Chapter 19: In Wait

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“Merdia, the jewel of the Snake.” Dough threw his arms up and out as the glimmer of light on the horizon brightened against the dark grey clouds of the late morning sky. “Black Temple nor Sunbright shine as beautiful.”

Vantra smiled, setting her face to the brisk breeze. While she could not smell the salt air, she still experienced the wind and the eagerness of docking at a strange place, of viewing buildings and beings she had never encountered before. While she lived in Winsun, she rarely ventured past the seat of Ga Son’s priesthood to explore the wonders of Talis.

Too bad, for she would never again have the opportunity to see the Shadow Cave, the most important temple for Veer Tul on Talis, or swim in the cyan waters of Arstet’s Pool, or visit the crowded but fantastical Resplenderie Markets, where nymphs still alive from ages past sold exotic spices and items. So many wondrous places, remaining forever out of reach of her fingertips.

Refusing to succumb to gloomy regret, she focused her spyglass on the lighthouse to the north, at the entrance to the docking area. It blazed bright white with orange stripes and had a flat wooden top containing glass windows that protected the lamp, which turned and flashed at regular intervals. A purple flag danced a merry jig above it, a crude, smiling skull painted in the middle.

A touch of the old with the new, and one the tourists appreciated, considering the numbers she noted meandering at the bottom of the structure.

Further in the distance, buildings of near-neon red, green, blue and purple ran up a gentle slope and between orange cliffs before continuing down the other side. Between Merdia proper and the crowded dock, stood white-painted structures, shining through the Evenacht’s haze, brighter blues and purples and cyans decorating roofs, trimmings and doors. Orange paving-stoned streets that matched the orangish soil wound through them, busy with foot traffic and cattle pulling large wagons laden with cargo.

A few bushes grew in wide ceramic containers in the center of the streets, unimpressive next to the tall, segmented brown trees that towered above them. The blue-green fronds crowning them waved with excited frenzy in the sea breezes while the trunks leaned back and forth. Had any ripped from the earth and fallen in heavy winds? They looked bulky enough to crush a home or two.

A straggling stream of beings headed south from the docks and to a mistier area where dilapidated wooden buildings rested. Some were open sheds filled with something or others hidden in shadows, some were huts with sizeable gaps in the walls, the exteriors greying, bits of roofs absent. A flat-topped tower that resembled the lighthouse, but shorter and without the bright paint, stood tall above them. No glass protected the lamp in the middle, and as far as Vantra could tell, it was not lit.

Regular metal lanterns illuminated the area, rather than the modern street lighting that stood amidst the white buildings. Rays peeked through the crooked shutters and holes of the structures, falling on a jumble of wood piles, metal tables, saw horses, and random tools. Scattered benches and stools sat between the buildings, and she thought she saw buckets with flowers planted within, bright petals blaring against the solemn grey and brown of the place.

At the furthest end, a sheltered, half-constructed ship stood, the side open so beings could see the decorated interior. Interesting. She imagined museums would love such a display.

Was that the original Merdia? Ghosts did not need protection from much, but hiding from heavy winds protected essences. So why the gaps? Or were those for show? The beings who wandered through the area looked more prosperous than those who would reside in such a quarter. She could see tourists oogling less-than-pristine enclosures and tsking about the ‘early days’.

Water blew into the air; the greol churned the waves ahead of them, the timids in grand play. The large whale-like creature continued to accompany the Loose Ducky, its adventure in sinking the pirate ship no deterrent to swimming with them. She wondered how it kept up with the Merdia pirates, considering they had an advanced propulsion system; Dough shrugged, but she sensed discomfort with the question.

Despite the absurdity, she waved.

Dough’s first mate trotted up, holding a collection of loose pages. “Kjethelwyn responded and said all our ships know we’re syimlin-laden,” he said. “And to leave the greol alone.”

“They know, tangle with a greol, sink to the bottom,” Dough said, accepting the sheets.

“Yeah, Kjethelwyn put a hold on all tourist activity ‘til we come in. Being on the safe side.”

Red chuckled at that and leaned on the railing, his eyes exploring the town. Vantra’s depleted state did not lend for much movement, and he stayed nearby to provide a boost. None of the mini-Joyful thought it odd for the ancient ghost to express such kindness, and that, in her mind, explained why they put up with his stink spells and trickster-y behavior.

“Safety’s the priority.” Dough nodded in approval as he scanned the sheets. Vantra thought, for being pirates, the crew was quite the safety-infused, regimented lot. Perhaps their time in the Evenacht had dulled their youthful outrages; the tales they told of derring-do, with much chortling and glee at their raids and sword fighting, did not reflect the disciplined team who worked in tandem and rarely had disputes.

