“We should say something.”
“Say what?” Jare ask, a tinge of humor in his voice. “‘While we were talking behind your back—’”
Vantra huffed, annoyed, brimming with angry uncertainty and smoldering pique. She did not understand why Kjaelle told them to remain quiet about Cacarolisse’s sudden departure; it would be obvious, once Weather summoned her and she did not answer.
“They don’t know we met,” Lorgan reminded her. “And the banquet isn’t the time for the revelation. Too many eyes and ears are present who could take the info back to our enemy.”
“Why aren’t you concerned she took off like that?”
Kjaelle shrugged. “Cacarolisse and the Lord of Pineapple have a long history,” she said. “Both survived the Banquet, and that connects them. They fall in and out of each other’s favor, and can spend centuries upset, or centuries inviting each other over for tea. Think of them as bickering siblings who still care for and uplift the other.”
“So, should we be concerned for him?”
Kjaelle smashed her lips together as Jare laughed. “It’s true, Cacarolisse intimidates when she’s furious. But LP can hold his own against her.”
LP? That was disrespectful, considering of whom he spoke. The Lord of Pineapple was a lesser syimlin, true, but that did not mean he lacked power and influence—and his reputation for holding grudges until he died, and he was not dead yet, meant no one should poke him in the wrong way.
Lorgan snagged her arm and they floated out of the way as a handful of councilors barreled to them, voices low, urgent anger lacing the words. They did not bother to check their surroundings and remained in deep conversation, one sounding as if he bit out every syllable. They were upset; had their favorite contestant lost?
No. She guessed they disliked the mini-Joyful in attendance.
Kjaelle glared after them but said nothing as they returned to the flower-lined pathway. Vantra kept her head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone who would glare, frown, make faces, or sniff and turn away. She studied the red-and-orange tesserae flowers in the center of random tiles, names in Reckoning and Talin languages etched on the bottoms. Were they memorial plaques? The Shades who patrolled Death’s Forest had something similar to revere those who died in her and Veer’s service.
If so, they likely listed those who went to the Void. Her unease fell into soft sorrow. Should she try to find a shrine to honor the fallen? The garden had to have one, as it sat within a temple complex. Or should she make an offering at the pool? She had nothing but thoughts to give.
They reached Kenosera and Yut-ta; Jare’s gaze drifted to the remaining councilors who whapped arms with the backs of their hands and snapped at each other while casting glares. The chavosines with longer noses appeared vicious, with their lips pulled back in canine snarls, but they did not intimidate their companions, who gritted their teeth and flared their nostrils in response.
“What’s up with them?” Jare asked as he flumped down next to Yut-ta. His and Kenosera’s resentment spiced the air, so they must have said something they did not agree with.
“Those councilors,” Kenosera muttered. “They remind me of Zepirz.”
“What do you mean?’ Lorgan asked, settling opposite them and setting his hands on his knees. Kjaelle and Vantra took the spaces on each side, completing the friendly circle.
“Telling us we are too young to know, but we need to return to our lands because the ghosts mislead us.”
“That sounds too similar,” the scholar agreed.
“I felt like I was replaying conversations with him,” Yut-ta admitted, smoothing his hair back with short, agitated strokes. “Zepirz insisted we needed to return to our kin and kith because they understood us and the Evenacht. We must embrace our people and their centuries of knowledge, not the invaders. Navosh overheard and must have said something because he refused to bring it up again, but you could always tell he thought it by the look in his eyes. We basically just had the same conversation with two of the councilors. They waited until you left, then walked over and butted in.”
“You told them off?” Jare asked.
Kenosera chuckled, though not in humor. “Yut-ta did. He’s better at it than I am. I tend to be too . . . rational.”
“I didn’t say it that way,” Yut-ta grumbled. “I just said I—”
“It’s OK,” Vantra said. “Play to your strengths. Diplomats and hot-heads have their place.”
“Hot-heads?” Yut-ta clacked his beak and glared as he dropped his arms.
Vantra did not respond to his annoyance. “The councilors who confronted you. Were they the angry ones we watched the competition with?”
