Bareback ronyx was not so different than bareback horse, Vantra decided. The ronyx had a larger hump at the shoulder, so the riders sat further back on the back, which might have been a problem if ghosts did not ride behind the living. No excessive weight, no awkward scrambling to keep one’s seat, though her grip around the stable hand’s waist remained strong—as strong as Kjaelle’s on hers.

Too many stable hands quaked at the thought of confronting the dor-carous guards and the magic of the vi-van, but the younger ones who knew Kenosera borrowed mounts and offered to take them to the temple, despite trepidation over interacting with ghosts. Vantra and Kjaelle rode with a worried hand who had family members in the Fort, and who wanted to prevent bloodshed badly enough she did not care if she had two ghostly passengers behind her.

Tagra and Kenosera took the lead, racing past the storage buildings and through the fields, keeping to the road along the river. They avoided the random Nevemere, who plodded down the way, lugging handcarts behind them. The mists floated around them, and Vantra sucked in what she could; she would need the power to raise shields and protect others.

And, perhaps, to sneak into the temple.

She wished she could become a transparent wisp of ghost but retain the ability to carry physical objects with her. She spun through half-remembered study materials, some provided by Lorgan, but she did not have an answer to her questions concerning her special skill. Even if she crept past the vi-van and into the temple using transparency in Ether Touch, she needed to haul Laken back out, which required her Physical form.

Should she keep the secret or ask for help? Katta and Red did not mind passing along information, and Lorgan seemed dead set on drilling magic guidance into her head. Why conceal a useful ability when it could help Laken’s Redemption?

Because she worried about the twist in her power Katta mentioned. What if that twist permitted her to thin her essence to invisibility?

The river dipped below the road, the fenced embankment rising away from it. Replacing the soft mist’s illumination were pale orange stone lanterns set on a plain rectangular base, with a curved backside and three candles protected by glass in the front. The shoulder-height lighting lit the lane, but everything behind them wallowed in deep shadows.

The fields disappeared, replaced by round, thatched abodes made from rusty mud and sandstone. Small windows and doorways had dull, patched drapes blocking others from peering inside. Beings walked the roads, kicking up plumes of dust, or sat on stone benches lining oblong communal firepits, eating, drinking, cooking, while hunching away from the puffs of acrid smoke. None seemed happy, and large gaps between clusters hinted at their distrust of neighbors.

Or perhaps suspicion of new arrivals? Too many huddled along the pathways and streets, asleep or staring into the blackness of the cavern’s ceiling, rocking back and forth, hugging ragged blankets around themselves, alone with their tears.

Damn Rezenarza, for causing needless suffering.

Beings laden with packs and hauling sacks in carts shouted at them as they raced by, faces twisted in fear and concern, but Tagra did not slow down, weaving in and out and skimming the edges of the street. The increased crowds coincided with the appearance of square, black stone buildings with small gardens in the front and seating along the walls. The windows had curtains, the doorways jangly strings of polished stone. Wagons sat behind locked wooden gates, somber adults spoke over the tops of fences while dark-furred creatures that looked like a cross between a long-eared cat and a rabbit hopped around legs, rubbing against the bare skin until they received petting attention.

After reading Lorgan’s notes, Vantra assumed most Nevemere preferred nudity due to the heat. The beings she saw, however, wore vests and shorts, some thigh-length tunics, most in short, grungy shoes or sandals. A few had robes like the stable hands, all grimy from the rigors of work.

The shorter black buildings gave way to three-story structures situated closer together. Symbols written in yellow paint marked what Vantra assumed was a business district. Beings peeked out of doorways or stood under dusty awnings, staring in the direction the ronyx raced, while others fled away, looking over their shoulders in terror.

Had they reached the fight?

Shouts and screams and weapons clanging meant they had.

The dor-carous guards wore the same tunic uniforms and used the same weapons as the ones at the Merdian docks. An esci-tero, dressed in a white shirt with bronze-coated bone scales, stood behind them, shouting orders that Vantra did not think anyone heard. They battled unarmored Nevemere equipped with wooden spears filed to a point rather than sporting a metal tip, curved knives, and sickles with long handles. Both sides had battered wooden shields.

