Zepirz stared at his hands, his beak quivering, tears welling. The marks had vanished, and Vantra sensed his original blessing beating with renewed vigor. Navosh sighed and stretched his back before sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned. He waved a hand as if to brush aside her worry, then slumped.
“I will be fine. The years confined have taken their toll, and I feel as I did when I first donned the mantle; unsteady in my acts, so I overcompensate.” Zepirz turned to him, the sides of his beak pulled down in a troubled frown, and he settled a hand on the yondaii’s shoulder. “It’s more important that you no longer suffer under Kjiven’s touch.”
“It’s been years,” he whispered, bowing his head. Ayara nodded in somber agreement as they placed their hand on his forehead and a soft glow enveloped both. “I recall my youth, how I learned the outside language so I could speak with those who left and convince them to return. We are their people, meant to hunt and fish and forage beneath the leaves. It is the best life for us. But it was as if my words faded before they reached their ears, and frustration drowned me. We are them, and they abandoned us for a false promise. I always thought, if I could prove to them the boughs would welcome—”
“What happened to the Bendebares, Zepirz?” Navosh asked, a steel edge in his voice that surprised Vantra. Zepirz swallowed; he must have heard it, too, because he took a moment to collect his thoughts.
“I don’t know for certain. There is another yondaii, Mojek. He was more obsessed than I with the youth fleeing our caves for interloper ways, and he spoke with Warleader Esentiz’s voice. He said he would visit the grove to pray to Strans for guidance in dealing with the unwelcome. Days passed, and we wondered what became of him when he returned with his first dark mark. I had seen them before on random warriors and yondaii, a symbol with the hue of the deepest tree green. Some started with more sense than others, but as their lives progressed, they all fell to raving. Many of us saw this mark as a curse, not a blessing.
“I knew it boded ill and was concerned for Mojek. He, with reverence, said Strans answered his plea in person. He filled the Bendebares with his presence and offered him a chance to eradicate the interlopers from the rainforest. He touched his chest and proclaimed that he proudly bore the weight of the Twisted One’s charge.
“I wondered why Strans had not answered my similar prayers, so I visited. He was there, wrapped in divine glory. I could not meet his eyes and prostrated myself. He offered the same to me, and I accepted—how could I not? To drive the ghosts and the non-dwellers away and renew our bonds with the forest with his blessing, it was a dream. But after, I felt . . . different, as if the forest pulled back from, rather than embraced, me. I asked Ayara about it—and that was my first hint something was very wrong, for they scolded me.”
“He didn’t listen,” they muttered.
Zepirz wobbled his head about at the annoyed statement. “I finally returned to the grove, to beg for the mark’s removal, and that is when I noticed the first blackened twig on the tree I cared for.” A tear slid down his cheek. “I was afraid, and Strans said ghosts caused the harm. I accepted more marks to combat the threat. But my bendebare, my sacred charge . . . it’s withered with me.”
Navosh drummed his fingers on the edge of the bed, his gaze distant. “He needed more access,” he murmured. “The Labyrinth isn’t a fool’s playground, and he thought the yondaii would give him the heart of it.”
“The heart of it?” Kenosera asked.
“The Bendebares are the oldest trees in Greenglimmer, perhaps in all of the Elfiniti,” Navosh said. “They hold the rainforest’s core, its soul, within their branches. This is why it is sacred, and why so many answer their call for caretakers. They are the reason the rainforest remains vibrant.”
“Esentiz forbade any but the Wiiv to care for the trees,” Zepirz said. “Others protested because they heeded the call, but he placed guards to drive all but the yim from the boughs.”
Vantra folded her hands over her chest. Navosh must have called it the ‘core’ on purpose. She knew untold harm could come from manipulating the center of one’s existence. Ghosts molded their essences around their core, but never touched it because that could send them to the Void. The Finders told stories of empty cores, the remaining wisps turning to greddels, because the ghosts tampered with what they never should have. It was a true fear, not one to scare acolytes into following strict precedent, since the Hallowed Collective drew the most arrogant of spellcasters whose research often ignored sound advice.
Did he suspect Hrivasine wanted the core of the forest? For what purpose? None of the reasons that popped into her mind seemed plausible to explain the desecration taking place.
Navosh lifted his lip, then sucked in a breath. “And who should I blame but myself?” he murmured.
Shouts came from outside, and the thunderous rush of bodies past the door silenced them. They waited until the noise died, then Navosh pushed from the bed.
