Yut-ta leaned over, his grey beak as near Vantra’s ear as he could manage. “He’s snoring,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“How?”

Before she answered, he righted himself and accepted a glass of green healer’s brew from Kjaelle. His initial rejection of her care earned him double glasses of the stuff, and she stood over him while he consumed every drop. His sarcastic comment about returning to Mozarin’s to recuperate did not phase her, especially since he made it clear he wanted to go to Embeckourteine. He would not miss the opportunity to travel with them by retreating to the healing house.

An even louder snore tore from the ancient ghost. Kjaelle grinned widely, winked, and bent down. “Qira is enamored of living,” she murmured.

Yut-ta dipped his beak into the brew, tipped his head back, and swallowed. He winced and rubbed his face, as if the drink were a tad too sour for him. “There are Sun acolytes in Selaserat who never use Ether Touch, and try to mimic living ways, like eating and breathing. But to snore, when one isn’t conscious to pretend?” He gulped the rest before handing the glass back to the elfine.

“He is a being unto himself.” She took the glass from him and gave it to one of the Light-blessed heading to the back of the caravan where the supply wagon for the living rested. “If you come with us, this is what you’ll have to put up with.”

“Just wait until he uses his stink spell.”

Yut-ta’s eyes snaked over to Vantra. She had no idea what else he wished her to say on the matter. Red was an ancient ghost and had plenty of long years to hone his skills in not-so-savory ways. Snoring was the least disturbing of his behaviors.

“But I would advise waiting for us in Selaserat,” Kjaelle continued, jerking her thumb at the shadowy city walls rising above the busy, lamp-lit stable yard. “I know you think this ex-shaman might have information on Lokjac and you wish to know his fate, but your wound still pains you. The trip to Embeckourteine is not the easiest one.”

“I know.” His gaze darted to the inside of the wagon and lingered on Red, who had curled up in a chill-coated blanket on the bed positioned against the wall that separated the interior from the driver, Fyrij snuggled under his chin and meeping. “The way is rocky, but Mozarin healed me, and I will get stronger along the way.” He settled his hand on his side, his wings drooping. “I’ve had worse wounds.”

“Perhaps, but I would not wish to add to your pain, and I have a feeling we’ll be doing more than meeting with an ex-shaman.” The elfine glanced at Katta, who leaned against the back of the adjacent wagon, eyes closed, Salan at his feet and snoozing. Did they now regret their insistence on a pre-dawn departure? The four adventurers had returned two days after Tenathi whisked them away, and inquired with Resa, Jare and Joila about hiring a caravan to take them to Embeckourteine. Their subdued seriousness and push to leave as soon as possible pricked the Light-blessed, and a group of them volunteered to travel along as guards.

Red pointed out that Mera and Tally, Kjaelle and Vesh, were plenty guard-y. Jare reminded him that even ghosts liked to rest once in a while. Kjaelle hugged him for that and did thoughtful things for him during the yilsemma-long wait.

A nervous, stressful, yilsemma-long wait, during which Vantra just knew something terrible would happen—and in which nothing did. Well, that she knew of. That made it doubly nerve-racking, because Mera, Tally and Vesh disappeared and did not return for a day. She asked after them, but Red put a finger to his lips and winked.

Lorgan wandered up, holding an armful of books, a bulging satchel thrown over his shoulder. He raised the books and grinned. “Even though we didn’t find the map collection, the protections we placed on the rest of the materials impressed the head librarian. She let me borrow these histories for the trip.”

“Anything specific you’re looking for?” Kjaelle asked as Vantra withheld a sigh. The books reminded her that the scholar gave her a page of study suggestions for the journey—all related to Clear Rays and ways to manipulate the spell to serve her needs better. What she needed, to stop harming other beings with it, had not made his list.

“We need to know more about Strans. Those who met him previously agree that he was not an evil entity, and this corruption seems uncharacteristic. Something triggered his change, and I will try to find out what. These histories are a place to start.” He nodded at Yut-ta. “I think I found the one you discovered that might have info. It has a non-canon approach to Strans’ representation, something that might explain his actions, or at least give us enough background we can ask pointed questions of the elden ghosts in Embeckourteine.”

“A good idea,” Kjaelle said. “You should ask the Light-blessed, too.” 

Lorgan set the books down next to Vantra on the wagon’s lip. “Speaking of Light-blessed, having them check daily on all the map caretakers is a good idea. Neither Hrivasine nor Anmidorakj have shown an interest in their safety, and if we do, that might convince them we’re going to help overcome the forest corruption.”

“They’re doing more than we thought to counteract the Blessing’s near uselessness,” Yut-ta said. “Acknowledging their endeavor can go a long way to building goodwill.”

Kjaelle and Lorgan nodded, and Vantra fought against the pull to depression. Tenathi had told Katta and Red that she and the whizen kept the roads to Luck’s Hold and the Mid open, but Strans’ Blessing no longer worked along any other Labyrinth pathways. When they first noticed its effectiveness had dwindled, she and the elden ghosts believed it cycled, and within a few seasons, the Blessing would return to normal.

They thought wrong. The same day that the maps disappeared from the library, Luck’s Hold discovered the rainforest dwellers who traveled there for healing could not return to their home villages. A barrier of bushes and trees that refused to part prevented them from leaving. The whizen who worked for the Greenglimmer District attempted to get supplies to feed and shelter the stranded villagers, but Anmidorakj refused their requests.

