The sense of fresh wafted along with the wind, and Vantra held up her hand as the breeze played around her fingers.

“Navosh wanted the leaders to complete a ceremony in preparation for entering the Bendebares. I wonder if this is part of it.”

Lorgan nodded, but not in agreement; Kenosera, Fyrij chittering on his shoulder, stepped from between two tents, Dedari at his side, hands behind her back, the remnant of annoyance fading from her face.

“Is that the ritual Navosh wished for them to perform?” Kenosera asked.

“I think so. For something so important, it didn’t take long to prepare,” she said.

“A lot of dweller ceremonies don’t,” Lorgan said. “I think much of it is Strans’ influence. He doesn’t strike me as a lengthy prayer syimlin.”

“When I’ve seen him speak with Yissik and Zepirz, he briskly moves things along,” Dedari said. “I would like that, if I worshipped him. Too many of the Den’s religious observances are long. They can take days to prepare, and days more to perform.”

“Some of the ceremonies to the Snake are like that,” Kenosera said. “Now that I’ve met him, I doubt he much likes them.”

“I wonder if we should watch.” Lorgan rubbed at his stubble, contemplating, while he continued to head for the fire. Vantra met the nomads’ eyes; they all shrugged in unison and trailed the scholar. Fyrij cheeped, unconcerned, and settled fully onto his perch.

“You better not snore and interrupt their ritual,” she told the avian. He cheeped sleepily at her, noncommittal. No sticky fruit juice marred his fur, so the nomads must have washed him before they left the tent.

The leaders circled the central fire, stomping and clapping in time with Yissik. The ex-yim held a staff—one formed of vines Navosh gave them—and thumped it in time to a wordless tune. Scattered to the sides were Light-blessed guards, Laken among them, and rescue workers, her mother among them. The syimlin stood to the left, Salan at their side. With them, dressed in a floral, strapless dress, was an Avie woman; Tenathi, Greenglimmer’s healing deity. Her long red eyelashes fluttered against her ashen skin as she observed Yissik, then her green eyes met hers; she smiled a soft welcome.

Katta glanced their way, his midnight-blue eyes shimmering in the darkening twilight, and waved them over. Vantra did not dare ignore them, and the others must have felt the same, as they followed her.

“This is the Dance of Leaves,” Tenathi whispered as they halted next to the group. “It is a sacred ritual to prepare one’s mind for deep, forest-centric magical exercise.” She rubbed at the top of her straight nose. “They are motivated, but I still hesitate.”

“You’ve experienced the corruption,” Erse Parr said, twirling her ankle-length ebon hair around a finger. She leaned against Verryn, who had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close. “Moreso than we, and I know the difficulty of keeping the brush of death away from the Labyrinth.”

“I should have acted sooner.” Tenathi firmed her lips, bowed her head, and sucked in a huge breath. “I knew something was wrong. Navosh never refused to meet with me, but after Kjiven stole his mantle, he visited once, then never answered the invitations. I thought I offended him somehow, and he needed to burn through the anger, but I never thought . . .”

“You didn’t recognize Kjiven’s Touch?” Katta asked.

“No. I knew he did not feel like Navosh, but I did not think him Kjiven. I experienced his magic before the Dryanflow flooded, and the mantle warped it to the point I did not see a similarity.”

“And the Beast?”

She raised her head, her eyes narrowing. “No. The citadel feels like beghestern death magic, but if it is the Beast, his magic is warped.”

“If one returns from the Void, I imagine it would be,” Lorgan murmured.

“If.” Tenathi glanced at the leaders as the thumping increased in speed. “I know of none who have. Levassa knows of none who have in the Evenacht or in the Evermourne.”

“None who have chosen the Final Death during my tenure have returned through any of the Void doors,” Erse said, wiping long hair strands from her bottomless umber eyes. “Their essence dissolves. There is nothing left to make a return.”

“And how many deities have chosen the Void?” Lorgan asked. “It may be, typical ghosts dissolve, but unwilling divines with power?”

The aghast looks he received caused him to run his hand through his bangs and focus on the fire and the dancers.

“I see why you travel with Katta and Qira,” Tenathi said with a smile. “Outside interpretations bring new avenues of thought.”

“Traveling with the mini-Joyful is an experience,” Verryn said, nodding.

An understatement, truly. Terrifying popped into Vantra’s mind, and she could not shake the word. It rattled about in time to the beat the dwellers’ kept, reminding her that she would enter another dark, dangerous part of the Evenacht once Navosh deemed them ready.

