Unwilling to watch Red sleep—and snore—Vantra accompanied Kjaelle and the twins to the wagons. Laken muttered darkly about errands, and they ignored him.
Some items had careened to the floor of the elfine’s wagon, one tin having cracked and sprayed a white powder over the table, box and floorboard. Sighing, she retrieved a cloth to wipe up the mess. From the disappointed groans from the twins, something similar happened in theirs, too.
“Katta could make them afraid with less show than shaking the ground,” Mera grumbled.
“He’s proving a point,” Kjaelle said with a sigh. “And not for their benefit.”
“Yeah, and if he spread Darkness across them, they would have a nice horror story to scare their fellow knights with,” Tally called. “And they might even leave us alone, then!”
“Spread Darkness?” Vantra asked.
“He represents Veer Tul, just like Qira represents Talis,” Kjaelle told her. “He can make the brightest Evenacht day appear the darkest midnight. It’s not something he does often, but if you piss him off, he’ll scare you into an early Final Death.”
Vantra replayed the fight the elfine conducted against Bregarde, how she turned into black wisps and shot across his line of sight, only to disappear before he focused. Employing something similar, in an unnaturally dark environment, would scare many.
The twins giggled. “Pissing him off is hard,” Mera said. “Qira runs hotter, but even he’s difficult to provoke. Unless it’s someone like Mimeriqette.”
Tally jumped from the wagon and eyed Kjaelle. “Is there more to her than that?”
“I assume so, but he hasn’t shared,” the elfine said. “He should, though. She’s going to be a danger to Laken’s Redemption and being prepared for that is our priority.”
“Like you care,” Laken muttered.
“I do care,” she replied, without the annoyance Vantra anticipated. How rude, for her Chosen to say so, when the mini-Joyful had helped them escape capture. “But it doesn’t surprise me, your lack of trust, especially since Lorgan dumped you back in the Elden Fields after completing the retrieval of two essences.”
“Qira and Katta are going all in on this,” Tally said. “They think you’re worth Redeeming. And their voice carries weight in more circles than you assume.”
“Not to say they don’t have enemies,” the elfine said. “They do, but—”
Cotri hustled to them, stern and suspicious. “There’s Finders up the way,” he said. “Lorgan says the mafiz who drained his companions, Fyarazal, is leading them.” He jerked his thumb to the barn. “I’ll take care of it, but you should get out of sight.”
Mera and Tally glanced at each other, then expectantly at Kjaelle, who glared at Cotri, her lip lifted in a snarl not meant for him. “Mafiz,” she muttered before snapping her skirt about her and heading for the dark interior of the hay-filled building.
The place reminded Vantra of the stables at the Sunbright Temple. Light softly filtered in from the open entrance and loft doors, sparkles of dust blinking in and out as they twirled to the hard-packed earth. Gentle warmth enveloped them, and she imagined the dusky scent of hay, oats, and oiled leather accompanying it. The dark-stained wooden stalls stood empty, so Cotri must have led the animals to a field where they could chow down on the yellowing late-year grass and get a bit of exercise.
The three ex-Finders floated at the back side door, Cheldisa pacing, all disturbed. Immediate distrust struck her, and she reminded herself that Katta and Greyshen found nothing amiss with her or Jheeka, and the two paid a high price for aiding her escape from Evening.
“You missed something when you scanned for spells,” Jheeka insisted. “How else did he track us here?”
“Did Greyshen find anything?” Kjaelle asked. “If not, then he didn’t track you in that manner.”
The three jerked up, and Lorgan shook his head. “No, he didn’t.”
“Vantra!” Jheeka rushed to her, heavy relief combined with anxiety wafting from her. “Lorgan said he met you. Are you alright? Dychala didn’t do any damage, did she?”
“I’m fine,” she assured her. “She didn’t touch me.”
“Dychala couldn’t cast a spell to save her essence,” Kjaelle muttered. “She was pathetically easy to discorporate.”
