The warmth of sweet summertime kissed Vantra’s face. She blinked and touched her forehead, then looked around. The luscious golden haze of a lazy afternoon sun coated tufts of grass, the shade trees, the gentle waves of the temple’s lake coursing to the sandy beach. The hum of insects combined with lapping water calmed her initial confusion.
She knew this spot, having fallen asleep against the largest tree numerous times as a child. Why had she returned? Unease squeezed her lungs, and she fought to breathe.
Breathe. She was dead. Ghosts did not breathe.
The ting of a sweet chime from behind her reverberated through her. She turned; instead of rough-barked tree trunk, the sleek sun needle stood as her prop. It topped the canopy of leaves, the tip flashing before a streak of white coursed down it, scattering shimmers following.
A single storm cloud floated into view, a grey blot against the brilliant blue sky. Within moments, friends joined it, and blocked the sun’s rays from striking the earth. The needle dimmed along with the atmosphere, and the clouds thickened. Frosty fog rose from the ground, obliterating the warmth, and she slapped her hands over her upper arms, shuddering. The mist surrounded her and the sun artifact, concealing it from view. She reached for it, but swiped air.
“Vantra.”
She popped awake, the remembered racing of her mortal heart thrumming through her chest and behind her eyes. Katta set his hand on her shoulder, and she focused on him. He smiled, exuding softness and comfort.
“Come. Qira and Kenosera took a peek. It’s time to go.”
Embarrassment flooded her until she realized the three had allowed the ghosts to rest. She snagged Laken and shrugged the pack on, while Dedari finished stuffing fruit into her mouth. The food came from a now-empty basket, but how and where they obtained a full basket, Vantra had no idea.
She looked up at the needle, then placed her hand on the sleek surface. She did not understand the dream, but it reminded her of the shard’s call, and how it wished for freedom. Perhaps the artifact wanted to sit in the sun once again, rather than reside half-buried in the ground.
“Are you alright?”
She glanced at Kjaelle, who placed the metal cards in the pack beneath Laken’s base, and nodded. “I think it doesn’t like this hole very much,” she said.
“No?” Red slung a hate-filled glare at the cards before he came to stand next to her and tapped the artifact. “I wonder how it came to be down here. It’s an odd place for a needle to be.”
“The Evenacht in general is an odd place for it to be,” Lorgan said. “The cloud cover doesn’t allow for the intense rays that typically charge it.”
“It is strange we’ve encountered two Sun-touched artifacts within days of each other,” Red murmured. He patted it. “I’m not certain when, but we’ll be back and get you above ground.” He cupped his hands and threw; Light glitter puffed up, and the surface soaked it in. Vantra swore it brightened, but could not study it further as the group followed Kenosera and Red into the tunnel that almost pointed in the direction they needed to go.
She sank into a dull wallow of sadness as they progressed; the dream, a reminder of what jealousy took from her, wiggled the stake of resentment coated in poisonous hate planted just beneath her consciousness. She always tried to ignore it when it rose, because she felt the terrible weight would drag her into a mire that might swallow her if she stepped wrong, but she never completely eradicated it. Such abysmal emotions for the daughter of Sun’s high priestess to feel. Countless priests declared she should lead by example, but, as with her misuse of the Clear Rays spell, she failed.
Rayva stuck her nose in her belly and pushed her into a wall caked with soot. She took a moment to orient herself and realized her companions also hid in shadows, well back from an iron grate that spanned the exit. The snarly back-and-forth of two Nevemere reached her, and by their sarcastic tone, they did not bite at each other, but at an unknown entity.
She needed to reclaim numbness and worry about the rest of her existence later. She forced her focus back to Laken’s Redemption and the immediate danger.
Their torchlight faded, leaving them in a twilight created by standalone torches positioned at uneven intervals. Vantra peeked through the bars, eyeing the vicinity.
The ruins resembled the ones they traveled through the previous day, but were in better shape. The spaces between structures were broader and clear of debris, and the buildings rose two or three stories with only a few stones missing. The place lacked the sense of musty decay she expected.
“What were they saying?” Red asked, as he focused on the way the guards walked.
