The camping field outside the village of Two Rivers already held several wagons and tents by the time the caravan moseyed into the fenced area. After handing a bored gate attendant payment, the caravaneers circled the vehicles around three firepits near the Gouge, a green-tinged, lazy body of water that drifted past with only a few rolling waves, and set about preparing to camp for the night.

Vantra wandered from one wagon to another, antsy but with nothing to do. The caravaneers took care of the wagons and animals, the mini-Joyful lounged at the fires with the Light-blessed and their fellow guards, and she did not want to comb through dry histories looking for sparse references to the two pools—or study the ever-growing list of magic topics Lorgan thought important.

Twilight crept across the land as she reached the river-facing wagons, the ones that carried food for the living. Kenosera, draped in the long-sleeved, long-legged outerwear that supposedly kept the insects from snacking on him, sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, watching as his three friends helped water the rebbas. The lot took up the entire right side of the muddy shore, and the nomads had difficulty keeping the beasts from wandering off and chewing on the juiciest embankment foliage.

“You’re not helping?”

Kenosera glanced at her, then back at his friends. “No,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “I am dor-carous, and despite their assurances, that colors how they interact with me.”

Vantra settled next to him on the wagon’s tailgate. “What do you mean?”

“We are friends, yes. We are lovers, yes. But in the end, I’m dor-carous, and they are not. They think to protect me from the rigors of travel, but . . . I am NOT delicate.” His eyes narrowed and his grip on the edge of the bed strengthened. “After Watermarket, Dedari and Lesanova decided they needed to protect me. I’ve told them I’ll never succumb to Rezenarza’s machinations again. They may overtly believe, but deep inside,” and he thumped his chest, “they see me as damaged. I fell to the enemy, so I’m not as strong as they once thought. Tagra’s always had a reverence for me that’s undeserved, but Dedari and Lesanova, they saw me as just another nomad. Now, though . . .” He trailed off and slumped, his hair falling to hide his features. “Maybe they’re right.”

“They’re not,” Vantra said with vehement insistence. “When they got kidnapped, you helped rescue them. You’ve kept your promise to get them out of the desert. You’ve given them the chance at adventure, to see distant lands and meet new beings. You’re everything they thought you were.”

He regarded her with a soft frown. “You believe that.”

“Yes. You’ve done a lot of heroic things since I met you. You even faced Nolaris with just a knife, despite his being a ghost who could harm you with magic.”

He smiled at that. “It didn’t seem heroic at the time. Foolish, yes, but not heroic.” He laughed, subdued, self-deprecating. “And I failed in that, too.”

“No. I’m the one who failed.” She stared at the dusty earth between her dangling feet, the verbal admittance digging claws into her self-esteem. “I’m the one who didn’t get his head and torso fused fast enough. I’m the one who didn’t protect him when I should have. Now we have to discover where the Knights of the Finders hid his heart. How can we even research that? There won’t be convenient books or newspaper articles about where they escaped to, or random adventurers stumbling upon its hiding place. I might have doomed him to be UnRedeemed forever.” Kenosera settled his hand on her leg, concerned, but he did not have a chance to pry into her guilt. Yut-ta rounded the corner of the wagon, his gaze falling on the rebbas before looking at them.

“How are you feeling?” Vantra asked. He clacked his beak in annoyance.

“I would be asleep if I needed it, I would have taken medicine if I needed it, I would have—”

Kenosera held up his hand, chuckling. “Bedridden is boring, especially when you have two great-grandmothers hovering. Unless you want to help with the rebbas, you can sit.” He motioned to the space next to him. Vantra was certain he had no plans to do so; he did not wear the appropriate attire to keep bugs away.

“I’m not much good with animals,” he said as he accepted the offer. “I can handle small pets, and Lokjac’s housecat likes me well enough, but rebbas and breezelings and horses?” He shook his head.

“You’ve seen breezelings?” Kenosera asked, intrigued. Yut-ta blinked, his pale blue eyes staring in an unnerving bird-like way, then shrugged.

“My family is Clannasvox, from the Sun Plains. They breed black-feathered breezelings for those who can’t fly in another way.” He squinted in dislike. “Beings think humongous birds are interesting, but they are just larger avians with attitude problems.”

Breezeling struck Vantra as a cute name, but her Finder materials stated they had bellicose temperaments and a nasty habit of striking even their most beloved caretakers with their hooked raptor beaks. One scholar thought riding dragons would be the safer option, despite the risk of turning into an ashy pile if one became angry.

“I read picture books in my youth that had paintings of breezelings,” Kenosera said. “They were so unlike anything in the desert, and I wanted to see one, maybe find a feather I could make into a charm.”

Yut-ta laughed. “My family has plenty of feathers,” he said, ruffling his wings. “The rectrices of the largest are longer than we are tall!”

“The desert has its interesting creatures,” Vantra said as she nudged the nomad. “Like bordican.”

