Laken and Fyrij no longer rested in her Chosen’s tent. Vantra could not find Kenosera or Yut-ta, either, and she desperately wanted to speak to someone about the cocoon and what Katta said. The protective magic was meant for her? Then who created it? Did Darkness know? If so, why not tell her?

Her emotions twisted and turned as she wandered through the tents, and her confusion added to the disjointed attempt to put her thoughts in order concerning her mother. She loved her, was ecstatic to see her again, but the same annoyances she lived with on Talis remained. Why had she assumed they would no longer exist?

Her parent’s presence reminded her of the teasing she received, how the Sun acolytes mocked her for not inheriting more of Kasoris’s beauty, charisma and power. She did not want to recall the hurts and insecurity, but had no idea how she might separate them from her living memories.

Maybe her ghosty experiences would replace them. Watching her mother scream a mark into a ghost was a new one.

She glanced into the communal circle as she crossed one of the larger spaces between tents, and saw her mother sitting on a bench, elbows on knees, staring into the unlit fire as she listened to two beings that resembled the Badeçasyon ghosts. They held boards with paper clipped to them and pointed at the words as they spoke.

She hesitated, then drifted to them, not curious, but concerned. Had something else happened?

The ghosts quieted and looked at her; her mother peered over her shoulder, then her face lit with warm relief.

“Vantra!” She scooted over, making room for her on a bench that already had plenty of room. She settled next to her, worrying over what to say.

“She is your daughter?” the taller being asked.

“Yes.” She wrapped her arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Vantra, this is Desyai and Kuç from Badeçasyon. They’re managing the supplies for the forest dwellers who shelter at Two Rivers. I’m helping them.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said. They nodded at her.

“Kasoris speaks of you often, with joy and pride,” the taller said. “Kuç and I feel as if we know you already.”

What had her mother told them? Did she want to know?

She did not have to find out; Salan padded through, intent on the widest aisle that pointed to Two Rivers. A group of rufang stood outside the shield, speaking with two Light-blesssed guards, the distant mounds obstructed by the pack animals with them. Her mother patted her shoulder and rose, determined to follow the vulf; Vantra joined her, again not curious, again concerned. Desyai and Kuç trotted after, clutching their boards to their chests.

“I must meet with the syimlin.” The rufang speaker had black fluffy hair with longer blue feathers running from their forehead to mid-back, short fur that gleamed a dark cerulean, and white spots that covered their lower torso’s back and squat legs. Narrow brown eyes rested to the sides of a black beak that bi-sected their face, the tip a gradient from vermillion to brilliant yellow. Leather straps crossed their chest, holding a quiver on their upper back and a dangling purse at their waist. More strips wrapped around their wrists and the lower parts of their legs. Yellow dyed bands with a beaded interlocked oval pattern decorated their upper biceps, and a matching belt made of twisted cloth tied at their right side. In front, a leather panel ran from it to their knees, the same pattern painted on it.

“We’ve had a lot of forest dwellers say the same,” one of the guards said, unimpressed. “We need to know why before we allow you in.”

Salan barked, grabbing attention. Vantra swore he appeared larger than he had when he bustled through the firepit. The speaker bowed their head in an abrupt, bird-like nod while the others regarded him nervously. The pack animals did not react, and she wondered why. A large vulf was a scary creature.

“I must speak with the syimlin,” he reiterated. “You are the beast with Darkness, no?”

Salan yipped affirmative.

Her mother bowed her head. “I’m Kasoris,” she said. “The voice of Sun. May I ask who calls upon the syimlin?”

The being blinked rapidly. “I am Yissik of Embeckourteine. I help imburre to leave the forest and find a home outside its branches.”

Yissik? Vantra perked up. “Did you come from the forest, too?” She did not dare ask whether they were an ex-yim, especially if they lied about being Yissik.

“Yes. I’m Imtri, once-yim. I no longer follow the ways of the testaments, but I’m known to the mirerse along the river.”

“Do you need supplies?” her mother asked, stepping forward. “We’re trying to get aid to villages, but not all will accept help from ghosts.”

Yissik cocked his head. “You are no ghost,” they said with such confidence, Vantra wondered how they knew.