“Something about visitors,” Kenosera said. “The vi-van did something they didn’t like, and the spiritesti sided with them, but I’m not certain if they meant the visitors or the guards. They mentioned my grandmother, but not with the reverence I’d expect from ruin sentries.”
“If she’s behaving as irrationally as she did at Black Temple, she might have tweaked a few egos,” Katta said.
“The guards hold their positions as sacred, above the religious authorities in Black Temple, so that would make sense. Ci Leda is very strict about ramming it into the skulls of new kletan.”
“You suffered such?” Dedari asked as she dusted her hands on her thighs and leaned towards the latched lock on the other side of the bars.
“When I first visited, yes. I was forced into a longer, more arduous ceremony because I held sacred blood within me.” He looked at his hands in distaste. “There is nothing sacred about me, or my family.”
“Perhaps not, but it did bring them what they wanted, which was wealth and power.” Red pressed back against the wall. “How many guards patrol this area, Kenosera?”
“I don’t know, but I would guess, not many. They may think to catch a wayward kletan taking an unauthorized break, but otherwise, there is little need to protect empty buildings. If they realized the snake beings were so near, I think they would have more than two annoyed spear carriers here.”
Kjaelle pointed to the walls across from them. “If the guards are more interested in complaining than in patrolling, we should be able to sneak through them without attracting attention.” She huffed. “They must not believe their enemy will come from below, which means they’ll be ill-prepared for a snake attack.”
“Especially since this way is physically, but not magically, locked.” Red glanced at Rayva; the vulf sat, stuck her paw through the bars, and swatted the lock. It popped and fell. They opened the portal together, all wincing at the creak of hinges, and held it just wide enough for the group to slip through. It groaned back shut, and Katta shoved a spike of magic into the hasp, locking the grate as effectively as the physical lock. Wisps of inky haze coated the bars, a barrier Vantra did not think the snakes could easily destroy.
The guards did not repeat their appearance as they crept through gaps in walls and sprinted across streets. At odd intervals, voices echoed to them, but the faintness proved the distance. Rayva sniffed and checked their way, waited and listened, before leading them across any thoroughfare. The breadth of many shocked Vantra; six lanes of modern Talis traffic could fit within several of the roads. Why were they so large? She had the impression that ancient Evenacht built for wagons, not Talis-centric motorized vehicles, so old communities had narrower roadways.
Chatter grew and lessened, as if multiple people spoke at once. Kenosera frowned, Red and Katta exchanged a look, and all three proceeded with more caution, triggering concern in the rest of them.
Rayva bit the air before they entered a small building that had an open front facing another, brightly lit structure with a dark red canopy acting as a roof. Individuals milled inside, easily seen through the windows. Kenosera hissed and rushed to a darker hiding place before squatting and motioning for them to lean close. They crowded around him, and he placed his fingertips across his lips.
“This is the area they train the kletan. The canopy protects the practice gear. There is usually one guard, to make certain no one sneaks in and makes off with something because it has vi-van blessings and sells for high prices to non-Nevemere.”
“I counted far more than one,” Red whispered. “And more on the street.”
“They must be Nevemere who lost their settlements in the storm,” the nomad said. “They might be the visitors the guards spoke about, and that would explain my grandmother’s nastiness. If Ci Leda put the uncleansed down here to protect them from the weather, she would see that as an insult.”
“She doesn’t have much use for the commoner, does she?” Kjaelle asked.
“No. Other than to pass on the Darkness blessing, she never interacts with them.”
“Well, if there are more people down here than expected, that can work in our favor.” The elfine motioned to the pack. “Laken, you should go with Kenosera. If we’re discovered, we can employ Ether Form and hide in shadows, and Kenosera and Dedari can pretend they’re evacuees with a pet. Rayva, we need you in your playful form.”
Her Chosen grunted but did not protest, so Vantra slipped the pack from her shoulders and gave it to the nomad. A pang accompanied it, and she wondered why. Both would protect Laken, and she could more effectively help if she switched between Physical and Ether Touch.
Rayva did a wet-canine shake, and when done, she stood only waist-high; not a small pet, but not giant, either. Vantra remembered that the vulfs took great care with children, appearing as unthreatening as possible when their spirits passed through the Tunnel of Memories, and shrinking would help. How long could she stay in that size?
