Screams accompanied her into the air, and not simply from the terrified Nevemere. Vantra caught a glimpse of Temmisere, scratching at the blackish-green vines and kicking at the barbs that covered the exterior.

“Not me, not me!” the nymph shrieked.

Vantra squirmed and lashed out with her feet. Her arms remained locked, but her right foot phased through the vine. She reverted to Ether form and tried again, but her attack passed through the now-transparent tendril. How was Temmisere striking it, if it held tight despite transitioning between Physical and Ether Touch?

How was a living Evenacht creature even doing that?

Fear chittered through her. She snagged the Sun-touched part of her power, the only thing she could think to do, and pushed the sensation of searing heat outwards. The vines flipped her upside down, but the attempt had no other effect.

Five stories below her spanned a plaza of orange sandstone with black grout and blue-glowing plants in wide planters. Dozens of nomads, many of whom had mephoric emblems, pointed their weapons at the creature that held her. She glimpsed Red’s brilliant red hair; the ancient ghost’s animated motions proved the cluster of Nevemere surrounding him ignored what he had to say.

Not good.

“Let me go!”

Temmisere’s nails lengthened, and she sliced through the vine, severing the limb. She fell and did not have a chance to flee in Ether form before another grabbed her. The tip snaked around her waist and whisked her towards a black jumble of wiggly stamens. Pointed objects that looked like petals but held flames at the tips burst from the bumpy bulge holding the stamens. Flicks of fire coursed down the thick stem, reflecting pinkish off the sleek black surface.

The vine holding her pushed her to the stamens.

“Anznet emi.” Nothing happened.

She could not form a shield?

Temmisere’s nails clawed through the confining tendril, green lightning bursting from the slices. The creature shuddered before the wriggling bits parted, revealing a prickly head with glinting black eyes on the sides, a fat, circular snout, and nostrils on the end. It looked like a porcupine pup’s head, but the gaping mouth was larger than her essence and contained pointed pink teeth with magenta spit dripping from them.

Another vine locked Temmisere’s arms to her form. She screamed as the mouth widened, ready to take a bite of her.

A spinning light tore through the head, teal drops spinning away, and the vine dropped the nymph. She zipped away and faded into a gleam of color. The vines stopped and hovered, the tips waving back and forth, then the ones confining Vantra shoved her towards the bloodied mouth.

She should have paid attention, rather than gawking at her enemy’s escape.

Her mind hazed, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

She fell. Was she free? She popped her eyes open; a scintillating sparkle of Light wafted away from her. Had Red formed another attack? Before she gathered her senses, another vine grabbed her by the legs. It jerked her back and threw.

“Rive eucton!”

Vantra sailed through the temple wall; the gunky magic she and Lorgan encountered reached for her, sticking to her essence and slowing her momentum. Greedy, thoughtless darkness pushed into her, consuming her energy.

Eeewww! “Muevre pueplon virche.” She coated herself in Sun’s Touch, and the tainted strain jerked from her as if burnt. The bits that thrust into her wafted away as ash, and the Sun burst through her, cleansing the remaining corruption.

Her speed dwindled and she skidded across a room and flumped to the floor. Shrieks echoed in her brain and movement flashed by. Rattled, she stared before her, collecting her thoughts, and when she floated up, the room was empty.

She pivoted around, disconcerted. Black mirrors covered the walls, providing confusing reflections to make the area seem large and intimidating. Black stone bases with glass cases on top held objects, most of them small things like a bone and a cracked branch, but some were sculptures carved from granite and the native orange sandstone. To the left were screens holding weapons and shields, a few with age-related cracks and greying wood. The items for battle had several jagged symbols painted on them, and some glowed a smoky purple.

In the center of the far wall, on a three-step, tiled platform, sat a chair made from stained black wood and decorated with bronze along the edges. Black padding on the seat gleamed, and beneath it, encased in glass, was a black stone. Two tall candlesticks with Darkness flames flickered, and she wondered if the naro vi-van conducted ceremonies in the room. It struck her as a secret place of worship.

