The other two guards rushed to their angry compatriot, not in time to prevent him from striking the latch and throwing open the cell door. One snagged his arm and yanked, causing him to drop his spear as Eno leaped at him, snarling. He drew his knife, slashing at her while straining against his friend. The other, blocked from reaching the fight-ready captive, prodded at her with his spear. The cellmates shrank into the corner, trying to stay clear of the fray.
The dwellers yelled as blood flowed from knife slices and scratch wounds, and the guards yelled back, unrepentant. Eno waited until the spear holder turned from her, annoyed at the evaki who had shoved his shoulder between the bars and swiped at him, then pivoted and kicked at him with her hind legs; he tumbled back and the evaki grabbed his right front leg. He collasped, his weapon swinging wide and striking a cell further down the aisle.
The vines threaded through the latch disappeared.
Vantra looked at Kenosera and Yut-ta; they both had their hands wrapped around the hilt of their knives, staring at the lock. They must have seen the same thing she did. She squeezed the nomad’s arm, and he nodded, drawing his weapon. Triggering Ether Touch, she slipped through the cell.
Had the Wiiv not realized she was a ghost? It seemed odd, that they had not guessed. She wafted to the fight, turned Physical, grabbed the spear the angry guard dropped, and ran down the aisle, smacking the point along the bars. By freeing everyone, they would have a better chance of helping Eno. Her martial skills were not good, and she did not know what Clear Rays might do to the captured dwellers who bore Kjiven’s mark.
Every vine disappeared.
Those she released poured out of their confinement, intent on grabbing the startled guards. Shouts along with straw and dust filled the air, and she hurriedly opened the remaining cells, then planted herself at the aisle’s entrance, expecting the exterior sentries to rush through the cloth door to help. Kenosera and Yut-ta joined her, ready to fight.
Despite the ruckus, no one checked on them. Yut-ta glanced at her and Kenosera, then crept to the fabric, fell to his knees, and leaned over, peeking beneath. He looked back with a frown, then returned to his inspection.
The violent one squawked as Eno sat on his head. Others had mobbed him, preventing him from moving, and they held tight as his kicks and struggles dwindled. His friends called to him, wary, concerned, but refused to tussle with their own captors to aid him.
“Eno,” the rufang with the wrap sighed, shuffling past them. “Yed igat.”
She clacked her beak but rose; whoever he was, the captives respected his voice enough to follow orders. Several helped her drag the nasty guard to the cell furthest from the door and dumped him inside; the other two meekly gave up their remaining weapons and followed. Eno touched the latch with a spear, locking them within, while those with a predilection for arms divided up the confiscated items.
“I am surprised,” the evaki from the cell opposite them said, eyeing Vantra. “They are adamant that they send ghosts to the Final Death. But they placed you with us.”
Her emotions squeaked a denial before she regained her aplomb. Send ghosts to the Final Death? Surely they knew Death’s prohibition concerning that? Kenosera sheathed his knife and took the spear from her, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “I am naiazine, he is hooskine. I think they believed she must be umbrareign, to walk with us.”
“An odd mistake,” the rufang said as the beings clustered around them, quieting as the fight response faded. A few had tear-stained faces, and Vantra hoped they could quickly return to their villages. If the waters had swamped them, their people needed them. “But then, you do not feel like a ghost.”
Vantra frowned. “I don’t feel like a ghost?”
“There is something very . . . alive about you,” the evaki said, twirling her finger.
Because she could use Physical Touch? It was a staple of essence manipulation among ghosts, but if the forest dwellers did not interact with them much, they might not know that.
“Vantra.” She looked at Yut-ta, who stood up and hustled to them, smacking the dust from his baggy pants. “I can’t see much from underneath the cloth across the door, but I don’t think the guards are still there.”
“I can go check.” She ignored the dwellers’ stares, flipped to Ether, and phased through the side wall to her right.
The same weight of bad magic bore down, and she shielded, hoping that she could keep her ethereal form long enough to scout. Fighting her cowardice, she listened, heard nothing, and wafted to the front to peer around the corner.
Yut-ta was right. No guards. And no guards in front of the adjacent buildings, either. Where had they gone?
Wrapping bravery around her like a cloak and hoping the holes did not show, she floated to the neighboring structure and pushed her head through the door fabric. Torches merrily illuminated a room as large as the jail, empty of everything but benches.