The twins snickered, and Tally patted a stunned Jheeka on the shoulder. “We’re taking excellent care of her and Laken.”
A small act, but a Physical form interacting with an Ethereal one took skill and power. Did all the ghosts surrounding Katta and Qira possess such intricate knowledge? On her arrival in the Evenacht, Vantra assumed only grand acolytes residing in magic-seeped temples or establishments of learning could understand the intricacies of Touch, because she read that expertise took centuries of dedicated study to acquire. Yet the mini-Joyful brimmed with talent, whether one stood as an earthly representative of a syimlin or drove a wagon.
Was that why Katta and Qira treated them as friends, rather than hired help?
“Excellent care?” Jheeka asked.
“Through temper tantrums and magic storms and nasty Qira stank,” Mera agreed.
Vantra failed to keep her laughter inside.
“I’m sorry, but mounts aren’t allowed up at the buildings,” Cotri’s voice floated to them, firm and polite, though a hint of darkness boiled underneath.
“We won’t be long,” said a snooty voice Vantra did not recognize, but she understood the sentiment coloring the tone too well. Acolytes of the Sun from wealthy families spoke in a similar way to those they considered beneath their station, and while her mother had weeded out the most troublesome, a few ranking members remained, causing difficulties between the temple and the laypeople they needed to aid.
“Then I’ll keep your horses out here rather than stable them.”
“As I said, we won’t be long.”
“And as I said, you’ll need to walk to the welcome hall. Shades enclaves have strict rules about visits, for obvious reason.”
“Other enclaves have not inhibited us,” his snobbiness declared. “What does this one hide, that a mere stablehand thinks to prevent us from meeting with the sanctshade?”
The snorts and rustling of numerous mounts reached them. How many others did he ride with? Vantra found it odd that they even traveled with beasts. Spirits floated faster than anything living could walk. Had he native companions? Then horses made more sense, but why bring natives into underhanded Collective business?
Kjaelle employed her Ethereal form and floated to the loft. The door stood open to let a cool breeze into the upper level, and that conveniently provided a view of the confrontation below. Curious, she handed Laken to Mera, triggered Ether Touch, and followed, despite Jheeka’s hiss to remain below.
She settled near the elfine, keeping herself as wispy as possible to avoid any discerning feature from displaying. Beneath them spanned the visitors, all on horseback, and all spirits. Their caparisons had a mottled black and white background with the bright yellow Collective symbol plastered on both sides.
Vantra found the root symbol ugly; she had thought so when alive, and death had not changed her mind. It originated with the most ancient Keel and represented a plant whose roots grew long and deep with the care of a guiding hand. The stub of a flower bud at the top, which protected the tiny symbols of peace and serenity, barely garnered notice over the thicker, pointed roots. Three curved pairs cupped the central base while another five spanned further out, all looking more like feather barbs than a jumble of actual roots. The base ended in a large spear point, depicting the true nature of the emblem, that of strength in battle.
The high-minded words written to stress the peace and serenity part hid the belief such only happened after the Keels fought and overcame friend and foe. She considered it a symbol of war, which earned her much scolding from annoyed teachers. Considering the often-violent history of the Keel, her version made more sense.
She never should have ignored the warning inherent in the badge, despite her eagerness to become a Finder.
“That’s an entourage,” the woman grumbled. “I count twenty, all ghosts, but only three Finders.”
Vantra quickly did her own tally, then lingered on the three dressed in blue travel cloaks with their extra-large Finder badges displayed on their breasts. She did not recognize them, but assumed the ramrod-straight one in front glowing a healthy early year green, went by Fyarazal. She had heard nymph ghosts enjoyed highlighting their green-tinged skin because they used it to differentiate themselves from other Talis spirits. “Do you think he’s a member of the Knights?”
“I would say yes, since he drained your Finder friends. I wonder how involved Nolaris is with them. He’s a power-hungry sycophant, and if they dangled wealth and prestige in front of his nose, he’d jump at the opportunity to become a member.” Kjaelle laughed. “That mafiz is really trying to impress Cotri with how bright he can glow.” She jerked her head to the ladder, and they descended.
