Chapter 20: Pooling Info

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The Dryanflow remained in sight of the road as they headed north, a broad, gleaming waterway with boats of disparate sizes floating up and down its waters. When the Loose Ducky turned up the river, the sense of expansive isolation wrapped around Vantra, but it dissipated as they reached the congested ports of Selaserat and West Sel. Now, rocking inside a travel wagon while observing the waves of a body large enough to be a lake, the feeling of isolation returned. She sat with friendly company, but loneliness intruded, creeping through her and cutting her off from the idle chatter and laughter.

The waves crested, sending shings of reflected light across the river, creating a soft haze of greyish white. She recalled the same effect at the Spiral Sun Temple’s lake, only the sun’s rays brought a golden hue to the surface. So bright, so enchanting. As a teen, she idly thought about bringing a love interest to the shore, and they could sit beneath a shade tree and watch the water lap the shore while savoring each other’s company. Just another fanciful dream she would never realize.

They passed under a canopy that stretched over the road, the branches of trees on either side entangling above them. The green leaves had a pinkish undertone, as did the small bushes, ferns, and other plants that lined the roadway. The sweet song of unseen birds rose from the treetops, accompanied by buzzing insects, the chirp of more than one frog, and the low chittering of an unknown animal. An enchanting, calming display, but one she could not enjoy. She focused on the darker shadows concealing the ground, the vines that hung like dead animals from the tree branches, the hollows in boulders with ominous reddish stains pouring from the bottom edge.

“Are you alright?”

She started and glanced at Kjaelle, who eyed her, then down at the dusty windowsill. “I’m fine.”

“Hmm. Concerned for Verryn?”

She shook his head. If someone needed concern in reference to Verryn, it was Laken. His sullen grumpiness filled the air wherever he floated, and while the mini-Joyful took his mood in stride, it worried the nomads and Yut-ta. She did not know whether she should explain that they stood on opposite sides of the war that took his life, but which left  Verryn alive to seek out Death’s hand, or leave them to wonder because it was not her tale to tell.

“You’ve been quiet since his arrival.”

Did they take that amiss? “It’s nothing to do with Verryn.”

“Then what?”

She wished to keep silent, but she did not want the elfine to badger her with questions until she pried the answer from her lips. She felt dismal enough. “The Sun acolytes should have told a Death acolyte about Lokjac and Avarelle.”

“Yes,” Katta agreed. He lounged on the bench with Kjaelle, one of Lorgan’s pages in his hand, his amusement at the written words fading. “Death is serious about the prohibition, but she can’t monitor every act within the Evenacht. It is why the Shades of Darkness exist, and why Verryn tours the continents.” He sighed, melancholy. “But discovering what powerful beings wish to keep secret is dangerous. Many Shades have met the Void because they failed in their mission and the enemy silenced them, and unfortunately, this case is among the more treacherous. The disappearance of two whizen, who might have met their ends at the hands of another whizan with government ties and social standing, needs careful attention and handling. It’s why Deeahlars has the cover of helping farmers the Wiiv attacked.”

Vantra frowned. “But she’s a Light acolyte.”

“Yes, and a fine Shades agent. It’s a stereotype, that only Death and Darkness acolytes can become Shades, which comes in handy when one must dig out information.”

“So someone is looking into it?”

He nodded. “And the Shades will bring the perpetrators to Death. Eventually.” He lowered the page. “Deeahlars must proceed cautiously, which means slowly, if the disappearances relate to Hrivasine and Strans.”

Vantra fiddled with her skirt, her emotions as dark as Katta’s voice. “Lokjac was sent to the Final Death, wasn’t he?”

“We don’t know that,” the ancient ghost cautioned. “He is a powerful whizan. If he used that power against an attacker, there would be walls with holes and obliterated furniture, rather than a hastily abandoned office. I suspect a danger he perceived to the essence he guards forced him to act. Don’t discount him yet.”

The wagon door opened and Verryn hopped in, the notebook the inspector gave him rolled up in his hand. He settled next to Vantra, and a thrill raced through her. Yes, she had traveled with him for much of the trip to the Snake’s Den ruins, but knowing he was a syimlin and not just a Passion and Death acolyte changed how she viewed him. That a deity chose to sit beside her, and did so without reservations, delighted and terrified her. What if she said or did something embarrassing?

Verryn made a sardonic face at Katta. “Not much changes, does it.”

“You expected him not to sleep?”

“Between him and Fyrij, I doubt anyone within three wagons of them could rest.” He held up the notebook and released the edges, letting it uncurl. “I read through this. I know we need to visit Embeckourteine, but I want to stop at Sanctified, and maybe Kooldvyn, before we travel to the stronghold. Derent disappeared somewhere between them, and as Death’s Consort, I’m betting I can get an answer from the beings reluctant to speak with Yothwan.”

