Floating in calm Darkness, with enough pinpricks of light to cast all in a softly glowing, ashen haze. Where was she? She did not know. She felt ethereal, more so than when she employed Ether Touch, as if she lay in a swimming pool’s water, eyes closed, dipping and swaying to the minute waves that struck the sides and dissipated into nothing.
She broadened her perception, a hesitant prod of essence into her dark surroundings, but failed to sense anything other than energy winking in and out with the sparkle of the light. Nothing but the Darkness surrounded her; nothing to see, nothing to hear. She rested alone, in an odd void. How did she get there? Why was she there?
Who was she?
She pondered the question as disquiet rose. Flicks of memory lurched from behind fuzzy thoughts, a jumble at first, but after concentrating, they formed a timeline.
She froze. Her death! But recollection continued. Finders. Nolaris. Laken. Her flight from Evening, the mini-Joyful. Forest travel and meeting Verryn. The Shades enclave, Greyshen and Lorgan. A small, so-ugly-he’s-cute avian. Fyrij. Yes. A rush commenced, the remembrances stepping on one another and yelling for attention. Pirates, a beach, nomads . . .
The vi-van’s attack. Had she . . . discorporated? She must have. How else could she explain this Darkness?
She had never discorporated before. How could she return to her whole self? How was she going to get enough energy in a desert to do so? The tiny lights?
She timidly reached for the sparkles, but they remained out of reach, pretty, useless.
Useless? No, there had to be a way for her to absorb them and reform. Ghosts discorporated, more often than the Evenacht admitted. She had read about feeding an unlucky spirit’s depleted energy pool, concentrating on ways to help another being, rather than what to do when she was the affected entity. She never thought it could happen to her because her caution normally convinced her rowdier self to hide rather than act. How stupid, considering the dangers inherent in a Finder’s work, that she neglected it.
If the attack took her form, what happened to Laken? Had it harmed him? Could it harm him? Heads were notorious for being difficult to physically hurt. Death meant for them to experience their punishment, and too many would attempt to find the Final Death if given the chance, avoiding recompense. As they were relegated to Physical Form, so, too, were they Gifted with a type of immortality that prevented them from realizing the Final Death.
She reached again; she sensed energy flickering within the sparkles, but could not touch them to absorb it.
“Easy, Vantra.”
She wanted to look wildly about, but could not. Panic pricked her before the ashen fog coalesced, becoming a discernable if still transparent image. Katta. She recognized Katta.
He settled his fingertips above her core. A calm warmth infused her, as if he wrapped her within a fire-heated blanket. “Did the Finders not teach you about reforming? It is a skill useful to those battling the dangers of a Redemption.”
“No.” Her voice sounded wispy, echoey, not herself. “I read about it, though.”
“Hmm. It’s not as frightening as the depictions say, but only if you understand what’s going on,” he said. “Written words rarely prevent the terror it causes, especially if, under duress, the ghost can’t recall what they read.”
“I can’t touch any energy.”
“It surrounds you. You’re instinctively absorbing it, so no worries there.”
How was she doing that? “But I reached for it and could not touch it.”
“You are within it, so you are touching it, I suppose, just not as you expect.”
That made no sense. “What about Laken? Was he hurt?”
“Don’t worry about Laken. You need to focus on re-energizing.”
His wording concerned her. “He’s all right?”
“He’s a Condemned. Yes, he’s all right. No attack will harm him, even when a syimlin performs it, because Death and Darkness’s Touch protects him.” He pulled back and raised his hands to the sides. “Do you perceive the Light?”
“The little sparkles? Yes.”
He smiled. “Good. Darkness cradles, and Light sings the lullaby. It is not one or the other, but both. If you wish to reach the sparkles, concentrate on sucking them in, as you first learned to eat the mists.”
“So I’ll be absorbing both Darkness and Light?”
“That more closely resembles your innate essence leaning. So yes, if you can, that would be best.”
She reverted to her first experiences with mist, and sucked in, mimicking breathing. She did not know if she had any sort of form, but her essence responded, expanding. The sparkles coated themselves in the touch of Darkness before rushing to her, and she drank them in, energy dancing through her. The sensation of floating on water dwindled into an impression of lying on the beach, half-dosing, as the midday Sun warmed her skin. A buzz came from everywhere, incremental in increasing volume, as if someone asked her to listen to a wondrous song but teased her by not turning it up loud enough for her to clearly hear it.
Katta’s form slid to her as she breathed in. Oh, no! She stopped; he shook his head and lowered his hands. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sucking you in.”
“Oh. I’m projecting through the energy. You’re sucking in power, not me. I’ll be here if you need help, I promise.”
She had no reason to think he lied, but doubt crept through her. Too many other experiences had ended poorly for her because she trusted the wrong person. But Katta was not the wrong person, she knew that.
“When you’ve gained enough energy, I’ll help you reform. Being discorporated can be a little confusing, especially the first time.”
“I don’t want this to happen again!”
He laughed, sultry-smooth as decadent icing. “No, I bet you don’t. And Lorgan has plans for that, too.”
Her metaphysical stomach dropped at the declaration.
“You are going to get a crash course in offensive spells by a man trained at one of the finest academies on Tails.”
Her stomach dropped further. Even in the Evenacht, when she pressed her nose into a book, she never considered herself much of a scholar, especially when it came to her lackluster magic ability. Lorgan might give up in frustration once he realized her mediocrity.
An agitated cheep broke through the buzz. She frowned. “That sounded like Fyrij.”
“It is. I haven’t been able to calm him down. His attachment to you is absolute, and until you awaken, he will stay upset.”
While tempted to remain wherever she was, cradled in Darkness and hiding from Lorgan’s assessments and training, Fyrij needed her. Laken needed her. She could not wallow in distress when she had others who depended on her being whole.
“How can I re-energize faster?”
He regarded her, then glanced about at the dancing sparkles shining bright against the ashen Darkness. “I can show you. It isn’t comfortable, though. It’s less frightening to slowly absorb than gulp down.”
Fear already trickled through her essence, so that was not an issue. “I’d like to gulp.”
“Alright. We’ll intone it. That should smooth things a tad. We’ll start with ‘Onpueplom fin nanfla, no los quif fe’, and suck in deep and fast afterwards.”
Vantra repeated after the ancient ghost, then sucked in a phantom breath. The sparkles rushed to her, too many, too quick, stuffing her with Light. She fought not to explode; Katta’s Darkness infused her, lessening the rush, guiding the energy into a useful flare rather than a destructive burst.
