Chapter 28: Slip of the Hand

*warning for disturbing images: but remember, Vantra's a ghost and doesn't feel a thing

“Welcome to the Red Guest Houses of Zephyr Ranch!” Nareh threw her arms wide to encompass three buildings clustered together beyond smaller ones. The climb to reach them ended in a breathtaking view of Windhaven’s urban sprawl to the east, the far reaches hidden behind hills except for the brilliance of the Light temple on its tall cliff, which blazed in glory to the northeast. Towering, wind-blocking trees fenced in the yard in the back, though a dirt path led through them and into green fields where several ghosts worked.

The fronts sat along a crescent-shaped, flower-lined sidewalk, with walkways starting at each door and running to a mosaic circle bisected by a line of small tesserae, gold on one side, white on the other. Grass representing rays of light expanded outward between the walks—a long-used symbol of Light.

The first stories were cylindrical, the pointed roofs squat rather than tall. Dark crimson walls with gold accents stood out against the vegetation’s green, fine lines of metal curving across the broad spaces between windows; they looked like glyphs to Vantra, but for what purpose, she did not know.

Doors carved with half-circles and rays issuing from them blended from red to gold, and hollow wooden chimes dangled on both sides, the ringing meant to soften the winds.

Nareh opened the door to the southern building and ushered them inside. The floor held one large room stuffed with plump chairs and couches, tables with red cloths, and vases with brightly painted sticks. Magic lights sat in plain silver holders attached to the walls between shuttered windows, casting a gentle golden glow across the room. Stairs went down on the right, though the Light-blessed and family bearing luggage took a lift set against the far wall that looked like normal floorboards until activated.

After they hit the next level’s landing, Nareh pointed to the arched entrance that led to a hallway lined by family portraits and red carpets with the golden, Light-inspired explosion in the center. “The third basement has a similar hall. They connect to the other buildings so you don’t have to go to the top and deal with windy weather if you want to chat with a friend.”

That nicety did not prepare Vantra for the rest.

The house had a kitchen with all the modern Talin amenities like cooling boxes and electric stoves, four full bathrooms with running water, five bedrooms, two mist rooms, a living room, a dining room, an entertainment room, a craft room, a library, and several others she peeked into but could not readily identify. The underground levels must span dozens of steppens beyond the above ground walls, to hold so many spaces. She kept her gaze frontward, listening to Nareh, but Kenosera and Yut-ta had no problem admiring the interior arches, pilasters, molded wainscoting, the mosaics and paintings, the vase designs, with mouths open.

The least surprising thing about the whole tour was the Light altar that sat beneath the circle in the walk. It had a golden podium with a ball on top and an empty bowl at the bottom for offerings. Qira regarded it with resignation, while the Light-blessed grinned hard enough, their cheeks reddened.

Once they walked through the central building and settled in the northern house’s living room, Nareh retrieved a photo book from the coffee table and told them to select their bedrooms.

Floor plans divided the volume into three sections, with room numbers and photos to guide choices. Each one had its own wallpaper with designs popular on Talis long before she was born, and a color scheme of metallic and deep jewel tones. She liked the one in the southern home with a wall-sized mural depicting a breezy seascape with balcony looking over a white-sand beach and gentle blue waves, and Kenosera selected the one next to it, with the rainbow-hued shoreline providing a contrast to the deeper turquoise curl a dancer surfed.

Nareh wrote names, house and room numbers on three sheets of graph paper and smiled. “These will be outside the living rooms in each house,” she said, waving her pencil. “It may seem odd to those of you who haven’t stayed with us before, but we tend to have several visitors from the mainland, and it’s hard to keep track of who is where.”

“We might be here longer than typical,” Qira said.

“That  is why we put you here. I have the feeling you’ll be using them for more than a quick snooze. Which reminds me, if any of the pirates plan to stay, we’ll need to modify some of the other rooms.”

“You definitely need to meet Dough. He’s everything you’ve heard and more.”

True enough. With an internal sigh, Vantra rose and walked back to the first house to retrieve her luggage and find the room she selected there.

Fyrij finally peeked out of her hood as she dumped her belongings just inside the door to her room, delighting in the gentle waft of chill air blowing from a fan attached to the ceiling light. He warbled as his head darted to the poster bed painted white with golden vine designs on the left, and then to the antique gold-stained closet and drawers to the right. He hopped from her shoulder and onto a desk opposite the bed, then flew to the back of the comfy chair that sat with a couch to the side of a low table.