Tagra and Kenosera’s ronyx shied from the fight, rising on his hind legs and turning. Tagra’s stern hand kept him from galloping away, but he did not want to rush through the fighters. The rest slowed and came to a stop in the middle of the road, waiting for the two to decide how to proceed.

Kenosera screamed, but only a couple of heads turned to him. The rest continued their conflict, thrusting, slashing, not interested in wounding the enemy, but killing them. Too many on both sides bled, with a handful on the ground, some pulling themselves away from the clash, others motionless.

Toxic green haze oozed up from a glowing line in the dirt, dividing the road between the two fighting groups.

Kenosera said something nasty as the Nevemere staggered and looked around. Hands rose to their noses to mitigate the stink. Wincing, they reeled away from their positions. Those nearest to the stench made it to the alleys before puking; onlookers scurried back, yelling, disgust thick in their voices.

Nomads raced from the interiors, choking, hands over their noses and mouths. They had fewer to no clothes, more jewelry, and paint that formed artistic designs on their faces. Some vacated with embroidered bags shining with precious gems, some with instruments, others held long ribbons on sticks, glass balls, scarves. A night out watching entertainers? Vantra could not fathom enjoying entertainment after the horrors of the previous few days. Why not keep Nevemere sequestered until the vi-van resolved the nasty Darkness spell?

The haze grew thicker, billowing towards the fighters, driving them further from each other.

She hated the stink. She hated the death of the Nevemere more, so gave Red a pass on his current use of the spell. When might he tire of it? Would Kjaelle and Tally know?

Kenosera shouted at the fighters; more turned to look at him. His animated talk did not sit well with either side, but they dared the stink to help their fallen comrades and retreated from each other, shaking their weapons but not leaping to renew the assault.

“Can you keep this smell in place?” the nomad asked, pointing as he looked at Red.

“It’s set, and since there’s not much wind, it’ll remain for a while. They might decide to go around and try to fight on another road, though.”

“Kenosera told them the stink will follow them if they do,” Tagra said.

“Oh! I can do that.” Red grinned widely as Tally closed her eyes and winced. The stable hand who guided their ronyx looked at Kenosera and wrinkled her lips into a snarly frown. Could they smell the spell? The mounts did not react, so Vantra wondered. She could not sense it, and in previous instances, the odor infused her essence.

Memmi called out to Tagra, who shook his head. She spoke with the woman she rode with, and they trotted over to a sullen non-guard fighter, and their rapid exchange stressed her. She looked at her brother, who bit his lips together.

“Their uncle’s already in the tunnels,” Kenosera said. “We need to hurry.”

The ancient ghost clapped his hands; a gap grew in the green haze, large enough for the ronyx to walk through. Tagra and Kenosera had a quick chat before the stable hand clucked at their mount and guided him through the smell. The rest followed, though the nomads unfamiliar with Red eyed the green with more angst than their friend. The one Vantra held onto tensed as they neared the mist, and did not relax until the road curved and they left the vicinity behind.

The road split at a rock wall, the left widening into a paved lane that ran through even taller buildings, the right forming a narrow path between the wall and the cliff side. Tagra took the path, one with only a handful of beings walking along it, and who pressed against the wooden fence to avoid ronyx hooves. They shouted and shook fists, which did not slow them down.

A well-kept trail led to the river; they raced down it, back into the thicker mists lit by thousands of mushrooms. The mounts slowed and plodded through the fog. No one else walked the narrow bank, so no crowds to avoid or guards to face.

Tagra halted his mount and waited for the rest of them to catch up. He pointed across the water, to a blacker part of the shadowy embankment.

“When the rains come and the Gate floods, the river rises,” Kenosera explained. “There are many of these overflow tunnels that divert the water around Black Temple, then rejoin the river downstream, far away from the city.”

“The dor-carous pretends to care for them, but does not,” Tagra said. “The Fort maintains them.”

“Where do they get the funds?” Red asked absently, his attention on the opposite shore.

“The Astri.” Tagra hissed at Kenosera for divulging the secret, but he growled back, unrepentant.

“Surprise there,” Lorgan said, with enough sarcasm Tagra reluctantly nodded.

“The Astri are poison mushrooms among the safe,” he said. “You only mistake one, and it will kill you.” He sucked in a disgusted breath. “They survived,” he muttered. “Others fell, but the Astri hid behind their walls, and no one broke through. They remain there, sequestered, unwilling to speak with Nevemere.”

