Navosh’s cough grew louder and deeper the further they walked. Vantra wavered between calling a break for him to rest, and the need to reach this mosi and get him better aid. Jare’s face did not betray his emotions, so she had no advice on which would help him most.

The tunnel dipped, and a screen made of wicker and glowing with magic blocked it where it flattened out. The center panel swung wide, welcoming them inside. She peeked around the edges, expecting attack, but only flaming torches and swirly brown tiles met her gaze. Embarrassed but still cautious, she crept through, and relaxed when nothing untoward happened to her on the other side.

“He won’t hurt you,” Navosh said as he limped through the door with Jare’s aid.

“Who is ‘he’?” Jare asked with solemn distrust.

“Dinousej. Just call him Black-claw. He’s a guardian of the Labyrinth, in the Labyrinth. Most guardians find refuge in settlements in the forest, where they are a step away from the trees, but Black-claw dislikes civilized life.”

“Dono reva gleteran, Navosh.” The singsong, sarcastic words sounded closer.

“Yes, I’ve never found pleasure in cities, either, but I’m not as allergic to them as you are.” He coughed hard enough to rock his body and fell to his knees. Jare knelt next to him and kept him upright while he hacked, a hand over his chest.

“Zono cleta.”

The click of claws on stone caught Vantra’s attention. She stepped in front of the other two as a rufang made his way to them, clutching a drinking glass with blue mist rising from the top. He had a black bill that filled the vertical center of his face, with a white strip near the nostrils and large, sapphire eyes reflecting the torch flames on each side. Long metallic green feathers flowed from his head like hair, falling over his bare shoulders and to his waist. Fine ashen down covered his upper torso and arms, while his lower torso had short bluish-green fur but for his tummy, which was a mottled white. His paws had pudgy black claws, and his tail fanned out like a bird’s in flight.

“You breathed too much smoke, tedak,” the being said. “I made a jou tash for you.” The beautiful eyes rested on Vantra. “Please, I wish to help.”

She stepped back and let him pass unhindered.

“Thank you,” he said. He knelt and shoved the drink under Navosh’s nose. “I think you came for healing, yes?”

“What ails me you can’t fix,” Navosh gasped before snagging the glass and drinking between coughing bouts. The new arrival clasped the ex-deity’s hand and the glass, keeping the liquid from sloshing over the side.

“I believe your exile is ending. That is good, the dark one’s plots are increasingly insane.”

“Increasingly?” Jare asked with subdued disbelief.

“He was never a pleasant elfine.” Black-claw waved his fingers, as if dismissing a thought. “His rage induced an act he regretted but could not undo. And it slowly destroys what’s left of him.”

“An elfine?” Vantra asked, bewildered. An elfine stole a mantle from a native Evenacht deity? How? The Finder materials and religious texts she had read explained that mantles normally did not transfer between the faelareign ghosts from Talis and the living umbrareign from the Evenacht. The Beast, as a beghestern, only ascended to Death’s position because he was dead and so was Old Man Death, so that similarity initially attracted the power, though he used advanced death magic to retain it. After the Beast met the Final Death, the power sought Erse because of her faelareign heritage—a return home. Strans, as a living umbrareign, should not have had his mantle taken by a faelareign elfine.

“Yes. He twisted the magic, to make it fit,” the rufang said as he took the empty glass with concern, and Navosh, with Jare’s help, gained his feet. “You strain too much, Navosh. I will carry you. We will reach the mosi faster. I have spring water and food and another jou tash.”

“I don’t need—” Navosh trailed off as he coughed again, then reluctantly accepted the rufang’s invitation to mount.

“You are stubborn,” Black-claw said. He motioned for Vantra and Jare to follow him and trotted down the tunnel. She glanced at the Light-blessed, but knew they did not have a choice. A magic inferno awaited them if they retreated to the pool, and even as ghosts, she did not want to be in the middle of it.