Kjaelle set her hand on Katta’s back, and Rayva nosed his tummy. He stood, head bent, hands dangling, motionless. Had creating the Darkness shard drained him?
“Is he OK?” Vantra whispered.
“I am fine,” he murmured. “I simply must concentrate on scrying probes.” He flexed his fingers. “Black Temple lingers in annoying ways.”
“What did you see?” Kjaelle asked.
“The trees bearing fruit that Darkness planted are cordoned off, and vi-van guard access. This might be the cause of the guards’ consternation. They have hundreds of mouths to feed, and no way to do so without the trees.”
“Hundreds?” Kenosera frowned.
“I gifted the trees to help, in case the ruins attracted the frightened, as Black Temple had. Not many had shown up at that point, but rather headed for Sunbright.”
Vantra noticed that no one else but she, Kenosera and Dedari looked confused, and she pondered what she missed. If Katta helped Darkness while his essence rested with them, that made some of Red’s remarks more understandable. Had he lent his consciousness to Veer Tul? How did that work? How might she ask after this ghost-to-deity communication, considering their elusive replies to anything syimlin?
Katta raised his head. “There is a fog towards the ruins we left, a purposeful shield to blind the mind’s eye—and one not created by Rezenarza but a magic seeped in the Evenacht. It’s a good bet, the beings who confronted us will find their way here. I must warn the guards of an attack.”
“That’s going to make movement difficult,” Red said.
“Yes.”
“Please, tell them.” Kenosera set a hand to his breast. “I will do whatever you ask in return.”
“No need to make a pledge unasked for,” Katta replied. “That can get you into trouble with some deities.”
Red hmphed, and Vantra wondered what experience they remembered, that they voiced the caution.
“How far is the Mourning Room from here?” Lorgan said. “Maybe we can retrieve Laken’s essence before the guards go on high alert.”
“Too far,” Kenosera said. “Even reaching the Snake’s Altar takes half a morning, and the Mourning Room rests beyond.”
“We’ll just have to be sneakier,” Red said.
“Not your strongest ability,” Kjaelle grumbled. Her sarcastic angst made Vantra smile, despite the direness of the situation.
“Get going,” Katta jerked his chin. The elfine narrowed her eyes, and he shook his head. “Vantra and Laken need you, Kjaelle.”
“Rezenarza might come back.”
“No. I’m not his only enemy here. The deity who created the fog is no friend; if so, he would still skulk the shadows, hoping for an opportunity to cause mischief. He does not.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’ll free the food supply, and that should attract enough attention that these caverns empty.” He faded away in a swirl of Darkness, leaving a trace of syim power behind.
“Alright, Kenosera, Dedari, take lead,” Red whispered. “Kjaelle, take rear. Let’s go.”
Though expected, Vantra had not prepared for the numbers of people huddled within the buildings. Debris sat outside the doorways, as if someone hastily cleaned the interiors for occupants, and crates and random items like packs and stools clogged the roads. Torches on tall poles lit the streets, some leaning haphazardly to the side and threatening to spill their flaming contents onto the ground below.
The glimpses of despair, hopelessness, and a keen sense of loss made Vantra ache. The beings sagged against walls, stared absently at the ground, cried on shoulders, and she wanted to comfort them, tell them that through Katta, Veer would help. Rezenarza, despite being present, had not, and she pondered whether some of the sorrow came from the naro vi-van attempting to re-bless the evacuees and failing. After all, at Black Temple, Katta declared the Nevemere would receive the Darkness blessing from Veer and no other.
Random encounters exasperated her growing queasiness. The ghosts became wisps, and Kenosera and Dedari traveled on with Rayva, sparing the other party a brief word. While a few eyes lingered on the vulf and the shadows, no one seemed interested in them beyond that, but eventually someone would seek a guard and complain—especially if word reached them about an impending attack.
A magic demand snagged her, yanked her essence. Red’s Light instantly grounded her, and she bent over, slapping a hand to her chest. She heard Kenosera gasping, and Kjaelle grumbling.
“I know, I know,” Red muttered. “I should’ve known he’d call.” His hand patted her back. “I think you have more Darkness than you think. His summons shouldn’t have grabbed you that hard.”
