Once the hooks of magic sank into them, the roots flipped their tips up and shot back, pulling them along and providing a clear path for Vantra to snag ones further up. Faster, faster—the rhythm sang in her head as she snagged, yanked, snagged, yanked.
The shield sailed out of the hole and into a yawning crater that opened to the sky. They soared high, reaching above the crumbling cliffs. Light from the citadel glared from below, and hundreds of voices chanted in unison, accompanied by the steady thrum of spear butts on stone. Reverence laced their words; a prayer.
A sandstone tower of Kanderite design stood atop the tallest cliff, majestic in breadth and height. Fifteen stories of small, square windows blazed with saturated Light, making the imposing structure glow a soft gold. Beneath it, facing the sheer stone, stood a tiny figure with hands raised, a blue and brown robe billowing away from his legs in the rising wind--Hrivasine. Ghosts floated to his side, and from their exaggerated hand gestures, whatever he planned displeased them.
Forest dwellers lined the cliffs, with more racing to reach them. They formed uneven lines behind shamans, pounding the ground with their spear butts, though many peered around them, as if uncertain why they made noise.
Glints of Light patterned the darkness below. Elora, hugging Kjiven tight to her chest, hunched down on the ground to the side of the hole, opposite Hrivasine, Dough and Janny standing over her, battling dwellers with spears that flashed with dark lightning.
“What is he doing?” Zepirz smacked his hand against the shield, tipped his head, and smashed his forehead into it as they started to fall. “That ceremony is sacred! It is not for ghosts to voice!”
She strained to keep them from plummeting back into the void. Darkness wings erupted from the surface and flapped, sending them in the direction of the others. Water filled a rectangular space at the base and grew down. Where was Lorgan drawing it from? She did not see a convenient source, but he had enough that it would hit the ground before the shield, and they would slide through it, slowing them down so they could arrive at a safe stop.
“What ceremony?” Kjaelle asked, grabbing Navosh as the cocoon slid. Between her and Ayara, they held him on the platform, with help from vines that slipped over the side and wrapped around it, tying him down. Kenosera and Yut-ta braced themselves, staring through the transparent bottom at the ground.
She had living beings with her, she needed a slow descent, but the fall accelerated.
Zepriz spread his paws for balance, his only recognition of the plummet. “It is the tauwe dey, the call to the Rotting One, he of leaf litter, dead animals, and bark that degrades into the life-giving soil that feeds the trees, which in turn feed us.”
“A death deity?” Lorgan winced. “What happens during the ceremony?”
“The yondaii ask him to embrace those who have left the leaves for life beyond. He collects the spirits of the deceased and takes them to the Bendebares, where they prove their worth to partake of the next life.”
“If you’re not worthy?” Kensoera asked as they picked up speed. Yut-ta spread his wings and wrapped an arm around the nomad’s waist; was his reaction time good enough, he could hover and keep them both safe?
“Once, before the ghosts invaded our lands, the souls were forced to wander. It was to make them stronger, so they could re-enter the Bendebares and overcome their failure. Now, they are hounded by the yondaii, and the spiritesti destroy them before they become Sun ghosts. They feed the forest, a renewal, a rebirth, a chance to do good and reverse a life spent promoting ill.”
The cold ripping through Vantra’s essence had nothing to do with her terror at the fall, but she could not work through her reaction to the words; the water struck the ground, and the shield fell through the liquid, jostling them about. As she predicted, it slowed, and by the time they reached soggy soil, the bottom landed with a soft thump that jiggled them, nothing more.
The yondaii leading the attack against the pirates turned as the liquid burst and inundated the fighters. He had numerous marks across his body, all glowing a mossy green, and the symbols carved on his staff glowed a noxious red. He screamed a command, and the warriors, who wrung their hands and lifted legs to shake them free of drops, whipped around, their marks taking on a dark scarlet glow as they lowered their spears and charged.
