Eggshell-tinted clouds brightened the dark grey afternoon, casting a gentle glow upon the blood-smeared dusty streets of Grindal Oasis.

That morning, Vantra chose to accompany Kjaelle, Tally, and three of the caravan wagons to the oasis to support Verryn. The rest remained behind at Watermarket, providing help until Katta and Red soothed tensions by reissuing the Darkness link on those willing to receive it.

Considering the aghast rage simmering beneath fake understanding, she doubted Toraphen would allow those who refused the bond to Veer Tul to remain on Watermarket soil. Too many now feared the Nevemere and another unexpected attack.

She sympathized with the affected because an outside entity warped their special religious link and forced them into monstrous behavior. More than one horrified individual broke down, inconsolable, when they realized they had harmed or killed another being, especially if they hurt non-Nevemere friends and family.

None of them remembered what they had done, either. Their acts rested in Darkness, hidden from their memory. They wanted to believe the assaults were nightmares, delusions, but the evidence of their deeds lay at their feet, injured and dead, or remained held in their bloody hands, and they could not explain them away. Kenosera remembered a bit more, but he did not recall the snaky magic, or attacking Red, or what happened to Dedari, just the anguish that preceded him screaming the Clear Rays spell.

The violence at Watermark was a subtle wave compared to the destruction at the larger oasis.

More bodies sprawled in the streets, many slashed and bruised, puddles of blood surrounding them. Bloody prints marred the orange mud brick walls, the doors. Broken vases, ripped plants, benches, chairs littered the sidewalks and roads. The colorful striped awnings had collapsed, some torn to shreds, others splatted with dark stains. Residents wandered about in search of loved ones, the rage of betrayal brewing below the emotional wreckage and waiting for a spark, filling the air with bleakness. Hopelessness.

A driver drifted up to her and Kjaelle, morose. “We got the ronyx watered, but I’d not stray far from these trees.” He waved his finger at the tall plants surrounding a small pool at the edge of town that Verryn chose as a base for his operations. “The locals are getting angry-violent, and as apt to take it out on a ghost as any.”

Shouts; Vantra looked over at the street leading to the stand, where five Voristi punched a Nevemere woman, who hunched over the still body of another nomad, arms over her head, shrieking, two children near her crying. She coated the victim with shields and floated to her as Kjaelle raced to them in Ether form, employed Physical, then snagged fists and arms, yanking the group away from their target.

The woman looked up; her raw, red-faced agony resembled Vantra’s mother’s as she held her while she died. “Do you need help?” she asked, her emotions cracking as she remembered numbness, the agony of helplessness.

The nomad shook her head as younger Nevemere hastened up to carry away the body. Vantra dropped the shields so they could, then stood between them and the animated Voristi. The five lunged at them, swiping and screaming, but could not bypass Kjaelle and her lightning-quick responses. The woman snagged her children, who continued to wail, and hushed them as she limped after her fleeing helpers, to an alley between three-story brick buildings with wide windows, railed balconies, and thick cracks snaking up from the ground.

Air coursed through her essence. She looked down, then at the Voristi whose fist had sailed through her. He stumbled and Kjaelle helped him into the dirt with a hard shove.

“Take your hate home,” Kjaelle hissed. “It helps no one.”

“You’re aiding the monsters,” another shouted, his rage shaking his frame.

“They aren’t monsters,” Vantra snapped. “They’re victims, too. Do you think you’re strong enough to deny a deity’s will?”

 The group seethed. A flash of red from the Passion badges she and Kjaelle wore lit the street; the men recognized the warning, and shuffled off, glaring daggers of loathing from the depths of despair.

“What a mess,” the elfine said, her tone low, sorrowful. “The leaders should have listened to Verryn.”

No one trusted Verryn, which explained why his suggestion to send people home rather than letting them wander about the streets met with defiance. Yes, he had stopped the Nevemere attack before the cleansing rays washed away the Darkness link, but the non-Nevemere residents did not want further foreign help in this matter. They wanted revenge. That would be long in coming; despite the enraged demands for vengeance, no one craved enduring the wrath of a syimlin by initiating a slaughter while he remained in town.

Tally floated to her and Kjaelle, her Ether form flickering in agitation. “Well, some of the Nevemere are talking curses and persecution and, instead of submitting to Katta forming a new link, they’re fleeing to Black Temple.”

“Not surprising,” Kjaelle murmured, smacking her hands together. “They don’t remember being the bringers of death and resent the accusations. I wonder if all Nevemere populations were affected, or just the ones nearest Watermarket.”

