Chapter 13: A Squeaky Start

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Vantra expected an early rise and a rush out the Dead Light’s door, but no. The mini-Joyful lazed around, talking and laughing, ghosts absorbing mist from misters on the counter while the nomads and Fyrij ate at the table smooshed against the bar, until Katta and Red pulled themselves down the stairs, sleepy vulfs in tow. The relaxed attitude astounded her, considering the events of the day before.

Her mind whirled, attempting to piece the sparse information she had together, and her concern exploded into bloated worry after Red showered her with questions as they walked back to the tavern. His musings and prying cast an ominous pall over her, and she suspected he knew more about the Touch than he expressed. She opened her mouth multiple times to inquire about it, but could not force the words.

She disliked returning to the tavern because she felt they could do more than that. What that more was, she had no idea.

“Lorgan already left to delve into Chisterdelle’s maps,” Kjaelle said, swiveling her barstool seat and tapping her mister tip at the two ancient ghosts. “And Leeyal said Joila’s going to be our guide. We’re to meet her in Dei of Day’s Square.”

Red’s soft, sentimental expression and the warmth it carried told Vantra the woman was much beloved.

Katta’s eyes skimmed over them, and he nodded. “Good. We’re all here.”

“I still don’t understand why you think I can help,” Laken grumbled around the tip held between his teeth. His shock at Leeyal’s suggestion that he absorb mist from a mister like everyone else made Vantra wonder again how often Finders neglected him on previous Redemption attempts. She supposed he should get used to the surprises; the mini-Joyful and those they knew did not care whether he was only a head and torso yet, they treated him like any other ghost. Hiding in a room was not an option.

“Or why you think we’ll notice anything,” Tagra said, motioning with his fork to the other nomads who sat at the table smooshed against the bar. They just finished their noon meal, and Vantra had to bury her jealousy, that they ate seasoned noodles and vegetables with fish so black with pepper that the seared flesh was invisible. She was stuck with a mister and while the infused taste of bread was nice, it was not pepper fish and noodles nice. “We’re not vi-van or spiritesti.”

“Who’s to say, you won’t see something we miss?” the Darkness acolyte asked as he joined them at the table. “Different life experiences bring different views, and something you find odd that we don’t may well prove useful.” He slumped down in his chair, then ruffled Salan’s fur as the vulf pushed his nose into his chest. “That’s why I asked Dough and his mates to visit West Sel. Their perceptions will be as important.”

Leeyal chuckled. “Don’t underestimate Dough’s ability to gather information,” he said as he slid tall glasses with foamy amber beer across the bar to Red. “The Merdia pirates are a favorite in certain establishments. They entertain in an overblown but non-destructive way and spend D coins like it’s their last moment before Final Death. People like them, so they’ll talk to them about things they may not share with others.”

Red glanced at the scattering of patrons, then leaned over the counter. “And what about you, the Light-blessed?” he asked in a soft voice. “What have you noticed?”

“Hmm. A lot, or maybe not enough. The description Jare gave of that second Touch, I think I’ve felt it at random times over the last several years. I’m not certain how long I’ve been sensing it; you know how days blur into one another for ghosts, and how sometimes what happened a millennium ago can seem like you experienced it yesterday. But I recall noticing it around the times Hrivasine fiddles with the barrier. His adjustments can send ripples through the ambient rainforest ryiam, and once the whizen realize he’s disrupted their energy containment units again, however unintentional, they go public to get him to stop. He’s never happy about it, but because everything in the Evenacht relies on ryiam for survival, and messing with it can give him a headache from both the living and the dead, he backs off for a while before another tamper session.”

Red huffed an exasperated breath through his teeth. “That barrier,” he grumbled as he gave one glass to Katta before leaning back on the counter with his elbows and sipping from the other.

“Selasert wouldn’t exist without it,” Leeyal reminded him.

“Selaserat would exist, just not in its current form,” he denied. “Breaking the first barrier proved that. You have more of the fish, right?”

The tavern owner smacked his arm, amused. “How poor a host would I be, if I didn’t serve your favored foods while visiting?”

