here?”

“All were as arrogant as they come.” The Snake hissed, displeased. “Finders such as they often expect me to set an essence in their hands based on their grand accomplishment of becoming a Redeemer. Add mafiz or other parent-purchased honorifics, and their demands grow exponentially.”

She did not know whether to follow Kenosera’s lead in laughing, or Lorgan’s in annoyed glare.

“Mafiz, even if you don’t respect them, do wield considerable power,” the scholar muttered. “And they thrive on pursuing revenge.”

“Which I would expect you to say, having endured their training regimen.”

Vantra, having read through the Snake’s Den research documents, expected a pitched magic battle if the Snake discovered them. The battle, though, looked like it would be between her, Lorgan, and the Finders, rather than the guardian. The Snake, in fact, seemed quite civil, when he was not playing with her.

Disconcerted, she knelt next to Kenosera and Laken, worried at the lack of expression on her Chosen’s face. “How are you doing?” She assumed bad memories pummeled him, and she wished she could suck them away.

He looked at her, hmphed, but did not grumble derogatory somethings at her.

“I have previously met Lorgan and Laken,” the Snake said as he regarded the spell, then her. She did not know what she considered more intimidating, him rising high above her, hood spread wide, or his face footsteps away, tongue flicking out and missing the scholar by a breath. “And you are Vantra?” She nodded. “And you, blood of the dor-carous? You are the Kenosera Vantra screamed for?”

“Yes,” he said. “The naro vi-van and the dor-carous are my grandparents.” He cleared his throat. “Were.”

“Were?”

“I’m sure you felt the spiral collapse at the ruins.” Lorgan shook his head as a symbol flared pink and vanished in sparkles. “The dor-carous triggered it by using mephoric emblems against Katta and Qira, acolytes of Darkness and Light. The attack reflected off their shielding and, well . . .” He glanced at Kenosera and pressed his lips together, reluctant to say.

“Is that why Endrasine is unwell?” the Snake asked. “I rarely interacted with her once she gave her soul to Rezenarza, but this visit, she is distraught beyond thought. Netalli is her voice.” He hissed, sounding more like a gravel sliding down a mountainside rather than a snake. “Keraddi only wished to aid those who sought shelter here, but her actions are blunted by Netalli and her hate of those who are not dor-carous. Do the Nevemere expect her to inherit Endrasine’s title?”

“No,” Kensosera said with firm conviction. “Veer Tul charged Memmi, a Black Light servant of the Temple, with his blessing, and in front of the Nevemere at Black Temple. Neither Keraddi nor Netalli will inherit from my grandmother.”

“Memmi? She has not visited here.”

“No. She had no worth to the vi-van other than to clean.”

Hissy laughter bounced off the walls. “I see. And will she continue the dor-carous leadership line, or name others as holders of Darkness?”

“Her family are Fort members, so I doubt she’ll elevate any dor-carous family member.”

“Now, now,” Lorgan said. “If you returned, I think your people would rally around you.”

“I’ve higher aspirations than leading my people.”

“You knew Rezenarza had touched the naro vi-van?” Vantra asked the Snake.

“His power lingers, a mark obvious to those with enough magical understanding to read his threat. Veer Tul enjoys his distance because things turn as things turn, but I think it is misguided at present. He must take a firmer stance with him.” Lightning danced through his eyes as he studied her. “As I see Sun coating you. The Daughter of the Sun—the Oracle said I could not mistake you when I met you.”

“My mother was high priestess.” She attempted to swallow her resentment, especially since he just admitted Machella spoke to him about her, but weariness and haunting fear and anger made her not care about her tone. Kenosera grinned, as if he understood and agreed.

The air vibrated.

“Well, perhaps Lorgan may pick up the pace?” the Snake said.

“You know the solution. Why don’t you solve it?” The ocean-deep, bottomless-dark hatred in Laken’s voice held no room for any other emotion. Vantra shuddered, wanting to soothe him, and having no idea how to do it. A hug from her would not console him.

“I’ll help,” she said, rising.

“I’ve got it.” Lorgan’s testiness, combined with her Chosen’s hate, made standing there an uncomfortable endeavor. “Save what you have for attaching Laken’s torso.”

She looked at her hands. She did not have much more to give, and certainly not anything that would prevent the Knights from taking Laken from her. She needed to complete the mini-Recollection before they made it through the cage, and then flee.

The Snake’s tongue flicked out. “Attach? What of the ceremony?”

Vantra bowed her head further. “Katta, the Darkness acolyte who’s helping me, said that it might be best if I attach Laken to his essences since I don’t have a place to store them while I search for the other ones.”

The Snake shot up. “No time.”

Lorgan slammed his fist into the magic, and the seal fell to the earth, breaking apart into a myriad of slivers that evaporated into mist. He slapped a hand to his breast, hunched over, and floated on; Kenosera bounded to his feet with more energy than Vantra thought he should have, and raced after. She followed, fear and worry twisting about each other, spiced by the growing sense she already failed. The Snake hinted at it, and . . .

Something dug invisible fingers into her and yanked her down a magical link. An essence. The torso! The magic puzzle must have prevented her from sensing it, but its presence was unmistakable.

The next room had a jumble of content, such as pillows, long desks, paintings, sculptures, all stuffed together as if in storage. A snake-sized walkway ran through the bright colors and jutting edges and to a shallow black stone staircase with a glass case at the top. Sitting upright within was Laken’s essence.