“I don’t know. Verryn’s been too busy to look. Qira planned to make a quick scry around, see what he could see.” She sighed and fell in step with them as they made their way back to the wagons. “I don’t understand. If Rezenarza infected this cultural link, what is so special about now that he’s deploying it?”

Vantra firmed her lips. She had yet to tell anyone what he had said to her as she escaped him, and after Vesh pulled her to him, the whirlwind of keeping the non-Nevemere at Watermarket from rampaging through the nomads’ camps and slaughtering the survivors kept her intent on another task. But now? She needed to speak to someone, but she did not know how to start. Thinking of the words made her anxious, beyond the association with the one who spoke them, and having her essence jiggle about as she explained would only make her look weak.

“How often do you face him?” she asked. How many other encounters should she expect?

“Rezenarza? Whenever the sting of his exile becomes unbearable,” Tally said. “Anyone associated with Katta can be a target, which includes the entire Joyful Caravan.” She waved a hand, sour. “It’s a danger, but once you’re aware of his tampering, when he does, it’s easier to navigate.”

She did not think the battle on the beach was an easily navigated attack. “Why go after the entire Joyful Caravan?”

“Light and Darkness walk hand in hand in the Evenacht,” the light acolyte reminded her. “Qira bears the weight of Katta’s enemies, as Katta bears the weight of his. So Mera and I have had our share of battles defending both from those who seek to do them harm.”

As they reached the wagons, Fyrij darted from his roost and shot to them, cheeping loud and frantic. Vantra employed Physical Touch, and he zipped into her hood, tangling in her hair and burying his face in her neck. She cooed to him, stroking his shuddering body, wondering what upset him so.

Kjaelle studied the little caroling, her fingers thrumming on her upper arms before she retrieved a metal flask wrapped in a fuzzy cloth from the back of the supply wagon. The flasks held cooled water for the living on the expedition, with a few extras added to keep them hydrated. The elfine handed it to her, and she accepted, confused.

“Give that to Verryn,” she said, pointing. Vantra turned; the syimlin stood in deep discussion with a lanky Avie, a surprising being to find in the desert. Their traditional lands lay within the deepest interiors of the Parley Mountains and the Elfiniti Rainforest of Uka’s Lament, and while many had found homes outside those areas, they mostly stayed in places of rain and water. “And ask Levassa if he would like one as well.”

She froze. Levassa? The Evenacht’s native Death???

Kjaelle clicked her tongue and pushed her towards the two. “And don’t act deferentially. Levassa doesn’t like it. Don’t say native. He much prefers the term ‘being’.”

But—but—

The dread thrill of encountering an Evenacht deity, especially an important one, swirled through her. She had read about the evening land pantheons, and how the influence of the Talin syimlin had changed the populations’ perceptions of their own divine entities. This altered how the deities behaved towards one another and led to a select few becoming more influential than their peers. These more influential beings behaved like the greater syimlin, while the rest of the pantheons held localized power that rarely bled outside their historic territory.

Levassa was one of the influential entities, and he had ruled as Death for the Evenacht living for longer than most Talin syimlin had worn their mantles.

Verryn glanced at her as she approached; she held up the flask with a forced smile. “Kjaelle insists,” she said, proud her voice did not wobble. He accepted with a wince as Levassa chuckled, an essence-vibrating, luscious sound. “Would you like something?” she asked. “We’ve plenty of water.”

His red, feathery eyelashes flapped furiously as he blinked at her, then shook his head, his wine-purple eyes wrinkling in humor. “I’m fine,” he told her. “I’ll be gone before the heat becomes more than a nuisance.”

She nodded, uncertain what else to say.

“Levassa, this is Vantra,” Verryn said, waving the flask in her direction, then taking a deep drink. “We’re helping her Redeem her Chosen.”

“A Finder?” His wine-purple eyebrows raised as he studied her, then he tucked his matching hair behind his pointed ears as an afternoon wind played with them. “No, an ex-Finder. Hmm. Lucky, that. You’ll do much better with the Joyful Caravan.”

“So far I have,” she agreed. Unlike Nolaris, they had not attempted to send her to the Final Death.

He grinned, his teeth a flash of white against his ebon skin. “Katta and Qira are extraordinary, and those they select to stand at their side reflect that.” He cocked his head, his interest in her hood. “Is that a caroling?”

Fyrij chirped at him but remained inside the cloth confines, wrapped in her hair.

“Fyrij refuses to leave Vantra, even when Katta insisted,” Verryn said.