“That was incredible,” Kenosera breathed. “How could a Nevemere resist?”
“If they really don’t like Veer, they will,” Red said. “He’s not one to force it. Come on, let’s get behind that corner.”
Cries erupted as they reached their target, relief and joy mingled with anger. Vantra heard racing footsteps, and excited jabbering. A stampede? How many would fall, be injured, die, just to clear a path for her?
“His funnels better work,” Kjaelle growled.
“They will. He’s had millennia of practice,” Red assured her. “And since he’s feeding everyone up top, we should have a clearer way to the Mourning Room.”
“Funnels?” Dedari asked.
“They’re not common on Talis anymore. In the past, when religion was far more important to faelareign, crowds would stampede to see a syimlin when they visited temples or sites where they planned to perform blessings. Injuries and death ensued, and religious authorities claimed them an unfortunate aspect of zeal. Sun disliked the excuses and created a magical solution he called funnels. Basically, it directs adherents into multiple single lines separated by shields. There’s a lot of syim magic involved to make certain things go smoothly, and there are still problems with people rushing up someone else’s backside, or being trapped for hours in the centers without food, water, or a bathroom, but the mass deaths have stopped.
“Because the Evenacht has so many religious types, when syimlin appear for holiday events, they use funnels here. You may not think it, but huge ghostly crowds can accidentally send another to the Final Death—and that serves no one.”
How would funnels make feeding the evacuees easier if those in the middle could not reach the food? Vantra derided herself; perhaps she was too contrary when it came to syimlin miracles.
They stepped over items dropped in the haste to comply to the summons, like tack and personal things, and she wondered what might happen when the owners returned and found some of it missing. She pictured a discontent or two looking at the bounty left behind and gleefully stealing what they could.
She nearly ran into a guard, her attention focused on her thoughts rather than her immediate space. Kjaelle snagged her back, casting her a stern look as the being rubbed at his neck and regarded the empty square in front of him. So Katta left the guards? That made sense, if they prepared for an attack, but the man did not look at all concerned, but confused.
Kenosera picked up the pace and ducked into a vacated structure before they reached one of the six-lane roads with a wooden barrier spanning it, four bored guards in attendance. Lorgan hissed and peered out the window, while the nomad folded his arms and studied the thing.
“This is the Snake Promenade, the main route to the Snake Altar,” he said, fingers thrumming on his arm. “This way stood clear during my last visit.”
Red peeked out of the doorway, keeping to the shadowy side so the guards would have a harder time spying him. “Is there a way around?”
“There should be,” Lorgan said. “Laken and I used a utility passage that met this road much closer to the Mourning Room.”
“A utility passage?” Kjaelle asked. “You don’t talk about that in your notes.”
Vantra swore the ghost blushed. “I, uh, convinced a younger vi-van to guide us. She was curious about ghosts and had just suffered a punishment for transgressing parts of the ruins considered off-limits. She didn’t accompany us the entire way, but . . .” He trailed off.
“Dammit,” Red seethed.
What happened?
“Vantra, Lorgan, go with Kenosera and Laken. Kjaelle, you and Dedari go one way, me and Rayva another.”
Magic with the touch of wind rose around the building as the guards shouted. A sprite in a green Finder’s robe strode to the open doorway as the sounds of fighting commenced. They had their hands folded inside their over-large sleeves, and a smug smile uglifying their otherwise smooth, expressionless face. Vantra had encountered a few like them, who were so obsessed with a perfect beauty, that they ripped apart everything of interest in their appearance and replaced it with a sanitized, unblemished façade—and they looked as bland and soulless as a storefront mannequin.
Before they uttered a word, Red swiped the air—the shield shattered. And they scattered.
Fear did not take hold of her as she brought up the rear; instead heated agitation punched her as Kenosera and Lorgan squabbled about direction. They were running away from an enemy who would harm them to reach Laken, and they yelled at one another?
She glanced at the guards at the gate; they faced green-robed Finders and eight others wearing a uniform she did not recognize, but who held swords. The outnumbered Nevemere did not finish a single attack before a zap of magic struck them and they fell, smoke drifting from their bodies. They shrieked.
No! They had to help!