“True enough, but as I’m faelareign, most assume I am.”

Salan barked and tipped his nose at the speaker as purple wisps floated past Vantra. She twisted around; behind her, Katta halted, Kjaelle in close attendance, but neither struck her as wary.

The speaker did not echo the other rufangs’ shock. “You are a syimlin?”

“I am Darkness,” Katta said, his voice deeper than normal. “And you are Yissik, once-yim.” His gaze drifted over the others and lingered on the pack animals. “Are you here for supplies?”

“Yes. There are many villages, as Kasoris said, that refuse ghostly aid but desperately need help. They trust me more, so I will bring them help. But there’s another matter.” The urgency in their tone convinced Vantra they had something important they wanted to divulge. Katta must have heard it as well, for he nodded.

“Kasoris, Desyai and Kuç, please see to the supplies. Yissik, if you wish to speak with me, come. We can discuss it in my tent.”

They sagged with relief and stepped to the shield. One of the others snagged their arm, concerned, but they clacked their beak and patted the hand. “Gosaktos.”

Vantra moved to the side so Yissik could reach Katta, glancing at the syimlin. He met her gaze and tipped his head to the tents; her mother did not mutter about the task given her and instead smiled at the rufang. Her curiosity would jump them later, and she would demand to know everything that transpired.

Yissik studied the interior of the tent but did not seem impressed or awed, simply happy the air had a cool tang to it. Vantra had not thought much on the environment, and worry for her mother pricked her; she, as a ghost, did not feel the heat and the moisture, but her parent did. Was she taking care of herself? Drinking water? The heated humidity of the forest could make her ill.

Katta motioned to a purple pillow long enough to cushion a rufang’s lower body. Yissik accepted the invitation and sank onto the padding, then smoothed it with their fingers, eyes wide in surprise. Darkness sat, Kjaelle standing at his side. Vantra did not know whether to stand or sit, but the elfine winked at her and nodded to a chair.

“While I wish the circumstances were different, I’m happy we’ve met,” Katta began. “We traveled to Embeckourteine to speak with you about the Bendebares.”

They frowned and folded their hands across their belly. “The Bendebares?”

“Wiiv attacked a farm outside Selaserat. The captured rufang said that the Bendebares had been destroyed, and that prompted their assault.”

Yissik clacked their beak, unhappy. “This is worse than I assumed,” they said. “Before I left the boughs, there was darkness in the forest. I warned of it, but my concern and my judgment landed too much with the cvarke, and other yim preferred to exile me than listen. I knew something terrible would happen, though, once I saw the Bendebares.”

“How long ago?” Katta asked.

“It’s been years. Fifteen, perhaps? Even then, the Bendebares drooped, their leaves wrinkled, their bark greyed. I asked the Wiiv, can you not see? They hated my perception.” Their thumbs rubbed against the backs of their hands in agitation. “They convinced the yim my judgments were flawed. They were not, and the forest is worse for the lack of my voice.”

A grand pronouncement, but they believed it. Vantra supposed, if they had an alternative viewpoint to the normal, those who relied on the typical would take issue with their rulings and they would resent them for it.

“Howso?” Katta asked.

“The forest is traditional,” they said, their voice soft and sad, the feathers on their head drooping. “It is why the dewarere lose so many to the outside. They detest change because tradition is the only. But what if tradition is harmful? Thinking this was anathema; tradition is the all and there is no bad to it. But there is bad to it ever since the Twisted One changed.”

“Strans?”

“Yes. We’ve tales, passed generation to generation, that warn of the Twisted One. Once he spoke with light, but now corruption is his blessing. We all need the blessing, though, so the dewarere ignore the badness within.”

“Do you know how many generations have passed since the tale began?”

“We count fourteen. My tribe bases this on the birth of the first grandchild born to the ambit, so some are shorter than others.”

“A couple centuries, though.”

“Yes.”

Well, they knew who to ask. Vantra hoped it did not bring up too many bad memories for Navosh.