“Probably.”

“According to her, the dryan leadership in Kooldvyn knew something was wrong with the forest decades ago, but never brought it to Anmidorakj. If they didn’t trust her, they should have sent word to the Elfiniti Regional Council, or Dryanthium, if they wanted to keep it among dryans. I know they value their independence, but this is important enough to set petty conflicts aside.”

“Leeyal said that Kooldvyn petitioned Dryanthium for help after the raids on farms started,” Kjaelle said, leaning forward on her knees and folding her hands between. “And if the Elfiniti Regional Council still has Serevillis in charge, I doubt he’d bend low to aid any entity from Greenglimmer. Too Kanderite.”

Verryn smacked his leg with the notebook. “That’s something else to look into. Erse expressed her reservations when the district councils elected him leader, and he promised grudges held by his living self would not infect his decision. I know it’s simple to blame the local councils, but I think Elfiniti deserves as much scrutiny. When was the last time they sent a rep to visit Selaserat?” He raised a hand before Kjaelle said a word. “I know, I know. What else did Leeyal say?”

“That the raids began there and grew west.” Katta set the page on the bench next to him. “I’m under the impression they didn’t receive the requested aid.”

Verryn shook his head. “I think Erse is going to have to send a not-happy letter rather than a gentle reminder to the districts and regions. Too many have grown lax, and what’s going on in Selaserat is our reward. Have you read Resa’s notes?”

“No. Qira was going through them first.”

“I scanned them after he fell asleep. The farms the raiders targeted are owned or worked by ex-rainforest dwellers, but they’re more selective than that. Fields associated with outcasts aren’t being touched, just those operated by tribe members who chose to leave the forest. There’s also something going on with the Finder group you mentioned. Several farmers said they showed up the day before the attacks to ask questions about nearby ziptrails, which they thought odd because the living don’t normally interact with them. Resa asked if anything strange happened before the raids, and that was the most common answer. The Finders visited a dozen among those he interviewed.”

“I wonder how many farms they visited that weren’t attacked,” Kjaelle murmured.

“I don’t know, but I noticed something.” Verryn gave the notebook to Vantra and held out his hands, concentrating. A well-loved book appeared, the ratty grey cover holding no title or other hint as to the contents. He opened it and flipped to a spread, revealing a beautiful map of Greenglimmer, bright with color and rich in texture, and with so many colorful lines crisscrossing it, Vantra’s eyes could not make sense of them. “Show ziptrails.”

The lines faded until only yellow ones remained. Far more than she anticipated, and far more not associated with rivers and streams, littered the pages. They crossed each other, ran beneath the Dryanflow to western Greenglimmer, and under the Uprise Mountains to the east. She had little experience with natural magic flows, since the Hallowed Collective curated all those around Evening and the Fields, but she had the impression that those not running alongside a body of water were rare. Why did the rainforest have so many detached from a stream or river?

Kjaelle pulled the table down from the wall, and he set the tome on top, then reclaimed the notebook. He withdrew a crinkled sheet of paper stuffed between the front cover and first page, and settled it above the book. Vantra leaned forward; the sheet held a rough sketch of the land around Selaserat and West Sel, with red marks she assumed represented targeted farms.

“Show Selaserat,” Verryn said. The map faded and reappeared with a focus on the port. “Smaller three.” The image shrank to encompass the view of the city, West Sel, and the surrounding landscape. The marks on the sketch aligned with a thick ziptrail that wound from the rainforest, under the river and to a town called Maed, then turned south, passing West Sel and Court-lee Grace before ending in the south-western corner of Greenglimmer called the Scar.

Kjaelle touched the ziptrail with a fingertip, following its course. “That’s a large line. I don’t remember sensing it when we were at the farm.”

“It’s fifteen Sunsteps deep,” Verryn said.

Fifteen Sunsteps? That was close to the length of the entire Sunspiral Temple Complex! Vantra had thought ziptrails ran near the surface, not that far beneath it.

“The atlas says it’s natural, but it’s deep and irregular enough, I think a sentient being originally created it. Most natural flows, even when their source is an aquifer, rise to the surface and join a river or stream long before they end. It doesn’t show here, but the starting point is the Nest, and the Bendebares sit atop it.”

“You’ve been to the Nest?” Katta asked.