Her gaze lingered on the rock, and unease pricked her. She expected Veer Tul’s Touch or Rezenarza’s blight to infuse the rock, but no, a general dimness blanketed the grains. Something akin to blankness, a lack of, rather than an abundance. It was a shell, like a human body after the ghost made its way to Death’s Judgement. Empty.

Just like the naro vi-van’s room.

She heard sharp voices, and whisked behind a screen, thinning her essence until she straddled the line between sinking so deep into concentration, she missed all that went on around her, or she remained coherent. People entered the room, and she positioned herself so she could see the arrivals in the mirrors.

Two younger women pleaded with older ones, who eyed the place with raised brows and skepticism, hands folded across their stomachs. Guards stayed outside the doorway, peeking inside but refusing to enter. It did not take long for the skeptics to leave, despite the desperation in the voices of the younger. They regarded the room in fearful anxiety, though snapped at the guards readily enough when they huffed on laughing words.

Confident they would not nose around, Vantra huddled down at the far end of the screen, brought her knees to her chest, and searched for the insistent pull of Sun.

Nothing.

Concern wormed through her. Why had the shard dimmed? Did vi-van hold it, and it remained quiet because of their touch? Had something else happened? Had Lorgan attempted to reclaim it and failed?

She sought Laken, following the thin thread between them. He was near, moving in her direction, but she did not sense the shard with him. He and the scholar must not have found it yet.

She peeked at the door; the women crowded the doorway, eyeing the room but refusing to remain inside. The guards faced the hallway, paying little attention to anything other than empty air. Hopefully their distraction kept them busy enough that they did not notice her.

She used the mirrors to peer at the room. She did not see another exit or windows or dumbwaiter shaft, and winced at the thought of slipping through the walls again. She did not enjoy the sticky nastiness that tried to keep her there. Her only other option was the open door, and she did not think she had the ghostly skills to sneak past that many beings without detection.

If she remained in Ether form, no physical weapons could touch her, so even if the guards attacked, she would weather the strikes. Layers of shielding would reject the magic, and Sun’s luck, none of the Nevemere held mephoric emblems. But they could chase her until they encountered someone who could harm her. Should she even attempt to reunite with Laken and Lorgan?

Even if she did not, she still needed to get out of the room.

Rumbles shook the building. The weird plant thing must cause the shaking, probably by puncturing the walls. They must find the shard and escape before the temple collapsed from the abuse. She hoped one of the mini-Joyful provided Tagra and Mimmi with protections before they attempted to convince temple associates to lay down the emblems. It seemed like something they would do.

The unmistakable tug of Laken jerked her thoughts back to her predicament. She had a general sense of direction, and cursed Nolaris and his interruption of the binding ritual; she would have a firmer link with her Candidate if she had the map.

She needed to get out the door and find him.

The women continued to glance inside the room in fear, then eye the guards. They did not have painted faces or transparent dresses like the vi-van, so they either were lowly acolytes in training or caretakers. That they retrieved their superiors meant they did not think they had the means to defeat whatever they thought she was, so that worked in her favor.

Gliding behind screens and cases, she neared the portal, eyes to the mirrors and the reflections of the jittery Nevemere. They filled the doorway, one touching the jamb; if she phased through them, they would sense it. That would terrorize them more than her appearance. Maybe she could float under the ceiling, and slip out above their heads? She did not think she had much choice.

She pushed off the floor at a space where the shine of the hallway in the mirrors blinded, and soared up, wincing as she sensed the darkness held back by flimsy wood. It wanted out, and eventually, it would succeed. The vi-van needed to cleanse their holy place, and she did not know whether they had the will or the power to do so.

She floated just below the granular paint, ignoring the dusty feel of the pitted and flaking ceiling, and rushed to the door, eager to leave the room and its discomfort behind. The women did not notice her, their eyes darting about the area where she slid across the floor. The guard did not bother to turn around, so they would not perceive her. She curved her essence and crept down the wall, then oozed under the top and into the brighter-lit hallway.

Her head rang with a terrified scream.

Of course. Seething with sour disgust at her lack of skill, Vantra pushed from the doorframe and flowed down the corridor at ceiling height. Weapons struck through her and either clattered to the floor or stuck in the wood, hanging at odd angles. No magic infused them, so they had no chance of harming her, but the yells would bring the older women, and they might prove fiercer foes.