“Well, there’s twenty, but only three Finders wearing badges,” the elfine declared. Vantra said the words for Physical Touch and accepted a seething Laken back from a silently laughing Mera. What had transpired between them?
Lorgan, who had his arms crossed and frowned at the barn sides as if peering through the wood, turned to her. “Twenty seems excessive for a visit to a Shades’ enclave.”
“They’re on exquisite horses bred for speed, and displaying caparisons with the Collective’s logo, so they’ve been interacting with native populations they want to impress.” She waved a hand. “If they think Cotri is going to let them just stampede up to the main building because they think their display is intimidating, they overestimate the Shades’ awe of Finders.”
“A stablehand isn’t up to a mafiz,” Lorgan murmured.
“Don’t underestimate Cotri,” the twins chimed together.
“Cotri is happy with a less stressful afterlife existence,” Kjaelle said. “He loves working with horses and enjoys taking care of animals in general. But in life, he was a Grand Champion of the Shadow Cave.”
Vantra’s jaw dropped. “The Shadow Cave?” How extraordinary! The Shadow Cave was Veer Tul’s most important temple on Talis, and a stone’s throw away from Death’s Forest retreat, her religious seat and the one in which she performed Judgments. The Champions were guards for both, with renewed interest in the task after the interstellar invasion.
She had met one while alive, a tall and serious man who visited her mother for some religious reason. She, being five, found him intimidating, but had hovered just out of casual sight anyway, enchanted with his bearing. He and her mother laughed at her combination of timidity and interest, and he left her a small Darkness token when he departed. She cherished it until the day she died.
“It’s why he’s the greeter,” Tally said. “Anyone gives him trouble, they’re going to have an unexpected bad day.”
“I am surprised Fyarazal is snarling about it,” Lorgan admitted. “Nymphs hold Darkness in great esteem.”
“Not all do,” Kjaelle said. “Some resent Veer for taking over from Rezenarza. They felt a nymph should have inherited Darkness from a nymph. Instead, he handed the burden to a human, and look what happened. The Beast rose.”
“Veer was not responsible for the Beast’s reign,” Lorgan muttered.
“Nymphs disagree. They think he should have destroyed the upstart before he sent Old Man Death to the Final Death. There are cults in the Evenacht who view Veer as the weakest Great Syimlin, and plot to overthrow him and place a more respectable being on the Dark Throne.”
The thought offended Vantra, but she also knew a coup would never happen. Erse Parr and Veer Tul sealed their union and walked as much hand-in-hand as Light and Darkness did. Before Erse’s reign, Darkness stood apart from Death. While he coated the dying in comfort and shadows, he had no hand in their existence afterwards. Old Man Death refused to share his station because he saw himself as the ultimate syimlin authority, and fell to the Final Death, as much for a lack of power as the arrogance that made him refuse other deities’ aid. His poor decisions led to the Beast’s reign, not Darkness’s inability to break through his conceit.
Veer and Erse fixed that breach, and the strength of their bond showed most prominently when they, together, downed the interstellar invaders to save Talis from a nasty fate, which prompted other Sensour death deities to actively protect their lands.
“More Finders? And who are you trying to ‘find’ this time?”
“Uh-oh,” Kjaelle and the twins groaned together as Red’s voice carried to them. He sounded irritated and considering what he accomplished without temper driving him, Vantra worried as well.
“What is a Light acolyte doing at a Darkness enclave?” his snobbiness asked.
“Light walks hand-in-hand with Darkness,” Red replied in a teaching tone meant to infuriate the ones he spoke with. The patient ‘you should know this already’ quality directed at a puffed-up mafiz would inflame his indignation. “But, I suppose, nymphs might not prescribe to that viewpoint.”
“You match the description of a ghost that caused colleagues of mine considerable difficulties,” the nymph snapped.
“Who? Oh, wait, what was his name? Bregarde? Are you referring to him and his two generators? Or are you talking about Mimeriqette.”