And Dough arbitrated those within a few moments.

Kjaelle and Kenosera joined them, she with anticipation, he with a mixture of dread anxiety and darker failure. He distrusted his return, and they had not eased his expectancy of a rough time. She asked Red about his skepticism, and he said the nomad viewed Verryn’s insistence on having a Shades of Darkness enclave interrogate the nymph-hired pirates, instead of delving into their minds and rooting about for the information himself, as a weakness. They did not know why he assumed Verryn had that ability in the first place, but it appeared unshakable.

Vantra suspected blaming the syimlin hid his anxiety over a dreaded return to Canyonway. Both the mini-Joyful and the pirates had monitored him during the voyage, in case rashness overruled common sense.

The conversation caused her to ponder her own assumptions concerning syimlin, and wondered what she mistakenly thought obvious abilities and which she knew nothing about. Of course, she also knew Verryn needed more training before he did anything as delicate as rooting about in some being’s head, and she doubted the mini-Joyful trusted a stranger enough to mention that.

He still heard prayers, though. How did that work?

“The sea is pretty here,” Kjaelle said, smoothing her wind-blown hair behind her ears. The water had a cool blue tint, paler than cold ocean, but not the brilliant cyan tropical shores enjoyed.

“It’s the reason we came,” Dough admitted. “We had docked at Luth Port, which is on the side of the jaw, and they talked about the beauty of this bay. Enchanting, it is.” He grinned. “There’s quite the painterly and photographic community who captures the splendor. We’ve also had an influx of divers over the last few hundred years. The wrecks attract sea life and are prime locations for underwater photography. We move the battles around the bay to give them a chance to do their thing without the threat of a ship crashing into their heads.”

Merdia had much more to offer than Vantra ever anticipated, in a pirate town.

“Right, 45.” She glanced down at the top of Laken’s head. Red had created a plate-shaped spell that sat on the railing, acting as a turning mechanism for his base. If he told the magic left or right, and a degree, it turned in that direction for him. He had a pair of binoculars strapped to his head, so he, too, could view the distance; he grumbled with brash loudness about the absurdity, but immediately perused the shoreline, barking out coordinates. Red just smiled and left him to it.

“How long did you want to stay in Merdia, Vantra?” the elfine asked, leaning on the railing next to Red and eyeing her Candidate. “With Dough’s help and Verryn’s presence, we shouldn’t have much trouble getting supplies.”

“And we already have a guide,” Red said, grinning.

“I think we need to stay until both of us have recharged,” she said. “According to Lorgan’s research, the desert is not heavy with mist. Why rush our recovery and cause problems later?”

“It’s true,” Dough said. “There isn’t much in the interior. Traveling by night helps, and knowing where the oases and hopper hares are will help even more. Fate’s hands, though, if you get caught in a rockstorm. They can whip essences into nothing within moments.”

“Or skin,” Kenosera said. “It isn’t great for a nomad, either.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I won’t miss those, after I leave.” He narrowed his eyes at the shore. “I won’t miss anything, except Merdia.”

Dough laughed and slapped his shoulder. “Glad you feel that way.”

“There is little kindness or compassion in the desert. I hope to find it elsewhere.”

“It depends on the cultures you encounter,” Red murmured. “Kind natures wax and wane over the centuries. Societies that don’t value things like helping those in need exist both here and on Talis, and those deep-held beliefs carry over into the afterlife.” His sarcastic humor darkened his tone. “Funny, how beliefs that took only a few years to place can take untold millennia to unravel, if then. That’s why we see so much strife between natives and ghosts, between ancestors and descendants.”

“And how long did it take to unravel your culture?” Kenosera asked.

Red’s bark of sharp, brittle laughter made them all shudder. “I burned it down before I ever stepped foot in the Evenacht. There was nothing worth salvaging in a people willing to sacrifice the vulnerable to attain divine glory. I consider those who perpetuated it as evil, and I won’t stop believing that.” He lifted his lip. “And I don’t care if I’m forever tainted by that conviction.”

Vantra returned to the waves, her joy seeping away. Would she rinse away the heavy weight of betrayal against those who poisoned her? Should she? When she first arrived in the Evenacht, when the Finders told her about her demise, she wanted revenge, even if she did not have the burning will to act on it. Now, having experienced the agony of the Fields, she assumed they would, eventually, regret their act. Should she still despise them, after their Redemption? How could she not?

What if they admitted to their acts, but still hated her despite being Redeemed?

“Sorry,” Red mumbled. She glanced at him; he cupped his chin in his hand, his fingers hiding his face. Kjaelle smiled at her as she batted his shoulder with hers.