Her thoughts must have summoned them, for they ran down the hallway. The guards frantically pointed and they frowned, glancing up. Behind them Lorgan peeked around a corner, then scampered into the room the women vacated, Laken clutched to his chest, strands of his hair trailing them from a messy bun.

Her distraction, their gain. As long as they recovered the shard, she would count it a success. She formed shields; all disintegrated under the first attack from the older women. She immediately reconstituted them, layer after layer which shattered under the assault.

“Vantra! Get inside!”

The women whirled as she streaked to Lorgan, who held the door open by the knob. Their attacks did not penetrate his shielding, and with a smirk, he slammed the door and flipped the lock.

“That won’t keep them out long,” he said.

Hopefully long enough.

The room resembled the previous one, with black stone, glass displays, and mirrored walls. The shard lay on a black stone altar, atop a velvet pillow, humming with urgency but without light. To the sides were candleholders that looked like they once held Darkness flame, but now swam with the touch of Rezenarza.

She alighted and solidified before grabbing the shard; wisps snagged her wrists, but she tore away. The Sun-touched fragment burst into light, and the Darkness retreated with acidic hisses.

Sun snaked up her arm and infused her. Power poured into her, numbing in intensity. She thought she should struggle, but the honeyed warmth drew her, cocooned her, and the room fell away. She floated on memories of rocking in a hammock on hazy, midyear afternoons, watching loud waterfowl on the Spiral Temple’s lake as she sipped tangy juice from an ice cube-laden glass. Butterflies flitted around her, some landing on her legs, some choosing to sup at the red-flowered bushes.

Thumps and wood cracking came from the door. She jerked back to the present and staggered. Lorgan steadied her, frowning, as she looked blearily at the shard. What just happened?

“Is there another way out?” Laken asked. He sounded as unimpressed with the rescue as an anxious eater was with a burnt-to-cinders meal.

Vantra whirled. A spiral staircase led upwards from the position the horrid chair sat in the previous room, the railing sleek black glass, the treads roughened stone. She looked at Lorgan and he shrugged; no other choice.

She raced up them, the shard providing enough light she did not miss a step. They exited into a dim hallway with drapes at the far end. Orange glare filtered around the edges, and shouts and screams muffled by the thick curtains penetrated the stillness. Vantra slowed, trembling.

“Lorgan, there’s a monster outside,” she whispered.

“Monster?”

“It punctured the wall and grabbed Temmisere and me. It has vine arms and a thick black body and flame petals. Its stamens open like a mouth, and there’s a head inside with pink teeth.”

“A grandulate?”

“I don’t know.”

“It sounds like a grandulate.”

Vines crashed through the roof.

Vantra snaked around the tendrils and fled to the drapes, Lorgan steps behind. Laken shouted indistinctly as they erupted onto a balcony ringed by fluttering purple tapestries and tall candleholders devoid of Darkness flame.

The shard burst into Sunlight. Vantra winced away, holding it far from her. Lorgan cursed and covered his eyes with his forearm. Poor Laken, he could only squeeze his eyes shut. The creature reared back, its head blending with the darkness that enveloped the other side of the deep, stone-lined channel that separated the temple from the rest of Black Temple. She could not see the river, but assumed it flowed within.

“That’s definitely a grandulate,” Lorgan muttered. “They hail from the confluence of the Scorn, the Ambermint and the Void. The desert isn’t so dissimilar to its natural environment, but it still doesn’t belong here.”

“It doesn’t like Sun or Light,” Vantra whimpered.

“It wouldn’t,” Lorgan agreed. “They’re cave-dwelling creatures, and if they step outside, it’s at night.” He edged to the railing and peered over. “Laken, I’m dropping you to Tally.”

“WHAT? Oh, no you—”

Laken had a fine, furious scream, as he plummeted to the Light acolyte. Vantra looked at the shard, then down; Tally set Laken down and held up her hands. She planted shields about it before tossing it to the ghost. If she missed, the cushioning should keep the object from breaking.

Should.