Vantra could feel the stillness in the group outside as they digested the rage born of millennia of hate as he spoke that name.
“Do you think he’ll use that stinky spell?” Mera asked.
Kjaelle blinked, seethingly spat something Vantra did not understand, then hustled out to the front.
“He’s going to cast that stinky spell,” Tally fretted. “He hasn’t used up his amusement in it yet, and he has a chance to discorporate a bully.”
“What stinky spell?” Lorgan asked, confused.
He tempted fate by asking, and they all found out. Vantra choked; she swore the potency out-stank previous uses, perhaps because the mafiz held more power than the other Finders? Mera and Tally turned and ran out of the back side door of the barn, hands slapped ineffectively over their noses, and they followed.
Poor Laken wheezed. She clutched him close and bowed her head, as if that propelled her feet faster.
The air took on a decidedly green tinge, which smacked against but did not penetrate a circular shield surrounding the main building. Verryn stood just inside the border, arms crossed, glaring with contempt at the barn. Vantra squeezed her eyes shut, expecting to ram against it, but she passed through without mishap. Lorgan halted and eyed it, as if absorbing its form, and Jheeka and Cheldisa collapsed just beyond, their essences shuddering.
“Are you alright?” Vantra asked, kneeling next to the two women.
“Qira’s targeting the Finder oath link,” Verryn said, his voice gentle compared to his look. “You may want to break it, since I don’t think you plan to return to the Hallowed Collective.”
“No, we don’t,” Jheeka gasped.
Lorgan hovered over them, reaching out as if to warm his hands at a fire. “I can help, since I’ve been through it,” he said.
Vantra looked down at Laken’s scalp. As far as she knew, the oath link, bestowed in a ceremony to correspond with the success of a Finder’s tenth Redemption, only activated when a Finder stood in the presence of another Finder. How did he use that to inflict his nasty smell spell?
She peeked at the barn. The horses snorted and whinnied but kept their heads bowed, untypically calm. Only the Finders remained in their seats, surrounded by flaming shields, hands clapped firmly over noses while the mafiz frantically waved an arm, his green glow gone. The rest lay in spiritual puddles near the hooves of their mounts.
Kjaelle stood with Cotri, arms crossed, legs spread wide, and their combined glare might have dug a grave for Red, if it had physical potency. His focus remained on the enemy while the green haze darkened.
“Let’s get them inside,” Verryn said quietly. “Before Kjaelle and Cotri join ranks and show the Light a thing or two about Darkness resentment.”
“Kjaelle hasn’t enjoyed his use of the stink,” Vantra agreed.
“Have you?”
“No!”
He nodded. “You’re lucky. It’s muted for you, because you’re touched by the Sun.”
Muted? How could he possibly call the overwhelming stink muted? “My mother was the high priestess, but—”
“His Touch protects you, and through your bond, Laken,” the man told her. “It’s why you two haven’t succumbed to the spell. Well, that, and since Qira is of the Light, he recognizes that in you and manipulates his implementation accordingly.”
The crack of thunder shook her essence. Fiery lightning careened off Red’s protections and shot through the barn, leaving a scattering of shredded wood flying. Shrill neighs of fear from horses in a field hidden by a stand of trees tore across the ground, and the twins perked up, looking over.
“Fyarazal is an acclaimed mafiz,” Lorgan worried.
“And bragging about it will not blunt Qira’s attack, because he doesn’t care much about social standing and power,” Verryn replied, unconcerned. “He sees them as the ultimate corruptor and will never bow to it—especially if it’s coming from a nymph who’s bought into his own propaganda concerning Mental Touch strength without an adequate foundation and backing.” His grin held a tinge of malice. “Good thing they’re only sending incompetents after you. It gives you a chance to gauge who comes next.”
A mafiz was hardly an incompetent! By Lorgan’s flashing eyes, he agreed with her, but they both remained silent as a row of lightning rained down on Red and the two Darkness acolytes. Visible waves rattled through the air, jarring earth and fence and building, though they deflected off the shield and wobbled into nothingness.
