Kie slapped a hand-sized, shiny domed button in the center of the console and headrests rose out of the back of the chairs while arms folded down from the sides. Nuçya slid into the second front seat and the panel in front of them lit; they strapped in and pressed a series of glowing blue and pink buttons. The craft whirred, and Vantra’s tummy dropped as it shuddered and rocked forward, rising.

She rarely accompanied her mother on aircraft when she visited distant temples because motion sickness struck her every time. If she did not take medication before take-off, she ended up puking into a bag for the trip. Her mother would comfort her as best she could, but when they landed, she could not wait to scurry off and set her feet on stable land.

She hoped her essence did not react in the same way, but the sensation of her tummy dropping despite her being dead did not bode well for the experience.

The ship rocked to the right, and Kie hissed through his teeth. Lokjac swirled one hand over the bauble he had formed, and Sunlight whirled around the craft, sparkles and waves of gold coursing through the shimmering brightness.

Roots rammed into the protection. The tips flared, and they trailed smoke as they retreated. Vantra did not notice cracks on the surface, and she marveled the whizan could keep a single shield whole after being struck. She had no such luck with hers, and layers remained the only way to keep her magical defenses active.

“There are more roots than you caged,” Nuçya said, dragging their fingers down a sleek screen that glowed a soft pink. “Some are charred.”

“Caught by the fire?” Lokjac hmphed. “Our fake Strans must be desperate.”

“If the roots are still moving, what if the monster Kjaelle fought is still walking?” Vantra said. She had no evidence it had collapsed when Veer’s Comkade sundered.

“If so, the battle and Sun’s Touch weakened it,” Lojkac said. “Like these roots, it will be susceptible to my magic.” He circled his palm over the bauble and the defense flashed.

“They’re using a manjicur,” Kie said.

Mangy cur? What did that mean? Vantra did not have a chance to ask as the rock of the cavern’s walls disappeared into shadows. Flares from below illuminated the stone in quick succession, and the ship rocked back and forth. Both pilots muttered in the language she did not recognize before the craft’s speed increased and they burst into the dark grey of late day. They rose past the treetops and into the cloud-covered sky; the roots shot higher, far beyond Vantra’s ability to see the tips through the front-spanning window. They looked different, too; they were thicker, with a surface that looked like wrinkled, dried red meat rather than smoother and plant-based.

“They surround us,” Nuçya said, more irritation than concern in their tone.

Lokjac said nothing. The bauble he held boiled, bubbles spraying Sun magic into the air when they popped. The shield flared, and rays erupted from it, cutting the roots. Pieces fell, some banging onto the defenses and bursting into flame before disintegrating, the small bits brushed away in the wind. Kie pressed a series of green buttons and the ship dipped forward, leveled, then left the rest of the roots behind.

More shot up from below, a blur of motion as the craft wove in and out of them, at times rising or falling, while Sun’s rays severed them. Fyrij squeaked and buried himself in her chest as her essence rose just off the seat during a plunge. She kissed the top of his head and cuddled him as she planted her feet and tried not to rock back and forth.

The chase was surreal; no sound but Fyrij’s terrified tweets and the whir of the engine, as random roots blocked their path and forced the ship to avoid them if the Sun spell did not strike them in time. They proceeded with the smoothness of a dice roll, and, if she had lived, she would have remained hunched over, a bag to her mouth. Good thing that instinctual tummy response had not transferred into essence nausea, because she could act if needed.

“The enemy diverts us,” Kie said. “More roots to the east, curling north, none to the west, where the forest is cinders.”

“Interesting,” Lokjac said. “I don’t think our enemy is up to a protracted chase outside his domain, so he’s trying to keep us inside it. I wonder if the burn area is—”

The shields shattered and a heavy shadow blocked out the grey clouds before something landed on the top of the craft with a loud thomp.

“Ba danc si,” Lokjac muttered as the bauble oozed a viscous something that dangled from the sphere like a blob of thick honey before dripping onto his pants and evaporating. Vantra had never seen the like; what kind of spell caused that reaction?

Squeals came from the roof, as if some being dug knives into the squeaky exterior and pried it up.

“Hold on, we’re flipping,” Kie said. The ship twirled, and Vantra yelped as she hung upside down, the straps the only thing keeping her in her seat. Crashes from the cargo area alarmed her; was the ship falling apart? They spun faster until the ceiling made a popping sound; the craft righted, settled, and increased speed.

