A deep, pulsing rumble tore from the felines, though not from their throats. Almost too low to sense, but Vantra recognized the cadence—the words came from the holy language, Sonkowtrow, Sun’s Song.
Learning the difficult tongue had taken her entire life, and she never spoke it with the easy zeal her mother had. She read the significant texts written in it, performed the ceremonies required, and otherwise ignored it. Her parent conversed with Ga Son, but she did not.
Another hammer the priests beat her with. Why did the syimlin ignore her when he favored her mother? As if they attracted his attention. None glowed so bright as the woman they envied.
“Is that Sonkowtrow?” Lorgan asked, frowning as he concentrated.
“Yes. Do you know it?”
He shook his head. “I’ve studied a few books, but the religious dislike teaching it to someone without a vocation.”
She knew something the scholar did not?
The laughter dwindled. “Should you not dine in Light rather than dwell in shadows?” Every ghost shuddered as the venom-laced tone shook their essence.
Red settled his hands on his hips, legs wide. “Nah, I’m good,” he said, responding in the same language. Of course an avatar would know Sonkowtrow. While she had yet to see either him or Katta perform a sacred ritual, they would use holy words to honor the syimlin who held them dear.
“Curiosity kills those bowing to a cat’s desires.”
“Is that why you’re speaking through cats?”
“You think the crystal wasn’t knocked to the floor by unfaithful claws? Shattered glass, shattered sight.”
Did she misunderstand the words? They made no sense.
“What are they saying, Vantra?” Lorgan asked. She edged closer, so only he heard.
“The other voice said something about being killed by a cat’s desire and a shattered crystal.”
He looked sharply at her as the huge felines shuddered and dug their claws into the earth. The black fluttery ribbons swirled faster around them, and a subtle green gleam shimmered through the magic.
“Leave the cats alone,” Red said.
“A mouthpiece is a mouthpiece. You know this, as you use so many.”
“I’ve never abused an animal like that.”
“Just intelligent beings?”
“Abuse isn’t my style. We’ve known each other for two hundred centuries and you haven’t figured that out?”
Two hundred centuries? Vantra’s emotions quaked in tune with her essence. She knew, in the abstract, he and Katta were ancient ghosts, but to have it stated so plainly, shocked her.
She whispered the words to Lorgan, but he did not respond before Darkness erupted from the earth, ribbons of corruption snaking skyward. The caravan ghosts shouted and slashed and bludgeoned the magic, but their weapons struck nothing. Arrows sailed through, only to have the tendrils harden and swipe at those standing atop the wagons, driving them from their perches.
The ground thundered, shaking everything in the camp. Kenosera fought to keep his feet as the ghosts faded into Ether form, some to remain upright, some knocked out of a Physical presence.
The earth heaved; Vantra windmilled backwards as Lorgan slid down a mound forming beneath their boots.
The ribbons reared back, ready to strike, but burst like rotten fruit thrown against a wall. Light sparkled away as the magic plopped into goopy lumps onto the soil before melting into it. A golden dome rose over them, lightning sizzling across the surface.
“If Light ends, where will that leave Darkness?” the voice boomed, malicious laughter lacing the words.
“He’s threatening Qira with the Final Death!” Vantra gasped as more ribbons shot into the air, surrounding the dome. Their tips curled into points and flashed a deep darkness before crashing into the shield, puncturing the defense as far as possible before the lightning zapped them and they fried into nothing.
“Something’s happening at the oasis!” Lorgan said, whirling to stare downslope.
“Leave them be, Rezenarza!” Red shouted as the lightning took to the ground and shot towards the water, skimming the soil and leaving sparking residue behind.
“They owe me through blood,” the voice said.
Kenosera gasped and doubled over, dropping his knife and grabbing his head in his hands. Lesanova and Dedari raced over as he staggered and fell to his knees, scraping them hard enough to draw blood. The deeper, silent aura of Darkness held by the ex-syimlin roared around him. Wispy swirls formed a symbol that planted itself on his back; rivulets of blood raced from the touch, to soil his shorts and continue down to his knees, feeding the earth.
“Don’t touch him!” Vantra triggered Ether Touch and streaked to him, her essence thrumming in time with her panic. She knew the Clear Rays spell, one that dispelled the nasty magic misguided cultists used on recalcitrant members to keep them subdued and in the cult. The Spiral Sun Temple ran a healing ward that broke the unwanted link, a difficult task when a lesser syimlin did not wish to let go.
The strongest powers never bowed to such crass works, but desperate deities with less magic did so often, hoping that refusing to release an acolyte would swell the number of followers and enhance their esteem in the eyes of their peers.
They never realized syim respect did not work that way.
Lesanova cast her a dirty look before touching him; she shrieked as the Darkness snaked up her arm, twisted around her bicep, and yanked. The crack of bone bit the air.