“Did you know, the carolings originated in the rainforests on Uka’s Lament?” Levassa asked, folding his long arms across his bared chest, his three fingers thrumming on his muscles. “Avies believe that if a caroling attaches itself to you, it’s a sign of luck. Myths tell of many heroes who attracted caroling attention and succeed with their help—though most leaned to Darkness, rather than to the Sun. You are twice-blessed, to have one as a companion.”

“I am,” she agreed.

“I suppose that is why Rezenarza cannot sink his claws into you.”

She blinked, surprised. What?

“He attempted so when you rode the rays. His touch flowed off, like oil on water.”

Did it? “It didn’t feel that way,” she admitted. How did he even know that?

“No. He’s not the delicate sort.”

“He spoke to me.”

That caught both men’s attention. “And what did he say?” Verryn asked, his brows wrinkling in concern.

“He said I was free of my destiny and could return to Evening.” They both frowned. She hesitated but forced the words from her mouth. She did not want to insult either of them by clamming up. “He said that he challenges false history while I swallow lies and hold them dear. He told me to return to those who have caused more death than I know, and that I should know that recompense never touches the UnRedeemable.”

Verryn narrowed his eyes while Levassa sighed and glanced at his peer. “He believes the ancient oracle?” the death deity asked.

“Ancient oracle?” Vantra wondered which one he meant. She had read about Evenacht oracles, her curiosity prompted by the fact the Sun Oracles were the only ones considered accurate, both in the living and the dead lands. 

“Hmm. Well, yes, one several thousand years in the making. It’s interesting, he’s referencing it.” Levassa rubbed his lower lip before half-grinning. “It’s an Evenacht oracle called the Recompense, one that held true for millennia. It claimed that the daughter of the Sun would bring the two hands of Life together and return the Light to the Evenacht. Some beings thought it referred to a hero destroying the Beast, but Erse sent him to the Final Death outside its precepts, and the oracle continued on in its slow fashion. Some beings thought it meant a Sun Blessing would alight on Evenacht soil and return the ghosts to life. Others believed the Sun would dispel the clouds, and so many peoples saw it as a cursed omen of destruction. Most agreed, they had no idea what it meant. All watched as milestone upon milestone the oracle predicted came to pass—and then the woman it hailed as hero, a true daughter of the Sun, was murdered.”

Vantra gasped, and discomfort squirreled through her. She, too, had been murdered. How horrible, for a true daughter. She could not imagine how the woman felt, knowing her powerful syim father did not save her. “Like his biological daughter?”

“Yes, a child of his loins,” he said. “Her death sundered the oracle, and while some have tried to resurrect it, most who followed its progress consider it unredeemable. Unease about it still resides in religious circles because the guiding hand behind the sundering has never shown itself, and even Ga Son remains ignorant. That Rezenarza, who never cared about oracles, speaks of it to you, is interesting.” He looked at Verryn and patted his arm. “Take care, my friend. Both you and Erse must stride with caution until we understand what drives the false Darkness.”

“He’s stupid if he thinks Ga Son won’t revenge the wrong,” Verryn grumbled.

“He plays with a fire not of his making,” Levassa said. “I may need to delve deeper, see if I can catch him.”

“Then take care as well. That’s a dangerous path.”

The death deity chuckled, tugging on his knee-length, shiny red breeches. Vantra would have expected a fancy outfit, but he wore something akin to the everyday nomad clothing style and looked as comfortable as a sweat-drenched being could be in it. “It is, but not so much as to dissuade my adventurous soul.” He held out his hand, palm up, then covered it with his other hand. A breeze shot away from them, filled with the soft pull of Death.

Vantra knew it well, from her own sad demise.

“I’ve collected the spirits,” he said. “They shall not trouble your intent.”

“Oh, good!” Red walked up and slung his arm around the Avie’s shoulders, grinning mischievously. “Katta’s having a time convincing those at Watermarket that their walk on these lands is over.”

“I shall visit there next,” he said. “The desert sang with unwanted death last night, and I must continue to answer the summons.”

Red’s expression fell, and he withdrew from the being, sober and melancholy. “Yeah. I looked. Any population with Nevemere living there experienced the same thing—and I’m afraid anyone in Nevemere-majority centers didn’t survive until the Rays touched the hapless.”

“They did not,” Levassa agreed. “My attention is now to the desert and those who wish to bring early rest to the innocent. Stride with caution, Qira. Our enemy numbers more than Rezenarza.” With that, he disappeared, black wisps trailing in the breeze.