“Sounds like they have a wondrous relationship with the residents,” Red sighed. “You want to take that tunnel?”

“This one goes under the temple complex,” Tagra said. “The caretakers use them when they need to courier things to far-reaching parts of the city, and I’ve accompanied Memmi on some of those. I can’t say whether they have guards in them, but I don’t think so.”

Kenosera snorted. “There is talk of ghosts stalking the tunnels and nasty air that kills those who breathe it. Their superstitions run deep and foul their courage.”

“Talk of ghosts?” Kjaelle asked.

“Not like you. They are monsters, like the dune cats, only larger. Weapons don’t harm them, and they suck you dry of life.”

“I take it the Fort and the caretakers don’t have problems with them?”

“No,” Tagra piped up.

The elfine chuckled. “Well, that’s good for us. Does the Fort have sentries?”

“Yes, but they know me and Memmi and Kenosera through my uncle. They won’t stop us. But the river’s deep here, and we can’t chance the ronyx on the rope bridge. Memmi and I can lead you to the temple, but everyone else will go back to the watering hole.”

“How long will it take to reach the temple on foot, then?”

“Not long. The overflow tunnels don’t follow the curves of the river or twisting roads. They run straight.”

“Where’s the bridge?” Red asked, hopping down from his mount.

Vantra wished he had not asked. She wished they had taken the roads, however crowded, and remained on ronyx-back. But no, they tromped through a drippy tunnel with a trickle of water running at the bottom of a stone channel, keeping to the narrow walkways lit by Red’s floating bauble. The reminder of her flight from Evening twisted her stomach, and she half-expected Nolaris to pop out from a chink in the wall, grab her, and exact revenge.

They did not travel far before they reached two Nevemere sitting atop a crate, dressed only in shorts, knives strapped to their waists, playing a game with stones and squares by the light of a flaring torch. Their hair fell long, the rusty locks braided and decorated with ribbons and beads, with jeweled combs holding their bangs from their faces. They both had an orange circle in the center of their foreheads, with a line running from it to the tip of their nose, and blue dots beneath their eyes.

Their curious suspicion did not extend to them stopping their group; they simply waved them through with soft words spoken to the three Nevemere. Kenosera waited until they walked a distance and glanced back at them.

“They said to be careful,” he told them. “Esci-tero and their fighters are guarding the primary exits. My grandfather fears the Fort comes at them from below. He is right, but he caused the threat. If he and my grandmother had not sanctioned kidnapping elders, then the Fort would not march against them. They also said their leaders are in discussions, figuring out how to proceed. We have time, however little of it.”

Memmi tugged on Kenosera’s arm and spoke in hushed tones. He nodded as Tagra knit his eyebrows, looking pained.

“Memmi says she knows of a way to get into the temple that has no guards.” Kenosera cleared his throat. “The stink of the tunnels is a true thing. The temple has many gluthan, and the waste enters a large pipe that goes down through the center of a tunnel and to the ri-ake, where it is processed with food waste and made into fertilizer for the fields. It has cracks and the vi-van have not fixed it, so it leaks. The guards refuse to go near the place because of sickness and smell. Memmi says once we get past the pipe, there is a storage room with old furnishings. We can enter the temple that way.”

Red wrinkled his nose, and Tally snickered.

“Maybe you’ll get a new appreciation for smell,” she told him.

“Ha ha ha,” he grumbled. “What’s the ri-ake?”

“It is the lowest level of Black Temple.” He laughed in unhappy disgust. “Criminals are punished there, but so, too, are those the vi-van and the dor-carous have stripped of worth because they did not conform. The poorest reside there, for they have no options but to do the dirtiest work. The ri-ake used to be respected, for its workers are the backbone of Black Temple. Where would the people be, without fertilizer to grow food? Where would the people be, without clean streets and their gluthan holes emptied? Where would the people be, without the ri-ake citizens digging out the channel leading from the Gate to the river after the rains? Important work, now condemned.”

Vantra, who resented the fact she needed to cart Laken’s pack, and therefore would need to step through the shit, sank into depression. Kenosera thought of the plight of others, while she worried about the ickiness of slopping through waste. She, as a ghost, would have no worry of disease or smell, unlike the nomads who had to work with the refuse.

