Qira looked deader than the dead. The dark smudges beneath his eyes and the hollows in his cheeks, and the sickly tinge to his skin, would make everyone they encountered believe he was yet another ancient ghost. They would eye Katta more than his fellow syimlin.

Or maybe they would pay more attention to the vulfs. Someone had brushed them, and their fur gleamed as bright as the anklets adorning their paws.

Vantra smoothed the filmy dress she wore; it had a large hood and sleeveless bodice laced up with shimmery string, the deep tropical blue drifting into purple when it reached the wispy, layered skirt. Bangles adorned her ankles but no shoes; Mera and Tally told them that island ghosts did without footwear, and she wanted to fit in.

Kjaelle must have realized it, for the elfine brought her the anklets, bracelets, and beaded necklaces, the silver bright enough to enchant Fyrij, the beads matching her outfit. She had to shoo him away from the earrings; the circle with a rose dangling in the center gleamed with Darkness, and he found as much to love in the Touch as he did in the metal’s gleam.

Good thing Kjaelle offered him a blinding set of rings for his skinny legs. He got to dress up just like the vulfs and look fabulous, without inhibiting his movement.

A cheer went up from the pirates as the ramp deployed to the crowded dock; Katta offered to shield the Loose Ducky so they all could attend the celebration, as Weather asked, and not worry about security. A light crew would rotate in and out, making certain that everyone enjoyed themselves at some point.

Not that she expected the Merdia pirates to have anything but a good time, wherever they decided to land.

Kenosera nudged her and smiled, and her essence tingled. His hair gently fluttered in the breeze, and a single clasp kept his sky blue vest from doing the same. His black pants rested just below the knee, held to his hips by a pirate-y blue sash. A variety of bangles in keeping with his Snake’s Den roots adorned his arms and legs; the ones decorating his biceps even had a snake etched into the gold surface. A golden ring adorned his neck, and he had an odd number of hoops in each ear. She did not recall him having those before, so either a pirate or Yut-ta convinced him they were a good idea.

Katta offered him footwear; the sandals had a leather back that cupped his ankle and tied in the front, with a thick strap across his arch. The style was from the syimlin’s people, and, as a Darkness acolyte, it fit, to have him wear the subtle connection.

Such a dashing man wanted to spend time with her? How her life had changed, in just a few semma!

Her gaze trailed over the snake images, wishing she could wear something Sun-like, but caution won. Those who stalked her knew of the association, and she did not want the attention during a festive time. She touched the dark violet-red Passion badge that Verryn had gifted her, with an oval linked to a twisted other; few should question an official representative of Death’s consort. She hoped. Beneath the badge was the smaller one for Sun, carefully covered so casual observers would not notice, but she could not say the same for a closer inspection.

“Are you ready?” he asked, running his fingers over his eyebrows to wipe away the sweat.

“No.”

He laughed. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about our enemies during the celebration, especially if we’re in Weather’s company.”

Yut-ta bounced to them, Fyrij flapping excitedly on his shoulder. He had not spared a single bit of his body, and riches decorated everything. A gold band with jewels framed his face, the sides curving up with his tufted ears, and several rings ran down the ridge of his beak to a larger one piercing the tip. He had two in his left eyebrow, one over his right, and thicker hoops in his earlobes that dangled flat, curved symbols resembling both a moon and a blade. A chain hung to his chest, connecting to a red gem set in the center of an arched bird design.

Hoops trailed down his biceps, and Vantra thought that should hurt, but he seemed indifferent to any pain. The wrist and leg cuffs had etched raptors surrounded by vines, tiny gemstones embedded in the curls. He wore perforated bands between each knuckle on his fingers, which made them appear longer than they were.

While the jewelry caught her eye, his sunset-blue vest with gold appliqué was nice, and the ends of his sash had glittery decoration that reflected the light nicely. The bird-and-tree pattern adorning his dark pants piqued her curiosity; was that a family crest design?

Both of her companions wanted to impress Weather. She glanced again at her outfit and felt outclassed.

