Vantra cracked an eye open, her essence shuddering in the chill. Chill? She glanced around the room, unable to distinguish much in the shadows. The beds had lumps of nomad, vulf and ghost, and nearly all else sat in darkness. A glimmering of light brightened the edges of the curtains spanning the side of the room to the right of the door; daytime, then.
A sleepy chirp and feathers brushed her cheek; she looked over at Fyrij, who had made a nest in the soft pillow and settled into slumber. He blinked his eyes, then returned to sleep, making muted mememe sounds. Worn himself out singing, had he? She ran a finger over his back and rose.
Triggering Ether Touch so she would not awaken those resting, she floated over the wooden flooring to Laken. His eyes remained closed in a meditative state, and he did not react to her nearness. Satisfied he rested, she wafted to the door, hoping she did not disturb anyone.
She passed through and winced at the burst of brightness bathing the landing. A plain copper lamp hung from the center of the ceiling, the magic light illuminating the stairwell to the bottom. Squinting, she flowed down the stairs and to the ground floor, her fingertips lightly brushing through the undecorated panels that made up the walls.
Ghosts chatted as they wiped down tables, righted chairs, swept the floor, and checked the sconces to make certain the golden baubles remained lit. She did not want to bother them, so hovered at the end of the bar, studying the room now free of the crowd.
Deep brown paint coated the walls, matching the shutters that covered the windows. The tables were a softer honey brown, with shorter ones in the center and taller ones circling them. Mismatched chairs kept them company, as if generations of décor had added one or two to the lot. Scuffed wooden planks made up the floor, and despite their age, still fit snug.
Each wall contained double-wide closed doorways. If she saw them in a Talis establishment, she would assume two led outside, one to the kitchen, and one to the bathrooms. While the place had facilities for the living, she doubted the space reserved for a drunk’s business was very large.
The bar ruled the roost from the center of the floor. Brown leather wrapped around the lower part, and held scuff marks from beings who banged it with their footwear. A gold footrest with dings and dents ringed the bottom, looking unstable but functional. The countertop gleamed a glossy black, though a few random nicks marred the otherwise pristine beauty.
Alcohol sat before mirrors, the glass bottles reflecting a dazzling array of color and blinding light into the homier atmosphere. The shelves curved around a wall that protected a stairwell leading downstairs; a white and red sign in a language she did not know filled the landing’s wall and had an abundance to say.
A scattering of people lounged to her left, in a section cordoned off by short poles stuck in round weights which held soft brown, fabric ropes. They ate or absorbed mist from vase-like containers and talked in subdued voices, much at odds with the boisterous night previous.
“Ah, welcome.” Leeyal exited the stairs holding a couple of cloths, and smiled at her as he dumped them on the counter. His mouth wrinkled, giving him the appearance of a middle-aged man leaning older; a deliberate presentation choice, considering most Light-blessed died in their teenage years. “I’m surprised to see any of you before midday.”
“It was a late night,” she agreed. Her companions had a grand time joking and snickering with him, but since her conversation skills with acquaintances wallowed in a mire at her feet, she hesitated to speak openly with him. And what if he minded, that she had attempted a Redemption outside the precepts of Finder directives?
“It always is, when the mini-Joyful visit,” he admitted with rueful certainty. “You probably already know that, though. How long have you been traveling with them?”
“Since the mists started getting cool on Fading Light,” she said.
“Ah, so you’ve experienced their peculiarities.” He motioned to the bar. “Have a seat. Being a ghostly establishment, we’re always open, so if you want anything to eat, drink, or absorb, wave down one of the staff. We’ll see you set.”
Brief panic stressed her, followed by embarrassment. How could she delicately explain that after the Finders cut her off, she had no money?
Leeyal held up a finger. “And don’t worry about a tab—at least here. Qira and Katta will pick up everything.” He cupped his mouth and leaned forward. “Which means the nearest Light Temple gets the bill. They send a correspondence to the Temple in Evening and get reimbursed.”
“Oh.” She triggered Physical touch and slipped onto a stool. It seemed unfair, for a Light temple to pick up her tab, but she did not doubt, Red gleefully dumped the charges into the priesthood’s lap. “I don’t know how to eat, so I would like some mist.”