“We’ll get you a cozy perch,” she told him, though she guessed he would wallow in a pillow rather than use it. Carolings preferred nests lined with feathers, moss and fur rather than hard roosts, or so her reading materials on the avians said. Parents spent five years in them raising their chicks, and unless disaster befell, continued to add onto them for each successful hatching. The images of some nests rocked her; attached to the trunks and spanning branches, they rose two or three stories, sharpened sticks pointing outward as a defense against snakes. Each story had a hole in the floor near the trunk so chicks who could not fly could climb through to reach upper or lower levels. Those floors acted like roofs for the nest below, protecting the interior from the elements.

The abodes had a multitude of different shapes and designs depending on flock, too. Some had colorful leaves, some had bright stones shoved into twig gaps, meant to beautify the home.

Fyrij twittered noncommittally at her and kneaded the upholstery with his talons.

“Are you hungry yet?” she asked, wincing for the fabric.

He chirped with pitiful sadness. She retrieved him, kissed his head, and with a glance back at the scenery, headed for the kitchen.

Kenosera and Yut-ta stood next to a white counter, stools pushed beneath, as Nareh pointed out where everything was. Fyrij fluttered his wings until she set him down, and he made a straight line to the fruit bowl. The woman smiled and bent down as he hopped back and forth and tweeted.

“You’re Fyrij?” she asked. He ducked his head and she laughed. “I’m Nareh. Our zazas told us you love fruit. That’s good; the ranch grows a lot of different ones.”

Vantra selected a bumpy red, peelable one and tore the insides into bite-sized slices, setting them on the plate Nareh retrieved. Fyrij dove in, proving hunger overcame his fear of the unfamiliar.

“He hid the entire trip from the docks to here,” Kenosera said.

“I don’t blame him.” Nareh pulled a few sheets of soft paper from a roll—a modern convenience that most ghostly habitations did without—and set them next to Fyrij. “Being kidnapped is terrifying, and spending time in a strange place with strange beings afterwards doesn’t help. I know I’d be hiding.” She smiled, soft and sincere, and all for the caroling. “I hope you don’t mind meeting the children, Fyrij; they’re very eager to hear a caroling sing with Qira. Mera and Tally said it’s divine.”

Fyrij chattered at her then returned to shredding his meal, wrapping his long tongue around the juicy bits, and zipping them into his mouth.

“It is,” Kenosera agreed. “He, Qira and Vesh break the heavens asunder with the beauty of their song.”

“I know Qira does,” Nareh said. “And when he’s accompanied by Light-blessed? Truly Light-inspired.” She tapped her breastbone. “I fancied myself an accomplished singer when alive. Listening to him, I reassessed.”

“He has a good twenty-thousand years of practice behind him,” Yut-ta chuckled. “You’d hope he could hit a note or two.”

Nareh laughed as Kenosera batted his arm. “There are some who insist on doing things they absolutely love even though their results are atrocious. As long as they’re happy, that’s the important thing.” Her shoulders sagged and she rubbed at her forehead. “I need to check to see if Qira’s up for a talk. If not, we’ll wait until tomorrow.”

“Things are that bad?” Kenosera asked.

“You wouldn’t suspect it, from the outside. Everything is as orderly as it ever was. But Admiral Shelta’s issued some odd orders of late, and I’m concerned she’s compromised.” She waved her hand. “But that is for a group discussion. Please, make yourselves at home. Eat what you like; we’ve plenty. And this evening, we’ll barbeque.” She grinned wide. “Our cook, Remara, makes the best grilled kebobs you’ve ever eaten.”

Yapping filled the hallway. She wrinkled her nose, her eyes narrowing. “Who let the pups in?” she muttered, hurrying out. While cute round balls of fluffy patchwork fur and twitchy, pointed ears, they certainly had yipped and jumped and left dusty pawprints on everyone. Rayva and Salan had deftly herded them to the main house before they wagged themselves to death, but they had not stayed there.

“The admiral’s on the take, eh?” Yut-ta asked as he rummaged through cabinets to view the food choices, then opened a cooler stocked with fresh provisions and sauces on one side, frozen on the other. The amount startled Vantra; who had they expected to visit, that edibles were already stocked?

“I hope Kjaelle, Vesh and Greyshen are OK,” Kenosera said as he retrieved plates and glasses from a windowed cabinet to the side of the stove. “I doubt anything will happen to The Lord of Pineapple, but the others aren’t deities.”