They did so in unison, and by the blankness in their eyes, they did not control their actions.
“Bial bayz!” Zepirz yelled. His staff flared a brilliant, fresh green, and the group stumbled as the scarlet faded. Some grabbed their heads, some looked around, confused.
“Zepirz, ye ga degeh.” The yondaii thumped his staff on the ground, his eyes reflecting the red from the marks. He clacked his beak shut as the symbols on the fighters returned to a fierce glow, and their confusion snapped back into empty staring.
The shaman smacked the shield with his palm, his words increasing in heat. The other swept his arms to the side, and his rage infused him. He screamed an order, and the fighters marched to them, though more than one shook their heads, trying to rid themselves of the compulsion.
The yondaii collapsed mid-shout, dropping his weapon.
Zepirz reared back as the fighters regained sense. The staff’s power faded but did not disappear; Janny darted in and snagged it as Dough prodded the unconscious rufang with his foot, holding the hilt of his sword ready to strike his head again.
Ayara pushed up, looking at Vantra; she motioned for them to go through the shields. They hastened to the yondaii, leaving Kjaelle, Kenosera and Yut-ta to care for Navosh. Zepirz also glanced at her, then trotted through the protection, speaking to the dwellers in urgent tones. Some replied, some sank to the ground and trembled; all had the air of confusion bordering on anger.
A burst of darkness blew out the torches at the base of the cliff, the myriad points elongating as it began to spin. The tips bit into the soil, the cliff, ripping out roots and feeding them to the maw. Vantra strengthened her shields as Lorgan swore and infused them with water; the points reflected off it, breaking off and careening straight up, to fade into the night.
The yondaii issued a command, and the fighters dropped their spears and surged to a series of small, dark tunnel entrances, eager to be gone from the place. He watched, face shielded by his arm, as heavy gusts of circular wind snagged loose soil and bits of debris and sent them flying into the growing mass. Vantra set a shield around Ayara and their patient, and he galloped to them. They had a quick snarl before the healer reluctantly left the stricken rufang.
The Light shield around Elora vibrated as the darkness points struck it, attempting to extinguish it as it had the torches. Lorgan looked at her, and Vantra threw a Sun shield between attacker and attacked, slicing through the points. The severed magic burned as the longer parts reared back.
“Grab Navosh,” she said. “It’ll be easier to shield all of us in one place.”
Kenosera and Yut-ta grabbed the platform’s handle, and they raced to Elora, the cocoon bumping along with them. Vantra expanded the shield, and Dough and Janny sped inside, hunched over to block some of the wind. Lorgan took the staff with a grimace.
“This is vile,” he said. “I think a warped version of the mephoric emblem spell was used to create the glyphs.” Darkness flowed over it, and he glanced at Kjaelle before setting it down, as far from Navosh as possible.
“What’s going to happen when that thing runs out of vegetation?” Janny asked, her focus on the forest dwellers ringing the cliff.
“Something worse.” Lorgan settled both his palms against the inner shield. “Vantra, I’m going to weave water through your shields. It should reflect any attack, and hopefully keep that death magic away. If it touches Navosh, I don’t think we’ll be around long enough to see the result.” He eyed her. “Keep Clear Rays as a last resort. We don’t want them interfering with the mantle.”
She winced, regret pummeling her. She should have told them about what she felt and only taken Kjaelle or Lorgan with her; the rest of them could have gotten Navosh out through the tunnels. Or maybe the magic would have eaten them, and this was the safer option. That did not make her feel better about her frantic choice.
Zepirz and Ayara bent over, struggling against the wind; she curved a shield over them as a buffer, and they sped to the larger enclosure.
“Why do you do this?” the yondaii snarled as they trotted into the space. Vantra sent their shield’s power into the outer layer, strengthening the protection. “Leave them to their fate. Strans must be protected, and nowhere near the false one and his savior.” The ugliness in his last word expressed his contempt for Elora.