 “You think bordican are interesting?” Kenosera pondered her words. “Since they only float above ground before rockstorms, I see them as more terrifying.”

“Rockstorms,” Yut-ta breathed. “Lokjac mentioned those. He said they are fierce natural forces best hidden from.”

“The one we encountered on our way to the Snake’s Den Underruins blew the tops of cliffs off rock faces,” Vantra said. “It was more than terrifying.” The hooskine’s skepticism needled and did not waver as Kenosera nodded in grim agreement.

“I have never seen such a storm—except for the emblematic collapse.” He shuddered. “I never want to go through something like that again. We were lucky, Katta, Qira and Verryn cared enough for the desert to protect it.”

“Emblematic collapse?” Yut-ta cocked his head, as if trying to remember the concept.

“A spiral collapse triggered by mephoric emblems,” Vantra told him. “Too much magic in one place, and it exploded.” She rubbed at her chest. “It wasn’t fun, standing as a Grand Seal point to hold the barrier and keep the nasty inside.”

“That’s fantastic,” the hooskine breathed. “Like a tale told around the fire at night. Lokjac encountered a spiral collapse in the Windtwists, and he said an entire island—”

Shouts and screams and loud, trumpeting panic from the rebbas caught their attention. A reptilian head the size of Vantra rose from the river, water pouring from a swath of vegetation that concealed its long neck. The creature raised a red crest that ran from the top of its head to mid-body, and fluttered two pointed ones jutted out from either side of the white, soft-looking belly.

Caravaneers rushed to pull the terrified animals away from the water and back to the field. Several ripped their lead ropes from their handlers and stampeded into the forest—hopefully they did not get lost in the twisting ways.

“The nets must have broke again,” Yut-ta said, aggrieved, as a shimmery green, transparent glitter of magic shot from a wooden observation deck overlooking the river and towards the creature’s head. The spell clamped its jaws closed and flattened the crest and fins against its legless body. The creature waggled around, hissing, its pale yellow eyes changing to a deep, angry orange, its brown scales brightening to flame-red.

“Nets?” Kenosera asked, plastering himself to the wagon’s back and curling over his knees as rebbas thundered past, their stressed handlers unable to control them. Vantra huddled against the door, too, but Yut-ta remained in place, swinging his legs and shaking his head.

“Every habitation along the smaller rivers and lakes has spelled nets that keep most of the watery pests out,” the hooskine said as the creature slammed its tail up and down, splashing water high. “Ankis aren’t usually eager to tear through them because they get a shock if they do. Combined with the water, it can leave burns.” He pointed at the blackened tip of the creature’s nose. Vantra initially thought the color was natural, but realized it came from searing heat. “I guess it wanted a rebba meal more than it cared about getting zapped.”

“That looks larger than a pest,” Kenosera muttered. “When I think of annoyances, I think of small, if damaging, insects or rodents.”

“Most ankis don’t grow to this size. They usually end up eating a meal too large to swallow and choke to death long before they reach giant status. It’s the smaller ones communities worry about. They creep onto farms and not only feed off birds like chuk-chiks and ibits, they get into the fishponds and kill the entire lot.” He ducked to avoid chunks of earth as the final, wild-with-terror rebba skidded past. “They’re actually pretty easy to keep at bay. Have you noticed the caravan burning that nasty-smelling fuzzleaf oil around the edges of camp?” Kenosera nodded, but Vantra shook her head. Ghosts, unless inspired by Red’s stink spell, could not detect odors. “Well, the ankis have sensitive olfactory glands. The fuzzleaf’s potent stench makes them queasy. They don’t touch anything that has a hint of it. Smaller animals that don’t care about the stink rub against the leaves and coat themselves in the oil so they won’t meet their end as a tasty snack. Larger animals will roll in the plants when they need to cross a river. It’s why the ankis are stuck mostly eating fish; there’s no chance they’re contaminated.

“Of course, adult rebbas are huge. Even an ankis that large will choke on such an enormous meal and end up feeding the scavengers.” He watched as Dedari, Lesanova and Tagra hustled past with other handlers, intent on reaching and calming the frightened beasts.

Most of their caravan’s animals had run to the wagons and huddled near them, trembling. A few must have escaped into the forest, though, because a couple caravaneers were staring into the trees and motioning with big sweeps of their arms.

The hooskine hopped off the bed. “Two Rivers isn’t that big, but they have a nice Light altar. Xafane gave me an offering. I’d rather dump that in the bowl than watch whizen wrangle an ankis. Clean-up’s going to get messy, especially if it refuses to leave. If you come with me, I can show you around.”

Vantra would rather pray at a Light altar, too. Kenosera slid off the bed, ready to depart, and the Yut-ta snagged insect-resistant clothing before leading the way into the village.

Two Rivers proper consisted of thatched, round buildings made of jointed reeds on the western side, and larger, plusher homes built with pale yellow sandstone on the east. Tarps held up by thick poles lined the roadway, providing shelter for locals who sold drinks, fruits, nuts, fish, and numerous knickknacks. Yut-ta stopped at one to purchase water for him and Kenosera; the drink came in a large green gourd with a straw poking out the top.

