The khentauree sailed over the gap; Lapis stared down at the floor, the broken rock, the fallen being struggling to rise, then rocked as Chiddle landed. He fought for his footing as another projectile crashed into the bottom of the lip. His right hind hoof slipped off, and he lurched forward. Patch jumped down and she screamed; he grabbed the upper leg and yanked the khentauree back onto the walkway.

A smaller object smashed into the wall above their heads as the mechanical being scrambled for traction. Chunks of debris bounced off them, nothing larger than a pebble. The tera-khent raised the arm that had half-tore from the shoulder socket and struck the lip.

Patch yelped and slid as it buckled; he scratched for a handhold and grabbed the stubby remains of metal railing sticking out of the edge. Chiddle surged up and slammed his hand into the wall, his fingers digging into the rock and creating a handhold while his hooves skidded around.

Lapis leaned over, reaching for Patch, her seat slipping; the giant reared back, his arm flinging backwards, cables stretching. He lurched his shoulder forward; the metal bones broke, and the wires tore apart. The appendage bumped the ground and soared into the air, spinning.

Cursing, Patch let go.

“PATCH!”

The appendage struck the walkway where he had dangled, the ends of sparking wires whapping Chiddle in the hindquarters. The rock shuddered and crumbled; the khentauree dug his other hand into the stone and heaved them onto a stable bit. She stared dumbly at the ground, tears chilling her cheeks.

No. No!

A blur of motion; the fallen mechanical being limped away, Patch with her and shuffling backwards, tech weapon in hand and facing the tera-khent.

Alive. Was he hurt? She had to help them!

Lapis unslung her tech as Chiddle surged for the door. She bounced about and grabbed his torso with her left hand to keep from falling, her heels digging into his side; good thing his metal body did not feel pain. The giant yanked on the hand sunk into the rock, and the surrounding stone crumbled. If he freed himself . . . She straightened, one arm clutching him close as she twisted, and did as Lorcan suggested; rammed the stock into her shoulder, flipped the switch, pulled the trigger, and sent beams of red every which way.

She screamed her distraught rage at him as the tera-khent ducked, unable to protect his head because both arms were useless.

Two khentauree waited for them as they rushed into the doorway, buzzing and crackling. Chiddle growled then swiveled his head to look behind them; the tera-khent loomed large, yanking, yanking, yanking.

“They say the fallen one and Patch will use the evacuation tunnel. It is not far, but we must keep him busy until they reach it.”

“Not a problem.” Lapis slid from his back, scampered to the door, slammed her left shoulder into the corner, and raised her weapon. She showered everything within the vicinity of the giant with shots; precision was a dream, but she did not need accuracy to keep the tera-khent occupied. Chiddle’s forehead glowed before a cyan beam ripped through the horse torso’s right humerus, tearing a sparking hole. She stuffed her fingers in her ears to dim the endless roar of fury, to little success.

The giant staggered and tried to snag a crumpled vehicle with his right hoof; the wound wrinkled and collapsed. He stopped the motion, though his roar continued, unabated. Chiddle set a gentle hand on her arm and pulled her from the door. The local khentauree chittered, sounding relieved, and his face returned to the front.

“They reached the evacuation tunnel. Let us go.”

The roar trailed them, faint, but Lapis could not ignore it. She ran after the fleeing group, weapon in hand, pack banging against her back, her mind unable to settle on a thought, an emotion.

She almost lost Patch.

Dammit, she almost lost Patch. She sucked in a huffy breath of tears. She hated the agonizing worry as she waited for him to return from specific tasks during missions, but watching him fall ripped her emotions and flung them into the rapids of despair.

He made light of the dangers and attempted to alleviate her anxiety, but they both knew, if his life ended during a mission, hers would crater afterwards. She could never replace the man who stood as the base upon which she renewed her shattered life.

They arrived at a room that blocked most of the tera-khent’s fury, so it only sounded like a dull throbbing. Her ears ringing, Lapis struggled out of her pack, slammed it onto a desk next to a lit tech screen, and frantically pulled at pockets, searching for the communication device the Abastions provided.

Chiddle settled a hand on her arm. “He is fine,” he told her, his voice smooth and sweet as honey. “The khentauree with him speaks to us. She says he is fine.”

Lapis stared, gulping. Fine. He was fine.

“We must contact the group. The roar, they must have heard. They need to know we are safe.”

Yes. The other rebels might even backtrack, thinking to help. “I can do that, so you aren’t distracted.”