Even more disturbing, Tenathi had not heard about the destruction of the Bendebares, and wondered if that caused Strans to take unprecedented measures to protect his beloved trees.

Resa floated up, his essence fluttering in the soft breeze, and glanced inside the wagon. “Hey, Lazylegs, there’s someone to see you,” he called. Red grumbled, lifted an arm, and made a rude gesture.

Fyrij raised a wing and attempted to mimic him.

“Fyrij!” Vantra hissed, embarrassment slamming into her essence, as the beings with her howled in laughter. Mortified they found humor in his boorishness, she hopped down from the wagon and scurried away, hoping she did not look as burnt-red as she felt.

Fyrij needed a stern lecture about how Red, as an ancient ghost, could get away with certain things he, as a small caroling, could not. Maybe Kenosera would give it, for her little darling rarely listened to her scolding.

Halfway down the wagon line, she heard Joila, and the woman sounded careful in her speech. She slowed and peeked between two patient rebbas and the vehicle sitting in front of them. The bovine-sized, brown-skinned beasts with four horns, prehensile noses, and splayed feet, snuffled at her waist in search of treats. She patted their questing noses and focused on the group to the side of the wagon they pulled.

Joila stood with Jare, speaking with several beings clad in rivcon uniforms. Their leader was a thin, long-necked being with sallow fur, a head that narrowed into a pointed muzzle, and soft brown eyes. They held a battered notebook with color-coded tabs sticking out of the top.

Were these the beings who wished to speak with Red?

She felt Dough come up behind her and turned. He and his mates were not part of the expedition because he wanted to complete another task; worm corruption-related information from the dock workers in Selaserat and West Sel. During the night of drinking and fun he and his mates enjoyed with Laken, they heard rumors and tales that made her essence prickle, of vines creeping into the waterways to clog traffic, of bad feels lingering in parts of the Dryanflow where the Wiiv attacked, of strange, curling mists that left animal corpses in its wake.

“That’s Inspector Yothwan,” he whispered. “She caught wind of your traveling to Embeckourteine, and she has a proposition. She wants us to look into Derent’s disappearance.”

“He was investigating the corruption, wasn’t he? We might find some useful information following his lead.”

“You might, you might also fall into darkness. She seems right enough, but anyone within a finger length of Hrivasine isn’t high on my trust list.”

“We’ve already shaken hands with the shadows.”

He chuckled. “Says the Sun acolyte.”

Someone else clapped her shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.” He pushed past them and walked up to the inspector, who looked shocked as he took the notebook from her.

“Verryn!” Joila’s voice rang with pure suspicion. “Does Erse know you’re here?”

Verryn looked at her, defensive. “I left a note.”

“Verryn,” Joila sighed, exasperated. He smiled, unconcerned.

“We’ll return this when we get back,” he told the inspector, flipping the notebook up before slipping back through the space next to Vantra.

His baggy clothing and smudges of dark beneath his eyes hinted he had not fully recovered, but his step was light and his attitude purposeful. He looked far cheerier than she would have guessed, considering their current circumstances.

“Doesn’t he remember the last time he did this?” Joila said, arms crossed, aggrieved.

“He got bored,” Jare laughed. He nodded to the confused, slightly annoyed inspector. “Passion will take good care of your words.”

“Passion?” she asked, her mouth falling open in shock. “He is Passion?”

“The Syimlin of Love, yes. I’d keep that hush,” Joila warned. “He and Hrivasine are not on the best of terms, and you don’t want him interfering with our search.” She whisked through the wagon, intent on following the wayward syimlin, leaving Jare to wrap up with Yothwan. Vantra glanced at Dough, and they both followed.

Rayva intercepted him before he reached the sleeping wagons, whuffling and growling and snuffling at his waist in worry. He ruffled her neck, a soft smile smoothing his features.

“Sweet, I’m fine,” he insisted. “Yes, I got bored. No, I’m not putting myself in unwarranted danger by being here. You’re traveling to Embeckourteine, a ten-day trip. I’ll be in a wagon, wiling away the days.” He looked at the notebook in his hand. “And maybe we’ll stop at a sideshow along the way.”

Rayva’s growl deepened before she jumped and disappeared in a swirl of purple-streaked darkness. What happened? Had she left to tell Erse where her husband had landed?

“You did leave a note,” Dough said. Joila cast him a dark look, which did not faze him.

“Note or not, she must be worried,” the Aristarzian said. “Miracles tend to beat syimlin to a pulp.”

The wind picked up and Verryn tucked his brown bangs behind his ears. With his hair pulled back, his cheeks appeared gaunter, his jaw more bony. Manipulating the emblem-inspired energy had cost him. “Erse knew I was getting antsy,” he said. “She expected me to join Katta and Qira, because she checked to make certain Neza and Tayse didn’t mind if Rayva and Salan accompanied us a bit longer.”

Vantra frowned. “Neza and Tayse?”

“Rayva and Salan wanted a break from the Tunnel,” he said. “They’ve served loyally and well for so long, Erse agreed. Maed Enne gifted her two pups, as she gifted Veer, and we trained them to guide the deceased to Judgment. They get along splendidly with the Darkness Champions who patrol the forest, and so far, enjoy the work.”

Vantra could see, how herding ghosts through the Tunnel of Memories for eight thousand years might get a bit tedious. Poor vulfs! Too bad their vacation had proven anything but.

“So Rayva and Salan will stay with us, and I’ll get to see a bit of the Evenacht I haven’t traveled in a few hundred years.”

“Welcome back,” she said. He grinned in return.