The landing jiggled everyone on board; Vantra clutched her pack close, only relaxing when the rocking ceased and the engine whir faded. The rufang leapt up and hustled out as soon as Nuçya lowered the ramp, looking at and speaking to no one.

She popped the buckle to her chair and rose, happy to be on the ground again. Her previous flights had not ended well, and gladness filled her, nothing untoward happened. She slid her pack on and bustled off the ship.

The circular landing area was almost too small to hold the elongated cargo ship, which sat in metallic splendor next to canopies protecting stacks of crates. Beings moved them to wheeled platforms for easier transfer to the ship. Death’s Stamp marked them as official supplies, the head of a black vox with red eyes on each side.

Jare nodded towards the other side of the ship, then wafted under the belly. Vantra slid around the back with Kenosera and Yut-ta, coming to stand next to Lorgan, who, with arms folded, eyed the tangle of greyish-green forest growth creeping over the orangish-yellow sandstone wall that divided it from the landing pad.

“Katta’s right,” the scholar murmured. “The corruption’s strengthened, and Kjiven’s Touch is all over it.”

“We’ll find out more when we reach Resa and Joila’s place,” Jare said. “Before we left, Katta told me the tavern’s being watched, and Leeyal isn’t sure by who, only that they hide in shadows like ghosts.”

Vantra squeezed her straps harder; how much more bad news awaited them?

“I don’t trust those two who rode with us.” He leaned closer. “They were last-minute replacements for known aid workers. While that’s not a surprise, as traveling to remote villages can be difficult, upending timetables, right now, I think we need to be extra cautious. Kenosera, Yut-ta.” They both straightened. “Dedari’s waiting for you at the tents on the river side of the road. She’ll take you to the house another way. If you get in trouble, pray to Katta. He’s listening. Lorgan, Vantra, come with me. We’re going to take a detour.”

Kenosera and Yut-ta slipped back around the ship without a word. Jare’s stern concern throbbed through Vantra, and heavy unease filtered with it.

“Katta wants us to stop by Chisterdelle’s first,” the Light-blessed said as he squatted and peered under the belly, watching as the two hastened away. “The whizen should have a good idea what’s going on, and she owes us.” He straightened and triggered Ether Touch, fading until only a wisp of blurry color remained. She and Lorgan copied him before they floated past the back end and towards the city wall.

She expected Jare to phase through the sandstone, but he skirted it instead. Considering the corruption liked hiding in dark places, that made sense. They slipped behind the antsy eastern gate guards, who eyed the ship and the boxes being carted to it with suspicion, and into the street beyond.

They met no one as they whisked down road after road, the only sounds the whistling breeze, the squeaky signs and lanterns, and the rush of leaves. The living purchased food in the squares, but they and the stall merchants spoke with wide eyes and hushed voices; ghosts, unless a merchant, were absent. Quite the change, from the bustling urban center she first encountered.

Chisterdelle’s motley home had two Light-blessed standing outside the door, holding spears and studying the empty streets with apprehension. Their relief when Jare blended into view in front of them concerned Vantra more than the lack of beings.

“Chisterdelle’s here?” Jare asked as he pressed his hand against the shield. The glimmering gold surrounding the building winked, and he floated through. Lorgan did the same, and Vantra hesitated a breath before following. The briefest brush of heat coursed across her hand, then receded, recognizing her Touch. Her Sun shield was still active? She had expected it to dwindle and collapse without an infusion of power to maintain it.

They both nodded. “The whizen who survived the first attack are inside, too,” the one on the right said. “They brought all their maps, deeming a structure protected by Light’s avatar sufficiently safe.”

“Has word made it here of Qira’s injury?”

The second sighed. “Yeah. Embrez wasn’t subtle about screaming his displeasure. The city’s pissed we kept the secret, but there isn’t much they can say when we point out there was a good reason to keep quiet. After all, why is he in Zibwa’s care?”

“He intercepted an attack meant to end him and everyone nearby,” Jare murmured, reaching for the doorknob. “Though I bet the thought of a near-indestructible syimlin suffering egregious wounds bothers them more.”

