Vantra’s essence prickled as the cart entered a humongous square bustling with beings who scuttled out of its way with annoyed shouts, and she glanced around, uncertain if she sensed something or if the situation in general bothered her.
Before she Chose Laken, she had thought of Redemptions as a way to see the Evenacht. She could travel to so many places, meet so many disparate peoples, view so many natural landscapes and faelareign-made structures. She had even jotted down a list of locations she hoped she would get to visit and read extensively about them. The images that accompanied the text elicited daydreams, and she often gazed out her tiny window at the uninspired round wooden hut across the street from her small home, visualizing walks on sandy beaches with grey-turquoise ocean waves lapping her feet, rests on giant mossy stones beneath giant, red-leafed trees, runs through brilliant green grasses that brushed her shoulders.
Daydreams broke apart on her reality. Nolaris destroyed what she built over her five years with the Finders because hate guided his hand, and she found no solace under the Dark’s forest shadows or in the dry, stony desert. Would any place on the three Evenacht continents welcome her?
“Did Yut-ta say anything to you before he passed out?”
She shook her head and glanced at the relaxed yet anticipatory ghost at her side. Jare seemed excited rather than distressed about the turn of events, and she wondered why. “He told me that I’d be in danger if I helped him. I told him I’d be in danger, then.”
Jare chuckled. “A true mini-Joyful. None of the members shy from confrontation if someone is in need.”
Was she? Yes, she traveled with them, but did that mean she fell under the Joyful Caravan banner? She still thought of herself as a strange outsider who brought trouble to the kindly ghosts.
“Qira’s going to be upset he missed this.”
The prickling grew as she looked at Jare from the side of her eye. “How can he, well, get sick?” She set her hands on her stomach, then motioned up and out, mimicking an act she had assumed she never needed to worry about again.
“Ghosts get ill more often than you think.” Jare peered at the surrounding buildings and crowd, as if he, too felt it. “And essences instinctually react in ways similar to that of their once-living body. If you’re around healers, you get to see a lot of odd responses to bad stimuli. And when a spirit sucks in mist that’s been tainted in some way?” He did not continue, preoccupied with his scan.
“You feel it.”
“Yeah. I wonder what Yut-ta discovered, that someone is trying this hard to silence him.”
Vantra whirled. Ten long somethings raced across the cobblestones towards them, a blur of transparent motion. She stuck her hands out. “Anznet emi.” The Sun shield formed a scant moment before five of them rammed into it, the rest targeting Jare. Her protection shattered, and the things reared back, the transparency flickering to reveal wavy water. The lengths shuddered and broke apart, chunks splashing down and sending rivulets streaming away in the cracks between cobbles. Unlike most wet stuff, it did not leave moisture behind.
Jare hissed through his teeth as they floated backwards, searching for the enemy. “Dryan magic,” he said before reinforcing his own defenses.
Was that bad? Dryanthium was upstream, so she assumed some number of dryans resided in Selaserat. It made sense that a people who often inhabited water communities used water-based magic, but he sounded as if it were an anomaly.
The liquid picked up speed and streamed under their boots, heading for the cart—far too fast for a natural flow. It formed a thick, undulating cylinder with tendrils at the end, rose and curved into a hook, and struck, fast as a snake; her defenses shattered, but the wavy light spell remained. The healer bent over Yut-ta, yelling in a high, panicked voice. The magic reared and aimed for the injured hooskine but missed their target, slamming hard into the earth a breath away from the vehicle’s back and splashing into puddles.
Jare formed a blinding swirl of Light, reached back, and threw, as he would a small ball. It plowed into the remaining water, burst apart, and showered it with a powdery coat of golden sparkles. The puddles wiggled, trying to shed the magick, but failed before evaporating with a hiss.
Vantra’s badge flared, hot enough to sear her essence. She whirled, throwing up a shield as a pointed, wavy bit targeted her head; it bounced off and broke, both parts splashing to the ground and trickling away. Doubting that her defense harmed it, she scanned for a return of watery motion as she spun layers of shielding around herself.
The earth beneath them shuddered, the cobbles popping up from the soil in speedy progression and tumbling away before a watery tendril erupted just behind the cart. Jare reacted faster than she did, zipping between the two and forming a Light protection she recognized as Lightning; the zaggy streaks coursing over the surface electrified whatever touched it. Cast by a being seeped in magic, the spell could turn an attacking opponent into burning cinders within moments. It had a long and sordid history in large-scale military conflicts, and modern Talin governments banned its use through multiple treaties.
The Evenacht knew no such nicety.
The magic-infused water hit the shield and burst into vapor. The mist hovered, then slowly descended in twinkles that alit on and burned pits into the ground as the nearby crowds finally realized a sinister clash exploded near them. Beings screamed, grabbed friends and family, and ran. Good, because she did not want to see anyone else harmed, but why did it take so long for them to notice?