“No. And LP survived the Banque,” Vantra reminded them. “He’s tough to harm.”

“I read more about that in a book I borrowed from Lorgan. I don’t understand why Sun and Death did what they did. There must have been another way to accomplish what they wanted without killing everyone.”

“They didn’t kill anyone,” Vantra disagreed. “They watched as the guests battled each other into the grave. I’ve read accounts by Sun clergy from that time. I doubt those journals are completely accurate—they’ve been translated several times—but fear sat with them every day, every night. They never knew when another deity would attack their temple, attempting to steal the divine power of their lord or lady. Soldiers were forever on duty, draining holy coffers to keep them fit and fed, and escape routes constantly maintained for the faithful who were never spared the spear.”

Yut-ta nodded solemnly as he grabbed bread and more fruit from containers lining the wall between the sink and the island. “Lokjac said innocents got slaughtered often and without regret. The drive was to swallow as much magic as you could, to make yourself more powerful than any rival so you didn’t end up in an early grave. It sounds like a nightmare time.”

“It was. And Sun and Death ended it.” Vantra sank onto a stool as Kenosera eyed her with a skeptical wrinkle of his nose, but he did not push. She understood doubts concerning the Banquet’s effectiveness in anything other than obliterating several troublesome deities, but the mantles and charges rose from the destruction, paving a way for a safer, more effective divine life.

The nomad found butter and jam, and the hooskine slid a mister out from behind the very modern teakettle and its accompanying packets of leaves. They sat on the stools, her friends gulping a light meal while she sucked in mist flavored like cake and kept a stern watch over Fyrij as he stuffed himself with the juicy produce. She swore his tummy grew twice its normal size, and it did not surprise her when he burped and flumped down, fluffing his feathers before dozing.

“Is that healthy for him to gorge like that?” Kenosera asked.

“No,” Vantra said. “But I’m not getting between him and his meal.” She had lost essence more than once when he nipped her fingers.

“Especially when he’s that hungry,” Yut-ta laughed, wiggling his digits.

“Well, Nareh said they have a doctor, so if he needs help, we can summon them quick.” Kenosera bit into a slice of dark brown bread. “This is filling,” he admitted. “It reminds me of the wrent loaves we make in the desert; hearty, a tad nutty, though this isn’t as dry.”

“I wish I could have some,” Vantra sighed.

“How’s learning to eat progressing?” Yut-ta asked before nibbling the skin of a bumpy fruit with the tip of his beak to get a good divot for his fingers.

“Slow.” She waved her wand around, white haze leaking from the mouthpiece. “I’m missing something, and I don’t understand what. I should be able to sense flavors like I can with mist, but no. The food either falls through or I absorb nothing from it. Chewing should break apart enough of it my essence can suck up the ryiam, but . . .” She shook her head. “I think it’ll go better after I figure out how to grab things with my Ether Touch.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we rescued the Wiiv, I triggered Physical Touch to pull him from the confining circle. Katta took over and pushed my hands through his body to retrieve his Ether form—while I was still Physical. I keep thinking about how smoothly it went, how my essence punched in, yanked out, all without problems. That interaction with the physical is what I need to eat effectively.”

“I guess that’s something to look forward to after I become a ghost,” Yut-ta mumbled.

“It’s handy, to phase through a wall,” Kenosera said, nudging his ribs with his elbow.

“Handy, yes, but sometimes I need to grab something while in Ether form and I can’t. I have to turn Physical, and that can endanger me and Laken and whoever else is with us.” She tapped the mister with the tip of the mouthpiece, despondent. “Wouldn’t it be nice, to absorb energy from rain instead of hiding from it.”

“The islands are like the rainforest,” Yut-ta said. “Every day’s another shower. You lose a lot of time, staying out of it.”

“Wouldn’t it be grand, to walk beneath drops without worrying they’ll break through my essense?” She weighed the mouthpiece in her hand, then switched to Ether Touch; the metal clanged to the tabletop, waking Fyrij, who scolded her with loud tweeting and ruffling of fur.

“Sorry,” she whispered as he sank back down. She triggered Physical and retrieved the tip, mulling the sensation of dragging the spirit from his body. Other magics had wrapped around him, barriers against harm from his dead flesh, but the initial push, that was all her hands and nothing else. How had the syimlin altered her essence to accomplish that?