“We must ask Levassa about any deities that may have crossed over,” Erse said, giving Katta a pondering look. “You were Darkness long before I became Death. What happened when deities entered the Void?”

“It much depended on why,” he said softly. “Those that wished the peace of the Final Death vanished into a Void door. They evaporated, like any other being. The only one I witnessed who did not enter on purpose was the Beast. And you saw what we did; his essence broke apart and scattered until there was nothing left. His howl ended when he did.”

Erse laid her head on Verryn’s shoulder, her gaze distant. Salan whuffled and nudged her. She sank her pale hand into his fur and drew him close, a reminder that, while Nature bred him and Rayva for Darkness, they took care of the Living Death as well.

“I see they’re falling into trance.”

Vantra jumped along with her companions. He stepped around Katta, hands behind his back, eyeing the leaders as Yissik raised their arm. Zepriz and Ayara kept him company, blank enough to hide unhappiness.

“Vantra,” the deity said, smiling. “I would like them to feel Clear Rays, to know what not to fear when we enter the Bendebares.”

She fought through her unease at the mention of the contaminated place. “What should I do?”

“Follow my lead.”

Zepirz opened his beak, then shut it, but without the clack that expressed his disappointment and annoyance. Ayara looked as if they might dig their elbow into his side to make certain he remained quiet.

“Good luck,” Kenosera whispered as she fell behind Navosh. Dedari smiled in wincing reassurance, which did nothing of the sort. She folded her hands over her stomach to keep from digging them into her skirt; she did not want the leaders to know her discomfort.

Zepirz looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Your Clear Rays is not luck,” he murmured.

His odd encouragement buoyed her.

Yissik raised their head so their beak pointed skyward and made a half-trill, half-yodel sound. The dwellers swept their hands to the left and down, as if pushing something away, raised their left legs so their knees were even with their upper thighs, stomped in the same direction, then slid their right ones into the planted limb and stomped, all to the beat of the ex-yim’s staff. They continued around the circle, and when they returned to their originating spot, Yissik called, and they changed direction.

Navosh swept between two of the dwellers, and Vantra hastened after. Zepriz and Ayara followed, though neither looked happy about it. Facing the dancers, she realized they, indeed, had fallen into a trance. By their glazed eyes, the beat continued what the fruit had started.

“I u yunin, an kunan gun kon. I u yunin, an gen i u an nepen ki i nupa. Uru, uru, obu ni hen u an giryu,” Navosh said, his voice rising above, but in time with, the rhythm. It sounded unlike any dweller language she had yet heard, with very short syllables that seemed created specifically to be spoken in rhythm.

It is the ancient tongue of the leaves. I will translate. His soft mind voice filled her head with a soft. The Leaves, they whisper to us. The Leaves, they tell their secrets on the wind. Listen, listen, so you know their voice.

A crisp wind cut through the group; the flames flickered as it blew harder. Vantra clasped her hands over her upper arms, the chill sending shudders through her. Even when it rained, the rainforest never cooled to that extent.

Our breath.

She glanced at Navosh, at the two Wiiv; had she heard that? A small smile played on the deity’s lips, so she must have perceived what he intended. And she understood the words, even though the language was foreign to her. His influence? Likely.

We glide over your skin, we mitigate the heat. We give shadows to shadows.

A myriad of voices combined into one, the sound throbbing through her to the beat of the song.

Know our touch, know our breath, know our will. Listen to no other.

Was that the Labyrinth? From the scattered things Navosh has said, from her own experiences, Vantra thought of the entity as the essence of the rainforest. He spoke of what it wanted, but she had thought it only possessed a sense of things, a feeling, without a voice of its own. Had she been wrong?

Yissik’s voice rose in command, and the dancers switched direction. Instead of just stomping, they clapped with each heavy beat.

“The earth, it embraces us,” Navosh continued. “The earth, it rubs against our feet, our paws, tells us of abundance and famine. Listen, listen, so you know its voice.”

My touch.

The voice was but one, riding the line between male and female, indistinguishable from both. The ground beneath her feet cooled, and the soft sense of moist soil filtered up her legs.

I drink the shadows, the water, and feed others. I grow so others may ripen.

Know our touch, know our breath, know our will. Listen to no other.

“The water, it consoles us,” Navosh continued. “The water, it slakes our thirst, cools our skin, brings heavy delight to the air. Listen, listen, so you know its voice.”

My taste.

Yet another voice, tinkling with a rush of waves backing it.

I bathe all in liquid, for without me, there is no forest. I seep into plants, animals, the dwellers, ending dryness. Ending thirst.