The raucous noise bursting from the interior was a stark contrast to the deathly quiet in the streets. How many ghosts hid there? Unlike her initial visit, the structure felt alive with beings, even if those beings were ghosts. At least nine lounged in the first room, with one sweeping in agitated strokes and two staring at the shelves behind the counter and motioning to the assortment of objects there.

“Where’s Chisterdelle?” Jare asked.

As one, they pointed down. Of course she would remain in the basement, near her maps.

Vantra could sense the throb of roots far below; too far to cause damage, near enough she realized they waited for an opportunity to strike. She doubted the shielding Qira placed would bend to their will; no strange, fake-Strans roots would break a syimlin’s defenses. No, it took a syimlin-energized artifact to do that.

They alit in the same room from before, only this time ghosts crowded within, rather than roots. Talk died as the spirits turned to them, startled by their appearance. Vantra squirmed under the unwanted scrutiny.

“From me to you, it’s about time you showed up.”

The cranky voice rang through the growing quiet, and nearby ghosts stopped talking and phased through walls to stare at them. Chisterdelle wove through the crowd to them, holding a full glass of ruby wine. Most moved out of her way, and Vantra triggered Physical Touch; she did not want some random stranger floating through her and mingle their essences. Jare and Lorgan followed suit.

“You expected us?” Jare asked, unsurprised.

She waved her hand upwards. “You saw what’s happened to Selaserat!”

“What, exactly, has happened?” Lorgan asked.

“Nasty things.” An elfine in a long, ornate blue robe moved to stand next to the annoyed whizan. He, too, held a glass of wine, and from the look of him, had added a little something extra to the drink to affect his essence. “We felt the creeping rot strengthen, and when the Deccavent dam burst—well, you sense it, sitting there, waiting.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you’re alive or dead,” Chisterdelle said. “It’s why the streets are empty. And the Gubs administrators are absent—as usual.”

Blue robe studied Jare. “Chisterdelle said Talis returned. We scoffed, but she spoke true. And you, Light-blessed. You know Light personally.” He took a long swig of his wine, as if to silently brag about his magical prowess in being able to consume it.

“I was an honorguard for him while he recovered from destroying the Aristarzian Light temple,” Jare said. The entire group tipped their chins down and reared back in shock. He raised his hand, and his gauntlet disappeared, revealing the fifty-three gems embedded in his arm. “And I’ve not rescinded my vows.”

A dryan in an airy, sleeveless pink tunic and wide-bottomed pants squinted at the display. “Are all the Light-blessed in Selaserat honorguards?”

“No, but those of us who were? We now reside here.” He half-grinned. “And Joila was his eves zhone.”

The surprise did not affect Vantra; she already guessed the woman had been his lover. She knew from the tales of Talis’s ascension that the Light Attendant who prayed with him before the Final Gauntlet became his high priestess and lover, and that she laid much of the groundwork for the new Light temple. Modern priests and acolytes viewed it as the highest honor he bestowed upon one he knew, though she doubted either thought of it that way.

“But aren’t Joila and Resa bonded?” blue robe asked.

“Yes. They were together before Resa died during a trial, and resumed their love affair after Joila passed. And no, Talis doesn’t mind. So, with that out of the way, what’s going on besides corrupted roots?”

Chisterdelle glanced around, then motioned for them to follow her. She led them through the curious spirits and down the hallway to the room where she kept her maps. Vantra noted additional materials stuffed into every available space. Were they documents the other whizen secured there? Likely.

A large sheet spanned the far wall, and from the crisp black lines and unwrinkled paper, she guessed the whizen had created a new map. Colors stained various areas, with grey following the path of floodwaters and black smudged across the burned forest. Having walked the ashy remains, she had thought half the trees fell to flame, but the tiny area barely penetrated the sea of green.

“We’ve been scree-aller and tabulating,” Chisterdelle said, raising her glass and nodding to it. “Luneterakj here,” and she nearly spilled the wine as she swept her hand towards the elfine in the blue robe, “realized a way around the scrying problems plaguing us. The enemy’s only targeting faelareign ways of distance-viewing. The native scree-aller and tabulate remains unaffected.”