“Why feed anything into that if we can avoid it?” Lorgan asked, jerking his chin at the mass.
The darkness blossomed; the ghosts surrounding Hrivasine triggered Physical Touch and bent over, covering their heads, erecting shields to prevent it from gorging on them. The wind sharpened, curled around the crater, snagging the remains of the roots dangling from the walls and carrying them to the swirling maw. Their protection slid along, caught by the gusts; she straightened her fingers, clenched them into a point, and shoved them into the stone, creating peg after peg, hoping to keep the shield attached to the ground. Kjaelle did the same, while Lorgan broadened the outer layer, forming a ramp for currents to skate up and over. He added a watery shell, which waved and wobbled, rather than stiffening and cracking under the pressure.
Vines erupted from the cocoon and swam over the platform, digging into the ground and anchoring the deity in place. Good. If the shield broke, he would go nowhere.
Roots exploded from the cliffsides and crumbled, their pieces sucked away and stuffed into the mass. The points of darkness grew darker as it ate more and more corruption. The plants in the crater, then those rooted to the top of the cliff, broke apart into ashy clumps. Trees curving over the edge faded to a grim grey, their leaves falling and wafting to the ground.
Forest dwellers flew into the greedy mouth, flailing, and the wind shattered the shield surrounding the yondaii, snagged him, and carried him to the mouth. Vantra threw another protection around him, but it did not last when it collided with those of the ghosts.
“Eya eya eya!” Zepriz screamed. Ayara yanked him back; he fought them, then jerked, an agonized hiss escaping as he clamped his hand onto theirs. They did not let, go, their fiery gaze boring into his.
“He feeds the corrupt—as you would, if you still held the marks,” they said in anger and frustration. “I told all of you they would consume you. I told all of you, and did you listen?” The yondaii stared at them, panting, his breath trembling as he sucked in and blew out.
“We never wanted this,” he whispered. “We wanted the ghosts to leave our lands, for our wayward to return home. Why are we punished for this?” His hot glare landed on Kjiven, and hate did not do justice in describing his expression. “It is his lies, his corruption, not ours.”
A rush, like the sound of wind blowing through the forest but louder, accompanied the gusts. Red swam down to the darkness points, and they attacked the shields again. Vantra fought to keep the Sun blazing through the defenses.
“That feels like beghestern magic,” Kjaelle yelled over the wind. “Part of their warpath steps.” She focused on Zepirz. “Does your ceremony use blood to activate?”
“No.”
“There’s something strange about it,” Lorgan said. “It isn’t bloody rot. It’s like arid, cracked earth, depleted of nutrients, hunting for sustenance.”
Elora looked sharply at him, then at the growing mass. “That’s impossible.”
Light erupted from the ground to their right, shot into the air, flipped, and zipped towards the darkness. Two more followed, then both stopped; Mica and Jare hovered within the brilliance, the latter’s firm grip on the former’s arm keeping him put.
The first light looped, then paused, revealing the nymph. He flung his arms wide, uncaring of the debris flying through him. Did he not realize it snatched his essence, pulling it into the maw? He yelled something and slapped his breast, but she could not hear him over the roar.
Mica lunged, but Jare held him back, an effort that left both trembling.
The mass behind the enemy drank more and more of his essence, and he turned, then snapped his robe skirt. With a burst of Light, he escaped the pull and shot to the lip of the cliff above, solidifying when he reached it so the wind did not snag more wisps, and formed a shield of water.
Hrivasine watched the flight, then grabbed the arm of a ghost hunching away from the swirling darkness, hands protecting her face, her hair rippling around her. She wore a heavy red and gold dress with sleeves and torso wrapped in crisscrossing ribbons, attire that struck Vantra as more in line with an aristocratic costume ball, rather than the current situation.
“Who’s with Hrivasine?” she called.
Yut-ta gasped. “That’s Anmidorakj!” he said. “She doesn’t look like she wants to be here.”