“One of them was,” he said. “The chavosine. We think the other one’s a naiazine.” He held up his hand and pointed to his digits. “She has webbed fingers, and they looked natural, not shape-shifted. She has bleached hair with green streaks and dark eyes. I don’t recall her being on the platform with us, but she must have been, as she was dining with them. Neither introduced themselves, though the naiazine had a particular interest in Sera.”
“It might be because we’re both descended from water peoples,” he said. “She didn’t realize I’m from the Snake’s Den. She wanted to know what island people wore this traditional garb.” He tugged at his vest bottom and shrugged. “I told them I borrowed the look from Captain Dough, and they, um, got upset.”
Lorgan tapped a random tune on his knees, frowning. “The Windtwists have a substantial naiazine population. That’s expected, as islands are an attractive place for water-centric beings, but they aren’t the only places with a large population. And it should be obvious your garb is not islander wear. The native peoples have a recognizable traditional look, wearing jilaw fiber or cloudflower clothing, or woven chobar bark. All three take well to the neon colors collected from bacteria that wash up on the beaches, making for vibrant wear. For formal occasions, they wear beaded reed hats with curved sides and a point at the top to funnel wind away from the face. Each one contains a mythological being associated with one’s family, and they would never don a traditional outfit without the hat, which you don’t have.”
“I think they wanted to get us talking,” Kenosera said. “I’m not certain what they expected to learn.”
“Something about the mini-Joyful,” Vantra guessed as she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her lower legs. “I hate feeling that we’ve walked into a trap.” She almost said more, but her essence prickled, and she remained quiet as a group of celebrators sped past with one of the amateur competition’s top four, babbling loud and excitedly. They would have fit in well at casual but official functions on Talis, like arthouse openings or after-awards clubbing. They wore loose, off-white shirts tucked into color-saturated pants, a jacket with rolled sleeves, and small-brimmed hats with a blinding band.
The wavedancer headed for the syimlin with a self-important stride and his entourage trailed him, some falling further behind as their interest turned in the direction of the food. They glanced at their hero, then scurried to their more important destination. She noted two broke away and hunched down with the irritated councilors, a blare of brightest blue against the duller hues the dignitaries wore. A few words exchanged, and the two stood and disappeared down a path that did not lead to the food tables.
“I have a bad feeling about that,” Lorgan murmured.
“Me too.” Kenosera said as they watched the leaves shudder in their wake before returning to their stationary form.
“Weather’s acolytes are watching,” Jare said. “And not just the ones from the local temple. Nem brought in members of the Galevants.”
Vantra knew very little about the Galevants other than the strongest magic users among Weather’s Evenacht adherents joined the group. They, like the Shades, completed secret tasks for their syimlin. Most came from their Talin counterpart, the Vaelvenanz, which loosely translated from Nyphane as Rainstorm. The rest had been members of the Rozital Mezon, or Calm Skies, the priesthood collective.
Her mother knew several from religious celebrations and conferences, and she had dined with a few who visited Spiral Sun, but could not recall who they were. None had made an impression on her, other than they always smelled of fresh, rain-soaked earth.
“And the Shades are here,” Kjaelle whispered. “Nem invited them because they have a better chance of remaining hidden in the crowd.” She looked up, then floated to her feet. Mera and Tally wafted to them, eyes bright, mournful, angry frowns pulling the edges of their mouths low. A sour, pissed Timos brought up the rear, but whether he directed it at his grandmothers or his grandfathers, Vantra could not guess.
“Did you speak with Redaun?” The Darkness acolyte sounded as if she already knew the answer was no.
“He wasn’t home,” Tally admitted, her fingers curling into fists. “We spoke to Gretchie and Nareh.” Fury pulled her lips into more a snarl than a smile. “They said they’ll tell him we radioed when he returns. I doubt they’ll say much more than we’re coming to visit and he’ll panic.”
Timos’s tight-lipped disapproval hinted more was said than that, and the panic would come from the knowledge he would confront two furious women about his silence, not that he couldn’t find Gedall.
“Who are Gretchie and Nareh?” Kenosera asked.
