Yissik clacked his beak. Zepirz clacked his beak. The long feathers on their heads rose, shuddered, and they clacked again, the ominous sound reverberating through the tent. Ayara’s brows knit, and they stepped between them, shaking.
“You both honor Strans,” they snapped. “How is battling now helping him?”
“He is a false tongue,” Zepirz growled.
“And you are not? You proudly bore the signs of the False One!” Yissik stabbed his finger at the other’s chest.
This was going well. Vantra sucked on the end of a mist-filled hose and chastised herself for her sarcasm, which would not help the situation. Her mother asked her to sit with Navosh after they moved him to Katta’s tent, which she did not understand because the dwellers eagerly accepted the charge with sincerity and conviction, but she should have anticipated the clash. Perceptive as always, her parent.
Laken, too. He said hi, cast the shamans a searing look, and vacated with a sympathetic squeeze on her shoulder.
“We were all misled,” Ayara declared.
“I was not, but since I preferred open eyes to closed, I was cast out.” Yissik clacked his beak louder. “I have Strans’ true blessing.” He held his lower arms up, backs to Zepriz, and hit the air in front of him with a short bump. A shimmer of silvery green coursed up to his wrists and back down. “I did not turn my back on him! I deserve to sit with him more than you.”
“I, too, have the true mark!” Zepirz thumped his chest over it, and it, too, shimmered a silvery green.
Fyrij sang a sharp, annoyed burst of note. Every eye focused on him; he puffed up and twittered at the three dwellers, obviously unhappy, flipping his wings back and forth to emphasize points. Vantra leaned her head away from her left shoulder so his feathers did not strike her face.
The yondaii cocked his head, then met her gaze. “Is that bird reprimanding us?”
“Yes,” Vantra sighed. “And he is very stubborn about such things.” She darted in and kissed the top of his head. He nuzzled back, then continued his chastisement.
“Carolings see what we do not,” Yissik admitted with annoyed reluctance, rubbing at the back of his head as the little one stopped to suck in a huge breath. “We Imtri trust them as no other.”
“We’ve stories of the wise ingdat,” Zepirz said. “Of all the rainforest creatures, they speak with harsh wisdom.”
Fyrij shrieked a harsh wisdom, all right. Everyone covered their ears and winced.
“Fyrij,” Kenosera sighed as he pushed through the tent flap carrying a tray heavy with fruit. He and Yut-ta offered to retrieve food for the small group. Vantra reminded them that being in the camp near Two Rivers meant they could ask others to run the errand, but they smiled and promised to return. Maybe they needed a break from the tense tent and the dwellers who caused it.
They should be asleep. How were they not bone-weary tired? She was, and she was a ghost without physical needs!
Fyrij tweeted at him and subsided with a grumble.
“He listens to you?” Zepirz asked, folding his arms across his chest in such a way as to hide the places the corrupted marks once sat. Yissik knew where to hit, it seemed. Had the yondaii been one of the shaman demanding he leave the forest? That would explain their animosity.
“When he chooses to. There’s no guarantee, when he has something to say.” He slid the tray on the long table as Yut-ta hustled inside, a sack draped over his lower arm and a beaded pitcher in both hands. “Get him really angry, and the entire camp will know. Get him sad, and he will make sure the guilt for causing it lasts your lifetime.”
Yissik winced.
“Lorgan trains him to use his voice as a weapon,” the hooskine said as he set the pitcher down and wiped his hands on his pants. “And he isn’t shy about who knows it.” He dug for glasses and plates.
Vantra took the hose tip from her mouth. “Do you have something to confess?” she asked her little darling. Fyrij chirped and gripped her shoulder tighter, his only response. “He is the sweetest, when he wants to be,” she told them.
The living consumed food in silence, Yissik and Zepirz on opposite sides of the tent, glaring at each other as they tore the juicy offerings apart. They even chose different fruits to consume, as if the other contaminated the ones they selected. Ayara made their own displeasure known by sullenly sitting with Kenosera and Yut-ta. Zepirz kept glancing at them, and they refused to meet his gaze.
Vantra puffed on the mist, concerned that the animosity between shaman might lead to a physical altercation. She did not want to call for her mother to break them apart, but she would. One sharp sonkotrow command should keep them silently seething rather than punching.
“Ew.”
The sighing resignation, said so calmly . . .
The cocoon, nestled on a soft pillow to the side of her mister, had broken in half. Navosh winced and flicked his hands, goopy green, transparent slime flying off his fingers. The vines wavered behind him, creating a half-circle, tips curved over his head.
“Navosh?” she whispered as Zepirz voice a startled, agonizing cry. Yissik rose and went to him, falling to his knees to the side.