Lorgan snagged her hand and jerked her into a back alley, hiding the battle from view. They became ether and whisked after the nomad, who raced far ahead of them. She noticed a shield about him, one that shimmered with the sheen of water above a gleam of Darkness; the Finders would not easily harm him or take Laken.
They reached an intersection, and a contingent of guards marched through, each unhappier than the last. Kenosera screamed at them and pointed; they started, then raced ahead, not bothering to stop and interrogate him. She glanced over her shoulder; smoke rose into the air. Worry broke her irritation. Had the Finders set the barrier on fire?
Light beams shot over the roofs, a pretty dance of sparkles and rainbows before dwindling. Lorgan laughed with amused disbelief, and she had no idea why.
Kenosera crossed a single-lane road and ran to a natural wall hugged by several of the buildings. Between two of them rested a rusty, grimy iron grate. When was the last time someone opened it? The nomad grabbed the lock and looked at them, huffing hard.
Lorgan placed his hand on the shackle; it shattered and rained through his boots. Kenosera flipped the latch and tugged on the barrier. Vantra glanced behind, then planted her feet and held out her hands. She intercepted the magic attack, and it did not break through her defense despite her strain. The enemy would reach them before they escaped, and they had no way to block them from opening the grate and following.
Sun was not Light, but it still shone bright. Her mother’s silly rhyme for her bedtime as a very young child leapt to her thoughts. She created a Sunrise bauble and flung it at the enemies’ heads. They screeched and cowered; she formed two more to float in front of the grate, making them as brilliant as she knew how.
“Vantra!”
She turned and slipped through the bars before Lorgan wrapped his fingers around them and placed a water shield between each one. She floated on, around a sharp bend, and to where Kenosera stood, rubbing at his eyes.
“I have never seen something so bright, as what you and Qira create,” he whispered.
“If you ever visit Talis, you’ll see the sun as blinding as this,” Vantra said. “Especially in early morning, when the rays peek through the curtains and strike your face.”
Lorgan hustled to them, squinting. “When you and Qira decide to blind a being, you don’t hold back,” he said. “I’m not certain how long your spells or my barrier will hold. They have a mafiz, so it’s just a matter of time before both break.”
“I’ve not been in this passage,” Kenosera said. “I’m not sure there’s anywhere to hide.”
They ran, though slower, to accommodate fading energy. Vantra created a light, allowing them to avoid clumps of black whatever, chunks of rock buried deep in the soil, and the edges of tile peeking through at random spots. Unfortunately, the face of natural rock had no side exits, which meant the enemy would have no difficulty in finding them.
They heard the clang of the grate smashing into stone, distant, but not distant enough.
“Vantra, can you do that disappearing again?” Lorgan asked.
“No.” She would discorporate and leave Laken to the enemy.
“And that last shield took most of what I have left.”
Even drained, ghosts floated faster than a living being could run. They would catch them. They would—
The passage ended, and they fled into a cavern lit by wagon wheel-sized braziers. A crevasse split the center, and a bridge crossed over it and to the other side, where two tunnels intersected on the right, and the left opened into more stone structures. Kenosera did not hesitate but ran over the edge.
What was he doing?
Vantra halted at the rim and saw him sliding down to a narrow shore. The river surged over rock, creating white water swirls. Below the surface, multi-colored illuminations shone, reminding her of lights at the bottom of fountains. Lorgan glanced down and dropped like a proper ghost; she snuffed her light and did the same, reaching the wet dirt with Kenosera.
He bent over and hustled downstream, using the glows to avoid obstacles. They exited the cavern, and the ceiling dipped low enough the pack scraped against it. The uncomfortable closeness disappeared after four dozen steps, and they entered another cave. Torches lit the upper walls, and four bridges arched over the crevice. Kenosera changed direction and took stones across the water; Vantra glanced at Lorgan, who shrugged, and they floated after.
They reached a small stream pouring down from a head-height tunnel. Kenosera hefted himself up and followed it. Darkness reigned, and Vantra trailed the sounds of his splashes as he waded up the incline. Heat wafted from the water, unlike the larger river. Did it smell, like a hot springs? Poor Kenosera, if so.
A rumbling crash echoed off the stone. She saw no light from the entrance, but could not discount that their pursuers made the sound. Maybe they knocked down a bridge?