Layered defenses swam over the ship, virulent in their brightness.

“What was that?” Lokjac asked in disbelieving anger. “It dampened my spell until you shook it loose. That’s never happened before, and I’ve over twenty thousand years of Sun magic study under my feet.”

“I know not,” Nuçya said, tapping at flashing orange buttons on the console. “I saw black feathers, maybe a long yellow beak when it fell off. It looked like a frogleaper blown up to hundreds of times its size.”

“There are no birds that grow to that size in the rainforest,” Lokjac said as the bauble boiled once again and layers formed beneath the shield shell, blinding enough Vantra could no longer see the clouds. “In the Happendance plains, yes, but not here, and I don’t know of one that looks like a frogleaper. They are either flightless runners or humongous raptors.” He growled low in his throat. “What is our fake Strans up to?”

She wished she had answers, and the beings who could tell them were working with the enemy. Why did the knights align with the false Strans? Did they think he would help them capture her? What did they promise in return? Was that why the Labyrinth maps disappeared? The knights used the corrupted roots and stole them, then went after the caretakers in exchange for help in finding her?

But why endanger themselves in the flood? Even though they knew about the dam failing, they confronted the mini-Joyful at their camp; floating above raging waters did not guarantee safety, so apprehending her could not be the sole reason for their actions. She was not that important, though Laken must be. Why else steal his heart and demand he return to the Fields? Something else was going on. Did the mini-Joyful know?

No. Talis would not have been hurt if they did.

Bang! Vantra jumped and Fyrij gave a startled squawk. The shields flickered but held, and the bird slid off the front, bumping over the window and the half-circle protrusion before plummeting away.

Had it knocked itself out?

“It’s fast,” Kie said as they tipped to the left to avoid a wiggly root. “This ship, it is for cargo, not maneuverability and speed.”

“I sense a transfer of magic from the forest into the air,” Lokjac said, a deep frown marring his face as he stared intently at the boiling bauble. “The bird flies through it, coating its feathers. That’s how it impedes my magic.”

“Impede your magic?” Vantra asked, disconcerted. “How?”

“The Labyrinth would not be much of a Labyrinth without magic-dampening spells. Powerful whizen, mafiz and the like would traverse it easily without Strans’ Blessing because scrying pathways is a simple endeavor otherwise.”

“What can I do to help?” Vantra asked. A small smile replaced Lokjac’s frown.

“Save your strength. We may need it for offense. Here.” He raised his hand and blew across the palm; she felt magic patter against her, and she absorbed his shield trigger. The Touch raced through her, and she glimpsed the deep power within him. That he had difficulty with the attack frightened her, because he should not. That blunting effect must be mighty, indeed.

She sat back, rubbing her fingers together before re-situating the caroling, uncertainty setting in. Other than Clear Rays, she was not well-educated in offensive magic other than basic intonations—Nolaris stunted her growth in that direction, and she had not protested. She preferred defensive spells like shields because she hated harming others, so it suited her to ignore those lessons. A foolish decision, especially for a Finder.

The loud crash coincided with the ship pointing down at the burnt treetops. Nuçya yelped and Kie said something in a nasty voice; the ship righted itself and rose, the engine whirring faster. Fyrij fluttered and croaked in fear; Vantra held him closer, cooing to him, providing a comfort she did not feel.

“It glided on Light and knocked my shields away,” Lokjac said, his teeth clenched. “If I didn’t know better . . .” His voice trailed off as he concentrated.

Light encompassed them, as strong as any she had witnessed, but off; it held a heaviness within, akin to the corruption in the roots but murkier, mustier. Rays rushed to them, and renewed Sun shields rose a breath before they tore through the craft. The resulting clash took the defenses, shook the ship, and the engine sputtered.

The bird slammed into the front of the ship, knocking the tip down, and awkwardly flew away. The tainted Light magic swam around it, forming a shield before it soared high enough that Vantra lost sight of it.

She drew on the shard and concentrated on Clear Rays. Sunbeams shot from her and into the surrounding air, and she sensed a strange hesitation from below as they expanded. The forest? She could not blame the plants for being cautious of Sun, having experienced its ravenous burn.