“Elfine leafcakes,” the twins said in chorus. Red burst out laughing at Leeyal’s grumpy glare and turned to eye Vantra. “We’re going to work on eating,” he told her. “The sooner you can enjoy elfine leafcakes, the better. And what about you, Laken?”

“Me?” he asked, flabbergasted, the tip falling from his mouth. “How can I possibly eat?”

“Since you’re stuck in Physical Touch until your Recollection, it’ll be easier for you to learn. You’ll be surprised, at how your essence retains the remembrance of what it’s like to consume food. And there’s no reason why you can’t enjoy pepper fish and elfine leafcakes like the rest of us.”

“Just don’t drink anything from Reci,” Tally advised. “Unless you want to puke green into next semma.”

“But you need to use Mental Touch to eat,” Laken protested. “I’m Condemned. That’s forbidden.”

“You can—and do—use Mental Touch, it’s just not obvious because it’s instinctual.” Red kicked a chair out from the table and flopped down. “True, you can’t perform grand spells, but you can exploit the Physical and Mental Touch needed to keep your head and torso extant in this place called the Evenacht. Lorgan’s paving the way, with the study materials he gave you. All we need to do is find your arm essence so Vantra can re-attach it and then you can raise a glass with us. Simple, see?”

Laken looked lost, and Vantra did not blame him. The mini-Joyful Caravan had a habit of turning firm convictions and knowledge upside down, and she imagined that he, just like she, never truly understood himself as a ghost before meeting them. She picked up the hose and raised her eyebrows at him; he nodded, and she placed the tip back in his mouth. He needed the energy for the day ahead.

Vantra had never explored a place with so many friends surrounding her. While alive, she had stood within large crowds, but she never blended in with them, especially those associated with religious services. She had one or two companions who kept her company at times, but when given the opportunity, they abandoned her to hover around the outskirts of popular children, hoping to make it into their inner circle.

The popular children never invited her to socialize, leaving her standing alone, head down, hands clasped behind her back, snuffling so she did not cry. She still did not know how to deal with the hurt the memories caused.

She floated to the back, wondering if she should just return to the tavern, as they entered a busy square. Four roads led from it, with Aristarzian-style glass-front stores in between. Displays with clothing, footwear, and jewelry sat within, and she had a flashback to her living years and visiting the downtown area of Winsun, where centuries-old buildings housed modern designs. These, though, contained a variety of styles, some of which struck her as Aristarzian-ancient, some that seemed pulled directly from the fashion houses of contemporary Talis.

She especially liked the airy petal-skirts of elfine make. Remembering that someone had noticed her interest in the clothing style and purchased her a dress on their journey to the Snake’s Den, she tore her gaze away and sternly refused to eye the storefronts. Until she figured out how to earn money while in the mini-Joyful’s company, she would do without. Ghostly clothing, after all, could last years longer than those suffering physical wear and tear. She did not need another outfit, even if the Snake’s Den was not kind to her current one.

“There’s so much stuff!” Lesanova marveled as she turned in a circle, eyes wide. “Even Merdia doesn’t have stores like this!”

“Selaserat’s larger than Merdia,” Katta said. “And caters to a wider clientele. Go inside, look around.” He stopped abruptly as Salan barked and raced to a store that had a doorway thin enough, he barely squeezed through. Fyrij fluttered his wings and dug his talons in to regain balance on top of the vulf’s head, whistling in surprised stress. “Shit.”

Kjaelle regarded him with half-lidded eyes; he sucked his lips into his mouth and eyed the dusty brown cobblestones as if he screwed up and had no way out of trouble. Vantra exchanged glances with the confused nomads as Red and Vesh chortled and the twins drooped. What had they missed?

Rayva whuffled and prodded Katta in the gut. “I’m sorry,” the Darkness acolyte muttered, rubbing at his tummy.

Sorry?

Salan burst back out, wagging his tail so hard, his midnight-black fur looked static charged, while poor Fyrij fought to remain on top of his head. Within his giant jaws, he held a bright pink-and-green, puffy dragon with wide eyes and a wider smile.

A child’s toy?

Squeak.

Oh. Oh no.

Squeak squeak.


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