“He was here when I arrived,” Verryn said as he finished the water. “He prevented much death before the Rays hit.”

“It must have been a strong compulsion, to get him to visit,” Red said, frowning. “He’s a typical Avie and not that fond of the desert.”

“He sees someone usurping his name,” the syimlin said. “And he’s pissed about it. He said he’s been investigating for seasons now.”

Red winced. “That’s not good.”

Verryn settled his hand on Vantra’s shoulder. “And Rezenarza spoke to her and referred to the Recompense.”

The Light acolyte blinked, looked at her, then scanned the nearby mudbrick homes, his eyes lingering on the motionless bodies still sprawled in the dirt. “That’s weird. I didn’t think he cared about that.”

“He does now. Why bother with a sundered oracle, though?”

They headed to the caravan, avoiding the newly arrived wagons joining the circle. Vantra did not see Katta or Vesh and thought that the numbers of vehicles were less. How many remained at Watermarket?

“I need to stay here until Katta arrives,” the syimlin said. “This calm is knife-edge at best. I think you two and a couple others need to continue on to Black Temple and rescue Laken and recover the Sun shard. We can meet up somewhere in between, and travel to the Snake’s Den ruin from there.”

Red nodded. “Kjaelle should come, and I’ll ask Mera and Tally which one wants to accompany us. Kenosera’s clean, and he’s familiar with the city, so we’ll need him. Lorgan will probably want to come along, too. Two wagons, one for us, one for supplies.”

“Be careful. Not all the Nevemere are happy about losing their link to Darkness. The Clear Rays remained within the confines of the desert, but they did sweep across the entirety of it, adding to the chaos.”

“I’m sorry,” Vantra whispered, upset. It had not occurred to her to place restrictions on the cleansing, though it made sense in retrospect. How thoughtless of her, to—

“No,” Verryn said. “Ga Son rode those rays. He meant for them to do as they did.”

He had? She had felt no other presence besides Rezenarza’s.

“He wanted those links broken. We need to make certain every desert dweller knows why, and that any reconnection of the Darkness link must specify Veer Tul. I’m anticipating push-back on that, and I’m anticipating other beings are going to have their say, whether the Nevemere want their advice or not.” The syimlin rubbed at his eyes; the heavy dark beneath them hinted at his weariness. “Their cultural leadership ended last night, and I doubt Black Temple is going to take the sudden demise of their influence well.”

“All the more reason to get Laken out of there quickly,” Red said. “They might dump their ill luck on his head and attempt lasting damage.”

“And they’ll find out why ghosts leave the Condemned in the Fields rather than seek revenge.” Verryn shrugged. “Levassa has no care if beings ignore the warnings and reap the consequences. Erse isn’t silent about the punishment.”

“How well do you know him?” Vantra asked.

Red laughed. “Levassa? Pretty well! He’s not shy about making connections with syimlin from Talis, especially those associated with Erse. He respects her for taking out the Beast, a creature he despised to the depths of his core.”

Verryn shook his head and half-laughed. “Don’t let Qira fool you. He’s known Levassa since he first stepped foot in the Evenacht. Most local pantheons avoid contact with syimlin, but he’s an exception. He’s curious about the mantles and will talk for hours about the magic involved.”

Red cupped his hand to the side of his mouth and leaned into her. “He’s been hounding Verryn about his new power and mantle. All the other greater syimlin have inherited theirs, and this is the first one he’s able to study from inception.”

“He’s welcome to it,” Verryn grumbled. “Anyway, Katta’s renewed the bonds?”

“With everyone who wanted it,” Red said. “He’ll be here soon, probably after Levassa pays a visit.”

“Tally said that some of the Nevemere are talking about curses and are returning to Black Temple rather than waiting to get the new blessing,” Vantra told them. She supposed, from the nomad point-of-view, they needed to blame something other than their cultural Darkness link to excuse their horrible acts.

“I hate battling superstition.” Verryn looked south, tapping his water flask against his thigh. “Levassa said that something stirs in the soil, something akin to but separate from, the false Darkness. Something created by the Evenacht but standing outside it. If the vi van at Black Temple knew of it and that’s the reason they negated the previous link to Veer in favor of a generalized Darkness bond, it points to more wrong in the Black Temple hierarchy than we thought. We need to rescue Laken and retrieve the shard before they do something that will end them and anyone unlucky enough to be near.”

“We’ll be sneaky,” Red said. “And hopefully, that’s all we’ll need to be.”