“We can’t control when memory interferes,” she said. “But how we act despite it says more.”

“Always the philosopher,” he grumbled, without bite.

Did it? Thoughts mattered, though. Internal mud became external, squelching up at odd intervals, covering everything and hiding beauty beneath its slop. Vantra assumed a part of her would remain buried, unable to rise above the sludge of half-formed revenge and the knowledge she brought her mother little other than pain.

“There’s something going on at the docks.”

All eyes riveted to Laken. Dough set his own glass against his eye.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Dread wormed through her at the sharpness in his tone.

“Canyonway and Black Temple guards.”

“What?” Kenosera reared back, aghast, then leaned further over the railing, as if to see into the distance. Vantra handed him her glass, and he focused on the docks. “I see Ci Carrde’s banner,” he said, the words trembling.

“Ci Carrde?” Red asked.

“My grandfather’s bodyguard,” he said. He frowned and lowered the glass, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “He leads the guard when my grandfather sends them on missions where shows of strength are considered diplomacy.”

“I’ll be back,” Dough said, hastening away.

“Can I see the glass?” Red asked. Kenosera handed it over, and the Light acolyte peered through the eyepiece. “Hmm. Is there any other reason for them to be on the docks?” he asked.

“No. Nevemere from Black Temple avoid Merdia. They think it corrupt.”

“How do they know you’re on board, then?”

He shook his head, blinking as he thought. “I don’t know. Dough would never tell them; he hates them more than you may guess.”

“He put you up to spite them, so I can guess,” Red said.

“Black Temple’s pissed most of us off,” the first mate said. He, too, peered at the shore with a glass, one with a sailing scene on the wooden grip. “They’ve blocked the ruins, caused problems at oases during our trips inland, made nasties with Voristi because they made niceties with us. But something’s up. Dough said it earlier; Kjethelwyn was hinting at something when he told her about Verryn. He didn’t mention Kenosera’s on board, though.”

“It may be, they want to talk with Dough about his disappearance.” Kjaelle straightened and tapped her fingers against the railing. “If they overheard him, then they know Verryn’s sailing with you. Did he say how many mini-Joyful there are?”

“No. He told her to start looking for inland transport for him and his companions, but no hard numbers.”

“That will work for us. How easy is it to hide on this ship?”

“Easy, if you stay below deck and they don’t come on board.”

Vantra had the irrational urge to laugh at the wet-dog look Kjaelle gifted the oblivious pirate.

“But Dough will go to the Final Death rather than let them board the Loose Ducky.”

“So we need a plan to make certain that doesn’t happen.” Red stretched and scratched at his cheek. “Maybe just have Verryn get huffy with them.”

Kenosera glumly looked away. “They will not be intimidated,” he said.

“You’ve some odd ideas about syimlin,” Red replied, unruffled. “Verryn is Death’s intermediary, and he’s phenomenal in that role. I doubt this Ci Carrde has dealt with anyone like him.”

Kjaelle smoothed her hair back. “In this, we have an advantage. If they don’t realize Kenosera is with us, he is the only one we must hide.”

“There’s someone else, standing to the side of the Nevemere,” the first mate declared.

“Finders,” Laken muttered, heat infusing his words. “The green cloaks are a giveaway.”

“Get below,” Red ordered.

Vantra snagged Laken, taking the binoculars off before hustling to the cabin, Kjaelle and Kenosera on her heels. The rest of the mini-Joyful but for Verryn had crammed into the room, and their light-hearted conversation died once they beheld her face. The caroling—Fyrij, she reminded herself—tweeted anxiously and flew from Katta to her, tangling with her hair as he settled on her shoulder.

“Finders and Nevemere are waiting at the docks,” Kjaelle said.

Katta raised a concerned brow. “That’s odd.”

“Someone told my father about my return,” Kenosera fretted, wrapping his hands around his upper arms.

“Perhaps.” Katta’s gaze drifted to Vantra. “And we have an unobtrusive way to find out.”

They did?

“Fyrij, come here.”

The little caroling squeak-tweeted and fluttered over to the Darkness acolyte, landing on his outstretched fingers. He stroked the soft-furred back, murmuring something, before the avian ruffled his wings and sang a sweet note. He took to the air and careened out of the room, trailing a sparkly mist behind.

“And?” Kjaelle asked, her eyes lingering on the open door.

“Fyrij will listen and return,” he said.

Red swung around the door, irritated. “Dough says he thinks the Nevemere have taken over the dockmaster’s headquarters because he can’t get Rilla or Kjethelwyn to answer their distalk. He’s never had that difficulty except in extreme weather, and even then, they had static between them. No one’s there to pick up.”