“Gretchie’s my youngest,” Mera said. “Nareh’s Tally’s great, great, great granddaughter. Both wanted to work with children, and the ranch gave them the opportunity. They’re happy in their afterlife, which I am eternally grateful for.”
“They’re fantastic with children,” Timos agreed. “They do most of the administrative work, so they don’t get to spend as much time with the kids as they want, but under their management, the ranch runs smooth.”
“Gretchie’s a pushover and Nareh’s the sterner one,” Kjaelle said. “They make a good team.”
“And that won’t play with us,” Tally said. She leaned forward to the elfine. “Think Katta will whisk us away tonight?”
“If you ask.” She smiled warmly and turned in the direction the syimlin sat. Timos remained rooted as the three disappeared behind the foliage, then squinted at Jare.
“Will she convince them to wait?”
“She’ll try. They need time to think rather than rashly rush ahead. How did Gretchie and Nareh take it?”
“Not well. They said Yanyan Redaun’s doing the best he can to find Yanyan Gedall while avoiding bringing undue Revenant attention to the ranch. My zazas reminded them that they were a Qira-prayer away, and they could have taken on the task without involving the ranch. Gretchie and Nareh resented the implication they couldn’t care for the problem themselves, and it deteriorated from there.” He sighed. “My family isn’t known for calm, persuasive conversations.”
“Why hide his disappearance?” Jare asked. “The longer he stays absent, the more likely it is he’ll be harmed or worse.”
“I think it’s because no one wants my zazas to know how unhappy he’s been.” His anger faded, and he sank down next to the Light-blessed. “We pride ourselves on how close-knit our family is, how much we love and respect one another. Yanyan Gedall going off like he did breaks that into pieces, especially since he knew of the Revenant’s attack on my boat.”
“That must hurt,” Vantra said. She imagined Gedall wounded more than his pride by signing up with the group who attacked him, pointing to indifference to his suffering rather than concern for a loved one.
“Yeah, it does.” He shook his head and rubbed his chest, his shoulders sagging. “I thought we were getting closer, when he stayed with me. We had a good time, and I saw his edges disappearing. He even wrote a few letters before he disappeared. I don’t understand why he left, and I don’t understand why he chose raiding. There are plenty of other things he could have done for a thrill.”
“Well, we’re going to find out,” Jare said. “I’m not certain your family’s going to like the answer.”
“We already don’t like the answer,” he grumbled. “And Zaza Mera’s swinging between fury and tears. She spent her life with him, thought she knew him and that he trusted her enough, when he had problems, he could talk to her. They had some issues before he died, I know that, but the Evenacht smoothed them—until she and Zaza Tally decided to travel with Qira.
“I know it’s jealousy. If he’d been forthright about it, told us he needed to get away, Zaza Mera would have been a little sad, maybe, but she wouldn’t begrudge him adventure when she’s drowning in it. I mean, they’ve seen off a lot of family members who wanted something beyond the ranch, me included. She would have accepted he needed to do as she did, because in the end, she wants us happy.”
“I think the difference is, no one expects him to return.”
Timos digested that, then scrubbed his palms over his face. “Maybe. I assumed he would, but maybe that’s why Yanyan Redaun’s so upset. He thinks he’s gone for good, in one way or another.” He curled into a miserable ball. “There has to be more to it. I feel it right here.” He smacked his chest above his heart. “I keep thinking back to the semma he spent here. There were a few conversations we had that I wondered where his thoughts were because he was over-sharp and moody about random things, but those disappeared by the end of the stay. He seemed more hopeful. I don’t know what changed when he went back to Tempest.”
“He returned to the environment that caused his resentment.” Jare regarded him with sad understanding. “It happened with the Light-blessed. There are several who refuse to visit Selaserat because it reminds them too much of Aristarzia and the pain they endured. They don’t understand why we stay among other Aristarzians in the quarter, why we see friends and neighbors in ghosts whose faith kept us chained to an unfeeling syimlin and his priesthood. They refuse to see Talis as a savior because he hasn’t obliterated those who did so much harm.”
“Punishment is Death’s domain,” Vantra protested.