“Yes. There were a few centuries where the Wiiv gave asylum to ghosts who committed great wrongs because they thought it harmed the faelareign in general. I went there and collected them. But that was also centuries ago, and the pathways I used to reach it aren’t viable anymore.” He half-smiled. “The Wiiv love bragging about their connection to the trees, but their community is underground. They carved caves into the Escarpment to hide from prying faelareign eyes. They still believe that elfines have a magic way to see through the forest canopy and nose about in communities.”

“Kjiven’s propaganda lives on?” Katta shook his head, annoyed. “Some legacies should stay dead.”

“Considering what he did to the tribes to gain power, I can’t blame them for paranoia. Yes, his nastiness happened so many thousands of years previous, it’s beyond a distant collective memory, but it did happen and the contemporary Death did nothing about it. He should have. He should have stuck him in the Fields with a Prohibition to keep him sequestered until he learned to behave.”

A Prohibition? Vantra knew about them but had never interacted with a Condemned that had one because a Death-maintained barrier enclosed their section of the Fields, keeping any idle wanderers out. Nolaris had regarded those ghosts as unsalvageable, though the histories spoke of several who completed their Redemptions, and forbade her from asking about them.

Curious, she had read a book about them. The mass slaughters, the devastation in the name of greed, the serial murders, the lack of empathy and sympathy that led to horrendous acts of malice, neglect and rage, left her with nightmares. While she believed every soul had the right to seek Redemption, she was grateful that lot remained sequestered and worried that those already Recollected would cause great harm to others.

While she figured out Kjiven was a power-hungry man who exploited and destroyed beings for personal gain, she now had a different perspective and was glad he no longer existed.

“And now we navigate the consequences.” Katta smoothed his hair behind his ears, despondent. “I sometimes wonder if past syimlin would have made different choices, if they knew the devastating outcomes. Then I recall the Banquet. Why did Sun let any of them live? I don’t think it fixed what it needed to.”

Neither Kjaelle nor Verryn seemed surprised at the sentiment, but it shocked Vantra. Sun created the current incarnation of the pantheon at the Banquet. Every religious sect on Talis considered it a holy act, one that altered how deities interacted with one another and their followers. Until that point, syimlin were just mortals gifted in magic. That caused many problems, from infighting during succession battles to continent-spanning conflicts instigated by the lust to swallow as much power as possible in a faelareign’s lifespan.

Sun, disgusted with the violence, invited the syimlin to the Banquet. None dared say no to the one who stood above them, so attended. Hate ruled the night, as he expected, and only nine greater syimlin guests, and twelve lesser, survived the ensuing violent clashes. Each remaining deity refused to bear arms against another divine, even attempted to calm the seething hostilities, and Sun rewarded them for their efforts.

Death, under a charge by Sun, gifted the survivors with Life. They could still die from disease or injury, but not from age. Sun also gifted them with the first mantles. The mantles, a nebulous magic he created specifically for each syimlin, enhanced their magical abilities associated with their titles, placing them above most mortal spellcasters and on even ground with their fellow deities. The combination effectively ended wider conflicts, and while stronger whizen, mafiz and the like still challenged syimlin for their titles, those became duels that did not suck followers into bloody battles.

What would have happened, if all syimlin had perished at the Banquet? Would Sun have elevated other mortals? Would he have done away with deities altogether? She sunk into her thoughts, and only Verryn rising and saying he needed to find a meal snapped her out of her gloomy meanderings. Katta and Kjaelle accompanied him, and she remained in the wagon, uneasy, depressed, anxious.

Their brief stop at Fekj let the rebbas rest and the caravan restock on the feed blend that looked more like a hiker’s energy mix gone wrong than something edible. The nomads and Yut-ta explored the vicinity, and she politely declined their invitation to accompany them, claiming she wanted to remain in the magic-chilled interior of the wagon. Uncertain why she felt so reluctant to venture forth, she watched them wander across the stable yard, loneliness dragging her into a depressed depth.

The door opened, and Lorgan stepped up the stairs, bemused by something. He settled on the bench opposite her and smiled with eager happiness. Foreboding squiggled through her essence.

“Have you studied the Clear Rays notes yet?”

No, she had not. No, she did not want to learn better ways to harm another being. “What’s there to study?” she asked. “When I use it, I react through fear. I can’t control my fear.”

“You can’t control when you fear, but you can control how hard it hits,” Lorgan said, leaning forward. “Not that fear is an easy emotion to handle, but knowing spells inside and out, then casting them with instinctual grace because you’ve practiced them so often, can place you on firmer ground when it strikes.”

She looked away from his intense hazel gaze. She was not that brave.

“I think you underestimate your daring, too.” She squinted at him, and he grinned, confident in his assessment. “Even if you quake, you push yourself onwards, especially when others need help. Your compassion guides you, and that’s a wondrous thing.”