The mist clung to her shielding and transformed into slow rivulets dripping down the surface. The liquid pooled at waist height and circled her, gorging on power from the protection, then split, one end spiraling up to arch over the domed top, the other down to the base. She switched to Ether Touch, tightened her inner shielding, left the outer to its fate, and phased underground. If she traveled just beyond—
She gagged; a moldy, corrupted magic filled the soil, reminding her of the tainted gaps between ceilings and floors in Black Temple’s temple—only Rezenarza had no hand in this sludgy darkness. His Touch was a pristine mountain lake compared to what saturated the earth surrounding her.
Rotting reddish-brown roots shot towards her, drilling into her shields, cracks brimming with diseased magic eating through. Fear seized her as a nub broke through and snagged her cloak.
“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked. “Muevre pueplon virche!”
Brilliance. She could see only blinding white.
Arms snaked around her waist, and the ground fell away. The corruption retreated, clawing its way from her, and Clear Rays burned through it, then expanded.
Oh. Oh no!
“Calmly, Vantra,” Katta whispered in her ear. “Think of burying it in the soil, and with command, say ‘Ebelque om urteurse. Bu treuve om eudreipro virche.’”
“Ebelque om urteurse. Bu treuve om eudreipro virche,” she whispered.
“Again. With command.” He laughed. “Pretend you chastise Fyrij after he’s snatched something he shouldn’t.”
She sought to emulate him, resolute, unafraid, and pictured the magic as Fyrij. “Ebelque om urteurse. Bu treuve om eudreipro virche.”
The spread paused.
“Ebelque om urteurse. Bu treuve om eudreipro virche!”
It broke into a soft powder and seeped into the earth, the trickle driving the foulness further down, but not far enough; magical pops, felt rather than heard, heralded the corruption’s demise. No taint remained; a sweep of Darkness absorbed the remaining sprinkles of Sun.
She blinked away the flashes of light still marring her sight and looked down. Katta held her just above a rent hole as deep as she was tall; rays of disrupted dirt spanned from it in long, straight lines, cobblestone and soil debris littering the ground between. The buildings remained untouched, coated in soft Darkness. No being, living or deceased, remained in the square.
Jare floated to their side, laughing, his gleeful astonishment cutting through her growing numbness. “Qira is really going to hate missing this.” He peered at his hands. “I’m still tingling.”
Kjaelle whisked to them from the street they entered the square from, her face scrunched up as if desperately smothering amusement. Vantra’s confusion and resentment dwindled as the elfine slid her arms around her, settled her hands on Katta’s sides, and squeezed, cocooning her in a Darkness hug.
“You took out the Finders,” she gloated. “You should have seen their faces before they discorporated!”
What? No!
“What did you do with them?” Katta asked, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated Vantra’s essence.
“Wrapped them up and dumped them with the nearest cowering elfine in religious robes.” Kjaelle pulled back and looked over her shoulder; Vesh sped to them, also with a scrunched face and rampant delight brightening his eyes.
“You would not believe, Kjaelle!”
“How many?” she asked, leaning towards him.
“Doesn’t matter. Yeralis and his personal guard were in the street over.”
“No!” she said in gleeful disbelief. “He—?”
“Discorporated.” Vesh grinned so widely, Vantra thought his teeth would jump from his mouth. “And it wasn’t lost on anyone watching that only he and his fell apart. Everyone else got a nice cleanse.”
Kjaelle’s fierce satisfaction meant the man had, at some point, deeply offended her. Vesh had insisted on confronting them rather than letting the elfine near them, so something horrible happened between them. Should she ask, or let another of the mini-Joyful—like the nomads—pry the info from them later?
“I know you don’t see yourself as a fighter, but I think you need to harness the offensive side of Clear Rays.” Katta drifted back, taking her and Kjaelle with him, and settled them on a debris-strewn bit between deeper streaks. “Analyzing threats, understanding how much power to push into your Touch, when to back off, will help you in both offensive and defensive situations.”
“I don’t understand.” She stared at the jumble of stone her feet phased through. “I’m not strong, magically. I have to intone to do anything. I—”
“You’re strong enough to cleanse deep-set soil corruption with a non-earth healing spell,” Jare said, looking down a narrow, Darkness-shrouded side street. “The cart should have made it to Mezarin’s by now.”
“Good. It will be a place to regroup.” Katta pulled away. “Vantra, while on Talis, restrictions, some your own, some placed by the temple, impeded your progress. Nolaris built a further wall. The rest of the Evenacht is not so limiting. It is a darker, wilder environment, and your abilities thrive within that setting.” He, too, chuckled. “So who’s going to tell Qira he missed out?”
Vantra wavered. She did not understand the humor. She did not understand the blasé acceptance of destruction, using a spell that should heal rather than harm.
How was she going to pay for the cobblestone repairs?
Kjaelle snagged her hand and dragged her into the side street, intent on their destination. She wafted behind, numbness and fear encasing her in a quiet box balancing on the edge of shrieking horror.
I like how you descripe the battle and magic scenes, very inspiring - and lots of great ideas so far about life of the ghost (like the (spoiled) food) in the spirit world - I love it.
:) Thank you! Thank's for reading, it's awesome to see the notifications.
*thanks. man, feels like I'm on social media, unable to edit what I say...