“You interrupted the flow of power rising from the forest, but the shield protected the bird from the Rays,” Lokjac said as he renewed the shields. “It absorbed the light from your attack, making all other effects weaker. Otherwise, you would have downed the creature. Unfortunate, since there is no way to take Light out of a Sun attack.” His lips parted in a seething snarl. “I know this magic. I know this spell. Void take him, Hrivasine had to know that—”

The ship tipped into roots and the tips raced over the shields, digging in until they burnt to nothing.

Fyrij trembled so hard, he vibrated her arms and chest. Her poor caroling! What would happen to him if they crashed? He was not a ghost, he could . . . die.

Firming her lips, she set him on the chair’s arm, phased through the straps, cupped him in one hand, and dumped him in the startled whizan’s lap. “Take care of him,” she said. “Fyrij, don’t cause Lokjac trouble.”

“Vantra!” he yelled as she triggered Ether Touch. Fyrij screeched, raising his wings, but their protests were too late.

The ship flew through her, as she knew it would; unless an Ethereal essence moved with the same speed as the vehicle in which they rode, the physical object would leave them behind. And with Lokjac’s trigger, his magic would not harm her. She sucked in energy from the shard and formed a shield with a bright glare emanating from it, then whirled, searching for the attacker. A shadow blanketed her, and she looked up; the bird dived directly for her.

She fled the spot, and the animal missed, though she caught nothing more than a black streak and wind as it passed. It curved under, then arched over, the craft, turned, and focused on her. While she wanted its attention, she did not expect to have it so completely! Gripping the shard, she whimpered and waited.

Its yellow beak took on a reddish hue, and it held out its blood-red talons as if it planned to snag her from the air. She triggered Physical Touch and fell, fast enough it missed its strike. She became Ethereal and floated in the opposite direction of the craft; the bird gained height and struck again. Avoiding its talons took all her concentration; if she remained in the air much longer, it was going to hit her and take her shields, and that would not work out well for her.

The creature hovered and shrieked, and a blast of wind tore through her despite her protections. She snagged all the wisps that fled with the gust and flung another shield in front of her—a pathetic, wobbly shield that broke immediately when the second gust struck, but at least it prevented impact. The shard flickered; drained? Oh no! She should have paid attention to its energy levels, but she wanted the ship and its cargo to reach safety. Fyrij deserved that. Laken’s essence deserved that.

She triggered her Physical form, falling as the third gust careened over her head. She looked down; roots milled around on the ground, waiting for her to crash into them. Her tummy fluttered at the thought of encountering them without the shard’s aid. She looked up; the bird sped to her, and she realized it would hit her before they came anywhere near the charred trees.

She sensed the corruption and somersaulted, triggering Ether Touch and avoiding the punch of roots. Warning sizzled through her, but she could not look back; avoiding the new attack took too much attention. She heard snapping, as if the bird plowed through the corrupted plants instead of dodging them; wonderful. She feared encountering the taint if she did the same, so continued to glide around them as she aimed lower and lower.

The bird’s piercing call made her cover her ears. Talons snagged the mid of her back and pulled, freeing wisps from her core. Pops and crackles shook her, and she whimpered as she turned Physical and fell, no attempt to halt her plummet.

Brilliance shot between her and the bird; the creature squawked, and its heavy presence left her backside. She broke through the treetops and turned Ether; the bird impaled itself on a tree, breaking the tip off as it continued on its trajectory. Its bulk shattered branches and cracked trunks as it fell.

Something stung her right arm, a strange sensation since she no longer physically felt. Memory of the mephoric emblems erupted, and Vantra gasped, turned Ether, and veered away from the bird’s body. She passed through a boat-wide, mostly undamaged tree before slowing and flumping onto the ground in her Physical form. Ash rose from her, fogging the air and her perception.

The bird crashed and did not move.

Should she check on it? No time; roots erupted from the soil around her. Fear-triggered Clear Rays burst from her, granting her a reprieve as the corruption disintegrated. She turned Ether and fled.

A pull on her right arm, where the sting originated. She looked at it; Light magic! But . . . it felt different than that which targeted the ship. She knew the Touch. Jare.

Jare?

Now that she focused, she sensed her bond with Laken. The punch of mixed emotions overwhelmed her; gratitude they came to find her because they shouldn’t have, lingering resentment for the lies. Sending a pulse down her link so he knew she realized they were nearby, she sped in their direction, hoping she did not bring their demise with her.