His disbelieving smile almost cracked his face. “Qira and Katta haven’t taught you yet?” He clucked his tongue. “For shame. Well, they’re of the opinion ghosts should enjoy the bounty of food and drink, so it’s just a matter of time.” He patted his tummy. “It’s odd, getting used to lumps within your essence, and switching from Ether to Physical Touch can be, um, messy, but once you’ve experienced your favorite meals again . . .” He shook his head. “Absorbing mist, while prudent and easier, just doesn’t have the same satisfaction.”
“It would be nice, to taste food again.”
He slid the cloths to the side and settled his elbows on the bar, leaning over. “Some ghosts think it’s too much of a living thing and we should behave in a more spirit-y manner, but I disagree.”
“They must like Ether Touch, then.”
He laughed. “They’re just like the rest of us, as apt to walk around as float, but we’re in luck, since they rarely visit the Dark Light. We’re a bit too uncouth for them.” He craned his neck to look at the shelving below the alcohol bottles. “I think we have four different infused mists. We ran out of Milkcandy.” He turned to her and pursed his lips. “Milkcandy is our most popular flavor. The lads tease the lasses who like it, and the lasses point out the lads absorb it as often, they just do it in secret to save embarrassment over enjoying something so sweet.”
Vantra smiled, surprised. If available, she would have tried it. The name reminded her of the soft, caramel milk candies she loved as a child. She once stuffed her cheeks with the treat, to the point she looked like a chipmunk with an abundance of nuts. Her mother caught her trying to sneak the candy out of the kitchen in that manner, and forever after called her sweetcheeks to tease her, and always with a mischievous grin.
“I’ve never had infused mist, so I don’t have a favorite.”
“No? Ah, we’ll get the elfinberry wine fountain going tonight, then.” He wrinkled his face and rocked his head. “Not that I wouldn’t have anyway. Qira’s visiting and we’ll have an overfull crowd celebrating.”
“He’s that popular?”
Leeyal chuckled. “Qira’s a hero,” he told her. “For those of us forced into the Light Gauntlet training, he’s the example that Light can be good, not just a thin veil used to blind others to its inherent Darkness.” He paused, then waved a hand. “I say that, but we know Katta, too. And he’s nothing like Rezenarza’s lot.”
She shuddered. He raised an eyebrow and she could not smooth the depression leaking from her. “He caused problems in the Snake’s Den,” she said.
“Hmm.” Leeyal’s eyebrows jutted down to the curve of his nose and his fingertips drummed on the countertop. “Then it’s just a matter of time before Veer and he clash again. One would think, since he’s made another existence for himself here in the Evenacht, he’d try to rebuild, but resentment drives that one. A shame, too; older nymphs and elfines would flock to him if he started a cult.”
Clank clank. Vantra looked at Jare, who lined up four thin, round metal containers on the counter. Each one had an image and a color to accompany it; wild berries were red, spiced tea was brown, sourbread was tawny, peppered meat was orange.
“You can absorb plain mist, but if you’ve never experienced infused mist, try one of these.” He ran his fingers through his bangs and the red strands stood up then bent over, as if he had yet to wash styling product from his hair. “Not that they really ‘taste’ like their name when you absorb them, but the flavors are nice, anyway.”
“Do you even remember what living tasting is like?” Leeyal asked, eyeing him with hefty skepticism.
He refused to answer.
“Sourbread sounds nice.” Vantra wanted to intercept the argument before it started.
“His fav,” Jare said, whapping Leeyal on the arm. “I’m a pepper ghost, myself.” He withdrew a round, purple-stained glass sphere with gold edging from the lower shelving of the bar and set it in front of her. He hunted for a warped scoop and dumped two helpings of powder from the sourbread tin into the bowl. He filled the container three-quarters of the way up with water from a square pitcher, then fastened a stem the size of his forearm into the top’s opening and screwed two purple-striped hoses into their respective places. They drooped onto the counter and curled four times, ending in finger-length, golden tips.
He handed her a hose and ran his fingers over the glass. Within a moment, the water bubbled, and steam puffed up through the stem. She stuck the tip in her mouth and inhaled.