She frowned, hoping he did not mock her. “Compassion?”

“Vantra, you never would have helped Yut-ta if compassion did not beat within you.” He paused, then deflated. “I know it’s been difficult, especially after Nolaris took Laken’s heart. But you’re not a failure. A failure would have given up and handed Laken to the mini-Joyful and slunk away. You want to Redeem your Chosen, and you will do so despite the cost, because it’s the right thing to do.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and laughed. “I never thought this Redemption would go this way. I thought I’d catch up to you after you left Evening, we’d see it through together using my research, and then Recollect Laken. I don’t know why the Finders would actively prevent a soul from being Redeemed, and it scratches at me, a briar in my pantleg that I should be able to find but can’t. There’s something more going on, hidden beneath the obvious actions.”

There is.

Vantra jumped and slapped her hand against her breast. She met Lorgan’s wide eyes; apparently the ex-Darkness spoke to him as well. What did he want, that he intruded on their conversation?

I want many things, but nothing you can provide at present. I, on the other hand, have a gift for you. The both of you; I doubt our nymph-trained scholar would let you vacate alone.

She trusted Rezenarza in gift-giving as she would trust a hungry gyirindi in a hunter’s pit.

You have strange assessments, he said, amusement flavoring his tone. It is a fleeting gift, but a necessary one. Come with me.

Vantra glanced out the window at the forest beyond the stable, shocked. He was at Fekj?

I am not in Fekj. Syimlin have other methods of travel besides physical means.

Then how were they going to go with him? She was not leaving the confines of the wagon.

“You leave our essences and snatch our minds?” Lorgan asked, heavy distrust deepening his voice.

Yes. My mind will be our mode. He paused. This is not an optional request.

She yanked her mind from him. Optional or not, she refused to make it easy for him.

There is no need to fear my Touch. I won’t harm you. As much as I detest those two you travel with, what sickens the rainforest concerns me, and I will help them discover the cause because I know they will act.

He sounded . . . sincere. She had spent her childhood listening to false promises from Sun acolytes, and his words had the ring of truth to them. Of course, a being thousands of years old had millennia of practice manipulating others into doing what they wanted.

Perhaps you should ask those two about that. They have far more experience in scheming than I.

Could she think nothing to herself?

Not until I leave. I don’t wish to force you, but I will, if I must.

She had no way to deny him, and she hated him for the helpless anger that vibrated her essence. She clutched her hands in her lap, and Lorgan floated over to grasp them between his own. His strength buoyed her own.

“Where are you taking us?” he asked.

Into the Labyrinth. I know the twisting pathways of the rainforest, and there is something you must see.

“Vantra said another usurped your Touch. Are the pathways really open to you?”

Yes. False allies sow corruption, but the forest has always embraced me, and does so again as I reinstate my influence. Time is short. Come. Now.

Lorgan’s eyes narrowed at the command, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Razor-sharp pain burst through Vantra after Rezenarza ripped her from her essence; as soon as she felt it, a cushion formed around her, protecting her, as delicate as a flower petal. Lorgan rode with her, a strong, confident presence. Was he not unafraid of the pinpricks of light zipping past them? The speed terrified her.

They slowed as they traveled through an earthen tunnel with dripping plants hanging from the ceiling, and stopped when they reached the opening. A waterfall poured from the tree-clogged rainforest floor high above, splashing into a deep aquamarine pool with golden motes flickering in the misty atmosphere.

In the center of the water was a wet black rock, a hunched figure in a forest-green cloak sitting upon it, translucent green vines wrapped around his wrists and ankles and confining him to the flat surface. The figure raised their head; a despondent man peered straight at her, his pale emerald eyes as watery as the pool surrounding him. All else about him was tree-bark brown, and his skin had its texture. He looked human, but for the thin webbing connecting his fingers and toes. A naiazine, like the nomads? They, too, had water-living ancestors that gifted their descendants with webbed hands and feet.

“You came.” His hoarse voice sounded relieved. “He said you would.”

REZENARZA!

Katta. And he was PISSED.

The man smiled, amused, and bowed his head as the pool disappeared.

Vantra did not appreciate Katta, Red, and Kjaelle hovering over her, staring down in anger, as Fyrij batted her chin with his wings and sang in anxious worry. She settled her hand on his back and rubbed her cheek against his soft head, knowing the other three would not be so easily assuaged.

“He didn’t give us much choice,” Lorgan said, rubbing at his temple as if he had a throbbing headache.

“Much choice?” Katta asked, his words sharp, his rage suffocating.