“There he is!” Mera popped into the air and waved, her upper body rocking back and forth, and she and Tally sped to the dock, not bothering to wait for the ramp to settle. Vantra floated up to peek over the railing; a man in knee-length blue shorts, a yellow tunic without sleeves, and a sash hanging over one shoulder and knotting at his waist, zipped to them. The three hugged, and his smile was wide enough, she could see his gleaming teeth against his warm, forest-brown skin.

“He looks happy and relieved,” she told her companions as she resettled next to them.

“More than great-grandma’s ride with us,” Yut-ta quietly reminded her. “And he must know that.”

“Nope.”

They looked at Kjaelle as she adjusted the dusky purple flower tied to the end of her braid. The color matched her smoky makeup and lip stain, and Vantra had a quick shing of desire for the elegant display.

“No?” Yut-ta asked.

“Their family believes that Katta and Qira are avatars. It’s safer, for them and us.”

Considering the events since she left Evening, she understood perfectly. “But Mera said she and Tally knew Talis when they first saw him.”

“Mera inherited a Light gift,” she said. “Not everyone in their families did, and from me to you, that fact, more than their adventurous side, annoys the elders. She could have been a high priestess during her lifetime, but chose friendship and having a family over the prestige the rank would have brought. Then she about-faced in the Evenacht and chose to become an avatar’s guard with Tally, which does not grant those relatives the local religious importance they desire.”

“So the ranch is going to be fun.” Kenosera winced at the thought.

“The extended family has several holdings on Tempest and Wistful Islands and along the Lake Arstet shore. Most of the ancient kin won’t be at the ranch, which is good for us; Mera and Tally are not shy about confrontations—which, incidentally, is why they won’t be at the ranch.” She flipped open a flower-decorated fan and waved it at her face. “The bitterest relations live on the mainland, and we only see them when our luck runs out.” She motioned to the ramp, and they headed for the reunited family.

Rayva and Salan outpaced them and barreled into Timos, tails wagging hard as they yipped.

“Why do you think I wasn’t worried?” Timos asked, grinning, as he ruffled their fur. “I know how good you and Zaza Tally are with the halberds, but halberds aren’t the weapons of choice against water.”

Tally laughed. “Qira and Katta never would have let it come to that.”

He sighed and flipped the dangling ends of the scarf wrapped around his forehead over his shoulder. “But it was a greol, Zaza. A greol! You know how dangerous they are!”

“Quite. And that greol really likes Vantra.” Mera beamed at them, snagged Vantra’s arm and drew her close. “Timos, meet Vantra.” She peered back at the ship. “And her Chosen, Laken. He’s the one in the dark blue cloak.”

“A Finder?” he asked, blinking in surprise.

“Not anymore,” she murmured.

Kjaelle leaned in and grinned. “Breaking the Hallowed Collective’s hold on Redemptions is a wondrous start to a new day.”

He laughed, his deep, sunset-brown eyes twinkling. “You would think that, Kjaelle.”

The vulfs barked in agreement, and Kjaelle chuckled at the support.

“Fyrij the Caroling’s from the Dark, Kenosera’s from the Snake’s Den, and Yut-ta joined us in Selaserat,” Mera continued. “And Lorgan’s the one in bright nymph-green. He’s a scholar who studied at Reddown Under Lake.”

Timos whistled, a feat, as he did not breathe. “Only the smartest of the wealthy get accepted at Reddown.”

“Have you met Captain Dough before?”

He shook his head. “No, but his reputation’s legendary. Heh. Pirates and avatars. The admiral wants to make certain everything’s on the even up, so it’ll be a personal interview with him and two officers.”

The twins raised their eyebrows in unison. “Does he now,” they said together. “Which admiral?”

“Admiral Ozrik.”

“Ooooh!” They beamed at each other, then pivoted and waved. “Qira, Admiral Ozrik wants to talk to us!” they shouted.