She avoided more and more roots—so many roots! Where did they all come from? She did not think they originated from local trees or bushes, so they were free roaming, but they emanated from somewhere.

Her essence flickered and alarm rushed through her; she had to make it to Jare and Laken before her energy dwindled and she collapsed. The enemy could easily harm her in a senseless state.

A rhythmic thumping from behind caught her attention; a smaller version of the vine creature ran with the roots, bisected by a glowing line with stitches of Light holding it together. Where had it come from?

A pulse from her bond with Laken; they were near!

“She’s over there!”

Faded, but still clear. The knights? Who else could it be? They must have followed the ship through the ceiling hole.

She sent a wordless acknowledgment through the link to Laken and poured energy into speed.

The roots kept step even though the creature fell behind. Something rushed at her from her right before the impact drove her to the ground. She rolled, and a hand punched through her chest, setting Sun tethers in the soil that rose through her and curved over, an attempt to confine her. Clear Rays burst the restraints, and she floated away as the ghost reared back, shocked—Gisdrelle?

The woman bared her teeth. “How did you—”

“Vantra, duck!”

She curled into an ephemeral ball in the ash as Light flared over her.

Silence but for the crackling of magic.

“He took out Gisdrelle!” someone whispered, distressed.

She peeked up; Jare stood over her, a spear in hand, his right arm glowing bright enough, she winced away.

“Vantra.”

She looked at Laken, who hovered behind the Light-blessed and peered down at her with a glint of fury in his eyes. She rose and wafted to him; from the emotion coursing through their link, he was not upset at her so much as Rezenarza, for flinging her halfway across the Labyrinth and into enemy hands. While she doubted he threw her that far, she had not appreciated that part of her adventure, either.

Her Chosen half-grinned and looked at the loose circle of fourteen shocked ghosts who stared at the discorporated puddle in a newly formed depression free of ash and debris.

Fifteen knights chased after her? Why?

“A Light-blessed should know better than to interfere in an incident not of their making.” She recognized the commanding one’s voice. It belonged to a ghost slight of stature, who stood with legs spread wide, arms crossed, a nasty, whiny frown pulling his lower lip low. He wore his hair in the dryan style of shaved sides with the long tresses pulled back and held by several bands, while a silver circlet adorned his brow. Red war paint marked his left side, a blaze of color against his light teal skin; it seemed out of place since he wore a plain brown, long-sleeved shirt and unfitted pants rather than armor.

“And you should know better than to mess with a Light-blessed,” Jare said, unphased by the underlying threat.

“One facing fourteen. You think you’d defeat us?”

His fellows did not share his confidence; two looked at each other, then over their shoulders, as if they wished to leave. Vantra silently urged them to run away, hide, but before they could, the vine creature rushed through the group as if they did not exist. They whirled away from it, shouting, annoyed it ran through them without care, snagging wisps of essence on the way.

Vines erupted from the slit, breaking the seams, and targeted Jare. He spun his spear; lines burst out of a center sphere of pure Light, striking a thicker, spinning border, which triggered symbols in the spaces between. Once the symbols set, the lines grew past the border and rotated counter to it, trailing Light like a twirling torch trailed flame.

A Grand Seal!

The vines shredded upon contact, bits flying in all directions. The border flashed, and the creature caught fire and burned with magic-fueled ferocity. It thrashed, but the already charred landscape did not re-light. Its legs crumbled, and the body fell, cracking open at the seam when it hit the ground and bursting apart in a shower of sparks. A streak of Light magic shot into the air from the remains and topped the trees, too bright to look at.

Vantra could not see their knightly enemies, so raised shields and prepared for attack.

A heaviness surrounded them, one she associated with potent, consuming rage. The soil beneath her frothed, and debris, fallen trunks, the remnants of bushes, fell through. Laken yelped as his base wobbled and dipped down. She triggered Physical form and reached for him, but the earth sucked her down. She re-employed Ether and swiped at him, but her form went through the base and his essence.

A circular Light swirled beneath him, keeping him floating. Jare attached a thread of magic to the base, and they zipped from the still-twirling spear, away from the growing hole.

“What’s happening?” Laken asked, his voice trembling from the bumpy ride. Her poor Chosen! Was there any way to fix the base so it did not rely on solid ground beneath to function?

“Looks like underground caves are collapsing,” Jare said. “I don’t know why. Maybe the roots made them unstable.” He looked up. “Today is not my day.”