“That’s odd,” Lorgan murmured, his attention on the map, a finger tapping his chin. “There isn’t much difference between the two methods.”

“No,” Luneterakj agreed. “Just the order things are done. Switch the eye and the pull, and we can See. Otherwise, murky clouds hide the view.”

“Clouds?” Lorgan frowned, then ran a hand through his bangs. “That’s an ancient elfine way of doing things, taking a suggestion literally. Do you have a legend?”

Jare’s eyes twinkled as the elfines glared at the scholar, but he appeared oblivious to the annoyance. Vantra did not understand their resentment; she had read tale after tale of elfines implementing ludicrous suggestions word for word, like the story about the eastern Mirios king, Kelidisos. Upon hearing the phrase ‘the fruit is sweeter over the hill’, he ordered his country’s orchards sprayed with honey to make the red, hand-sized fruit sweeter than those found in a rival land that sat on the other side of the Vyrd Foothills. The sweeter variety attracted herds of branch deer, which attracted gyirindi—and the gyirindi prevented that rival country from invading by snacking on their wagon-pulling bovines and causing a stampede of their war horses. Kelidisos unwittingly saved his people, and he became an elfine hero because of it.

Chisterdelle turned around, her gaze glancing from one pile of materials to another; Vantra marveled that any of them found what they looked for among the stacks. “A legend? We do somewhere.”

“I have it,” the pink-clad dryan called, shouldering her way to them, a long scroll clasped in her hand. “We’re tracking the changing pathways, but for your purposes, I think there are a few places of utmost importance.”

“Of course there are,” Chisterdelle muttered, glaring at the woman. Another draped in a wispy yellow dress stepped to her and refilled her glass, a small, soft smile on her lips. The whizan returned the gentle expression before focusing on the map, frowning.

“And you are?” Lorgan asked as the dryan handed him the scroll.

“Yavene, a Nature adherent and acolyte of Mukusora. She, too, keeps Labyrinth maps because one of the ancient rites for faun shifters is to traverse the trees without the Blessing and find the Fingers’ Altar to both Strans and Maed Enne.” She settled her hand against her chest. “I’m not a shapechanger but a plant specialist, and I keep an eye on healing flora throughout Greenglimmer. Nature spoke to me and said I must visit Chisterdelle and serve! I’ve never heard her voice before, so it must be important!”

“I wonder if what happened to Talis scared her,” Jare said. He did not sound sarcastic, but something lay beneath his tone that pricked at Vantra. Had he met Nature through his association with Qira?

“I don’t know.” Yavene bounced to the map. The position of the district resembled how Finders drew them; north pointed towards the upper right corner, rather than straight up, an ancient elfine way of doing things because, on Talis, that allowed elfine countries to be at the top of all representations. She tapped her nail at a tangled mass of squirming green in the eastern Uprise Mountains; Bthederei Pass. “We’ve word from Embeckourteine; the day after the flood, corrupted vines grew across the road to Kjivendei and clogged up the Pass. We don’t know if they’ve encircled the citadel or only cut off easy road access, but no one’s heard from the Light acolytes at the temple since it happened.”

“Not good,” Jare said.

“No. There isn’t a large acolyte population there, and they mostly maintain the temple for tourists rather than worship. We’re afraid something happened to them.” She moved her finger to Luck’s Hold, deep within the Labyrinth of Trees. “Tenathi’s helping us hold the roads to the Hold and the Mid open, but the vines and roots are overrunning most of the other paths through the forest. Forest dwellers who’ve visited the Hold can enter the village, but the way back is barred, even for those with the Blessing.”

“That was happening before we left Selaserat,” Lorgan said. “Tenathi discussed it with Talis and Veer.”

“Yes.” She slid her finger to the squiggles on the border between Greenglimmer and the district south of it. “On Riverbank here, more vines barricade the way. The flood blocked up Hope Road and the Dryanflow near Fekj. As of now, the only way to get out of eastern Greenglimmer is to pass the Toll Barrier and go upstream, or cross over and take Parley Trade Route into the Mountains. Unfortunately, we’ve word from West Sel that previously attacked farms now have corrupted roots overrunning them, and they’re headed for the major roads. Nature acolytes are holding them back, but we don’t know how long they can hold out.”