“The Labyrinth was, um, happy to see me,” the deity said, holding his arms up as the goo dripped from them, then pulling his sleeveless top away from his chest with a sucking sound. “I didn’t expect it to cry.”
“Those are tears?” Vantra asked, aghast.
“It’s a plant-based entity,” he reminded her. “What it considers tears is a bit different.”
“Strans of Twisted Vines,” Zepirz whispered, falling next to Yissik.
“Strans is the mantle, I am Navosh. Call me whichever you choose.” He lowered his arms, looked around, and groaned to his feet. Fyrij tweeted in concern and hopped to a vine, ruffling his feathers. “I am fine, little one. The cocoon was not that comfortable, if you must know. The vines thought protecting me meant they needed to squeeze harder, instead of giving me room to breathe.” He rubbed at his ribs.
Kenosera handed him a glass, and he drank greedily. Both shaman rose, guilt riding them for not having thought to do that.
“What do you need?” Vantra asked. A bath and a change, surely, and—
“All else must wait until I begin the cleanse,” he said. He motioned to the cocoon. “I need to set parts of these in the headwaters surrounding Greenglimmer and then dump the rest into the pools at Kjivendei. Those waters carry the corruption into the greater rainforest, and the quicker I can get them planted, the quicker the healing can start.” He stumbled, and Kenosera caught him.
“You’re not up to this,” Yut-ta scolded. Fyrij landed on the nomad’s shoulder and hopped up and down, taking on Yut-ta’s tone.
“Maybe not, but I don’t have a choice.” His smile was soft and sad. “After I place the parts, I can rest.” He winced again. “My body will insist on it.” He focused on Zepirz, and the yondaii took a step back. “Then I will visit the Bendebares, and we will see how much the Wiiv have to answer for.”
“The Badeçasyons have an aircraft we can borrow,” Vantra said, fighting to ignore the darkness in his last words.
“That will make this faster.” The deity eyed the forest dwellers. “You will come,” he told them. Neither declined the command.
Vantra did not know what to expect, especially when the ship, manned by her mother’s friends Desyai and Kuç, overflowed with curious individuals wanting to see what Navosh planned. Kasoris said the syimlin needed her near, though, from her wistful look, she wanted to join the expedition.
Her parent would corner her when they got back, and pepper her with questions.
The ride to the first headwater was tense, with Yissik and Zepirz glaring at each other while the mini-Joyful and the Light-blessed guards chatted to cover up the animosity. Navosh closed his eyes and rested, holding a small smile the entire time.
She did not understand how the living continued to function, despite the stress, lack of sleep, and lack of food. Kenosera and Yut-ta just shrugged, as if it were a secret. Ayara looked increasingly guilty after every question, so she assumed the healer had something to do with their renewed vigor.
The first headwater he wished to visit rested above Kjivendei, on an Uprise mount called Wensik. Yissik said it meant morning light in the Imtri language, and it had an astounding number of wild blooms decorating the slopes between stands of trees. It took Desyai and Kuç time to find a landing site, but they settled on one near enough the spot Navosh indicated, he would not have to walk too far. Everyone trailed him, with Yissik and Zepirz directly behind, serious priestly attendants ready to catch him if he stumbled.
He made it to the trickle of water in the center of a stone-strewn bed with relatively little slipping on the loose dirt and settled a chunk of cocoon in the center several steps down from where it flowed out of the fern-draped mountain. He cupped his hands around the edges and concentrated; a woody vine rose from it, twisted and knotted, with a pointy top that curved over and pointed down. A soft green glow bled from it into the water, the color fading as the water absorbed it. The deity rose, wobbled, and stretched his back, watching for a moment before nodding and splashing to the wet soil lining the stream.
“That’s it?” Kjaelle asked, not skeptical, but obviously expecting more. Vantra, too, felt disappointed. She expected a burst of power or a grand casting. But planting a vine?
He smiled. “The rainforest will monitor them and if anything goes awry, I can return to care for it.”
“You overstrain, to see the rainforest healed,” Ayara warned.
“Yes, but it’s necessary. I can rest afterwards.” He patted their arm. “I know healers hate to hear that, but Greenglimmer has been too long under Kjiven’s Touch. I must act, before it is completely consumed.” He headed back to the ship, Yissik and Zepirz rushing to their places at his side.
Vantra glanced at Kjaelle, but her attention remained on the stream. To its side, small, green prickles poked through the rocky soil, and the grey rock looked less grey, the dry brown soil taking on a deeper, moister appearance.
“That’s a lot of magic,” Lorgan murmured. “And this is just the first place we stopped.”