She drifted behind it, checking for guards, but saw no one in the torch-illuminated space. The lights stood between the structures and a crumbling wall, and neither seemed adequate to keep the forest beyond at bay. Uneasy, she crossed over to take a peek inside the third building; supplies, with ceiling-tall stacks of crates and boxes. The wood forming them was rough, the nails in random places, as if whoever built them did so with haste.
Pondering options, she stared across the vacant field, taking a moment to realize what she saw.
Flames roared up from the spintops, though she heard no sound. Burning debris spanned away from their landing spots, which hinted at an explosion, but should they not have heard one?
Three hovered in the air, firing at a target she could not see, and figures raced about, probably trying to put out the flames. A burst of Light blinded her, and she looked down, wincing at the brightness, and noted the shard pulsing. What did that mean?
She turned to the jail, and the pulsing subsided. She moved it back and forth; the beat was strongest when she pointed it towards two distant giant torches that marked the way uphill. Antsy that it did not seem to want them to join the Light-blessed, she whisked through the fabric barring the entrance, startling more than one being into a shriek.
“The spintops are on fire,” she said. Kenosera and Yut-ta rushed out to see, while the dwellers stared at her. “Looks like Jare, Mica, or both reached them.”
“Spintops?” Eno asked, standing proudly, holding the spear to her side, butt on the ground.
“They are flying machines with blades on top that whirl around and keep them in the air,” Vantra told her. “It’s Talin technology.”
“The Wiiv are using ghost machines?” the rufang with the wrap asked, astonished. “That goes against all they preach!”
She nodded. “There’s much wrong with what’s going on. But if we want to run, we need to do it now, while everyone’s away dealing with the fires.”
The evaki touched the rufang’s arm to catch his attention. “If we slip into the forest—”
“You may wish to see it, before you do,” Kenosera said as he returned inside. He pulled up the hem of the loose, sleeveless brown shirt he wore, revealing the welt the root left behind. “We have the true Strans’ Blessing and it still attacked.”
The room quieted. Yut-ta elbowed him, and he shoved his shirt down and rubbed at his ribs, annoyed.
“The true Strans?” the rufang asked carefully, taking a step back.
“Yes. Navosh,” Vantra said quietly, wishing Kenosera had spoken more carefully. The entire group looked confused except for the evaki.
“Navosh!” She rushed to her and grabbed her arm, desperate hope wafting from her. “Navosh! He did not turn against us?”
“Who is Navosh?” the rufang asked, before wincing and rubbing at his beak.
“Navosh is Strans!” She clapped her hands against her chest, her sallow cheeks brightening to a pale gold. “His mother is evaki, and she named him thus. We know, we of the Leyan! It is our knowledge, passed down for generations. For a ghost to know, Navosh must have told her!” She whirled back, her long beaded earrings jangling. “Where is he?”
“He recovers near Two Rivers,” Vantra said. “The false Strans imprisoned him in the Moon Pool and sapped his strength. He is with the syimlins Passion and Darkness.”
They all looked surprised by that.
“He is both,” the evaki said, looking over her shoulder at the others. “Did you know? His mother is evaki, but his father was a Moon. He gave up his mantle for her, and they raised Navosh together. He sees no harm in the syimlin because of his father. Neither do the Leyan.” Tears leaked from her overlarge, golden-green eyes, and trailed down to drip from her long, pointed chin. “We feared Strans turned from us.”
“He did not,” Vantra assured her.
“But who stole his mantle? One of the Wiiv deities?”
“No. Kjiven did.”
Eno narrowed her eyes as the others gasped. “A monster from tales,” she muttered.
“He is a monster, but not a tale. He survived the Dryanflow flood and is here, in Kjivendei. We came to stop whatever he plans for the forest. He’s trying to cut off access into and out of Greenglimmer, and we don’t know why.” Vantra looked at the fabric over the door, a tingling racing up her arms. “If we’re going to go, we need to do so now.”
“Where are we to go?” the evaki asked. “We have only known this room.”
“I don’t know. The buildings next to this one are empty or filled with supplies. Neither will hide us.”
“You would accompany them, Seja?” the rufang asked. She stiffened, then nodded, her glare a searing reply. “Well, let us see the forest, then we shall decide.”