She finally found the gadget stuffed in the next-to-last pocket. She paused, concentrating on calming her throbbing heart, before she placed the curved band over her ear, pushed the plump, foamy part into her canal, and adjusted the harder, perforated end so it stayed near her lips. She turned the speaking part as Lorcan instructed; static erupted from it and she cleared her throat.

“Lanth here.”

She sounded like a mouse.

Linz’s faint voice sailed through the earpiece. “Lanth! What’s going on?”

“We’re OK, but don’t send anyone after us. The tera-khent isn’t in a good mood and we don’t want him going after you, too.”

“We heard the roars where we’re at. He sounds pissed, Lanth. What did you do?”

“Nothing. He threatened us and Chiddle took exception.”

“What did Chiddle do?”

“Shot his shoulder so his arm fell off.”

The Ambercaast khentauree buzzed, but whether in humor or annoyance at the description, she could not say.

“Things like that are why we don’t take Patch on missions,” Linz groused. “I guess Chiddle’s falling into that category now, too.”

Did that apply to her as well?

A back and forth between the khentauree ensued, and Chiddle leaned close to her head. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

“Chiddle, I can hear you,” they said. Lapis nodded, though she suspected his ability to perceive sound was far better than hers.

“The khentauree we are with say the tera-khent cannot leave the confines of the room and the corridor. His programming says he must stay, so he stays. He will not try to get out and hunt for you. We will go to a safe room, and we will ask them about the tunnels, and we will contact you.”

“Alright. Just be more careful.”

Lapis swiveled the speaker back to the off position and looked up at the Ambercaast khentauree. “So he can’t leave?”

“No. It is why he is still there. He wants to, and this has corrupted his programming.”

“How?”

“Heven says he was once gentle. But he grew tired of the room. He wanted to see the outside, like the small khentauree, and Gajov Miaam said no.”

A quick conversation hummed between the khentauree, and the locals headed out of the room. Chiddle motioned for her to follow them. Lapis did a cursory inspection before hastening through the door; tech machines sat on desks, flashing away, lines of symbols flowing down the screens. Everything from the chairs and waste baskets to the lighting was white, creating an unearthly glow.

She had a passing thought as to how they retained the items in working order. After all, old tech would die, and they did not receive supplies from the outside world. Did they?

“He broke,” the Ambercaast khentauree continued as they entered a hallway as pristine and white as a Meint underground hospital. He caught her step and remained at her side, which she appreciated. “His programming corrupted. The khentauree told Gajov Miaam, but he refused to listen. He told them that Ree-god would cure him. She did not. She made him a priest.”

“A priest?” Lapis winced. How would that help a trapped giant who desperately wanted to see the outside?

“Gajov Miaam was the foreman. Maphezet Kez owned the workstation. Both thought this a good idea.”

“This was a workstation, like the one at Ambercaast?” Lapis glanced around, her eyes trailing over plaques beside the doors lining the hallway, names etched on them with cold precision. The sharp echo of hoofs and her boots striking the tiles added to the icy presentation.

“Yes. Heven does not know what the scientists studied other than khentauree. They were told not to look at the records, so they do not.”

“Are the Ambercaast khentauree like that?”

“No. We are free. Gedaavik made us so.”

“So Ree made the tera-khent a priest.”

“And programmed him to remain within the boundaries of the room and the corridor. He is angry. He wants to see the trees and the stream and the grass. The other khentauree can go outside, but they must return at night to pray.”

Lapis scrutinized the backs of the locals. “Pray?”

“They have a schedule to pray to Ree-god and the stars. It is strict.”

Lapis despised the hubris.

“They do not want to return to the room. His anger is heavy, and he will harm them. But they must pray.”

“Are they programmed to go to the room?”

“Yes.”

Of course. “Can we help them?”

“Jhor and Sanna can help them, but they are not here.”

She wrapped her hands around her upper arms, helpless dread worming through her chest. She detested the emotion, having weathered it so often in her younger years, but she did not know what to do. She hated the idea of exposing the smaller khentauree to the giant after their battle, and hated the idea of him trapped in the room because of a religious zealot, unable to move anywhere but into the corridor. How horrible, to yearn for the outside and be denied the experience of watching gusty winds rustle the trees, hearing the trickle of a stream, sitting in a meadow of brilliant flowers.

“Can we help the tera-khent?”

Chiddle hummed in disapproval. “Why do you wish to help him? He harms khentauree. It is not how khentauree behave.”

“If he was once gentle, we can recode him to be that way.”

Chiddle’s hum grew darker. “You can recode him.”

Chastized and uncertain, Lapis bowed her head and rubbed at her still-ringing ears. They needed to contact Ragehill and ask Jhor about a protocol to keep the khentauree from returning to the room. Would the tera-khent also return to the room and prepare for their arrival, or remain in the corridor, waiting for the group to step foot onto the mostly destroyed rock lip?