“The younger generations have noticed and run from it. They join settled life rather than suffer in the forest. But Wiiv yondaii hate has let the corruption creep into their people, their lands, twist them into shades of themselves, and now it seeks others to swallow. A younger warleader fights the old, tells him that the Labyrinth is no longer a haven. The yondaii speak ill of him because an admittance would destroy them, they who swear to protect their people.” They dug into their pouch, which hung from the leather straps to their lower side, withdrew folded papers, and opened them. “Fire words appeared on tree trunks just before the waters inundated Five Tree Stand. I wrote what I saw. Dewarere use fire in warnings, so I think it’s a warning.” They handed the pages to Katta. He took one look, then showed Vantra the top one.

She recognized the symbols, as she had written the same ones before the flood reached Two Rivers!

Kjaelle squinted at the words as Katta shuffled through the sheets.

“Some of that is what we saw written on the trees here,” the elfine said. “But this—” and she pointed to the last page “—is different. It says those who didn’t heed the words then and now would fall to wrath.” She looked at the rufang. “You’re very precise. Most couldn’t write readable symbols without knowing the language.”

“I know some ancient elfine,” they admitted. “I work with Kanderites in Embeckourteine and have seen their writing. I’ve asked questions about it.” Their shoulders slumped and their eyes grew misty. “It’s sad, so many still declare ghosts the enemy. They are a false foe. What the elfines could have brought to the forest, and what we could have given them in return, would have strengthened us both. Instead, the true enemy, this corrupted Twisted One, is their trunk. They seem unaware he is rotten to the center, and once he falls, he will create a deep pit they can’t escape.”

“Willful blindness,” Katta agreed, giving the pages to Kjaelle. “Do you know if any other community had similar writing on the trees?”

“Yes. I visited Warm Leaves. They are nearer the dam, but further from the roads. The water swamped their village, and there is nothing left. Their shaman said fire symbols appeared on the trees, so they knew it was a warning, but could read nothing of it. When I said we also saw fire words, helpers from nearby villages said flaming words hovered at the base of surrounding trees.”

“That’s so odd,” Kjaelle said, flicking the pages and frowning. “If some entity tried to warn us and used Kanderite elfin because Kanderites inhabit Greenglimmer, why plaster the same thing near living populations that may not have a way to decipher them?” She peered at the writing again. “I wonder if ghostly settlements like Embeckourteine or Deccavent experienced the same thing.”

Yissik placed their hand across their chest. “One hunter said he saw them at a repurposed campsite his people use. The evaki abandoned the village many years ago, and he thought ghosts might have taken root, so he fled back home in fear. But the new mirer that young Paas dewarere built two years previous saw nothing of it.”

Katta raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting. That hints at a warning planted at habitations long before the dam failed.”

Yissik nodded solemnly. “If it were a warning to dewarere about a flood, why write it? Most of the forest is not literate; only select shaman write, and even then, it is in symbol scripts. They wouldn’t know ancient elfine words.” The skin above their eyes jutted down in a deep frown. “I felt something, deep within, some stray bit of light, a signature, I think. I would say, someone wants to warn us, and not just of the flood, but we’re ill-equipped to understand.”

“This grows stranger and stranger,” Katta murmured. “How did you know to ask after us syimlin?”

“Word spreads from the Badeçasyans that help comes from the syimlin,” he said. “This surprises the mirer-sone because they assume syimlin are the enemy, but I know differently. I met Levassa once, as he came to collect the spirit of a troublesome Paas shaman who refused to leave his people. I had so many questions, and he answered them as the spirit squirmed in his grip. He even blessed me, which is ultimately why the yim threw me from their ranks. They hated that I somehow spoke to him, while so many pray to him and hear nothing in return.”

Vantra knew the frustration of being ignored, especially now that she realized her companions were the ones she prayed to.

Companions. She needed another word, because she could not be a companion to a syimlin. Acolyte, yes, but not companion. Acolyte struck her as odd, though, since Sun, not Light or Darkness, was her guiding syimlin.

“He is here, working from the shadows,” Yissik said. “I see ghosts flock to him, arms raised, crying for help. It’s good, he’s concerned.”

“Do you think Levassa’s a syimlin?”

“No, but he has syimlin traits, as does Strans. They straddle both faelareign and umbrareign, forming bridges, if only we would cross.”

“You crossed.”

“I’m too curious for my own good.”