“Do you?” Kenosera asked. Yut-ta smacked his arm, annoyed.
Hrivasine hauled her with him as he rose, debris spiraling away from a column of magic surrounding them. The other ghosts followed, aiming for spintops hovering far out of the maw’s reach, blinking lights outlining their exteriors. The wind was loud enough, that Vantra had not heard the machines approach.
Bodies collapsed on the cliff; the pounding increased in volume, but did not originate with the forest dwellers. The edges of the mass wobbled in time to it, and the cold dryness of desiccation brushed her shields. The sensation intensified as the darkness spun faster.
Jare pointed to it; Kjaelle raised her hand, and the two Light-blessed zipped to the ground, created a shield, and pooled power.
“They’re going to close it?” Vantra shouted.
“Yes,” Kjaelle began, then stiffened as the nymph struck the new Light shield. It disintegrated.
Vantra sucked power from the shard and shielded the two as fast as she could; Light moved faster than Sun, but she managed it, and the nymph darted away before he collided with it. Rezenarza spoke true, that she would need the energy. She mentally thanked him and received a confused brush in return.
“Retravigance,” she whispered, and flames roared to mighty life, sizzling through the shield.
The maw throbbed and grew, sucking in more life, hungry for energy, uncaring what life it ended to obtain it.
A flash of Light, and water surged up, intercepting the nymph. He crashed through the barrier with a startled yelp, and she infused her defenses with enough energy to withstand the flailing hit. He arched away and targeted the Light-blessed; their shielding fell in a burst of fire, and he darted away, trailing flames.
“Shit,” Lorgan spat.
The greedy maw flared, and the wind increased. Waves of water arched over the Light-blessed, and Vantra sent a line of Sun towards them, hugging the ground so it could reach them and not get sucked away. Her power swam over Lorgan’s, and the combined brightness glinted and refracted the deader magic.
Water and Sun rays sprayed everywhere. Vantra jerked back; what?
The nymph snagged the front of her dress and heaved her from her companions.
She slapped her hand over his wrist as her whirling shock slowed to numbed contemplation. His wide, malicious grin spread across his face at a snail’s pace, and she saw the fear in their depths. She dropped the shard, hoping it helped Lorgan resurrect the shields, and gripped his arm just above her other hand.
“Retravigance!”
Nothing.
A roar echoed off the cliffs, louder than the wind. The nymph looked over her shoulder, his grin fading, before a humongous shadow grabbed him, ripped him from her. She faltered as her chest bled essence, trailing his still-clenched fist. Time sped up, so fast she struggled to comprehend what happened.
She plummeted, clutching her core tight; the gusts still caught her. She sent an anchor to the ground, and it kept her from spinning into the greedy maw. The shadow roared again, greyish-purple haze leaking from purple eyes, and she gasped; the Comkada! Kjaelle triggered Veer’s Rage!
Nothing recognizable of Kjaelle remained in the shadow; it was a colossus of muscular arms, legs, flowing transparent hair that flamed purple at the ends. It clenched its hand tighter, and the nymph’s terrified scream trickled over her. It reared back and threw.
The enemy flew into the darkness, trailing beams behind him. He did not phase through, either; he careened into it, and a bright white Light flashed, highlighting a towering figure with curled horns.
“Vantra!” Lorgan screamed. “Drop the shields!”
She dropped everything.
The Light-blessed flung their bubbly attack into the Light, and a swirling mass of Darkness followed. Light. Darkness.
Oh no.
She slung a sphere of Sun after them, hoping it reached the reaction before it exploded. She was both, light with a tinge of dark, a conduit, a transition.
Brightness snagged her—Jare—and he hugged her to him as he dove for the larger group. They zipped into the shields Lorgan created with water and the shard. The Conkada disappeared, and Kjaelle landed next to them, knees bent, fingers splayed against the stone, purple lightning streaking across her form, her eyes glowing a menacing green. She added Darkness to the barrier, and the scholar coated it in more water that reflected the over-bright rays issuing from the maw.