“Who?” Qira called back, squinting at the two. While he shed his loungewear, the Katta-style sandals, loose, knee-length shorts and looser, sleeved white shirt was a stark, dressed-down contrast to the rest of them. All of the Light-blessed wore their finest, and Joila’s flowered circlet and over-one-shoulder dress held to her waist by a jeweled belt brought ancient priestesses to mind. The juxtaposition would attract stares.

“Remember the nymph in charge of the Whirlpool Watch when we last visited The Grace?”

Qira’s nostrils flared as if he smelled his stink spell while Katta eyed them, all humor absent. The twins grinned widely before they snagged Timos’s arm and hauled him towards the paved path from the dock.

“You’ve met him?” Timos asked, wavering between surprise and appalled concern.

“And it was quite memorable,” Mera said. “Which means he wants to wag his finger and remind us that this is a celebration and not an invitation to embarrass the noteworthy.”

“I can’t wait to see his face when he realizes how many Light-blessed are with us!” Tally crowed.

His surprise switched to nervousness, and Vantra wondered how often he navigated around the outrageous behavior when his great-grandmothers visited.

Timos hurried ahead of them after whispering something to Mera and Tally, who laughed and shooed him on. Their expectancy twisted Vantra’s essence; how much of an effort did the two syimlin make to embarrass the leaders of the communities they visited? She doubted their rank as avatars would save them from repercussions by the humiliated, and could cause untold difficulties when they needed, say, local help in Laken’s Redemption.

Fyrij trilled and hopped on Yut-ta’s shoulder, flapping his wings. He looked from Timos’s back to the twins, back and forth in rapid bird fashion, and they grinned.

“I’m not sure Ozrik will think much of the warning, but Timos has a good heart, to attempt one,” Mera said. “After all, they’re not expecting a full guard contingent of Light-blessed.”

“I don’t understand,” Kenosera said, frowning. “In the desert, avatars are holy and treated with respect. That seems less so, outside its borders.”

“It depends on where we visit,” Tally told him. “Tempest Island has a Light Temple and Qira and Katta are favored visitors. But Ozrik’s a nymph, and he finds bowing to humans, even if they are avatars, distasteful.”

“Would he change his mind if he knew?” the nomad asked.

“No.”

Yut-ta chuckled and patted Kenosera’s arm. “Lokjac says nymphs are annoyed that Nem Hala’s the only one of them in the current pantheon. It’s also why they resent Veer; he replaced Rezenarza.”

“The mantle wanted him,” Tally said with a shrug. “Rezenarza never should have attacked him and paid for his poor choice.”

After having met him, suffering through his spying, and dealing with his rage, Vantra was happy Veer held the mantle. Her resentment had receded a tinge after the ex-syimlin’s help in Greenglimmer, but the events transpired because he trusted a dark being he never named, his consuming ambition to win back his divine status guiding him into their embrace.

The twins, laughing with Kjaelle over their last, splashy encounter with the admiral, led them up the path and across a pedestrian road to a squat, round white building with a dome topped by gold-washed tiles gleaming bright enough, passersby covered their eyes and winced. The decorative shutters and windowsills were the same tropical blue of Timos’s uniform, with matching doors between. A sign on two stout poles faced the street, pink letters on a bright yellow background declaring the structure the IBA Headquarters.

Trimmed grass spanned the tiled walks to the three doors, and multi-colored tropical flowers bloomed in beds hugging the walls. Hollow sticks hung from the rafters, tinkling a soft tune as the wind rattled them against each other.

Avoiding the rush of beings hurrying through the front door, they whisked through a side entrance and into a room as large and round as the outward building implied. Cool collided with them, startling Vantra; ghosts normally paid little attention to temperature, but the blatant difference between muggy warmth and drier cold struck her. She was not the only one; Kenosera tipped his head back and sighed, happy at the change.

Stairs filled the center and led down, and a walkway spanned the walls, allowing visitors to view the displays of paintings, seafaring tack, and random fish skeletons. Swinging from thick chains embedded in the ceiling was a skeleton of a greol, one half the size of the creature who swam with them.