She eyed the tip, then pushed it into her palm, watching her skin bend under the pressure but not break. What had he done? Created a burst of power in preparation, similar to how he opened a doorway with his magic and transported someone with Darkness ribbons.

A doorway. Was that part of it? She had always thought of her essence as something that phased through other objects, whether in Physical or Ether form. Was that the problem? She needed to think of holding an object using Ether Touch as opening a doorway, then maybe shielding to keep it where she wanted? How could she relate that to Physical?

She sketched random designs on her palm as she sank into the memory. She replayed the act over and over, hoping she did not misunderstand the magic. Firming her lips, she set the tip in the center of her hand and shoved. After an initial burst of resistance, it punched through.

She gasped in ecstatic delight. She did it! She passed a solid object through her Physical form without resorting to Ether Touch! She looked up, gleeful about her success, then reared back; both men stared at her palm in stunned horror, bread hanging from limp fingers.

Oh. “Um, maybe I should have waited until you finished eating.” She grabbed her lower lip in her teeth, made a sheepish smile, and yanked on the metal ball that attached the hose to the mouthpiece.

It did not move.

Frowning, she employed Ether Touch. It hovered within her palm, no sign of movement.

Oh. Oh no. What was going on? Why didn’t it phase through?

She tried to detach her essence from the affected area; no luck. She reverted to Physical and yanked, pushed, and jiggled it; it did not budge. Yu-ta leaned over, eyeing it, then set his bread down.

“Want me to try?”

She held out her hand, nonplussed, and he pulled and wormed the piece around, but her hand did not release it. She faded to near losing her wisps from her core, but the object stubbornly remained in her palm, puffing out mist as if nothing was wrong. But something was wrong! Why would it not move? What was she going to do?

“Kenosera, grab a knife will you?” she asked.

His skepticism rankled, but he did so as Yut-ta turned off the mister. She accepted the pointed, serated steak knife and plunged it into her hand next to the sleek metal; both of her friends shuddered as she tried to cut, but the blade stuck fast and the piece remained firmly attached to her essence.

“Fuck!” She hadn’t thought the blade would stick too! She jerked on it, and while it pulled up slightly, her essence clung to it like glue.

Fyrij’s snores rose above her panic, and she glared at him; at least she didn’t have to deal with his intrusive nosiness. Just her luck, he’d get his face stuck in her too.

“How did you manage that?”

All three of them jumped as Mica set down his luggage and leaned over her shoulder, intent on her hand. Well, she could not hide the evidence of her failure, as he stared right at it. “I . . . I was trying to grasp something using Ether Touch, and I remembered Katta phasing through the Wiiv to snag the soul—”

“Ooooh! I’ve done that before, experimenting with magic I saw syimlin cast. Qira had to save me a couple times because I’m not as careful as Jare when I test deity-inspired spells.” Kenosera slipped off his stool and Mica sat down and cupped her hand in his. He tugged the knife, raised an eyebrow as the essence clung to it, then focused on the mouthpiece. He moved it back and forth, then attempted to rotate it, which it refused to do—all performed with a much gentler touch than either she or Yut-ta. “That’s amazing,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen an essence react quite like this.” He grinned. “I’m a fighter. I fling fiery Light-missiles around and heat things up. But this?” He patted her fingers. “We need to get Katta.”

“NO!” Her being heated, and she snatched her hand away. It was embarrassing enough, to have a gossipy Light-blessed know what happened! She did not need a syimlin looking over her shoulder and tut-tutting her horrendous use of Touch.

“Are you going to drag that knife and the mister tip around for the next few weeks?”

“I’m going to figure this out before then!”

“And Nareh’s promised barbeque. Barbeque! You’ve not lived until you’ve experienced the mist that accompanies that, and it’ll look odd, if you show up with a knife and a mister mouthpiece in your hand.”

“Mica—”

She squeezed her eyes shut as the presence of Darkness filled the room. Dammit, she could figure this out herself! She could! She—

“How did you manage that?”

His bewilderment did not make her feel better. She sagged, despondent, battling the urge to glare through tears as he took the seat Mica vacated. He pulled her hand down and unfolded her fingers with a gentle touch before smoothing the area around the items. He raised an eyebrow, then delicately tugged on the hose, then the knife.

“That’s a fine use of magic,” he breathed. “If you ever need to latch onto something you can’t lose, this will do it. Tell me what happened when you put them through your hand.”