“We need to calm the horses,” Mera said. “Ours aren’t the only ones startled by that attack.” The twins looked at each other, wrinkled their noses, and streaked away, into the green haze, towards the field.
Lorgan and Verryn helped the two stricken Clastics to the front steps of the main building, where Greyshen and Katta stood, both with their right elbow in their left palm, chin cupped between thumb and third finger, and their forefinger tapping against their cheek, eyeing the green haze with disgust.
“How long might it take, before Kjaelle takes exception to this spell?” the shade asked.
“I think she already has,” Katta replied drily.
“Wanna help break the Finder’s Oath?” Verryn asked.
Katta grinned and dropped his hands. An odd popping puffed against Vantra’s ears, and both Jheeka and Cheldisa grabbed their chests, concern turning to wonder. Lorgan gaped as he studied them, nearly sending her into giggles. If he planned to accompany them, he needed to acclimate to such surprises.
“Showoff,” Verryn grumbled.
“Oaths are dark things,” the ancient ghost said with a shrug. “Clouded in mystery and shadows, and therefore the purview of Darkness.”
Something about that amused the Keel fighter, but he did not share. “So do you have a cell for a mafiz?”
Greyshen sighed. “No,” he admitted. “We’re holding a Weather missionary group working in the Sun Plains. They attempted to convert both spirits and natives living there, then cast spells to bring drought to those who refused their ideology. Nem Hala asked us to care for them because she had told them to stop and they rebuffed her. So they are spending time in a secluded environment to consider why, when Weather asked them to rethink their efforts, they harmed others instead.”
“Typical,” Verryn grumbled as Vantra’s eyes widened. How could followers of a syimlin ignore their command?
Katta caught the look and smiled. “You’ll find, after existing for several thousand years and seeing it happen again and again, most religious adherents don’t follow what their syimlin proscribes. They have other ideas, other desires that take precedent, and if those go against what their deity tells them, they ignore their deity, or see the chastisement as a challenge to prove their uncompromising faith. Because, you see, adherents are always correct in their belief. Always.”
Vantra had no idea how to react to that.
“Like you?” Laken asked, his tone laced with venom.
Katta, Greyshen and Verryn all laughed. “I suppose,” he said. “But Veer speaks to me personally. It’s a bit different than reading his words in a holy book and having a power-bent priest interpret them.”
“You’ve met him?” Lorgan asked, incredulous, while Jheeka and Cheldisa stared, flabbergasted, disbelieving.
Greyshen set his fingers over his lips, eyes twinkling, while Verryn’s cherry-cheeked amusement confused the rest of them.
“I’m an avatar that embodies Darkness,” he stated, glaring at his companions. “I haven’t just met him once or twice on the sly.”
“True,” Greyshen squeaked, before dissolving into chuckles.
“You’ve met Veer Tul,” Lorgan asked, more skeptical, as Jheeka and Cheldisa rose from the ground, their forms solidifying as if stuffed full of energy. Whichever of the older ghosts aided their recovery, Vantra mentally thanked them for their efforts.
“And Talis,” Verryn said. “He and Qira have a connection since both went through the Aristarzian gauntlet and survived.”
Lorgan winced. “A horrific warping of Light’s words,” he stated.
“Much so,” Greyshen agreed, his humor dying. “And thousands of boys needlessly died as a result.”
Vantra cleared her throat. “We met the woman who started it,” she said.
All attention rocked to her, and she wanted to step back from the intensity.
“You met her?” Katta asked carefully.
“She was with the Knights of the Finders who attacked us on the way here,” she told them. “She goes by Mimeriqette now, though the Knights call her the Guardian Priestess as a show of respect. Qira told us who she was in life and said she started the tradition because the families of the boys gave her bribes in return for making them nobles.”
“So now it’s personal,” Katta sighed. “They have no idea, the enemy they’ve inherited.” He tapped his fingers against his upper arm, observing the darkening green haze. “Which, I suppose, explains his reaction.”