White electric light from flat wall sconces and pink glows illuminating the edges of the treads shocked her; the Evenacht, in general, was not fond of modern Talin technology, especially anything neon. Evening had a mix of old and new, and the fights between generations often led to both parties sitting in a jail cell for a day to cool off.

Two brown-furred, long-nosed chavosine guards dressed in the same uniform Timos wore stood at the stair posts, hands behind their backs, eyeing the guests with flared nostrils as their tufted ears flicked back and forth. Their nonchalance disappeared when they beheld the Light-blessed and the vulfs, but did not halt them from proceeding down.

The stairs had two metal handrails dividing the middle and one attached to the left-hand wall, while a lift moved along a slide to the right, carrying large groups. They hit three half-landings before reaching the floor beneath. Reflecting the first floor, the stairs continued down and a walkway circled the well. Nine openings with large pink letters above them sat at uniform intervals, lines of bored beings issuing from them and wrapping around the glass barrier that separated those waiting from a fall to the next level. Some held a few wrinkled papers while others clutched logbooks and folders.

The corners had counters with pens and slots containing paper; a helper manned each one, aiding those filling in the forms. She glanced at Dough, but he did not look like he planned to stop and wait to sign docking paperwork. Of course not; his curiosity would send him directly into the interview.

Mera, Tally and Kjaelle headed for the triangular kiosk and studied the map of the five floors while Vantra stared at the bright advertising for various IBA-adjacent events on the other two sides. A large poster with a smiling Nem Hala in the center, riding a wave as dancers and performers whirled around her, publicized the festival she invited them to.

More than one individual exited the doorways, carrying a flyer with the same image. How many tourists would attend the event? Her tummy twisted, at the thought of enormous crowds.

With a curt wave to follow, the twins headed down to the third floor and walked to a wide doorway manned by two nymph guards. Nervousness descended as they opened the doors for their large group; Vantra murmured her thanks at the thoughtful gesture, which earned her a curt nod, nothing more.

They entered a darker room with theater seating and a curtained stage at the bottom. The back had a black-painted wall with dim, golden sconces on each side of a closed door. Yellow lights ran the length of the stair edges, highlighting the treads so no one fell. Tape kept them from all seats but the ones in the middle front, where Timos spoke to three officials in white-patterned forehead wraps and long-sleeved, white robes with jutting shoulders and stripes up the arms and down the side slits, revealing blue pants and stained woven footwear beneath.

The one with the pale, zinnia-hued skin of northern Talin lake nymphs must be the admiral. Why had he chosen a theater as an interview room? Or was that because of their group’s size? An intimate office would not hold everyone.

Timos said something, and the admiral turned; upon beholding Katta and Qira, he looked ill. Despite quickly covering his reaction, it remained long enough, he obviously regretted his desire for an in-person interview.

“Hello, Admiral Ozrik,” Mera and Tally chimed, bowing together with a flourish. Vantra blinked; when had they switched to uniforms? She had not noticed, and she should have; they replaced their wispy, fairy-like skirts and band tops with blue, reinforced bodices that laced up the front and thick capris with kneepads. In island tradition, no footwear graced their bangled feet.

“Believe it or not, I’m sick,” Qira said, his strained voice easily carrying across the theater. “So can we make this quick?”

“Are you hindered by wind sickness?” the admiral asked, frowning as he regarded the syimlin.

“No,” he said. “Just extreme fatigue and essence injury.” He flopped into the nearest chair, looking far less healthy than he had when they left the ship. He should have taken Katta’s advice and let Darkness sweep him to Nem Hala, but he insisted on walking with them. Joila bent and felt his forehead, then pursed her lips.

“You’re warm, Qira,” she muttered.

“It’s hot out there.”

She pursed her lips at Katta; without a word, Darkness whirled around the syimlin, the vulfs, and the Light-blessed, whisking them away. The room felt airier without their worry bearing down.

“He will be alright?” the admiral asked, focusing on Katta.