The air thickened with water; it bore down like the hardest rainforest storm, and droplets formed on her essence.

Know our touch, know our breath, know our will. Listen to no other.

“The vines, they protect us,” Navosh continued. “The vines, they curl into nests to hold water for the frog and the beetle and the flowers. Listen, listen, so you know their voices.”

Our fight. The cacophony sent a shudder up her spine. We refused to offer ourselves, but we were taken anyway. We tangled and we wept, and we pierced and we shrieked to the wind.

Know our touch, know our breath, know our will. Listen not to our kin, but to us.

Vines, glowing the healthy green of Navosh’s Touch, rose from the earth and brushed the dancers, brushed her. They sank back into the soil, leaving the sense of pungent foliage behind.

Navosh nudged her. Vantra stared; he raised his eyebrows. Oh. Was she supposed to think at them? His eyes crinkled, and he shook his head; she wished he had told her what needed doing.

“The rays, they warm us,” the deity said, humor tinging his words. “The rays, they sweep the clotted darkness away, leaving clear heads and hearts. Listen, listen, so you know their voices.”

She joined the clapping, hoping that kept her on beat. “My rays. I clear that which refuses to go away. The dark hold of an unwanted mark will fade away.” She sent a soft waft of Clear Rays away from her; it washed over the dwellers and dwindled before it struck anyone else. “Know our touch, know our breath, know our will. Listen to no other.”

“Listen, listen, so you know their voices,” Navosh chanted. “Listen, listen, so you know mine. Mine, of the twisted vines, mine, of the guiding hand.”

A rush of plants, earth, water, filled the air. The deity clapped her arm, and she added Clear Rays to the sensation so those surrounding her knew not to fear it when it slid across their skin. The plants, the earth, the water, they wove through the rays, curious, before he raised his face skyward and shouted.

“Listen, listen, so you know my voice.”

The area darkened, the fire the only light. Rage, battle and destruction saturated his words as he continued shouting. Yissik’s beat increased, the dancers hastened their steps, their claps, and her emotions rose with them. The thumping invaded her, and her essence kept the rhythm until it was all she could hear, could sense.

The beat of the rainforest, the beat of its veins, the beat of its heart.

Silence.

Ayara grabbed her arm to keep her upright, as the plants, the earth, the water, dissipated and the grey evening light of the Evenacht returned. The dancers bent over, some gasping, all sweating.

“What must be done will be done,” Navosh said, returning to his calm, softer self. “Go. Rest. In two days, I will call, and we will defeat the Touch of the enemy.”

The dwellers murmured assent, then turned from the central fire. Those who needed it leaned on one another and hobbled from the trampled dust. Zepirz went to Yissik and aided him, shocking Vantra; considering how often they snapped and snarled, she would have assumed the yondaii would ignore him.

“How do you feel?” Ayara asked, their grip tightening. “Our rituals are not for the faint.”

She nodded. “I feel strange. The rhythm still beats in my chest.”

“It will continue, until we reach the heart,” the healer said. “It is our link to the leaves, and it will guide us.”

“It is,” Navosh agreed. He did a quick-over of her essence. “The leaves and vines accepted you. That’s good. They know you wish to help. Their Touch, if they disliked you, isn’t pleasant.”

She set her hand on her chest. “So I’ll feel this rhythm for two days. But why two days?”

Navosh laughed. “That is when the Badeçasyon ship that will take us to the Bendebares returns.”

Oh. Refusing to acknowledge her disappointment at such a trivial explanation, she patted Ayara’s hand and smiled so they did not take offense when she drew away, and walked back to the waiting group.

Her mother hastened over and slipped her arm around her shoulders. “Well done, sweetie,” she whispered, kissing her hair.

They reached the group as Salan growled, his lips vibrating, and shook his head.

“That’s not going to help,” Katta told him with sympathy as he settled his hand over his chest. “This would have helped us keep the ways into Greenglimmer open.”

“It would have,” Erse agreed. “But we have it now, the rhythm of the wood.” They all turned to leave, and Death stepped to her side and bent down so her lips brushed her ear. “He has yet to replenish his mantle,” she whispered. “The Labyrinth is pushing him, and his guilt overrides his better judgement. He will need these next two days to absorb what he can, but it may not be enough. Vantra, you and Katta must protect him during the ceremony. I fear his rashness to make things right will end him.”

“I’ll do everything I can.” The syimlin’s worry pricked her dread; what did Navosh hide, that could end the healing before they saved the heart?