The Sunlight extinguished as it left her fingers; the grandulate’s vines shot towards her and Lorgan. She managed Ether Touch as the tendrils plowed into the balcony’s floor, scattering shards of wood. She leapt over the side and whisked down. The scholar somersaulted, mid-air, and threw a water-green line. The magic zipped through the vine but did not sever it. The tip hung limply from the cut, unmoving, and an oozy teal liquid dripped from it.

“You three alright?” Tally asked as she picked up Laken. Vantra landed and took the shard; again, it blazed, and the grandulate reared back with a piercing whistle.

Blue with golden magic netting shot past them, grabbing for their essences.

“STOP!” Red yelled. “YOU’RE GOING TO DESTROY THE ENTIRE CITY!”

A wrinkled man with an undercut, beaded hair, multiple beaded and golden necklaces, bracelets and anklets, wearing a tunic with bronze scales, pointed at the ancient ghost. The guards and vi-van he commanded raised the mephoric emblems. The spears glowed and spit wobbly blue baubles covered with golden netting at them.

Tally yelled while shielding the same color as the shard swirled around them.

Kjaelle flung her arms out and tipped her head back, Darkness wisps spinning around her. Light zinged around them and Red braced for impact.

The magic attacks struck, one after another. The golden nets fell and splashed out, destroying the tiles where they struck. They careened up, linked together, and curled into a single wave. The blue surged over Red’s shield, creating a pointed dome. Shimmery power flowed up it in undulating lines, filling the tip, and the air paused, waiting.

Vantra backed into Lorgan as Light circled the four of them, sliding across the already-formed protections. Tally thrust Laken at her, and she grabbed him before he tumbled to the ground. The Light acolyte slammed layer after layer beneath, forming a dense sandwich of defense.

“I got the undershields, Tally,” Lorgan yelled. She nodded, bracing as Red had done. Vantra held her Candidate and the shard as close to her as possible.

Energy burst in a circular wave from the tip of the blue magic, reaching to the edges of the plaza and slamming into a Light shield that flared up from the river and spanned around the complex. The earth moved, the air darkened, the crack of falling stone reverberated off the trembling tiles. Vantra screamed as the Nevemere standing in the plaza ruptured like rotten fruit. The emblems shattered and the remaining power surged into the dome. The grandulate shuddered, its epidermis shredding before it phased away in a puff of black smoke. The façade of the temple fell, and the roof sagged in.

No! All those people! What about Tagra! Mimmi! What about Kenosera and the Fort, below in the tunnels?

Wispy black tendrils erupted from Kjaelle’s back, and the light dimmed until only Red’s and the shard’s shielding illuminated the plaza. Greedy darkness jetted into the air from the ground, then veered from the touch of soft evening shadows. Again the greedy darkness attempted to break through the softer Darkness, but broke into splinters and melted away as a man, arms thrown as wide as the elfine’s, phased through.

Katta!

No. Veer Tul.

His hair cascaded around his frame as if a breeze played with the strands, his eyes glowed with deep sunset intensity. He wore his mantle as his clothing and cloak, which became a whirlpool of power around him. It rose, a funnel, and Light poured the blue magic’s energy into it.

The wave of golden net expanded, colliding into the temple just above Lorgan’s head. They all ducked.

“Shit!” Tally screamed as the wave crashed down, disintegrating the outer shields. Lorgan’s remained untouched. Sun’s protection rose in front, and the Light acolyte recreated hers beneath the scholar’s.

Rock tumbled onto them, bouncing, spinning into nothing while jettisoning tiny bits that puffed out of existence. The balcony tottered and fell. Tally grabbed Vantra and yanked her from the building as it crashed where they had stood, then crumbled into dust, into nothing.

The blue dome pulsed and sent a surge crashing outward. Energy broke through the shard’s protections and shattered Lorgan’s. The bottom half of the temple disappeared. Light, pure in power, flared up from the river as the original shield fractured. The force hurtled against it, ready to crash like a hurricane-inspired ocean wave onto the city.

The first barrier shattered and collapsed; the attack rebounded off the second, traces of blue magic sizzling across the golden surface. The temple disintegrated as the power shot through it, rock, wood, tumbling down.

The ground collapsed under them.