Sundered body parts were just as physical as the heads, and staring at a torso without appendages or head nauseated her. Sages attempted to prepare their acolytes for the jolt it caused, but Vantra still had difficulty viewing it. No Finder cloth wrapped around it, either, so it was on full display and ready for attachment.

She employed Physical Touch, grabbed the pack from Kenosera, and rushed to the glass. She did not have time to hesitate, not with the Knights trying to stop her from Recollecting Laken.

Hot air seared her backside. Too late. Too late.

The Sun shard sang, and a responding heat flowed through a wisp of flame curving around her, forming a barrier she had only read about in books. The original Divine Glasses given to the Arc of the Sun acolytes created shields for their bearers, and that it decided she needed the protection terrified her.

A spitting sphere of green magic slammed into her and reflected, coursing into the ceiling. Lorgan and the Snake yelled, but their words drowned under an explosion. Debris rained upon the stairs, and Kenosera ducked, arms curled over his head. Rock bounced off his gleaming Darkness protection.

A blur whipped past her, and the glass shattered.

What? No!

The Finder solidified in Physical Touch, and his hood tipped back.

Nolaris.

Loathing smashed her shock as he snatched Laken’s torso, greedy delight pulling his mouth into a gargoyle’s grimace. A necklace with a heavy gold centerpiece sailed past her and smacked him upside the head; he dropped the essence and whirled as another object whacked him, slicing his façade. The torso landed on the edge of the table and thumped to the ground.

His eyes darted to Kenosera; rage and hatred consumed his expression. He flinched as the nomad hurled more stuff at him, raising an arm to ward his head from the attack. Vantra jumped up the steps and set her shoulder into him—he stumbled back, arms flailing as he lost balance, and crashed into a gold-encrusted chest to the side of the stairs. It, and he, flipped over.

She propped the torso against the table, knelt, ripped the pack open, popped the lock on the base, and snagged Laken. She stood at his back and slammed his neck into the gap between his shoulders, hoping she did not have to align it perfectly. If so, she would need to re-link them at a less terrifying time.

“Vantra, hurry!”

Kenosera faced a furious Nolaris, knife in hand. She had to finish before the sage harmed him. Raising her hand, she stiffened her fingers. She practiced this with Katta, she could do this and deny the Knights their evil want.

“Ifre an vrote!”

She shoved her tips into the top of Laken’s head, and his essence gooped in slimy clumps around her hand, attempting to reject her. He shrieked as if he suffered a battle wound, and her momentum stalled; she did not have the energy to force her way.

Concentrate. Intone. Focus.

“Nanfla on pa a brulo fin!” She quavered as his essence gave way. “Nanfla on pa a brulo fin!” Her hand rammed through, and she slid into him up to her elbow. “Ifre insque ig. Trible.” She dug her nails into the cold, squishy chest, and yanked. “Ecune ceupre ifre fin ceupre no.”

Essence trailed her hand as she tore it from his head and her arm flailed into the air. Wispy sparkles danced away.

Nolaris struck Kenosera with a gusty attack that knocked him from his feet and lunged past him, his stiff fingers forming a point. He punched through Laken’s chest; her Chosen rocked back and Vantra instinctively snagged his shoulders.

His shrieking turned to a scream of bone-crushed agony as the sage ripped his hand away, a string of essence refusing to let go.

He held Laken’s heart.

He sliced with his other hand, and she hunched away from the burst of power from the severing. No! How had he done that? Only those with Death’s mark could sunder an essence!

Kenosera rammed his shoulder into the Finder’s shielding, knocking him into the table. Nolaris swiped the air with his free hand, cold flames swirling in his palm. The flare of magic impacting the shard’s protections blinded her, and the nomad snarled in pain.

The light cleared; no Nolaris. Where was he? She whirled; the sage sped to Makerid, who held a Grand Seal in the center of the aisle against the Snake. The sprite threw flaming ball after flaming ball at the reptile while Fyarazal struck at Lorgan, shattering his reforming protections, ignoring the lightning slithering up his legs.

Kenosera squatted and snagged Laken, setting a hand over the gaping hole in his chest as he continued to shriek. Vantra triggered Ether Touch, grabbed wayward essence as it whisked away from her core, and surged after her ex-mentor. He shouted, holding up his prize, and the Finders broke the attack and flung themselves into the ceiling. She leapt after them.

She flowed up, through soil, through rock, tearing away from magical snags that dug into her and slowed her down. The enemies’ telltale presences flickered as their distance from her increased. She burst into an open cave, wisps leaking from gashes in her form—no Finders, so she did not dwell. She choked as she forced her collapsing core upwards—had she lost them? Where were they? No hint of Knightly ghostly essence lined her path. She popped to the surface and pivoted in a circle.

Twilight’s fingers brushed the slopes and hills and the stately remains of ruins. Nothing moved but the bright green plants playing in the evening wind. Lorgan settled next to her, leaning over his knees, head bent low.

“Vantra, I don’t sense them.”

Gone. They were gone. Nolaris stole Laken’s heart, and she had not stopped him. Her Chosen could not become whole without all his essences. They knew that, and they . . . they . . .

She collapsed to her knees. Her essence shredded as she screamed.