The trees below whisked past, a rush of green and yellow and shadows. Vantra strained to see past the tip of the aircraft, hoping to notice their destination, but the wings hid it from view.
The ship was yet another Badeçasyon machine, one painted a shiny silver with a long barrel body and a vertical axe shape curving over the nose. Kie and Nuçya piloted the craft; while Navosh said nothing, she had the impression he asked for them personally because they had braved Kjiven’s wrath to fly the Sun priest Lokjac to his new temple. They did not have a problem with danger, ghosts or dwellers, and that must have decided him.
She still felt odd, dealing with Badeçasyons. The interstellar invaders had wanted to bring Sensour under the Flayn Monarchy’s vicious rule, and she guessed many of them resented the ghosts of the beings who fought them. At least they did not look like the terrifying dragons they had been while alive; their ghostly appearance had grassland-deer facial features, glossy brown fur, deep dark eyes, and hair braided down their backs.
The only hint of their living selves was in their fangs, but their lips kept those hidden.
She glanced at Katta, who had a book in one hand, his other settled on Salan’s back, his legs crossed as if he lounged at a pool rather than flying towards danger. She envied his nonchalance; if she still lived, she would be puking into a bag from nerves. Instead, her essence shuddered in time with the Labyrinth’s beat. Gripping the small courier bag that held the Sun shard, she studied the others.
The Light-blessed spoke softly among themselves in their native language. From Jare’s tone, she had the impression he gave orders and outlined their mission. The rufang knelt on padded pillows next to the walls, straps buckled over their chests to keep them somewhat in place. The rest sat in chairs, rocking to the wind’s rhythm, eyes on the floor, hands clasped—except for Tenathi and Strans. The healer idly stared out the nearest window while the Twisted One’s gaze trailed over the dwellers, a small smile on his lips, until he met her eyes. She awkwardly dropped hers, and his laughter filled her head.
There is no reason for shyness, he told her, his mental voice soft. I may have regained my mantle, but it never would have happened without you, Jare and Laken. You have no reason to bow to me.
She did, because he was a deity.
And you’ve noticed how well that’s worked for me.
She frowned at his dryness. The mantle, when given the choice, reclaimed him. She thought that said everything that needed saying.
Perhaps.
“Hold on!” Kie called as the ship veered to the right. Alarms beeped, and the console flashed red.
Katta lowered his book and looked out her window. A shadow zoomed past, missing the wing by a feather.
Wispy dark green trailed it, and she pressed her head against the pane, peering up. Above them, large, black-feathered birds appeared mid-air out of a chugging swirl, flapping frantically to keep their height. Once righted, they soared towards the ship.
Darkness swam over the craft, popping and sizzling with greyish-purple lightning. Soft cries of uncertainty drifted from the dwellers. They clutched their armrests and their straps, eyes wide, fear wrinkling their brows.
“It appears we’re expected,” Katta said.
Navosh hissed, lifting a lip. “Such birds are not native to Greenglimmer.”
“This isn’t our first encounter with them,” Katta said. “Our enemy seems fond of deploying them. How far to the clearing?”
“Still a ways,” Nuçya said as the ship rocked. “I’m counting five diving at us, with others gliding below.”
“They drained Lokjac’s shields when we encountered them before,” Vantra said, staring at Darkness. “They used the Labyrinth’s anti-magic against us.”
“Anti-magic?” Navosh asked.
“He said it prevents stronger magic users from scrying for pathways.”
His large grin confused her. “Did he now.” He glanced out a window half-hidden by an evaki listener to the right, then the one next to Vantra.
Jare eyed the roof. “We can take care of them,” he said. The other Light-blessed rose from their seats, ready.
Navosh held up a hand. “Would it be safer to land at the second clearing we discussed?”
A bird fell past them, accompanied by an agonized squall, black feathers and grey-purple lightning trailing.
“If you wish to save the birds, then yes,” Katta said. Salan growled, his attention on the roof, and he set his hand on the vulf’s back. “As before, another controls their deeds. I doubt they wish to end themselves on my defenses or a Light-blessed spear.”
Vines, a brilliant, leafy green, careened up, aiming for the birds who dodged with grace; the unexpected sight made those who had yet to squeeze their eyes shut gasp in unison to the rainforest’s rhythm.
“Hmm. I think that would be best.” Navosh strained his straps to see out her window, and Vantra leaned back to give him a better view. “The Labyrinth is eager to be rid of them, but if the Rotting One controls them, impaling won’t end the harm.”