Katta laughed. “Do you think Levassa saw the fire symbols?”

“I don’t know.”

He pulled at his lower lip, then glanced at the sheets. “Would you mind if we made a copy?”

“Oh, keep them,” they said, flicking the back of their hand at the pages. “I have no use for them other than to give them to you.”

“From me to you, thank you for the generosity,” Kjaelle said. Yissik cocked his head, then nodded.

“Kokja mae teelotom.” He stood straighter, and the feathers lining the top of his head to his upper back rose, making him appear taller than his shoulder-height stance. “Be wary of the forest corruption. The Labyrinth isn’t what it was, based on our long-ago tales. I’ve only known the twisted trees, though, so I can’t say.”

“Then how do you know it’s corrupted?” Kjaelle asked, lowering the pages and setting a hand on her hip.

“There is a special pool sacred to the Imtri within the Labyrinth. It is a rite of passage to reach it through the forest, though not so many take the quest anymore because the dangers are not worth the reward. The brave, if they submerge in the waters, receive a life-long Labyrinth blessing. We call it the Silver Pool, a reference to Strans before he donned the bark of the forest. All is bathed in softness there; the light, the sounds, the textures of leaves and sandy soil. A stick stands at the top of the waterfall, and sweetness drains from it and into the water.” He raised his hands. “I’ve done so, so I know, how anathema the corruption is to the original forest.”

The flap rustled, and Navosh walked through. Katta must have summoned him, and by the shock on Yissik’s face, he did not expect the one he honored to breeze into the tent.

“It still works?” Navosh asked, though, by his amused grin, he knew it did.

Yissik shook himself, his fur standing out before falling back to lay against his skin. “You are Strans.”

“I was Strans. I will be so again, once the usurper is no more. Until then, I am Navosh.” He studied the rufang from the top of their head to the tips of their paws, nodding at intervals. “Those who bathed at the Silver Pool might be immune to Kjiven’s touch,” he murmured. “That makes sense.”

“Kjiven?” Yissik asked, aghast. “As in the Adversary? Did he not perish?”

“The flood did not end him but sent him into a spiral of spite and rage. Those warped him, and so he warped the Labyrinth. I’ll warp it back.”

Warp it back? Was that a good idea? Vantra had doubts, especially if a return to how things were made the forest susceptible to another power-greedy man like Kjiven.

“Yissik, if you can, ask villagers if they saw the fire symbols so we can plot where they appeared.” Katta folded his arms and thrummed his fingers in thought. “Someone’s insistent on giving us a message, and we need to figure out what and why. I’m curious if villages unaffected by the flood saw them, and why they appeared right before the waters rushed down, rather than days in advance, when the warning could have made a difference.”

Yissik appeared relieved they did not have to convince the syimlin the strange messages were serious, though Vantra did not think Katta nor Kjaelle would have disregarded what they said. They rose and nodded with bird-like quickness to Navosh. “I have questions.”

“I doubt I have answers.” He shrugged. “But I’ll do my best.”

“Yissik says the fire words not only appeared at other villages, but at an abandoned habitation,” Katta said. Navosh frowned, then his nose twitched.

“I’ve thoughts, but I doubt any of them are accurate.”

“Gather them, and we’ll speak after you’ve answered Yissik’s questions.”

They took their leave, Navosh amused, Yissik bedazzled. Katta rubbed at his grin before turning to the elfine.

“What else do the words say?”

She pulled a page, handed it to him, and pointed to a line. “This says ‘water, fire, wind and rain, dampen the assumptions and sanitize the pain’. That’s a reference to Hethetor history. A corrupt Kanderite noble brought a force against the rightful king, Domokjae, and the king prayed to the Moon for aid. A few nights after, as the noble bore down on his palace, his troops encountered a flooded pasture. Mired down, they could do nothing as a fire started and burned through the supply wagons. Winds kept it hot as the contingent tried to put them out; one after another fell to the smoke. The final gusts blew in a rainstorm after the last fighter had perished in flame, washing ashes away. The Ambrosanyz line used it to prove Moon chose their lineage to guide Hethetor.”