She kept her eyes glued to the grungy stone, so no one noticed her misery.

Idle conversations passed back and forth while she curled around her darkening thoughts. Since Choosing Laken, she had experienced enough adventure to last her several ghosty lifetimes. How did typical Finders manage? Or did they leave service after their first Redemption, realizing their small talents incapable of completing another?

Yes, most do. Why do you persist?

Vantra gasped and whirled; no one walked behind her, and darkness met her searching gaze. The rest walked far ahead of her, and she scurried to catch up to them and the comforting touch of Red’s light.

Laughter echoed in her head. Why does a Sun’s daughter fear the dark? What hides within, that terrifies you?

Rezenarza. How was he speaking to her? She understood his presence when she used the Clear Rays to break the Darkness bond, because he already rode with the Nevemere. But here in Black Temple?

It is your nature, a warped attractant.

She was not the warped one.

Honor the Sun. Return to Evening. There is nothing for you in the desert.

Why did he focus on getting her to abandon her Chosen, her Redemption? She drew closer to the group, shaking. He had no care for prying into her thoughts. Could Katta or Red help her keep him out?

Katta, he spat, his rage ripping through her. He conceals all in lying shadows. That you don’t notice is regrettable, but not unexpected. You can’t compete against the long years of practiced deception. Hand in hand, they deceive.

Heat ran from her face to her chest, as if she blushed. She knew the sly ways others insinuated her lack of intelligence. She despised it on Talis, she despised it now.

You walk with creatures thousands of years your elder. You expect their sympathy and care? They have their own needs, and when they have wrung you dry, they will discard you and you will have no home, no direction, no voice. An empty ghost in an empty land. Why wait until you have nothing left?

Who but Rezenarza did he describe? She planted her hands just below her shoulders. Muevre pueplon virche.

Hissing shot through her head, and the unwanted pressure of another’s mind left her.

What was wrong with her, that he targeted her?

Scenarios rushed through her thoughts, some concerning his implications about her newness to the Evenacht, some concerning her parentage and her inner Sun.

Or did she prove enough of an unknown that he prodded and pushed and hoped to harm Katta through her? Ga Son had not saved her from poison, but if she called on him to stave off an attack on an avatar of Veer Tul, surely he would help.

If not for her, for Darkness.

She wished she had her Sun badge, but they left such obvious symbols behind because Kenosera was certain the vi-van could detect the magics within them. The entire mini-Joyful believed he gave them credit when they deserved none, but followed his advice, nonetheless.

She realized Red’s boots had fallen back to join hers. She pulled her gaze from the floor and looked up at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Was this the fake concern Rezenarza spoke of? She did not believe it.

“No.”

He nodded. “Clear Rays is a powerful spell in your hands.”

“You felt it?”

“Yes. It’s hard not to, when you lean to the Light. So what did he say?”

“He said I should return to Evening.”

“He’s pretty insistent on that, isn’t he?” Red held out his hand and another bauble formed; he threw it behind her, though she doubted he meant for it to only dispense light.

“He said you and Katta lie, that you deceive me and I’ll be left with nothing after you abandon me.”

“Projecting, much?” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m not as open about myself or the thousands of years I’ve walked the evening lands as I could be. I’m cautious about a lot of things. But I try to follow the path of help, understanding, and justice. It’s not easy, and I fail too often, but I continue to struggle, to improve. It’s the promise of the Evenacht, even if I don’t live up to standards.”

“Do any of us?” she asked, anguish over Laken’s kidnapping and her failure to remain whole swirling through her essence.

“No.” Sadness permeated the simple word, one born from millennia’s worth of disappointments and disasters. “Be they syimlin or mortal, ghost or living, all fall at some point and flounder in their collapse. Only the tenacious pull themselves back up.”

Vantra did not believe herself obstinate enough to regain her confidence.

He held up his index finger. “But catastrophe turns to triumph if you accept the hand of friends.”

“You’re just saying that because Light and Darkness walk hand in hand through the Evenacht.”

“No, I’m saying that because the mini-Joyful has pulled my ass out of some tough spots. They’ve never turned away, no matter how much I deserved it. And they’ll never turn from you. After all, you’re not even a thousandth of an ass that I am.”

She did not find that as amusing as he did.

Time drifted, so when they reached the silo-sized pipe, she buried her surprise. Had they walked so far?