“There is no reason to harm the innocent, if we can help it,” Tenathi said. She sounded calm, though her nails dug into the armrests, creating divots in the thin padding.
“Then we’re landing,” Nuçya said. They flipped a switch on the pilot’s console, and an orange light in the center of the roof flashed; its rhythm did not match the Labyrinth’s, and the off-beat clashed, a grating sensation.
The ship hovered, rocking gently. Kie and Nuçya had a quick conversation in their native language, then descended with speed. A brief shing of panic engulfed Vantra—what if they crashed?—but the craft slowed, and the front tipped up. They landed, rocking hard, before stilling.
Shrieks from the birds closed in, then the exterior light darkened and the sounds deadened. Navosh sighed and released his buckle.
“The Labyrinth protects this clearing,” he said. “The birds won’t be able to get in—but you won’t be able to get out, if things go poorly.” He walked down the aisle to the pilots. “I want to alter your blessing slightly so that, if you must walk out, the trail north to Hope Road will be visible to you.”
“I trust you will succeed,” Kie said as the whirring of the craft slowed.
“I would have agreed with you, before Kjiven stole my mantle,” he replied. “Now, I think of possibilities I never would have pondered previously.”
The orange light blinked off, the doors on either side slid open, and ramps automatically deployed. The dwellers glanced at one another and hesitated before clicking their buckles open. Vantra set hers on the seat rather than let the ends fall to the floor and followed Katta and Salan into the muggy forest.
She had expected a clearing created by a fallen tree, but the place was an old temple complex, with crumbled rock walls and a circular expanse of paving stones that ran to the edges of the forest. The landing surface had tesserae of a grimacing, bark-skinned creature, mouth wide open, fangs dripping, brown hair whipping wildly around bulging eyes. The being held a spear with beaded glyphs down the shaft and leaves dangling from strings below the chipped stone head. They only wore a loincloth, but it was obvious they were gloriously male.
“Is that another forest deity?” she asked. Navosh glanced at the image.
“Ah. I forgot that was here,” he murmured. “I was a bit brasher in my younger years, and the forest dwellers memorialized it.” He shrugged and moved on.
Katta patted her shoulder and followed, highly amused, Salan panting at his side. She felt her cheeks, certain if she still lived, she would have turned brighter than the Sun.
“The Twisted One has been many things,” Yissik said, their gaze lingering on the mosaic. “He has been our defender and our warrior, brought the bounty of the forest to us and guided us along its twisted ways. What we need the most, he provides.”
“At great cost,” Seja added, sweeping her hand at the mosaic. “Here, we see our protector, but he has lost his humanity. When he is the defender, no spear graces his hand. He cannot fight or hunt, only protect. When he guides, he does neither, becoming vulnerable so we may traverse the leaves.”
The light faded as more vines crisscrossed the air above them. Thorns grew, long and sharp; if the birds wished to tear through them, they would bleed to achieve it.
“Remain safe,” Nuçya said, staring skywards. Kie withdrew a disc with a glinting edge and a handhold in the middle from their pocket, then leaned against the metallic side, their attention on the surrounding forest.
“You too.” Vantra managed a small smile before hastening after the two deities.
The walls stood knee-height, so did not hide a grey granite altar without the stains of decay. It reached chest-height, with a flat top and a twisted stand. The surface glowed pale white, a show Vantra associated with Moon. Fresh vines covered the tiles surrounding it, and a few wrapped around the base, their sleek surface gleaming a silvery green.
Katta studied the altar, then slowly drew his hand through the glow. “I’ve only spoken to him at Ga Son’s banquets,” he said. “But this feels like Medo Ryijane.”
“My father,” Strans said. “He replenishes the magics here.” He touched the top, smiling. “This is where my mother taught him the way of the leaves. She showed him how to harvest the bounty of the forest, how to use what they gathered for food and shelter. She was not a warrior, so taught him gentleness instead.”
“But why has the rest of the temple gone to ruin?” Vantra asked, confused.
“The walls were made by dwellers who didn’t understand the freedom of the leaves. That is why they fell, and why he allows the forest to swallow them. He keeps the flooring, because of the mosaic.” Navosh sighed. “There is nothing more humbling than having your parents giggle at a fierce image of yourself and remind you they changed you as a babe.”
The question almost popped out of her mouth—almost. Navosh loved his parents and held no ill-will towards them—why did they not rescue him from Kjiven? Uneasy about asking, she bowed her head and cleared her mind before sending a prayer to the ex-syimlin.
“Come,” Navosh said. “The trail is long, and the Labyrinth grows impatient.”