They exited into an open space where the water flooded the remains of tree trunks and cracked black rocks. Puffs that reminded her of popped kernels encased the bottoms and glowed a sulfurous yellow. The color ran up the trunks in vertical stripes, an odd look.
Had the trees once been part of a forest? The ceiling seemed to be rock, so had a rockslide covered it up? She did not see holes that opened to the sky to provide light to plants, so the trees had not initially grown from that method.
Soggy mounds rested between the taller objects and had bioluminescent, purple mushrooms sprouting on top. They gave the nomad a visible, if mucky, route across the cave. The mud did not want to release the nomad’s footwear, however, and he slowed considerably as he slucked to the dark exit on the other side. Vantra did not want to leave him behind, so floated with him, but faced backwards, waiting for a hint the enemy had found them. What could she do, if their pursuers showed up? Any shields she threw up would break after a single attack, and her offensive magics would never strike a mafiz—unless she tried Clear Rays again. Would those shred a ghost?
She refused to attempt it, even if her opponents wished to send her to the Void.
They reached the far side, where the stream flowed down a steeper way. Kenosera sighed, and Vantra employed Physical Touch, holding out her hands. “You shouldn’t have to—”
He shook his head and grinned. “You’re as tired as I am,” he reminded her. “Laken’s fine with me. Besides, you and Lorgan are going to need to care for anyone who finds us.”
Why did he sound so cheerful about that?
They reached a steep embankment that blocked their way. Lorgan aided Kenosera up while Vantra stood guard, prickles of unease racing through her, and they hastened on, towards a soft, orangish haze. They rushed into a shallow, room-sized pool, and the nomad waded to the edge, the water washing the mud away. Steam wafted up from the surface, softly warming the air. A bench ringed the middle, a convenient seat for anyone wishing to soak. Vantra wanted to dip in; she may not have slogged through the muck, but she felt as gunky as the Nevemere’s boots. By his expression, he yearned for an extended swim as well.
The house-sized opening on the pool’s far side led to a warm room with a ramp to the left, and a ledge in front. Magic baubles ringed the walls, casting everything in a mellow orange. They snuck out to the edge to peek below. Vantra settled on hands and knees, surprised at the warmth in the unbroken tiles painted to resemble snake scales. The pool must have some special significance, then. Perhaps the naro vi-van bathed there as a ritual before she gave a speech to her acolytes from the spot. It was high enough, that no one would miss seeing the sermon.
The room below reminded her of the ancient procession hall attached to the Forgiving Light Temple in the elfine country of Gawynd. Generations of royalty had wed there, and the magnificent sculpture, the colorful tapestries, the delicate seating and golden altar, all created a sense of joyous fantasy and fairy tale. As a child, she watched the Grand Whizan of Archdes wed Ambia Lutheldeva of Cescede, and the pomp and circumstance enchanted her. Her mother found the event a boring money-sink and did not share her enthusiasm for the lacy, sparkly gold and white dress the ambia wore. When the Light priest set the crown on her rich brown curls and the gems sparkled in just the right way, Vantra had decided she wanted a similar wedding.
Her mother laughed and told her a fine ceremony with the richness of love rather than gold would provide superior memories. In a way, she had been correct; some small trifle had gone wrong during the reception, and the gossip magazines raved for days over the supposed relationship-killing mistake.
“We shouldn’t have a problem getting down there,” Lorgan whispered, indicating the ramp. “I don’t see anyone else.”
Neither did she. Silence filled the black-tiled central aisle, which sat between tall pilasters. A seat carved into a native boulder rested at the front, a display case with misted glass hiding the interior next to it. She squinted, wishing she had the spyglass Dough loaned her on the trip to Uka’s Lament, because she could then see the décor on the chair. She thought the shape vaguely resembled snakes, which made sense, considering a snake-worshipping cult inhabited the place.
“I’ve visited this room once,” Kenosera said. “The guards use a hidden door behind the throne when patrolling here. We should—”
The floor jerked. Vantra squeaked, shocked, as the surface rolled upwards and through her. The Nevemere tumbled back with a shout and Lorgan lunged for him.
HSSSSSSSSSS.