Black-claw and Navosh had a soft discussion in the language Vantra did not understand, the rufang soothing, the ex-deity agitated. She hoped the guardian could help his friend, because she suspected Navosh was not doing as well as he pretended. She imagined her distraught state, if she were confined to a rock in the center of a pool with no sustenance for days, weeks, years?

A shudder raced through her essence at the thought of a magic-induced inferno surrounding her, and she with no exit. Fire was not as much a threat to ghosts as wind or water, especially when in Ether form, but imagining a forest burning into nothing over her head frightened her.

They entered a brightly lit grey stone room with mosaic tiles forming green concentric circles in the middle. A glass display housing decorated spears filled the space between two doorways in front of them, and wooden shields of numerous designs and colors adorned the walls. Black-claw did not stop and whisked into a short hallway on the left. It led to a cozy kitchen where a pot of brown broth boiled merrily above an open fire, a small oven next to it. A corked decanter glowing the same color as the drink rested among chopped foodstuffs and utensils on a wooden counter. Two brown cabinets stood to the left, one with a door open and revealing fresh produce in woven baskets.

Navosh slid from Black-claw’s back, and Vantra caught him as he landed unsteadily. He patted her hands and moved to a chair at the plain wooden table to the right, where he sat and leaned over, breathing hard. The guardian poured more liquid from the decanter into the glass and handed it to the ex-deity, who accepted it and drank without comment.

“It is helping?”

“Yes. That’s unsurprising, given your healing history.”

“You must eat. I have soft vegetables and meats to build your strength; you have spent too long consuming fruit. It’s a surprise your teeth haven’t rotted.”

“My teeth are fine,” Navosh grumbled.

“I will also see your saviors to the mist room.” Black-claw put a hand to his chest. “It is not often I entertain ghosts, but I do have mist for those uncommon visits. Unless you eat?”

Jare nodded, but Vantra shook her head. “I haven’t learned yet,” she said, unworthiness battering her.

“You will,” the rufang said. “The company you keep enjoys sweets.”

Jare regarded Black-claw, his hands tightening on his crossed arms. “Does the interference affect these tunnels?”

“No, but there are other reasons your calls are unanswered.”

“What reasons?” The Light-blessed’s voice cracked, his composure breaking. Vantra frowned; what was wrong with Jare?

Navosh waved his hand as he sucked down the rest of his drink. “You know better, my lad,” he said. “Dig deep. He is there, faint, but there.”

What were they talking about?

Jare lowered his head and concentrated, his fingers digging hard into his essence. With a gusty, distressed hiss, he opened his right hand and raised it, uncurling his digits with difficulty. “What happened?”

“An attack,” Navosh said quietly. “He took what was meant to harm many because he is selfless in his devotion. Don’t underestimate his will and his courage.”

“Vantra said something about a mephoric emblem?”

“Yes. He sucked as much energy within himself as he could.”

“And you know this how?”

The two looked at the Light-blessed with amused tolerance. “Even without his mantle, Navosh is still a ketevinta,” Black-claw said. “The elfine could not draw that from him because it is who he is, as a divine child. The forest speaks to him, even in captivity.”

Divine child? Vantra assumed he meant that he had a deity for a parent, which made sense. The tales she skimmed concerning Strans’ birth possessed the mythic divine-son feel to them.

“I assume that’s why I lived.” Navosh settled the glass on the table with a subdued thunk. “The scant food the forest sent me through the pool wasn’t enough to sustain a normal being.”

“Stubbornness too,” Black-claw stated as he prepared a plate with edibles. “A handy quality. It will serve you well when your mantle returns.”

“So you’re a divine child.” Darkness deepened Jare’s tone.

Navosh sighed, melancholy drifting across his features. “The Moon twice removed from Daquio Mistark fell in love with my mother. He gave his mantle to Rabbit to remain with her, and they still live a happy existence in the Labyrinth. I and my sister inherited his divinity. So yes, a divine child.”

His parents lived? Vantra could not conceal her shock. Then why had they not helped him during his time of need? Or what about his sister? Had she deserted him? Why?

“Qira’s not a divine child,” Jare stated flatly.