Vantra snagged the length of magic and thrust her Sun Touch into it; the ribbon recoiled and retreated, leaving behind a thick, oily residue. Lesanova sobbed and curled over; Dedari set her hand in the middle of her back and looked at Kenosera in helpless dread. Lorgan’s power infused the sickly stuff and cleansed the nomad’s arm of it.
Vantra slapped her appendage onto the black symbol and laid her index and middle finger crosswise over the back of her hand. “Muevre pueplon virche!” She shoved the spell into him. She learned the words and memorized the motions and magic, but never participated in a cleansing. The screams of agony terrified her as a child, and in her teen years, she fled away from the temple during the difficult link-shatterings, though she never could forget the pain that crackled through the wordless sounds.
The symbol flashed an oily green before the dark raced up her arms, digging into her essence and sucking at her power.
She panicked, refusing to repeat her discorporation experience. Sun flared around her; the explosion flattened Kenosera and tore through her, ripping her essence away. She dissolved into Ether before she completely lost herself.
“Qira!” the twins shouted.
A cat sailed through the barrier. Light-ignited flame erupted across its fur as it landed in front of the ghost. Smoke rose from the poor animal, but it did nothing to extinguish it; instead, it snarled and snatched at his gauntleted hand with its teeth, grazing the leather as he swung to the side.
“A lie of countless centuries, a deceptive tongue and devastated desire. Why not take my hand? I will sweep the predictions into the Void, cleanse the falsehoods.”
Rays of brilliance shot from Red. “You should know falsehoods, as you cling to so many.”
The cat whined and backed away, the flames finally penetrating the Darkness to the point it reacted to the physical pain. The swirling wisps continued the assault, gusting about the ghost and aiming for the gauntlet. The second cat, with smoke that clouded ghostly perception billowing from fur, batted at Mera and Tally, claws the length of fingers scratching across protections and sending yellow sparks dancing into the air. They worked in unison, crossing their weapons to produce a burst of Light magic that interfered with the Darkness.
Kenosera slapped his hand over his knife, curled shanking fingers around the hilt, rose, and charged Red.
Lorgan blew him off his feet with a sharp gust of wind. Vantra whisked to him, reformed her Physical self, and pressed her hands against his back again, whimpering. What would happen if she could not shake the greedy magic next time? Would it sup her dry?
The nomad struggled to rise, but the scholar planted his boot into his upper back to keep him grounded, leaned over, and snagged the hand that held the knife; he cried out in agony and dropped the weapon.
“They’re attacking!” Rils shouted.
Them? She frowned at the caravan owner, confused, then glimpsed bodies through the gaps between wagons. Blank-faced natives with fists, sticks, stones, knifes and swords, struck the shields. The deadness of emotion made her shudder; Lorgan growled through his teeth.
“Don’t kill them!” he shouted. “They’re under compulsion!”
She did not know whether the crew would heed him. Ex-pirates did not have the squeamish anxiety about causing death that others possessed.
The black symbol pulsed, and she returned her attention to Kenosera’s back, wincing as the stuff moved, like snakes lying just under his skin. “Muevre pueplon virche!”
She poured the Sun’s energy into the mass; it wriggled and fought, but burned with flashes of green threaded through the magic flames. A smoldering ribbon popped from his back and smacked her away; she stumbled back, arms flailing, as it curled over and flowed into the symbol.
“Muevre pueplon virche! Muevre pueplon virche!” Kenosera’s fingers ground into the earth, his mouth so near the soil he blew dust away, as he shouted her words, using the same inflection.
He did not have magic to focus, but the cursed power shuddered in response to his raw repudiation of its presence. The black inky substance flamed, and the licks reached for the nearest being, Lorgan, who batted them away with a spell unknown to Vantra. The residual Darkness slipped away with the blood, to pool in an unglorified heap at the nomad’s side.
Lorgan patted Kenosera’s shoulder and hauled him up. The nomad jumped away from the mess, unsteady but uncaring.
“I don’t understand,” he choked, setting the back of his hand against his nose as tears raced down the dust marring his cheeks.
“Nasty magic,” the scholar said grimly. “But your will to fight it is strong enough to negate the attempt.” He pointed at the mindless beings pounding on the shield. “Do you know them?”
“They’re Nevemere,” Dedari whispered as she aided a crewmember in wrapping Lesanova’s arm. “All of them.”
“I’ve never seen a compulsion like this,” Lorgan said, burning with disgusted hate. “There’s magic binding them to a connection with Darkness. When I visited Black Temple a thousand years previous, the vi-van performed a ritual that created a link to Veer Tul during a child’s shicoursa ceremony. That link is being usurped and used against them now.”
“Where’s Vesh?” Vantra asked, scanning the crew, sudden fear drumming through her essence. If the subtle connection caused the Nevemere to lose sense, what about someone with a stronger attachment to Darkness?