Laken screamed, Vantra screamed, then choked as her dress collar jerked back. She squeezed her Chosen and the shard to her chest as she dangled above a maw of darkest Darkness. Eager fingers reached up and snared her ankles. Sun flared from the shard, the depths retreated. Hands and magic snagged her arm and hefted her over the jagged lip of busted stone. Tally and Lorgan together dragged her from the hole as the putrid stink and the suffocating grip of Rezenarza’s Darkness belched from the pit.

The energy pulsed. The Darkness puffed into non-existence.

Temmisere shrieked, a sound drowned by stones crashing around them.

The funnel spun faster, sucking up the magic into its swirling depths. Gold and blue traced a curving line to the open sky.

Open sky. What happened to the rock ceiling?

Soft, evening coolness encased them. “Veer,” Tally said in protest, her voice trembling.

Make certain Temmisere doesn’t escape.

Vantra’s essence heated at the seductive tone that blew through her consciousness. It sounded like Katta, felt like Katta, but Tally named him Veer.

The cavern evaporated in purple twinkles. They sprawled out behind a towering Light shield, accompanied by thousands of others prostrated on the cool desert earth. Before them, the Darkness churned the blue and gold power up, up, to a shimmery point in the sky, ominous. Thick clouds created from the darkest wisps gathered around it. Greyish-purple lightning flashed, illuminating the site.

Vantra stared. No, not a point. Verryn. Her mouth dropped open.

“Tally, is that—”

“Verryn. Yes. A conduit.” Tally’s snarl dragged her attention from the brightening syimlin. Temmisere struggled to release the Light bonds that wrapped around her arms, her legs, and bound her wrists behind her back.

“Rezenarza—” she began.

“The mephoric emblems disintegrated his power,” Tally snapped. “Don’t expect him to re-initiate contact.”

“He’s a syimlin!”

“Was,” Lorgan corrected.

Heat sizzled past the barrier, and terrified voices yelled in protest, bodies scampered and crawled away from its touch. Tally did not move, so neither did Vantra. Lorgan eyed Verryn, shaking his head.

“That’s so much power,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Tally said. “Guided by the Beast’s hand. Those emblems contained his power.” She shuddered. “It’s one I can’t forget,” she whispered. “Why didn’t Qira mention that?”

“And what will happen to you, when Death’s Consort dies by your failure?” Temmisere asked. “Burst apart, like those fools outside the temple, by the extant power of a vanquished Death syimlin.”

The Beast’s power remained? Dread rocketed through Vantra; how could they fight such energy, that remained so potent even after its creator met the Final Death?

“Verryn won’t die.” Tally smiled the broad, greedy expression of a predator who trapped their prey and could not wait to rip the skin apart and eat. “But Death might still demand an audience. She never worked with Rezenarza, and has no experience to stay her hand.”

“He lives by decree!”

“He lives by a promise Old Man Death made. Erse Parr is not bound to that agreement.”

“Tally! Vantra! Lorgan!”

They whirled. Mera floated to them, Vesh running close behind, Fyrij bouncing on his shoulder.

“Verryn wants us to ring the city, and Veer will use us as points in a Great Seal.”

“He can’t mean to box that much energy,” Lorgan said, gaping, brows knit in horror.

“No.” Vesh shook his head. “He’s going to release it.”

“There isn’t going to be a Black Temple left, is there?” Vantra asked. Laken made a loud choking sound, and she released her death grip on his neck.

“There might not be an ‘us’ left, if they screw up,” Mera told her, as dry as the desert. Tally pursed her lips and smacked her arm, eliciting a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

“Hey!” Huffing, Kenosera ran to them, flanked by Nevemere carrying makeshift spears, knives, swords, and wearing leather as armor. They bowled through their terror, and Vantra hoped she acted with similar bravery. She wanted to collapse and cry at the enormity of the power ready to snuff her light.

Vesh grinned. “Kenosera, you need to stay with Laken and Fyrij, right here. Laken needs to be a point in the Great Seal.”

The nomad staggered to a halt. “Great Seal?” he gasped.

“You’ll see.”

Vantra regarded Vesh, then looked down at Laken. “You’ll stay with Kenosera?”

“Do I have a choice?” he gritted.

“No,” Vesh said.

The earth shook, more violently than when the grandulate attacked.