“That’s a strange warning. Does it refer to Navosh and Kjiven? Are we to get fierce winds and a downpour? This is a rainforest; rain happens every day.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s already happened.”

They both looked at Vantra.

“The fire was started by the shard and me, trying to escape the fight between Kjaelle’s Comkada and Kjiven’s monster. It burned until the rain extinguished it.”

Katta sighed, then nodded. “You’re right. I was thinking along the lines of a warning, like Yissik said, and assuming it spoke of future events, not the past. Eyes looking in opposite directions see more than a single pair viewing one. This is why I would like you to accompany a small group to Selaserat. Vesh and the nomads discovered something, and they need your help.”

What? Emotions crashed through her, and her initial rejection rammed against the reverence she had for syimlin. She could not ignore a deity’s request. Her mother would, and give several blistering reasons as to why, but not her.

“He doesn’t think I should go,” Kjaelle said, the fire of disagreement crackling through her voice as she tightened her grip on the paper. Katta pursed his lips, and Vantra had the feeling the argument would burn hot long after she left for the city.

“No, I don’t.” He set the page down on the table. “Vesh said Dedari and Lesanova found the priest Yut-ta described. It appears she’s hiding in a Sun-sealed building in Yimbakji.”

“Yimbakji?”

“It’s the neighborhood Yut-ta trailed the priest to,” Kjaelle said. “It’s known for a magic barrier that should block flooding from any source. Well, that’s what the whizen claim, anyway. They get paid enough to say it; whether it’s true is a different tale. The wealthiest in Selaserat live there, so they believe it.”

“Since it’s a Sun seal, I would like you to go, Vantra,” Katta said. “You’ll have an easier time getting through. I’d ask Lokjac or Kasoris, but both are busy with recovery efforts.”

“You probably wouldn’t want my mother anyway. She’s not exactly subtle.”

Kjaelle’s laughter rang through the tent. “A woman after my heart,” she said with bright approval. Katta looked as if he wished to say something, thought better of it, and smashed his lips together before continuing.

“But only if you feel up to it. Don’t underestimate how exhausting your ordeal was. Ghosts pretend they don’t need rest, but they do.”

Kjaelle looked as if she wished to say something, thought better of it, and elbowed him sharply instead. He slapped his hand over his side and glared.

“I’m fine,” Vantra said. Going back to Selaserat would get her out of the tent and away from the beings causing her emotional consternation.

“And you won’t have to worry about your mother’s reaction. I’ve already spoken with her. I think getting used to having an adventurous daughter will be tough for her, but she’ll get there.”

She wilted. Good. She did not envy him that conversation, especially since they just reunited. But adventurous? Had he used that with her mother? She did not see herself in that light, and she doubted her parent did, either.

“Of course, as your concerned mother, she decided you needed an honor guard.”

That amused her less than Fyrij trying to emulate Qira’s ruder moments.

“But in this case, having someone watch your back isn’t a bad idea. From what Vesh said, Selaserat has gotten darker since we left. The streets are empty and beings hide, waiting for a disaster they feel is coming but can’t see.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I want Lorgan to feel this sensation. He’s had the scholarly training to put to words what others might miss. Jare’s a local contact, and Yut-ta will go, since he can verify the woman’s identity. And I doubt Kenosera will stay behind.”

No, she did not think he would. “Fyrij needs to stay here.”

“Yes. He’s been our contact with the wilds, and we need him.”

She pictured the caroling, droopy-winged and teary-eyed, twittering about the abandonment. “I’ll tell him Laken needs a guard. He won’t like it, but he’ll stay.” She would feel odd leaving Laken if Fyrij did not keep him company. No enemy would breach Katta’s shields, but Laken could travel outside them, and the caroling’s extra-loud screech in case of trouble would bring everyone in the vicinity running.

“When are we going?”

“As soon as you gather your things.” He half-smiled. “Kie and Nuçya will take you. The Badeçasyans have been flying supplies back and forth from Selaserat because the waters destroyed the port at Fekj, so a random ship won’t cause suspicion.” His sunset blue eyes darkened, and a spark lit the center. “They, unlike Anmidorakj or Hrivasine, have shown they care.”

Vantra did not envy the two elfine ghosts when they next met Katta.