“Behind you,” Vesh said. She whirled; he held a bag sagging low with its contents. “I’m going to have a word with Kjaelle about marking crates that have important items. It took forever to find this. Kenosera, I can break the link that binds you to the spell, but you must willingly accept the Touch of Veer’s Darkness.”
He swallowed. “I thought I had,” he whispered.
“The link you have is a generalized Touch of Darkness, not strictly beholden to Veer. It’s how Rezenarza’s taking advantage of it. He has a terrible time navigating around Darkness Touched by Veer’s Hand, and his hate only makes that weakness grow. To be rid of it, you need to agree to have Veer’s Darkness eliminate the bond.”
“What do I have to do in this ceremony?”
“Nothing other than agree. It won’t bind you to him. It will set you free.”
Vantra did not think the nomad understood the heavy weight of agreeing. She knew the Sun’s Touch and could not fathom a life without that spark within her. Existence would become a dull slog from one day to the next, without reward.
“I agree, to have this evil gone.”
Vesh’s lips pulled into a sad smile. “The Nevemere may no longer accept you as one of them.”
“Then I wish you had told me of this sooner.”
Did he understand what he rejected?
Vesh dipped his hand in the sack and withdrew a bit of the dust on his palm. “Prurno treuve on ifluezerque.” He blew it at the nomad.
Vantra again marveled at the skill the mini-Joyful possessed, to re-create breath.
A subtle sheen shattered, the transparent bits breaking from him and disintegrating before striking the ground. He blinked and frowned, pressing a hand to his stomach and smearing dirt-laden blood around.
“That’s all?” he whispered.
“You did not rely on the touch. It was not a part of you, as it is in others,” Vesh said. “Get your back looked at. You’re going to need some healing salves and bitter medicines to prevent infection.”
A terrified merow rose from the cats. Eyes snaked to them; the robust muscles, the power, gone, replaced by burnt fur and sagging skin over bone. Both Mera and Tally looked as if they cried, and considering their love of animals, they likely did. And Red . . . he stood apart, fists shaking, eyes glinting with near-senseless fury.
Vantra understood the cats’ terror.
Dozens of black ribbons slammed into the dome right above Vesh’s head. Some erupted into flame, some disintegrated, but a few broke through and raced to the ghost. He triggered Ether Touch and disappeared, taking the bag with him.
The cats collapsed, twitching, as the wisps wrenched from the bodies and shot towards a furious Red.
Darkness engulfed the ancient ghost. Darkness poured through the hole and expanded, shattering the dome.
She had to help Red!
She had to stop the Darkness!
She had no idea how.
Mera and Tally surged to the avatar, then jerked to a halt. They turned to the Nevemere flooding the caravan, aiming for any being they noticed.
The ghosts employed Ether Touch and evaded the blades and stones, but the nomads had no such luxury.
Lorgan snagged her. They ran to the three; the scholar formed a shield rippling with water around them, while she reinforced the protection with layers of her own.
When the Finders taught courses on surviving perilous situations, she had privately laughed at the absurdity of her encountering any similar difficulties in her Redemptions. How naïve, to think she might never suffer an attack from thinking beings.
Not that the Nevemere looked like they thought about their actions.
Mera and Tally struck the attackers with their halberds, the blades coated in Light to prevent the edges from digging into flesh. They banged heads, arms, legs, taking them out without inflicting too much damage.
The cat they fought crawled on its belly to them, pulling itself with great effort across the ground. Vantra’s tummy fell; how horrible, to continue to push the animal. Could she cleanse it, like she had Kenosera?
“Vantra!” Vesh called. “Katta wants you to return to the altar and perform the Clear Rays ritual. He says that should interfere with the link enough to let the Nevemere break free of the compulsion.”
Fear pounded her; she did not want to leave the safety of the shield. The Darkness acolyte motioned to her; she reluctantly stepped through, feeling as brave as a twitchy mouse who noticed a cat’s shadow outside their nest when they went to get food, and chose to remain safe but hungry. Lorgan followed, and she frowned but did not question as they turned downhill and employed Ether Touch to race to the altar.
Vantra noted, with a tinge of jealousy, that Vesh held the physical sack with his Ether form. She needed to learn how to do that.
Nevemere fought with other travelers, both sides using whatever was handiest to slash, bash and harm. Blood poured down arms and chests, bodies lay in haphazard heaps, the injured cried for help. Vantra could not drown out the pain, the helplessness that swam through the defenders, the continued blankness of the stricken Nevemere as they staggered on their feet, much like marionettes swinging from strings, intent on their opponents and not their wounds.
She refused to respect Rezenarza’s view of Darkness.
But the sensation she sensed did not solely bear Darkness. Something else rippled within, as corrupting as contaminated water, a sickness retching could not remove. Did another syimlin combine their power with the angry ex-deity? Which one?