“Fyrij, stay with Kenosera. Protect him and Laken,” Vantra said. The little caroling puffed out his chest and sang before hopping from his perch to the living being and rubbing the top of his head against his chin.

Tally shot a magical stake through Temmisere; the ghost wailed as the spell pinned her to the ground. “You’re not going anywhere,” the Light acolyte hissed before grabbing Mera’s hand and whisking away to the right.

“Rive eucton,” Vantra whispered, and broke to the left with Lorgan and Vesh.

She raced along the edge of the Light barrier, not certain where to stand. Exactness in a Grand Seal made the difference between a hollow spell and a successful one. Vesh swiped through her, and she looked at him. He pointed at a ring, nearly invisible in the night’s bleakness, but emitting a gentle call that sounded like Katta. She zipped to it and planted herself in the middle, facing the ever-strengthening mephoric magic and the Darkness whirl.

Why do you do this?

She jumped but did not look around. She knew the words formed in her head, not from a living mouth.

“You endangered your own acolyte, your own followers,” she hissed. Clenched teeth as a ghost did not quite have the same effect as when alive, because breath could not sing across them. “Some already died because of you.”

Temmisere knows she is safe in my arms.

“Your arms aren’t here. A mephoric emblem chain reaction is, and it obliterated your Touch.”

You think I can’t protect my own?

“You don’t care enough to try. You sent her here when you knew there was a chance she’d be blown into the Void by mephoric weapons. She can’t serve you if she no longer exists.”

Temmisere has offered her existence to me. I use her as she wishes. Don’t think, for a moment, I will abandon her. Perhaps I will take the young Nevemere as I free her.

“Veer Blessed him. You can’t.”

And how will that stop me?

She held up the shard, still clutched in whitened fingers. “Clean Rays, to cleanse a corruption.”

Temmisere doesn’t see my Touch as corrupt. And such a spell will destroy the delicate Seal Talis and Veer have etched. Do you think they will forgive your impudence? Verryn walks a dangerous line. Surely you don’t wish to have Death as your lasting enemy.

“Begone.”

Vantra jumped again. The warm, amused chuckle did not placate her. She stared at the earth, wishing to seethe at Levassa, cowardice kicking in and preventing her from meeting his gaze. “Are you here to help?”

“No. To collect.”

She shuddered. The Nevemere. Her anger evaporated as fast as the first snowflake to hit the ground. “I hope peace cradles them.”

“Hmm. A kindly sentiment. I must see to them before Katta and Qira trigger whatever they’re going to trigger. Hapless ghosts are not up to remaining extant under the duress of this attack.” He patted her shoulder. “If Rezenarza calls again, tell him the same. In this, we are one in thought and deed.” He took a step and vanished.

The ring glowed purple. She planted her feet, ready.

Or not. A line of greyish-purple power zipped through her, and she staggered, fighting to remain inside the magic’s boundary. She could sense the other ghosts, faint, united. Vesh completed the link and attachments from each point to all the others formed in the middle of the barrier. She gasped, for it seemed each of the mini-Joyful stood at her side, holding her hands, rather than scattered around the Light. The Great Seal’s center swirled, and another attachment shot down; Kjaelle connected to them. The sense of Darkness strengthened.

Death awaits you, Rezenarza hissed.

“Levassa just visited, and he did not take me. Begone,” Vantra whispered, powered by the conviction that she would save thousands through this deed.

BOOM.

Stone and soil burst into powder, puffing up, raining, down. Nevemere voices raised in unrelenting horror soared above the sharp echoes of destruction. The dust sucked into the Darkness funnel and dirtied the magic as it swirled up to Verryn.

CRACK.

Lightning flared. Thunder roared, jiggling Vantra’s essence. Blue and gold erupted from Passion, creating waves that turned a vibrating red as they fled across the sky, blotting out the stars, the clouds, ambient light.

Darkness descended. Veer’s softer touch swallowed Vantra, the Light barrier her singular beacon, Talis her guide. She smiled and raised her hands to grasp the empyreal.

“Hand in hand through the Evenacht, do Darkness and Light stride. One without the other, only catastrophe falls where they tread. So together they abide, and together they rush ahead, passion as deep as the shadows, as bright as hair of red.”