“Qira?” Black-claw asked, frowning, cocking his head like a bird who spied a rotting berry and pondered whether to eat it anyway.

“He’s Light’s avatar,” Vantra said. Confusion spread across his features, but Navosh shook his head at the rufang, who blinked, then returned to his task.

“Many have believed Qira less worthy—and he’s taken advantage.” The ex-deity wagged his finger at Jare. “How fast is Light, Light-blessed?”

“What?”

“How fast is Light?” When Jare did not answer, the ex-deity nodded. “He suffers, but he has the will, the heart, to survive. The Evenacht would sink into the seas before he abandoned you.”

Vantra slid the pack from her shoulders and settled Laken in the other chair. If the interference did not extend to the tunnels, he could use his base again. She untied the strings, her mind churning on what they did not say. The way Navosh said survive, it was as if he spoke of a living being, not a ghost. Ghosts existed, they did not live, so there was no surviving involved except as an anachronistic choice of phrase.

She hated being the only one who did not understand. Something happened to Qira, yes, but he turned to Light and escaped. She thought. That splatter she felt . . .

“Do not mourn. He is not lost, as you fear.” Navosh made an odd, guttural growl as Black-claw settled the plate with vegetables and meat in front of him. The viciousness in which he tore into the food shocked Vantra. But what else did she expect, from a being trapped in the middle of a pool for who knew how long?

“Then a bath and new clothes,” Black-claw said as the ex-deity scooped the final forkful into his mouth. Relief poured through her that she could not smell; she had a feeling, from the dirt coating him to the ratty clothing, that he was long overdue for a scrub.

The rufang retrieved the plate and filled it with another helping before dashing something on top. He settled the food in front of Navosh, then ladled the bubbling broth into a bowl and placed it to the side.

Laken’s base rose from the chair, wobbled, then steadied. She made certain her Chosen’s straps remained taut and secured, and he twisted about, testing them.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s broken.” The captain wormed about, testing the seat.

“It wouldn’t break,” Jare said. “Qira made it.”

“Hmm. The interference targeted the link between you and the base, eh?” Navosh squinted at the captain and his device. “It should have struck the base instead. That’s a nasty twist I don’t think was there originally.”

“Originally?” Jare asked.

“The elfine had to constantly strengthen his jail,” Black-claw said. “Navosh did not sit idle during his confinement. The fake Strans finally forced the forest into powering his cell, and Navosh, unwilling to harm the Labyrinth, demurred. I’ve no doubt he would have discovered a way to break free, but you arrived instead.”

Vantra settled a hand to her throat. She had done so much more than just harm the Labyrinth. She burned it to cinders and ash. The ex-deity said the destruction was inevitable, and maybe the flood was, but her involvement? Happenstance led her to Two Rivers as the Wiiv attacked the dam, so bad luck rather than inevitability plagued her.

The floor shook. Black-claw hissed, covering the food with a shield before the dust knocked free of the ceiling contaminated it. “They still battle?”

“Hmm. It’s desperation on his part,” Navosh said, peering above him. “She defeated him, but he refuses to retreat. I’ve long ago given up on guessing why he does anything.” He tapped the plate with his fork. “Darkness is a powerful enemy when provoked, and he’s incapable of battling that power with the full strength of the Labyrinth behind him. Now, when the forest’s attention diverts to its own survival? He suffers failure.”

“Kjaelle’s a strong conduit for Katta’s rage,” Jare said.

“Katta?” Black-claw asked, confused. “Is that not Veer? I do not mistake his Touch.”

Veer? Jare’s stressed look and Navosh’s disapproving glare at his friend washed over Vantra.

Veer.

“De ne Evachtu, didouri mele Katta, Dinousej,” Navosh snapped.

The rufang blinked. “He goes by Katta in the Evenacht?”

Veer. Veer.

She looked at Jare, wavering between disbelief and gut-wrenching shame. “And Qira?” she asked, voice trembling.

“He’s Talis,” Jare whispered.