“I asked Fyrij to spy for us. He’ll return quickly.”

Vantra paced in the narrow hall, worried about Fyrij. Nothing of her Redemption had gone as she expected. Did Fate detest her so, that a wondrous jaunt turned into a sour and dejecting trip?

Every moment meant they sailed that much closer to shore and the Finders waiting for them. How would they extract themselves from this? Another stank storm? Too many innocents roamed the docks, for him to unleash more. But even if they initially escaped, they still needed supplies for the desert excursion. How would they gain them, if they had to leave Merdia?

She glanced into the dim cabin, at the Darkness acolytes, Laken and Lorgan, and her antsiness grew. Red declared they should have Verryn confront the annoyances before carting himself to the room to wake the syimlin, and while the rest agreed, something unsatisfactory about that infused her. Why? Did she anticipate both the Finders and the Nevemere would be unimpressed with Passion, reflecting Kenosera’s dissatisfaction?

Fyrij winged down the hall, chattering, and Vantra held out her hands. He landed within her palms and rocked his head back and forth, cheeping. She held him close as she carried him into the room and to Katta. The Darkness acolyte accepted the small avian and leaned close, again murmuring. It did not take long before the caroling took flight and returned to Vantra’s shoulder, proudly chirping and preening his feathers with his fang.

Kjaelle dug her finger into Katta’s side when he did not immediately report; he covered the area and glared, nudging her leg with his.

“Well?” she demanded.

“I’m still sorting through,” he told her. “Caroling thoughts don’t proceed like ours. But I believe I understand what he saw and heard.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “The Nevemere are not waiting for Kenosera, but for Dough, as you suggested. They think he took him to Voledanthes, and they want to force the ship to turn around and sail them there.” He sighed. “Fyrij doesn’t understand the native tongue, but an elfine is on the dock with them, yelling in Reckoning, so he brought her words to me. They arrested two nomadic women who associate with Kenosera, and the elfine thinks dire things will happen to them. We must rescue them.”

Vantra did not want to leave captives in Nevemere hands. Kenosera did not speak highly of his people, and she doubted whomever they detained would fare well in their care.

“And the Finders are there to greet two of our favorite adversaries, Dychala and Nolaris.”

“Nolaris?” Kjaelle bristled, sitting straight.

“They sail with a large Hallowed Collective contingent who are supposed to arrive today.”

“How did they find out where we were going?” Kjaelle asked, clenching her hands.

“Through Lorgan’s success.” Katta settled a hand on her leg. “Even if Nolaris did not take advantage of his previous work because of jealousy, current events likely forced the Hallowed Collective to delve into those records. Another group has probably sailed to Greenglimmer.”

Laken hissed, and soul-crushing doom filled Vantra. Fyrij tweeted at her, and she laid her cheek on his sleek head, thoughts whirling. What would happen if the Hallowed Collective retrieved his right arm first? How could she get it back?

“Well, good luck to them,” Lorgan grumbled with a wave of his hand. “It’s true, I filled out the required reports, but neglected the exact location of the temple ruin. They’ll be trudging through swampy rainforest and getting nowhere, because there’s a trick to it, and I doubt they completed the required research to discover it.” He rubbed the back of his head against the bulkhead wood in thought. “Even if Nolaris and Dychala arrive today, he prefers comfort during his Redemptions. It will take them days to outfit a caravan to his satisfaction, and we’ll be long gone by that point.”

“A trick?” Katta prodded.

“Huh? Oh. It’s based on elfine transition spells,” Lorgan said. Kjaelle wrinkled her nose, and he cast her a quick grin. “Over-complicated but simple once you discover their secret. I’m not worried about Finders discovering the key before we reach the ruins. Nolaris, though. He can be a thorn when least expected.”

Red swung around the corner, cheeks cherry-red, grin cracking his face. “We’ve a plan!”

Plan, Vantra decided, was a loose description. She stood with the rest of the mini-Joyful on the deck as the breezes ruffled her cloak, one that bore a bright Passion-red color courtesy of Red. Her essence quivered because both he and Verryn looked like naughty schoolboys, and her suspicions about their scheming festered.

“Why are we relying on Qira again?” Kjaelle asked, her voice muffled as she secured the mask over her face. Mera and Tally cautiously accepted the blank façade enhanced by Light magic from Red, as if expecting something to leap from the things once they placed them on their faces.

Their reaction made her more wary, but she dutifully equipped Laken before settling him into her pack. The Light acolyte applied the magical stain to that as well, and she wondered if the transparency of the material degraded under the spell. The captain said nothing of it, preferring a silent solemness that hid his worry, so she slipped the straps over her shoulders.