No, not sourbread, but the flavor that filtered through her being was delightful nonetheless. A tad sour, a tad sweet, more like a fried food coated in sugar and sour citrus juice. Neither man commented on her reaction, but their smiles spoke loudly enough.
“This is nice,” she said. She had a myriad of questions for them, but did not feel a breakfast setting conducive to prying. She desperately wished to understand Red’s popularity, though. Did it rise solely from his being the avatar of Light? If so, why did faelareign harmed by the Aristarsian Light gauntlet look to him at all, since Talis’s predecessor oversaw their harm? Did his flamboyance have anything to do with it? His friendly demeanor?
“We’ll be getting in some better infusion, since Qira’s here,” Leeyal told her. “That might spoil you on the typical stuff, but some of the higher-quality powders are sublime.”
Jare winked at her before he grabbed the second tip and stuck it in his mouth. “So are you planning a rest from your trip? Sailing from Merdia to Selaserat isn’t an easy voyage during the Sea of Winds’ tantrums.”
“We don’t have a lot of time to rest,” she said.
“Qira said something to that effect.” Jare withdrew the mouthpiece and swirled it about in the air. “What happened? Something with Verryn?”
“Verryn—Passion—”
“Just call him Verryn,” Leeyal advised. “He’s not that wed to Passion, believe me.”
She had gathered that, from the short amount of time they traveled together. “Verryn, then. Black Temple’s dor-carous attacked Katta and Red—Qira—”
Both cracked up. “Using Kjaelle’s nickname?” Jare chortled, tapping the tip at her. “Good for you.” He took a long drag, beaming.
Oh. Why did that amuse them so? Vantra sucked in some mist to collect her thoughts. “Well, the dor-carous and his people used magical items called mephoric emblems—”
“What?” Jare asked, the tip dropping from his mouth as Leeyal’s humor died.
“Mephoric emblems? Are you certain?”
“Yes. We don’t know who, but someone sold him mephoric emblems made by the Beast’s hand. The dor-carous ordered his people to attack Katta and Red with them. The magic rebounded off their shielding. The Nevemere . . . didn’t survive the backlash. The magic rebounded again off the outer barrier and spun into a spiral collapse. Katta and Red used the rest of us as points in a Great Seal to create a shield that kept the energy contained, then funneled it to Verryn. He stood as the anchor until he could hold no more, then released it into the air above. Tally painted a picture of it, if you’re interested.” She took another breath of the mist. “The release of that much energy affected the weather. It snowed, in the desert. Plants no nomad had seen bloomed.”
“A miracle or a catastrophe?” Leeyal asked, then laughed in derision as he rubbed his jaw. “Well, both usually are just odd uses of magic.”
“Verryn’s OK?” Jare asked. “He may be a syimlin, but he’s not had many years with his new abilities. He’s all punch, no finesse.”
“Zibwa came and took him back to the Forest Temple for healing,”she said. “Red and Katta say he’s recovering.”
“Probably itching to get back here,” Jare said. “He’s one of action, not lounging in bed. We’re hitting the season of Death, so Erse is busy. He’ll not have much company, especially if Rayva and Salan are with you.”
“Mephoric emblems?” Leeyal smashed his lips together. “We’re old enough to have survived the Beast. His depravities harmed too many. That the Shades didn’t find all the extant relics after Erse sent him to the Final Death is terrible. The harm from even one is extraordinary.”
“I wonder if the Astri had a hand in that,” Jare said, looking at his friend. “There’s always been rumors they hunted for every remaining wand after the Beast’s demise.”
The Evenacht’s native Death had asked the Astri at Black Temple if they brokered the agreement for the mephoric emblems with the dor-carous, and Vantra did not think Levassa’s question was idle. Something made him suspicious of a link, and she wondered what events sparked his wariness.
“That’s not all, is it?” Leeyal asked. “I had the impression Qira could spend days on the retelling.”
“There’s much to say, beyond the emblematic collapse.” She lowered the hose as unease coursed through her. Perhaps she should wait for those who knew the tavern ghosts to impart the story; she did not want to tumble over her words and confuse them.