“Zibwa heals him,” Katta said, waving his hand in permission for the rest of them to sit before selecting a padded chair, undisturbed by the fact the officials remained on stage, staring down their noses at him. Dough planted himself next to him and leaned over his knees, a caustic delight darkening his smile.

“Zibwa?” Ozrik asked, astonished.

“Healing after being struck by a mephoric emblem isn’t simple, even for Light’s avatar.”

The nymph winced as the other three stared in shock. “I had just entered the Evenacht when the Beast defeated Old Man Death,” he admitted. “I remember the atrocities too well. But I thought the Shades had rid the evening lands of the last traces of those weapons.”

“A new enemy has risen, who used contaminated magic pools under Kjivendei to create more.” The syimlin set his chin in his hand. “It’s good, you’re here. We bring a warning, because we have no idea how many they made. Ships bearing them might pass the isles.”

“That is ill news,” the nymph said. His companions glanced at him, then Darkness, as if they could not quite believe he accepted a stranger’s words without question. “On top of the Wind Revenant raids, it appears the storm waves have grown more dangerous.”

“Their flag bears a striking resemblance to the Deri Glora.”

“They didn’t begin that way, but over the last few semma, that’s what they’ve flown.” Ozrik cleared his throat. “Avatar Katta, please meet Wavecutter J’shondri and First Boater Lorzenn.” He motioned to a blue-furred, long-nosed chavosine and a man with sun-blasted, burnt umber skin. The man had webbed fingers, so was probably a naiazine like Kenosera. That made sense; the Windtwists, being surrounded by the sea, would attract those of the water. “Wavecutter, First Boater, please meet the avatar of Darkness, Katta.”

Both nodded, though the formality did not hide their suspicion. Katta nodded in turn.

“I haven’t heard of the Wind Revenants, and we Merdia pirates aren’t homebodies,” Dough said. “For the size of boat and number of crew, they had to have been recruiting for a while.”

“Yes,” Lorzenn said with a sour frown. “They started off as a re-enactment group.” Dough raised a skeptical eyebrow at that. “They ‘hired’ locals bored with island life and promised adventure while sailing the traditional way.” He hmphed, his gravelly voice lowering. “Traditional my fins. They ran motorized, metal boats that have no tradition here or on Sensour.”

“They bullied other ships,” J’shondri said, far quieter than his peer. “We fined them, increasing the charge after every infraction, and they paid them and continued.”

“So they have someone rich backing them,” Katta said.

“We believe so. It was likely done on purpose; locals saw them evading the harsh hand of the law, and it increased their standing with the younger, bored islanders and the ghosts who wished for something new. Their early recruitment attracted hundreds, and those beings spread the word.”

“When did the switch happen?” Dough asked. “It had to have been recent.”

“Within the last two years,” Ozrik said, tapping nervously at his leg as he regarded the pirate, then the syimlin. “For three years previous, they sailed without incident. Then fishers started complaining about large ships targeting their little boats. A year later, they switched from flying a yellow flag with blue waves to the one you saw. They’ve gotten more violent since.”

“Are they still recruiting?” Katta asked.

“Yes. We began a campaign cautioning against signing up, but, well, no one listened until the cargo ships became targets.” J’shondri’s frustration rang through his words, and he lifted his upper lip, revealing pointed teeth and slightly longer fangs. “Islanders complained that we cracking down on a successful business, until, of course, they lost theirs after a raid stole their merchandise. Unfortunately, the promise of adventure is drawing in those loose in the winds, searching for a stable shore.”

Timos’s increased nervousness caught Vantra’s attention. The five seemed to be getting along fine, just relating information. He knew the other three better, so something in their manner must concern him, because neither Katta nor Dough were other than polite.

She studied all five, their words drifting away as she concentrated. Katta’s soft politeness covered his amusement and  Dough hid his agitation under his pirate aplomb, though his fingers tapped a fidgety rhythm on his coat sleeve. Ozrik’s hands tightened into fists, which she found odd, while the suspicion within the other two dwindled.