The rusty metal ran from the ceiling of the circular room to the bowl-shaped floor, and cracks of all sizes and shapes wrapped around the surface. Not all leaked, but those that did had dark gunk running from them, to congregate in piles against the side. What looked like black mold grew up the sides but did not reach the walkway that led to a doorway on the other side of the pipe. She could not smell, but she assumed the scent ghastly, as the living slapped their hands over their noses and choked.

While a broken rail kept beings from falling into the lower extremities, the path seemed clean and stable enough, but Vantra did not want to traverse it.

Red fitted a magic mask over his nose and mouth, then provided ones for the three Nevemere. Kenosera immediately put it on, but the other two eyed him before following suit. Their shock as the odor disappeared caused smiles among the ghosts, who employed Ether Touch and floated across to the opposite doorway.

Vantra glared. Red’s rich laughter echoed in the chamber, before he snagged Memmi and Tagra’s hands, placed them in each others’, and pushed. Sparkling light surrounded them, and they vanished, to reappear beside the ghosts. Their awe did not equal Kenosera’s delight, and he grabbed the ancient ghost’s hand as the Light acolyte held out his other to her. She took it and stood on the other side before she realized he initiated a spell.

How did he do that without a ziptrail?

“I’m not walking through that mess,” Red grumbled before motioning for Memmi and Tagra to proceed.

“That was . . .” Tagra trailed off, looking helplessly at Kenosera.

“The Joyful Caravan is extraordinary,” the Nevemere said. “Katta is as kind. He, too, is a vo-tivan.”

“You keep strange company, Kenosera.”

“Not so strange. The world is broader than you imagine, Tagra. The desert confines, but the outside moves on in a wondrous dance.”

Vantra liked the sentiment. It fit the existence she wanted in the Evenacht, if not her life on Talis. She had sequestered herself from so much as a teen, too afraid of the pain rejection brought. The priests, as nasty and vengeful as they were, should never have dictated her actions. She should have followed her mother’s advice and expressed brazen, Sun-touched joy.

She hid in the temple, instead.

The nearness of the storage room to the smelly pipe astonished Vantra, but she doubted the room saw much activity. Broken couches, chairs, tables, all stacked in unstable heaps and covered with grungy cloth, rose to the ceiling. A walkway wove through the piles, dusty with lack of use. A doorway on the other side allowed pale yellow light to trickle in and illuminate several crates they had to climb over to reach the exit.

Many lacked lids, and Tally floated through a gap, employed Physical Touch to grab one, and created a platform to act as a step. The nomads clambered up and over, then Vantra followed. She froze at the top and stared down into the straw-padded interiors. Short, stone-tipped spears, just like the ones she saw in the Evening sewers, lay jumbled on the packing. The same symbols adorned the shafts, and the same kind of leather strips held the tips in place, the frayed ends holding broken sticks.

Red prodded her leg, leaning back from the crate and standing up on tiptoes so he could peek over the top. “Vantra?”

She jumped down and brushed the straw aside, dread burnishing her essence.

Red landed next to her and hissed. “Are these like the ones you saw in Evening?” he asked as he grasped one and lifted it to eye level.

“Yes. They’re mephoric emblems, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

The other ghosts peered at the weapons, alarmed.

“What is that?” Kenosera asked, glancing at them before returning to peek down the corridor with Tagra.

“A dangerous magic weapon that can obliterate enormous areas of land within a breath. The Beast used them to get rid of those who displeased him. Kenosera, ask Memmi if she knows anything about these.”

The nomad abandoned the doorway, frowning. His seriousness infected Memmi. After a discussion, he turned to them.

“She says my grandfather bargained for the weapons with some entity. She is uncertain who, but when the crates arrived, his fury targeted all within reach. He expected normal weapons and declared these tourist trash, but the man who sold them to him had vanished. She says the vi-van took the crates and put them down here, hoping my grandfather would forget about them. She thinks the vi-van grabbed these weapons for protection, because there are plenty and the temple doesn’t keep an armory.”

Red set the item back down, and Light shields poured over the crates.

The damage from the Voidbeast’s staff blazed through Vantra’s memory. “What’s going to happen if a vi-van triggers the symbols?”

Red’s grimness sobered everyone. “A chain reaction,” he said.