“We’ll be carrying him off the ship by the time we return to camp,” Kjaelle said.
Vantra did not think Navosh cared, as long as he started the long healing process. Considering the depth of the roots, it would take years to wash through what their enemy contaminated, and even longer to bring the rainforest back to its previous health before Kjiven stole the mantle.
The places they visited blurred together until they flew over Kjivendei. Darkness coated the land, some of it Rezenarza’s hand, some of it the corruption; freed of a guiding hand, it leaked above ground, fouling the surface, the air. Only the Light Temple glowed, and with a strength not present during their previous visit.
Vantra pondered why and fought her increasing dread as Navosh gave quiet directions to the pilots. The ship landed in a field, inside a circle shielded by Rezenarza, too near the crater for her peace of mind. The ex-Darkness stood with his followers and the pirates, arms folded, stern enough to send quivers through her essence. Navosh exited first and headed for the group, the rest of them trailing.
“Thank you,” he said.
Rezenarza nodded. “That you’re already seeding the healing process is astounding.”
“I am a conduit for the rainforest in this. It’s eager to begin and has no understanding of physical strain.” He flexed his fingers and regarded his palms. “Are the pools as contaminated as I think?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will go alone.”
The chorus of stout ‘no’s elicited a chuckle.
“There is no reason to endanger you for this. It is my failure and therefore my burden, and mine alone.”
“Sun is the illumination that rips apart dark corners.”
The words popped out, did they not. Why had she blurted out the sentiment found in numerous Sun texts? Navosh’s surprise, and Rezenarza’s narrow-eyed examination of her, made her essence quiver.
“I see.” Navosh motioned to her. “Then, Vantra, we shall Touch the pools together. These feed the wetlands that feed Deccavent, so their reach is far broader than the others.”
Vines snaked up, and before she could cry out, they cocooned her in a dark shell, then pulled away.
They stood in a gloom-shrouded, circular cave, torches with the special anti-corruption light flickering their last. A pool bubbled up from the stone, thick darkness within, and trickled into a stream that carved a bed down a narrow tunnel. Rock and debris had shaken loose from the ceiling, and the larger material that landed in the water was as dark as the contamination.
Self-preservation screamed, and a Sun shield flared around her, born of instinctual fear. Navosh’s presence was the only thing that kept her from shrieking and phasing through the wall. He slipped his hand over hers and tugged her to the pool with a sigh of understanding.
“Vantra, if you create a base of Sun for the vine, it will be well-protected from the contamination.”
“I’m not strong enough for this.” Did her voice quiver as much as her essence?
“You are.”
He had far more faith in her abilities than she did.
A green circle appeared at the edge of the pool opposite the stream. “Place the base here.”
How?
Before she asked, power filled her—and not her own, yet familiar in its gentle Touch. Her essence flared, and the darkness in the water fled away from her. She squatted, set her hands on the stone bank, and shoved the Sun Touch into it.
Light brightened the air, and all that was wrong in the cave attempted to flee from it. The water sizzled and burbled, and she pulled back—what had she done?
Navosh hunkered down next to her. “Plenty of protection,” he said, as he settled a larger piece of the cocoon on the edge. One giant vine rose from it, surrounded by dozens of smaller ones. They bent over the water, emitting a silvery green hue that did not fade as it reached the stream and flowed down it.
The pool’s bubbling dwindled, and other than a few froths along the sides, disappeared.
“Thank you,” he said, his relief sinking into her. “I feared I would need to replace these daily, but I believe Sun will grow the vines to withstand the onslaught.”
Vantra studied her hands. “That wasn’t me, was it?”
“It was you, Vantra.” His gravity prickled her essence. “We are more alike than you think. You search for answers to questions you cannot yet give voice to. I know, I followed that path. It is sharp and dangerous and welcoming at turns, each step a weight.” He patted her back. “If you need to ask, I will listen. And know, those who surround you care, and their love will buoy you in the darkest times, even when you least believe you deserve it. Now come. We have a second pool to infuse.”
Numbness accompanied her as the vines whisked them to the next location, and they repeated the planting in a cave that mirrored the first. By the time they returned to their concerned companions, her thoughts had started to travel again.
What did Navosh mean? How might her insecurities affect Laken’s Redemption? Was that even what he hinted at?
Kjaelle hugged her while glaring at the complacent deity, and her whirling mind settled. Whatever the future held, she was not alone to face it. In the company of the mini-Joyful, she would follow Lorgan’s lead to her Chosen’s next essence, attach it to his torso, and continue to the next and the next. And then?
Then they would hunt down his heart, Finder Knights be damned, and create the Gift of Life anew.