Timos stood at attention, fighting to staunch some strong emotion behind his stoicism. She glanced at Mera and Tally; they eyed him with growing concern. Something was up, and worry infused her; they did not need more trouble than they already had during Laken’s Redemption, and island officials interfering did not sit well with her.

“Which is why the glorious Nem Hala asked us to work with you.”

That snapped her attention back, and she wondered what she missed, to lead to that statement from Ozrik. She hoped Kenosera or Yut-ta could tell her, because she did not want to admit to anyone else, shame-faced, that she had not listened.

“Nem’s as concerned as we are,” Katta said. “And she has no avatar to speak and act for her.” He leaned forward. “While it may seem ludicrous, search for connections with Greenglimmer. A new organization raiding ships might have no hesitation hooking up with another wanting to transport dangerous goods. It would grow their reputation and let them offer the adventure their new recruits crave.”

J’shondri nodded, placing a clawed hand on his breast. “It is something we must look into. I’tagro, the time grows near for the Windwave Dance, and Breaker Timos brought us word from Nem Hala that she wishes you to attend.”

“She asked that I lead you to the beach,” Timos said, bending low.

Katta smiled and rose, Dough popping up with him. “Then let us go. I’m certain, we shall speak again.”

Darkness swirled around them.

They exited into a high-ceiling chamber with gold marble columns lining the sides, wispy tapestries hanging between. Couches and seating rested in random places, padded with flowery, orange and crimson upholstery. Matching carpets covered the marble floors, leading to a closed wooden door with carved panels depicting scenes that Vantra assumed aligned with important events in Nem Hala’s rule. Dozens of vases with a variety of blooms sat on the floor and on small side tables, creating a fresh feel to the atmosphere, and by Kenosera’s deep breath and smile, providing a nice scent.

On one couch lay Qira, wrapped in a red blanket and looking like he would sleep into the next semma, while the Light-blessed lounged near him, talking in hushed tones. They glanced at them, then frowned, rising.

Nervousness poured from Timos as his great-grandmother snagged his arm. “And?” she asked, her hold tightening.

“Zaza,” he began, and Katta held up a hand.

“You don’t trust them.”

He smashed his lips together, then sagged and put his fingers to his forehead. “It’s not that, but something’s up. Ozrik is far more nervous than he usually is. He delighted in the hard-headed habits of the arrogant until the last few semma.”

“We met him before,” Tally reminded him drily, crossing her arms. “We remember his overblown confidence.”

“He visited the Wrecks after a rescue went wrong, and when he came back, he shook. He spoke nothing of it, and J’shondri and Lorzenn never seemed to think anything was wrong. They had to have noticed, but . . .” He dislodged his head wrap, then snagged it and drug it from his head before smoothing his tight black curls. “I don’t know. They had a meeting with some Finders before Ozrik went to the Wrecks, and I’ve not liked many of their decisions about the Wind Revenants since.”

“The Finders aren’t Knights, are they?” Tally asked.

His shock made Vantra internally sigh. “How did you know? I’ve never heard of Knights of the Finders, but they have official badges from the Hallowed Collective.”

“They work with the enemy we confronted in Greenglimmer,” Katta told him. “What else?”

He wobbled. “They work with the enemy?” He puffed out his chest and closed his eyes. “Zaza . . . he’s been—”

“Who?” Mera asked sharply.

“Yanyan Gedall. He’s been listless. Maybe depressed. Yanyan Redaun said he’d been angry over something he’s held tight.”

Mera frowned. “He had trouble with grudges later in life. His brother left him a financial and emotional mess to clean up, and he spent a good portion of those years trying to undo all the damage. He felt he wasted those days for nothing but continued abuse.”

“Well, it’s a bit worse than that. He decided he needed adventure, like you and Zaza Tally enjoy. So he . . .” He swallowed. “I’ve searched for him, but I can’t find him. He joined the Wind Revenants, and we haven’t heard from him since.”