They cautiously proceeded, despite the demanding nature of whoever summoned them. While desperate, Vantra did not know an UnRedeemed who had the same demeanor. Those ready for Redemption yearned to begin their quest for their sundered essences, but hesitation filled them because so many potential chances had already passed them by. The call had too much insistence backing it to be a head from the Fields.
Mist rose from the stream, slight but heavy with ryiam. She had not noticed it at the entrance and pondered why. If anything, the water should pick up more energy the further it flowed; that was how all other water sources worked.
Or was it? She thought of the flood waters; she had not noticed an increase in magic potency while in them, but panic might have blunted her perceptions of that. Her rattled focus was on remaining whole, not how much energy the waves contained. Or, perhaps, she simply was that bad at detecting it.
Jare sucked in a fake breath, like the newly deceased did when they first learned to absorb mist. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she followed his lead; whatever spell dampened other magic, soaking up ryiam worked just fine. Worry pricked her, that she swallowed nastiness with the mist, but she needed to recharge her essence. The shard had drained too much of her energy when she failed to sever its Touch, and they still walked within discovery distance of the vines blocking the entrance.
She sank into a depressed self-condemnation. Again, she botched a simple task. Why did Lorgan insist that she study magic? He based her potential on assumed power she did not have.
Wet slapped her face. She jerked away and looked up; a mossy plant hung from the ceiling and dripped water onto the rocks and soil below. Several more dangled beyond it, fat drops collecting on the bottoms before plummeting and striking the ground with small splats.
Hanging plants?
“Are you OK?” Jare asked.
“The plants,” she said. “I saw them in the vision Rezenarza showed me.”
Laken squirmed, catching her attention. “There’s something behind us.”
She looked over her shoulder as Jare turned. The darkness outside the shard’s light wiggled and wormed about like a mass of insects in soil, but did not close in. The shadows ahead of them did not have the same whatever-it-was. Root corruption, maybe?
“Let’s go.” Jare picked up the pace, and she kept step, feeling guilty her Chosen had to stare at the thing. She would have frozen in fright if their positions were reversed.
More plants filled the ceiling, growing closer together and forming curtains. A few touched the stream, the current carrying the ends with it, creating narrow gaps for them to slip through. The rocks in the stream bank increased in size, and they walked across large, flat boulders rather than pebbles and damp soil. The left embankment rose, and the stream trickled below them, past stone obstacles and the random submerged branch.
Sparkles appeared among the hanging plants, winking and glowing, unaffected by the anti-magic spell that felt like a wet blanket against Vantra’s essence. Their numbers swelled, and some floated free, hovering like fireflies. She glanced back, but did not see the wiggly darkness; did the curtains hide it or prevent it from trailing them?
They reached the end of the tunnel. A pool stretched before them, the waves and the mist reflecting the blaze that soared from the treetops circling the cliff above. Flaming sticks and branches plummeted into the water along with the rain, where they extinguished and sank. The waterfall opposite them looked as if it had absorbed the fire, and gleamed with golden brightness as it cascaded over the edge and down.
Darker trees with thick roots sticking from the ground and water-laden green leaves filled the space, the motes dancing happily among the trunks. Black, flat-topped rocks littered the sand upon which the waves gently lapped. Soft calmness touched her, a gentleness ruined by the inferno above.
On a black stone in the center of the pool sat the hunched, cloaked man, vines wrapped around wrists and ankles. He raised his head and regarded her, his face remaining in the deep shadows of his hood.
“Vantra?” Jare stood at the base of a giant tree, hand on the bark, waiting for her.
“The man,” she whispered.
“Man?” He frowned and looked across the pool, then turned, searching the shore.
“You can’t see him?”
“No.”
Vantra whirled so Laken could view the water. “Laken? Do you see him?”
“Where is he?”
“On the black rock in the middle of the pool.”
“Uh, I don’t see a black rock or a man.”
How could she be the only one to see him?
Sun-blessed can see through spelled shadows. Light and Darkness walk hand in hand, so that which affects one will affect the other. A weakness amid the strengths.
She froze, fear pounding through her essence. Had he spoken in her mind, like Rezenarza did?
Yes. His relief sank into her, tingling in her head, chest and neck. He said you would come.
Who was he?
A whizan, not lost despite lacking the Blessing. He knows the turns and twists of the vines and trees almost as well as I.
Her thoughts raced. Lokjac? Did he mean Lokjac?
Yes. You’ve met him?
No, but she knew Yut-ta, his acolyte.
Ah. The hooskine. Yes, he mentioned the lad, and hoped he did not attempt to follow him. The forest is not what it once was, and now swims in corruption under the hands of its current master. Master turned monster, and a threat born of confusion and spite.
She gathered her courage and stared into the cloak’s shadows. “Are you Strans?”
He laughed, the leaves surrounding them bouncing at the sound. Not at this moment, no. Another donned that mantle. He paused. Well, ripped it from me and sundered it to make it fit. It chafes and rubs him wrong, but he won’t admit he failed. He thought he was the forest—he wasn’t. He was a twig among many on a greater being, but he assumed he was the trunk, firm and stout, and all else came from him. A conceit, a misunderstanding, driven by embarrassment and shame.
A long, flaming branch fell into the water, sending waves splashing over the rock.
She had to free him before the fire above became the fire below.
Please.
So much pain, longing, and relief, in that word. She knelt, shrugged out of the pack, and settled Laken so he faced the pool.
“Vantra,” Jare warned, hopping to her and placing a hand on Laken’s shoulder to keep him stable as he watched the still-trembling leaves.
“I’m going to rescue him.”
“Him?” The Light-blessed gripped her arm. “Is that wise?”
“No.” She snagged the shard—if Sun saw through shadows, it might help her—pulled away and sprinted to the water.