“It is, but they think he can convince her to send the lot to the Void. They don’t care that would end in millions of souls being snuffed out at once. If they weren’t sent to the Fields upon entering the Evenacht, they haven’t paid their debt.”
“An entire people isn’t responsible for what a priesthood does.”
“No, but they gave tacit support, and that’s enough. Aristarzia fell after the people revolted, so they could have changed events and didn’t.” He leaned back on his palms, absently staring at the empty plates. “The priesthood never would have gained their cultural significance if the people had protested the first vicious rounds of the Gauntlet. They didn’t. They knew it was wrong and still called it holy.”
“So Gedall felt trapped.” Kenosera wrapped his hair around his finger, understanding sorrow wrinkling his brow. “I know what that feels like, to have family decide your obligations when you desperately want to be someone else, live somewhere else. Perhaps he felt the same.”
“Maybe,” Timos said. “I’m not going to say there’s no pressure to stay, but when someone really wants to leave, the family wishes them luck and waves them on. Many stick around, not to raise the kids, but to farm, take care of animals, harvest the orchards. They find the labor rewarding. Most of my zazas’ kids and grandkids do. Get into the younger generations and that fades, but there’s still a huge family unit that lives on the ranch because it’s cheaper and rests close enough to Windhaven and Respite that they have the sense of big city even while living in the outskirts.”
“The outskirts?” Kenosera asked.
“Windhaven stretches from the sea to the Ewedasks. Two millions beings live there, and while most remain in districts close to the sea, the foothills swim with farms and ranches.”
“Two million?”
Timos grinned at his uncertainty. “And a couple million more in Respite. The nymphs claim ten million live in the Zozhani waterdome, but you’d never guess that, being there.”
“Empty bragging,” Jare muttered.
“Sometimes I wonder,” he admitted. “But ghosts don’t take up much space, so maybe that explains the empty streets. Windhaven and Respite have the numbers, but if they weren’t so spread out, I think they wouldn’t seem so intimidating.”
“Spread out?” Yut-ta asked. “Because you can’t build tall in the islands?”
“Yes. Even on the lee sides, the winds tear apart tall buildings, so almost everything is in undersurface hollows, like the IBA headquarters here. On Tempest, once you get to the foothills, more are above ground and protected by native trees, like our ranch.”
“The largest habitation in the Snake’s Den is—was—Black Temple,” Kenosera said. “Fifteen thousand resided there. Millions seems unfathomable.”
“Only fifteen thousand?” Timos asked, shocked. “That would barely qualify as a neighborhood in Windhaven.”
“So you are a backhills bunky,” Yut-ta teased, poking his side. Kenosera’s narrow-eyed annoyance did not keep him from snickering.
“I grew up in Winsun,” Vantra said. “It was a traditional town that enjoyed its rural nature. When I got to the Evenacht, I stayed in Evening.”
“I visited there once,” Timos said. “Those skyscrapers blotted out the sky and made me feel insignificant. I’ve been told Evening rivals cities on modern Talis, too. I wouldn’t know; I died over four hundred years ago. We had taller buildings but nothing like that.”
“I think Evening’s larger than Damkjik, but not as large as Yimbarkaine, the Keelsland capital.”
“Damkjik was humongous during my years. They built it on magic-enhanced glass so it appeared to float.”
“The elfine countries sent hundreds of scientists to the Flayn ships. What they learned there aided them in creating a city that really does float.”
“That sounds mystical,” Kenosera breathed.
Jare remained stoic, and she wondered why. He caught her eye, and half-laughed. “It isn’t that the elfines figured out how to build a floating city, it’s that Moon stuck his fingers in it. The Flayn documents helped, but he already had the basics. The info just solidified what he wanted to do.”
Her mother never mentioned that!
“It still sounds mystical,” Kenosera insisted.
Vantra had not visited, but she had seen numerous pictures of the awe-inspiring site. “Have you visited its modern self, Jare?”
Jare wormed his mouth to the side, and she firmed her resolve. If it wasn’t too much trouble, did Darkness have a book with Damkjik pictures in it?