She snuffled before starting a rendition, more than embarrassed guilt riding her. He got to see her fail—again! She always promised herself to dive into Lorgan’s materials, and she had, but nothing had helped her with grasping things while in Ether form or eating or absorbing or . . or . . .

Katta hummed and nodded as he pressed down on her essence, then worried both the blade and the tip. “This is one of those mistakes that we call happy mishaps. Think about all the ways you can use this to advantage. Now watch.”

He grabbed the ball and withdrew the mouthpiece with deliberate slowness. The surface of her skin did not want to let go, and remained attached with gooey strands that reluctantly slid down the metal until the tip cleared her palm. He repeated with the knife, though the strings refused to release the flat of the blade until he raised it over head-height, thinning the ends so they snapped. Her essence rebounded into place, leaving a pristine hand behind.

He had not hidden his magics, either, so she saw and felt what he had done to fix her failed experiment.

“That gives me an idea about sinking a Physical weapon into a ghostly opponent,” Mica said thoughtfully, pulling at his lower lip as he regarded her hand.

Yut-ta shuddered. “What, embedding a knife your opponent can’t pull out?”

“It will keep them focused on something other than the fight,” he replied breezily. “But it would have to be on the weapon’s side, so I’ll need to work out a shield or something to behave like Vantra’s essence did.”

Katta smoothed her palm, turned her hand over, and inspected it. “How does it feel?” he asked. “Any warmth, coldness, weirdness?”

“It feels a little tingly.”

“Residue from my magic.” He cupped her appendage and the sensation faded, then withdrew. “I’d like to work with you on this. Your essence did not seem to want to release them, and I don’t know if that was because of how you manipulated it, or if the material had something to do with it, or if was a quirk of the magic you employed. Your hand adhered to the knife blade more strongly than the mouthpiece.” His grin cracked his face. “This is why Qira and I travel. Remaining in a staid temple never brings new discoveries or investigations that can lead to extraordinary outcomes.” He raised his head, glancing at the door. “But experimentation will have to wait.” He pushed from the island and sped out the kitchen. Mica followed, concern coating him like perfume, and Vantra glanced at the other two; they nodded, she scooped up Fyrij, and they trailed them.

Katta waited in the living room as an oval swirl of blue formed in the center. Kjaelle ran through first, followed by Vesh and Greyshen, then the Lord of Pineapple appeared and the portal twirled in on itself. Vantra did not hear anything, but the acrid stench of something lingered around the four, fouling the air.

“What is that?” Yut-ta gagged, covering his nares with both hands.

“Death,” Kjaelle said with grim firmness.

“It is the scent of the Beast.” Katta folded his arms, eyes narrow bits of blue flame. “And what did you discover that coated you in it?”

“Another pool,” LP said quietly, brushing at his sleeves, a distasteful grimace on his lips. “Our enemy follows the footsteps the Beast stomped. The flavor of corruption and evil is unmistakeable.” He lowered his arms, a sharp gleam in his eyes not caused by the lighting. “And I cannot believe, the leadership of Tempest knows nothing of it.”

“Is there anything pressing?” Katta asked. They all shook their heads. “Alright. Get cleaned up, then we’ll talk. Qira’s out, so a full presentation will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Barbeque’s tonight,” Mica said, his glee at odds with the darkness surrounding the returned group.

“Barbeque?” Kjaelle perked up. “Where’s my room?”

“I’ll use my ribbons; we don’t want this nastiness tracked all over the houses.” Katta swallowed them, and Vantra used Clear Rays to eradicate what remained. She, again, thought she heard a mmeeeep when the corruption vanished, and wondered why.

Mica frowned. “Did you hear that?”

Kenosera and Yut-ta shook their heads, confused, but she perked up. “That mmeeep? I cast Clear Rays after Katta and Jare left to take the urn to the vault. I felt uncomfortable, as if something of it lingered, and figured it couldn’t hurt. I thought I heard the same sound then.”

“And you didn’t hear anything?” he asked the two living beings. They again shook their heads. “I’m not the best at magic mysteries,” he grumbled. “Good thing I can dump this one on Resa and Joila. I don’t know if it means anything, but it might. Considering all that’s going on, we can’t disregard weird things, no matter how minute they seem.” He flipped into Ether Touch and phased through the wall.

Fyrij cheeped sleepily and looked up at her; she held him close and set her chin on her fingers. This day had not progressed as she assumed, and it only seemed to get worse as the hours ticked by. She refused to ponder what else might happen before barbeque time.