“We must go. Kjiven awaits.”
“If you want to face the false one, I will lead you to him,” Zepirz said. Araya narrowed their eyes, but he held up a hand to stay any argument. “It is my recompense.”
“You can find it in other ways,” Navosh reminded him.
“No. This is as much my doing as Mojek’s. My people trusted my voice, and I misled them.” He winced as he swung his stiff hindquarters off the bed. Araya and Navosh caught him as his legs buckled.
“You are not the first to see salvation in an imposter’s lies. Recompense is Kjiven’s punishment, not yours,” the ex-deity said. Zepirz flinched, then a hint of a smile wrinkled the side of his beak.
“You have always been the kind one.”
“Not as kind as you may think.”
“What do you plan to do to Kjiven?” Vantra had a bad feeling about that, and she did not know why.
Navosh settled a hand on his breast. “The longer I’m away from the pool, the stronger my need to rip my mantle from him and rend him into the Void grows. But before I left, Erse reminded me the dead are hers to punish, so I will leave him to her.”
“You accept that?” Zepirz asked, his eyes bright with righteous fire.
“I do, because I know what she plans for him. I also know Kjiven regrets his deed, to the depths of his soul, but another drives him, as he drove you, and he feels helpless to resist. It’s a cycle that needs to break, and it will, just not by my hand.”
“It must end,” he agreed. “Please, I need my staff.”
Yut-ta took the once-deity’s place in helping Zepirz while Ayara continued their ministrations. Kenosera retrieved the discarded staff leaning in the corner near the door. Vantra could feel thin, searching tendrils of magic escape the wood and grope for the yondaii. She had not noticed them in the guard spears, so there must be a connection between them. Could that touch reverse what Navosh had done? How easy would it be for Kjiven to replant the marks through it?
The nomad held it away from his body with a wince as it spitted sparks around his fingers. “These are keys, too?” he asked.
“They open many ways,” Ayara said. Zepirz opened his beak to protest, but snapped it shut and did not say a word.
Navosh laid a hand on Vantra’s shoulder. “We still have need of it,” he said, as if apologizing for not eliminating it. “If you are careful, you can seal all but the top behind a shield.”
“Won’t that alert Kjiven?”
“Yes, but he has more problems than a stray staff, doesn’t he?”
But what if she messed this up? The ex-deity had too much faith in her. She studied the item, uncertain how to proceed, and finally circled the wood with her fingers just below the gnarled top. Her mother had coated her official staff with a tamper-resistant spell, a necessity because of the hate she received from the broader Sun community, and she thought she could do something similar.
She tightened her grip until her essence brushed the surface, then led a shield flow down like water, a shimmery Sun shield on the outside, and a Darkness-leaning one on the interior. The enemy’s power might have an explosive reaction to Sun, as it resembled Light so closely, but now that Kjiven had swallowed a darker influence, she suspected it would not react if exposed to Darkness.
“Nicely done,” Navosh said with warm respect. “Your instincts lead you true.” His lips widened. “Did you know, your Lorgan gave me study materials? He said if Light and Darkness accepted, so should I. And so should you.”
By the way Kenosera and Yut-ta desperately tried to muffle their laughter, she guessed she did not keep her flabbergasted reaction secret.
“Study materials?” Zepriz asked, weighing the humor down with serious outrage.
“I had my mantle stolen. He had suggestions to prevent that from happening again. I could rage at the unfairness, but the truth remains that Kjiven ripped my power and office from me and caused immense harm.” He swept his arms wide. “I must fix the weakness that led to it. My pride is not worth a repeat of this.”
The yondaii put a hand to his chest, his anger receding. “And you still teach,” he whispered, shame coating the words as shouts carried to them.
A twump resounded from the corner to the side of the window. All eyes turned to Ayara, who held the trapdoor to a basement staircase in their hand. No handle or other distinguishing feature identified it, and Vantra never would have realized it was there, if the healer had not opened it. How many other buildings had a similar exit?
Zepirz hesitated, but took the staff from Kenosera and hastened to the stairs with Yut-ta, the rest of them following. The yondaii whispered a word, and torches with the anti-darkness flame burst into life, coating the next level with orangish light. He proceeded down, trailed by everyone else. Vantra was the last down but for Ayara, who closed the trapdoor and latched it shut.
In the room above, the door banged open, shaking the floor. Someone shouted, and the healer hunched and hustled after the others. Vantra brought up the rear, praying that whoever burst in did not know about the passage.