The rebound struck the deathly dark, and the explosion sundered the cliff. The tower toppled, falling into the crater left by the explosion, dust and chunks flying high into the air. Bricks and metal hammered the shield, bursting apart upon impact.
The spintops shuddered and wobbled; two went down, creating explosions of their own. The rest rose and turned from the blast, escaping into the dense darkness of a rainforest night. Vantra sent Sun after them, but the sad attack she attempted died before it sailed over the hole.
Drained.
Lightning coursed over the pile of sandstone, and bursts of power blazed, setting it on fire. Flames spurted, flicks careening into the night and fading.
The roar of wind died. Particles hovered for a mere moment, then wisps wafted to the ground, coating the stone in bright sparks that puffed out after they settled. The air became a thick haze, hiding the surrounding cliff from view.
Quiet descended but for the fallout, as more rocks bounced off the shields with heavy thumps.
“Is everyone alright?” Vantra asked, her voice trembling.
Random murmurs met the question. Mica had his hand on Kjaelle’s back, while the elfine stared blankly in front of them. Lorgan kept the shield up, Dough and Janny to his side, swords drawn. Elora sat as far from the forest dwellers as possible, cradling the still-unconscious Kjiven to her, viewing everything with wide, wild eyes. The rest hovered near Navosh’s cocoon; Zepirz cradled it, as if he held the most precious thing imaginable in his arms.
Kjaelle hissed, slapped the ground, and shot to her feet. A figure strode through the haze, loose shirt and shoulder-length hair ruffling in the lighter, natural breeze. She thrust her index finger him. “Did you know?” she screamed.
“No,” Rezenarza said, his fury carrying to them and vibrating the shields.
A nymph skidded between him and the elfine, a pointed weapon of sparking magic in her hand, her dark eyes narrowed, her lips pulled back in a snarl.
“Oubliette.” The crack of command made her flinch, and she straightened, lowering the spear. Temmisere caught his step, daggers in each hand, frowning, her nostrils flared.
Kjaelle clutched her chest. “How could you not know? You worked with them! You had to have felt him!”
“He hid from me,” the ex-syimlin said, disbelief, not anger, flavoring his tone. “I never would have accepted any offer, had I known.”
She bowed her head, her body shivering, and fell to her knees. Mica sank to the ground with her, and Vantra pulled from Jare to join them.
“Kjaelle?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
The elfine beat the earth with her palms and screamed, shredding the quiet. She met Mica’s eyes; what should she do? She grabbed one hand and held on; her companion’s fingers dug into her essence so hard she quaked.
“He hid from you?” Jare folded his arms, but the power usually backing his voice did not materialize.
“How can he be here?” Kjaelle shrieked. “Erse sent him to the Final Death! How can he be here?”
Rezenarza stopped outside the shield, lips firmed with melancholy incredulity. “I don’t know.” He shoved a hand through his bangs. “No one has ever returned from the Final Death. Ever.”
“Who?” Vantra asked, dreading the answer.
“The Beast.”
Vantra looked over her shoulder at Elora, who could not quell her horror at voicing the name. “The Beast?” she whispered. How was that possible? Erse Parr sent him to the Final Death—and Veer Tul witnessed her victory. The mantle chose her. It would not have, if she had not ended his vicious rule.
Kjaelle heaved, as if gasping for breath through tears. She turned back to her friend, wrapped her arms around her, and held tight. She buried her face in her shoulder and shuddered.
“That’s impossible,” Lorgan said, whacking the air with the back of his hand. “Ga Son has said the Final Death is the end of thought and feeling, that the spirit rips apart and the Void energies absorb the remains. Nothing of an individual is left. Nothing. If anyone knows, he does.”
“Then who?” Kjaelle cried. “Who else uses beghestern magic and stinks of desiccation and hollow Death? Who?”
Silence met her inquiry.