“And it appears the yim are disappearing,” Chisterdelle piped up.

“What?” Jare asked, yanking his attention from the map to the whizan.

“The Imtri who’ve made it to the Hold told Tenathi that two Wiiv shamans demanded an audience with the yim council. The timeline’s unclear, but it happened sometime after the flood. They left in anger, and within a day, members started vanishing from their beds. Those left are under protective guard and the other tribes are furious and frightened. They see the Wiiv as attempting a coup, and from me to you, after word spread about them destroying the Deccavent dam, well, no one wants to fall under their auspices.”

Lorgan unfurled the scroll to read the contents. “That could be, since eyewitness accounts say they saw the Wiiv step from shadows and toss magic at it—something very un-Wiiv in nature, as I’m sure you’re aware. Something else is going on. Do the villagers know what the Wiiv said to the yim?”

“I don’t know. We’ve only second-hand accounts from visitors to rely on.”

“Have you spoken with anyone else in Selaserat about this?”

The abrupt silence of ghosts was disconcerting.

“No,” Chisterdelle admitted after it became clear no one else wished to speak. “From me to you, Hrivasine and Anmidorakj can’t be trusted.”

“No, they can’t,” Jare agreed.

Luneterakj’s grip tightened on his glass, splashing wine over the lip. “Hrivasine targeted Fellden!” he hissed.

“We don’t know that,” Chisterdelle cautioned.

“He met with him the day before the attack,” Luneterakj reminded her. “And he refused to lay aside the maps like Hrivasine wanted.”

“Lay aside the maps?” Jare asked.

“Yes! Hrivasine demanded Fellden attend a meeting because he maintained the maps for the Gubs,” Luneterakj said, jabbing the air with his glass and sloshing wine over the side. “Several city leaders were in attendance; he said they were evenly divided, between the ghosts shocked that Hrivasine wanted to stop monitoring the Labyrinth, and the ones who knew why he asked. Fellden said no one explained, only demanded. From me to you, he fumes hot when a lesser whizan demands something of him, and Hrivasine is a lesser whizan. He refused the ask.”

Vantra was certain that the mokosie would explode at the suggestion he, as grandson of Kjiven, held less magic power and know-how than a random mapmaker.

“Fellden’s upstairs, if you wish to speak with him,” Yavene said. “As soon as he gained enough energy to employ Ether Touch, he asked his jina to bring him here. He said his home isn’t safe. The Light-blessed transferred his personal map materials here—the official ones are gone.”

Vantra’s eyes trailed along the ever-moving black-line pathways on the sheet, her mind settling on one snippet of information. “Why does Hrivasine want to interfere with beings traversing the Labyrinth?”

“We don’t know,” Chisterdelle said. “He’s been . . . unstable for a while now. It might just be that.”

She did not sound as if she believed her words.

“I’ll talk to Fellden,” Lorgan said. “And I want to study the map.”

“Vantra and I need to check in, so we don’t worry the Light-blessed,” Jare said. He smacked Lorgan on the shoulder. “I’ll send guards to escort you to the house. Don’t leave without them. I have a feeling, no matter how powerful you are, you don’t want to walk the streets alone right now.”

“After what the corruption’s turned into?” The scholar shook his head. “Be cautious. Vantra, don’t hold back if something happens. Retravigance, Clear Rays, whichever you choose. Blow the rot into oblivion.”

Jare winked, unconcerned, but worry skittered through her. If Lorgan warned her, he sensed something terrible lurking within the corruption. She did not want to find out what. She reluctantly followed Jare through the floor and out the door, where he had a word with the guards while she studied the empty streets.

He touched her arm, leaning down to her ear. “Come on. We need to get to the Dark Light.”

“But Kenosera and Yut-ta were going to Resa and Joila’s house.”

“Yeah.” He tapped his temple. “Looks like we had an unexpected passenger with us.”

“What?” she asked, more confused.

“Kjaelle hitched a ride. And Katta’s certain she’s going after Yeralis.”