“He said he needed to show us something.” Vantra trembled as the Darkness acolyte focused his ice-cold eyes on her. “That poor man.”

Lorgan blinked, sat straighter, confused. “Poor man? What poor man?”

“The one in the middle of the pool.”

He continued to blink. “I saw twisted vines rising high above the treetops, creating a protective barrier around the pool. There’s a forest’s worth of magic there, filling everything from the water to the plants and animals. It’s reminiscent of how a giant lake dams water and magic, but it feels more natural, and with a purity I associate with a drinkable, freshwater spring. As the water trickled past us and down the tunnel, it reddened and took on the corrupted taint that’s underneath Selaserat.”

“Do you think it was a vision?” Katta asked.

“I don’t know. It didn’t feel like one. It felt like Rezenarza took us to a real rainforest place.”

“What was this man in the pool like?” Kjaelle asked, then elbowed the Darkness acolyte when Vantra hesitated. He winced, covered his side, and his anger receded from a boiling ocean to a simmering lake of emotion. That helped—not much, but it helped.

“He had watery emerald eyes and bark-like skin.”

The shock in Katta and Red might have interested her, had she not felt chastised and low for accompanying the ex-Darkness.

“He was sitting on a rock in the middle of the pool, vines wrapped around his wrists and ankles. I think he was a naiazine, too, because he had webbed fingers and toes. He looked up and said, ‘You came. He said you would.’ When Katta roared at Rezenarza, he smiled and bowed his head at me.”

Lorgan shook his head, bewildered. “I saw no man, nor heard him speak.”

“I didn’t see a vine barrier. There was a tall waterfall, though. Did you see it?”

“No.”

Red looked at Katta, whose anger had crashed into non-existence, replaced by curiosity misted with worry. “That’s interesting.”

“That we saw two different things?” Lorgan asked.

“Yes and no. The man with bark for skin? That’s Strans. It’s an affectation, but he likes it.” The Light acolyte jerked his chin at the scholar. “What else did you see?”

“He didn’t show us the route through the Labyrinth he took, if that’s what you mean.” Lorgan rubbed at his chest. “We weren’t there long enough for in-depth study. But I have the feeling if the corruption ever reaches the pool, bad things will happen.”

“Rezenarza should have told us directly, if he were this concerned,” Katta said, his anger rebuilding.

“Hmm-hmm.” Kjaelle pursed her lips at him. “Because you would have listened.”

“The rainforest was his haven. If he thought harm came to it, I would have. And it obviously has.”

“He knows damn well if he spoke of Strans, we’d listen.” Red paused. “But I guess believing is another story.”

“I know I saw a man there,” Vantra insisted. “Finders train acolytes to recognize illusions and magic sculptures. I know that man was a living being, not a fantasy.”

“As much as Rezenarza is of ploys and shadows, illusions escape him,” Katta said. “He couldn’t have created that scene to trick you.” He folded his arms and pondered her, his fingers thrumming on his upper arms. “Did you sense this corruption at the pool?”

“No. I felt sadness, despondency, relief I was there, but not the corruption.”

“And no hint of who told him to expect you?”

“No.”

Lorgan motioned to Vantra, confused. “What should we make of these differences? Vantra sees a waterfall and a confined man, I see a vine barrier surrounding a pristine pool that bleeds corruption.”

“It’s fascinating.” Red stuck his lips out, looked to his side, and grinned with mischievous delight. “Hey Reeeezziiii, what did you see?” he called.

I am not so far from hearing. Katta’s exasperation at his antics broke apart as the ex-Darkness’s annoyed mind voice filled the wagon. My vision coincides with the scholar’s. There is a singular energy in the water, which becomes corrupted from the Touch of another. The vine barrier concerns me, for a power of beastly proportions holds nothing sacrosanct.

“You didn’t see Strans?” Katta asked.

No. That our Sun acolyte did disturbs me. He is not what I wished her to see or recognize.

Then he was gone. Vantra clasped her head, an emptiness she associated with essence drain oozing into her appendages. Damn him, what did he do? And she was not his Sun acolyte, in any sense!

“Thanks a lot, asshole,” Red muttered, and a heady flow of Light zipped into her, filling reserves. Kjaelle elbowed him; he winced, covered his side, and returned the elfine’s glare.

“Qira, he contacted us, in a way he didn’t think we’d ignore. That speaks louder than his actions.” Katta patted Lorgan on the shoulder. “Let’s delve into those books you brought. If this pool is associated with Strans, there might be mention of it in his myths.”

Vantra hoped so, because she knew the man was in trouble. They needed to find him, before the corruption Touched him.


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