“Knights of the Finders?” Jheeka asked, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“They’re a secret organization within the Finders,” Vantra said. “They said they carry the Hand of Death to punish spirits who have committed great wrongs.”
“They said so, but it is not,” Katta told them. “It makes me sick, to wonder how many they mangled, mutilated, and sent to the Final Death, because of that mistaken belief. They are Qira’s enemy, but now, too, mine.”
“There’s so much more wrong, than I ever thought,” Jheeka whispered, distressed. “I saw the abuses, and how Nolaris treated Vantra, but I never suspected anything as ghastly as mimicking Death’s Hand.”
“Jheeka, Cheldisa, If I may ask, can Greyshen interview you about the Finders?” Katta asked. “Even though you know nothing of the Knights, info on high-ranking sages may help us figure out who’s involved with them—and who might have the audacity to employ a fake mark.”
“Of course,” Jheeka said.
“The Clastics have suspected ill intent for long years,” Cheldisa said, her arms wrapped tightly about her torso as if comforting herself. “Not all agree, but there are a couple of our members who saw evil in Finders like Nolaris. I can set up a meeting with them if you like.”
“Yes,” Greyshen said. “As soon as possible. We do not know how long this travesty has gone on, and the quicker we can bring it to an end, the better.” His guilt fluttered away from him like melancholy butterflies.
“They kept themselves well-hid from the Shades for a reason,” Katta soothed. “They claim divine right, but it’s you who bear the burden of it.”
“Well hidden, but it never lasts,” Jheeka said. “They always grow too confident, too lax, say the wrong thing at the wrong time. It’s why I wanted to speak with you about Nolaris, Vantra. I overheard him talking to another sage, someone I’m unfamiliar with. She said they needed to interfere with your Redemption, and he agreed.”
Electric anger raged through her. It had not mattered who she Chose, he planned to impede the quest anyway. That she just happened to follow the call of a Condemned he had an embarrassing history with, only added flame to the smoldering embers already lit. How dare he plot against her? Whatever had she done to warrant the retaliation?
“So it wasn’t Tieron who prompted him to come after me.”
“Vantra,” Laken protested. She immediately loosened her hold around his neck. She had not meant to cause discomfort, and guilt slammed through her.
“I think once he discovered who you chose, he went berserk, but he already planned to make you fail.”
“Nolaris has much to answer for,” Katta said. “This is another block on the firewood pile of his wanting to stunt a promising young Finder.”
“He would,” Lorgan said, resigned. “If he thought Vantra might overshadow him one day. He’s always held wealth and privilege as his due, and values it above his duty as a Finder.”
“One day?” Katta asked, amused. “Simply by selecting Laken, she did so. She, a woman on her first Redemption, didn’t care whether he sat in the Elden Fields. She heard his call and answered. Nolaris is deaf to all but his own ambitions.”
“He’s not the only one,” Laken muttered.
“No, but he’s the one we’re dealing with.” The ancient ghost turned on his heels and proceeded inside. “Qira’s going to dump the group back in Evening. I guess the enclave should care for the horses until a representative retrieves them.”
What? Vantra whirled; the green haze had cleared, and no one remained atop their mount. Red had his hands up, to the side, waving them as he wobbled his head, as if to placate the two very, very unhappy Darkness acolytes who had not changed stance during the confrontation, and, in fact, looked even more menacing, with wisps of dark coursing about them.
Greyshen sighed. “They’re going to hunt you down,” he said, following Katta. “Especially since he took down a mafiz. They’ll see him as a threat, and act to alleviate their peril.”
“Perhaps. If they cause problems here, defend accordingly.”
“Why provoke them?” Lorgan asked, confused, as the rest of them meandered after the two.
“Because the more members they send after us, the more likely it is they’ll deploy one of higher rank who might know more about the extent of their corruption,” Katta said. He glanced back at them. “And then we can ask why they’ve made Vantra a target.”