“Because Verryn splattering the docks will be a bad look,” Katta said. He, too, sported the cloak and mask, and his displeasure flavored the air around him, affecting both mini-Joyful and pirate alike.

“Rather he’d splatter,” Tally grumbled, her lack of enthusiasm dragging Vantra’s emotions down.

“Now now,” Red said cheerfully. Kenosera eyed them, then dipped his head and shoved his face into the mask. He wore borrowed pirate pants and shirt, borrowed cloak from Kjaelle, and looked the awkward chick in a flock of golden-red kingsbirds. He, of them all, disliked the direction of the plan because the secrecy pricked his wariness.

Just wait, Vantra thought drily. He would discover, upsetting the mini-Joyful would exact a dreadful toll.

The Nevemere guards stood just outside the bustle of mooring the Loose Ducky, holding wooden spears with copper tips. They wore a draped tunic with wide leather belt and cloth tied onto their calves by leather strips. Layers of dusty cloth wrapped around their feet served as shoes. Wooden shields lay across their backs, held in place by buckled straps over their chests. They had long front bangs pulled into a tail on top of their head, and a shaved back with orange and blue markings peeking through the fuzz.

A few dressed in a sleeveless white longshirt covered in bronze scales. It parted at their thigh and hung to their knees, where bronze kneecaps with ugly faces sat atop thick leather boots with laces running up the back.

Two held banners of rusty orange cloth with half-circle borders and a single claw in the center. In front of them stood a taller nomad with a full head of ruby hair decorated with striped beads. Instead of a tunic or bronze scales, he wore a white skirt with several transparent layers and leather boots that rose to his knees, tooled and dyed a deep blue. Beaded necklaces and gold chains fell to his chest, behaving almost like a breastplate. Chains dangled between the hoops in his ears and two round gold decorations on his forehead.

“Is the one in the white skirt Ci Carrde?” Vantra asked.

“Yes. He doesn’t expect to fight himself, or he, too, would wear the bronze-covered bone scales,” Kenosera said. “He assumes his esci-tero will do so for him.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Red said. His gloating prompted a growl from Kjaelle; Tally slipped an arm about her shoulders in unspoken support.

Dough came to stand with them, not bothering to hide his annoyance as he regarded the dock. “If I get my mates—”

“Just wait,” Red said.

“Dough!”

An elfine broke through the ranks towards the back of the contingent, waving her arm frantically. The pirate captain slapped his hands on the railing and leaned over as a guard wearing a thick leather glove snagged her and yanked her back, despite her employing her Ether form. A powerful spiritesti must work for Ci Carrde, to create an item that interacted with Ether Touch so well. Perhaps the same being the pirates said guarded the Snake’s Den Ruins gate made the tool.

“If they harm Kjethelwyn—” Dough began.

“They won’t,” Red promised.

The Finders awaiting Nolaris’s arrival moved away from the proceedings with a mixture of antipathy and unease. Vantra bet they had scuffled with the natives, and while neither side won, they grew their dislike. She nudged Lorgan.

“I don’t remember there being any Finder enclave in the Snake’s Head,” she said.

“There isn’t. They must have sent representatives ahead to purchase supplies before he arrived. I’m surprised there are that many here.”

“Finders rarely visit Merdia,” Dough said, growly anger roughening his tone. “We’ve had a couple come through over the years, but they’ve been with their Candidate and no one else. Beings from the Hallowed Collective prefer to sail to Uka’s Grace and take caravans north to Black Temple. Or they go south around the Dryan Lakebed and hit Grike or Spiral Oasis before reaching the Sunbright Temple of Ga Son. We pirates are not on their to-visit list.”

“That’s a shame.” Vantra found nothing disturbing about the jolly lot.

“Verryn, do you think the Nevemere will remember you protecting the il aban’s son?” Mera asked as she studied the struggling ghost and her captor.

“If they have long memories,” the syimlin said, the first words he had spoken since walking onto the deck. Vantra pondered what part of the unspoken scheme distracted him.

“They do,” Kenosera said. “In tales, it is a sad defeat, and the vi-van sing dirges about the failure. Dor-carous ever since have said it was our last chance to free the desert of Voristi influence. But in those tales, it is a man-ghost, not a syimlin, who is the protector. It’s why spiritesti were sought, to train vi-van in the ways of ghosts.”

“We’re ready,” Dough said.

“Fine.” Verryn walked to the pirates lowering the ramp to the dock. The Nevemere surged ahead, prepared to storm up the plank.

Green clouds encompassed them.

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