He raised his right arm, his Light gems glowing through the gauntlet. A new Grand Seal appeared over them, larger, filled with so much magic if Vantra did not know syimlin personally, she would have assumed he was one of them. The heaviness in the form of a Light ray caught them, drilling into the seal, sending sparks of magic and stray beams in all directions. She slapped her pathetic shields beneath, knowing, if the ray broke through, they would not hold.

Everything slowed, silenced, as the attack continued, as the defense held strong, as the sparks and beams turned into thicker, shimmery radiations that cut through the nearby trees and sent their tops tumbling to the earth.

Light’s Time. Jare was using Light’s Time. She grabbed his left hand and poured her flagging energy into him; the brief time they spent in the mist room could not have refilled his resources, and he expended a lot of power keeping Laken safe in the flood. If he thought the situation so dire, she would do what she could to help.

“Get Laken and go, Vantra,” Jare whispered, his voice strained.

“No,” they said together.

“Stubbornness—”

One of his gems went dark. Two more, in quick succession. Three more. Four.

“Vantra. Laken. I’m—”

“No,” Vantra said, with firm conviction despite her rapidly increasing fear.

One by one, the gems blinked out, and the attack did not falter. Even though over-extension trickled through her, Vantra gave him as much energy as she could and still function. Three gems re-lit and faded slower before going dark.

“Vantra—” Jare began.

“No.”

“You need to get out of here before—”

“No! I know what Light’s Time is! I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m going nowhere,” Laken said gruffly. “If things go bad, I’ll just end up in the Fields again.”

A cheerful sentiment.

Half of the gems fell into darkness, which coincided with the brightness of the attack fading, the width of the ray shrinking. More gems darkened, the assault lessened in intensity and the energy spitted. The sparks dwindled, the radiations shortened. More gems went dark as a swirl of gold whirled away from their feet, turning the too-near creeping roots intent on taking advantage of their distraction into ash.

It was good, the Light-blessed noticed them, because she had not.

The ground completely collapsed. Ten gems remained. Nine.

The attack split in two, and each fork dimmed to half the original brilliance.

Eight. The two forks shrank to a hand-width in size.

Seven. Six.

The right side fizzled and disappeared in a scattering of sparks.

Five.

The left intensified but could not hold the influx of power. It burst, pummeling the Seal with its last bits of energy.

Three more went dark.

Jare bent over as if in pain while the Seal continued to spin, ready for another attack, but none came. The second to last gem dimmed; the Seal broke apart, sending wisps of molten Light into the tree trunks, bushes, the knights who stood, transfixed, half their number gone. Had they run? Discorporated?

Jare crumpled, his essence floating down into the dark pit beneath them, pulling Laken with him. With a squeak, Vantra zoomed after them; a murky green, thunderous attack blew over the gaping opening, filled with the hate of its creator.

She felt light-headed, wobbly, and though she snagged the Light-blessed, she could not stop their fall to the bottom.

“Laken, we’re going to crash.” Did she sound as hoarse as she thought?

“Is Jare OK?”

“I don’t think he’s conscious.” At least he had not discorporated.

Jare phased through the ground, and with effort, she dragged him back up and set him on a wisp of a shield. The golden circle under Laken’s base flared when he reached the firmer soil, and he righted, wobbling, but did not tip over.

“They’re going to see the light,” he fretted.

Vantra stuck her hands in it and absorbed the power; his base did as designed and floated without the aid despite the slope of the mound upon which she and Jare lay. She wafted up from the Light-blessed to look around; branches and rocks stuck out from the soil, and bits of dirt and debris trickled down the sides and struck stone walls, but she could see nothing beyond their immediate surroundings. How far down were they, that it was so dark?

“Vantra, they’re coming,” Laken said, worried.

“Get down to where the soil meets the rock wall,” she whispered. He sped down as she grabbed Jare and dragged him after her. She settled him against the wall, propped his legs up, then motioned to Laken. “Sit in front of him.”

He did as she asked. She took Jare’s arms and legs, lightly coated them in shields so they would wrap around her Chosen without phasing through him, then leaned over them, covering them with her cloak. Touching the Light-blessed’s arm, she sent some of the power she took from the base into him, then focused the rest on fading from sight. She thinned her essence to a wisp, bowed her head, and floated into darkness.