After leaving Fekj, Vantra had read the introductory text Katta gave her concerning essences and imbibing. Her initial, crestfallen assumption that she could never accomplish the most simple of tasting tasks kept her reluctant to attempt it. She hated feeling left out while keeping the living company, but she did not see her abilities improving in the next few yilsemma, either.

They walked through half the village before the hooskine diverted to a lamp-lined, smoky gravel pathway leading to the northwest. They hiked up a rocky hill and to a single-story, yellow sandstone structure with a metal pole sticking out of the top. The elden temples on Talis had a similar rod, meant to capture lightning during storms. The metal fed the power into a blessed vessel, which shone with a too-bright glow, honoring Light and his illumination in the darkest times and places.

Spiral Sun Temple possessed one, and Vantra had shined the golden bowl a time or two. The more important the temple, the more elaborate the vessels, and running a cloth over the room-sized container had made her arms ache and her resentment for unfair priestly punishments smolder.

The doorless entry led to a single room with a peeling mural depicting Talis’s breaking of Kjiven’s Dryanflow barrier. In the center sat a humongous glowing bowl, small altars on each side. The ancient symbol of Light rose from the shallow offering basins, which resembled a six-leafed flower with a long stem and no head. The flowers, candles, incense, and sculptures typically adorning similar holy spaces were absent.

Yut-ta pulled a plain linen coin purse from his pants pocket and poured the contents into his hand, selecting the milky topaz from among the shells and coins, and tossing it into the nearest basin. Light swirled up, swallowed the gem, and the container burst into bright rays.

Kenosera bent to study the symbol. “What does this represent?”

“Ancients love the reference to Talis’s destruction of the Aristarzian Light temple,” Vantra said. “He rose into the air after completing the gauntlet, then zoomed back down to strike the Light-ascended throne. The gemstones in his victory crown exploded, and the shockwave rocked the land and the unrighteous for hundreds of Sunsteps beyond the epicenter.”

“The tavern doesn’t have anything like this,” Kenosera said. “Shouldn’t it, considering how dedicated the Light-blessed are to Light?”

“Heh. No.” Jare entered the room, a soft, sad smile on his lips. “There is no better way for a Light-blessed to garner the wrath of Light than to plunk that statue down where he can see it. The explosion wasn’t a miraculous event that destroyed the unrighteous, but a devastating destructive act that obliterated a city’s worth of innocents along with those of evil intent. Talis sees it as his weakest moment, when he gave up on life and succumbed to the rage he bottled inside. He wanted to die that day and take everyone who had a hand in the gauntlet with him—and he ended up destroying more than just the temple and its reprobates. Elistenye was nothing more than a hole in the ground after he struck the throne. Then Dresharen, the previous Light, Gifted him the mantle, and he saw it as a reward for murder rather than divine retribution against the corrupt. However the religious try to put a righteous spin on it, he killed a lot of people who didn’t deserve to die for the temple’s sins. He carries that guilt with him to this day.”

“But were they not complicit?” Kenosera asked. “I’ve the impression from Qira that Aristarzians sent their red-haired boys to the gauntlet because they saw profit in their suffering, and the rest of their culture gave their blessing.” He glanced at the symbol, troubled.

“Fear and greed motivate most, it’s true. It’s a combination that the corrupt take advantage of all the time. But not all Aristarzian sent their children to the gauntlet. Some fled the country to protect their sons. Some dyed their hair and masked them in other ways. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. And sometimes those saved boys grew into men who, in turn, took advantage of their appearance. Families would pay to have their unwed daughters travel out-country to sleep with them, hoping they got pregnant with a red-haired boy who would grant them fortune and fame.” He paused, then ran a hand through his hair. “But that was ages ago, and best left as a past hurt. I came to retrieve you. We’re being followed, and it’s best if everyone sits tight unless it’s necessary to leave the wagons. Light becomes protection in Darkness, and his blessing will keep us safe this night, but only if we’re in the caravan’s confines.”

“Followed? By who?” Vantra asked, dreading the answer.

“Guards working for Kjaelle’s ex showed up with a group in Finder green. No one thinks it’s an accident.”

She shuddered. She did not wish to face Finders, especially if they had ties to the Knights.

“Kjaelle isn’t at her best when dealing with him or anyone employed by him—and her resentment of Finders only adds to her rage. Considering what’s going on, Katta’s not in a mood to hold her back. We Light-blessed will keep an eye on the enemy, and the rest of you get to distract our beloved Darknesses.”

Distracting Katta and Kjaelle did not sound like a fun night.

When they reached the bottom of the hill, Jare’s attention shifted to the side of the path. Vantra glimpsed a blur of shadow against the darker foliage beyond. Disquiet descended. Yeralis may be after Kjaelle, but she was not their only target.