What she thought was raspy noise from the roars grew louder and bolder. The local khentauree bustled into an enormous cavern, humming in delight as they proceeded down a white-tiled ramp with dainty steps. Lapis set her hand on the shiny, black metal handrail and slowly walked down, eyes for the cascade of water coming from an immense hole in the ceiling. The rush of droplets shimmered in the light shining down from somewhere above and tumbled into a sloped coppery bowl, which drained through wide grates in the bottom. A glass wall circled the bowl, and the light refracted off it in rainbows, coating the floor in rich color.

Blocks of soaked soil with dead trees decorated gleaming white terraces that curved around the waterwork. White metal tables and chairs filled the rest of the space, many with mismatched legs or seats or surfaces. Between the terraces were platforms with benches facing the water and knee-high ceramic planters ringing the outer edge. They, too, held wet dirt, but no expected flowers or bushes. Pristine white paint donned the seating, but they sagged in the center, and white bricks propped up the planks on several.

Five flights of stairs ran from top to bottom, the wrought-iron railings a stark contrast to the paleness of everything else. Ten ornamented doors with sculpted plants above them ringed the room, each with a plaque to the side that probably told anyone who read Taangin where it led. Some had missing parts to the décor, but white paint filled in every gap.

The scent of cleaning products permeated her nose, but it did not drown the sense of staleness that saturated the place. The active water did not reach beyond the glass wall, keeping motion enclosed, apart. No dust, even in stair corners and tile grout, and she would have welcomed it, something that seemed less artificial.

The group guided them up the widest stair and to another hallway filled with white tile, white walls, white light, which again produced a sense of ethereal eeriness. Kez’s infatuation with heavenly brightness must have been strong, to build it into everything. His people must have experienced devastating headaches, dealing with all the bright.

She glanced at Chiddle. “Did they tell you where we’re going?”

“We will meet Patch and Sugar at the Wailing.”

The Wailing? That sounded unpleasant.

“How much of Gedaavik’s code do you think they still have?”

He buzzed, a cascade of sound. “I do not know. They are muddled.”

“How muddled?”

“They speak as if they access Gedaavik’s anti-religion code, then flip and hail human gods and tell me I must pray.”

“Do they know Luthier?”

The entire group stopped, their heads swiveling 180 degrees. Lapis wanted to stop, too, but Chiddle pranced to them, unconcerned about the reaction.

“They know Luthier. She and khentauree who did not like the priest left when the workstation humans disappeared. Gedaavik ran labs at the Shivers Mine, and they braved the miners and made them their home. The khentauree do not know why they never returned to pray, because Ree-god programmed them to.”

“Maybe they can access Gedaavik’s anti-human religion code better?”

“They dislike Luthier and her khentauree because they do not pray.”

Well, perhaps she should have kept her questions to herself. Having disapproval of the other khentauree rub off on her group when they needed information would be her luck.

As one, the locals swiveled their heads to the front and continued, prancing prettily, their hooves ringing as they struck the tile.

“I told them we rescued Luthier but that she refuses to speak to us. They think that is normal.”

He hummed, they hummed, and Lapis wondered at their conversation. Rather than ponder what she could not understand, she retrieved the communication device and held it up. Jhor was not standing with her, but he was only a radio signal away. She tapped Chiddle on the arm and he looked at her.

“We should contact Jhor. Is there a way I can do that with this?”

“Yes.” He took the item and messed with the mic before handing it back to her.

“Thank you.” She stuck the bud into her ear and turned the mouthpiece. “This is Lanth.”

“Lanth, we’s hearin’ you.”

She blinked. “Rin?”

“Yeah, they gots me on the comms.” She did not imagine his proud excitement. Messing with tech? A dream for him.

“Great. Then I don’t have to explain who Jhor is.”

“He’s nappin’. I c’n get ‘im. Hold on.”

It took longer than she expected, but she heard movement before breath delighted her ear. “Lanth, it’s Jhor.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

He yawned. “It’s fine. Linz contacted us and said you and Patch and Chiddle had a run-in with the giant khentauree.”

“Yeah, you could say that. It’s not completely his fault, either. Do you know about Gedaavik’s code to prevent khentauree from being forced to perform human religious stuff?”

“Yes. It’s some of his best work, actually.”

“Well, the local khentauree say that someone called Ree Helvasica came here.”

He hissed, and Sanna’s angry buzz overrode the background static. “I know about Ree.”

“Ree is a bad flood of dark water and dead things,” Sanna declared. Had the khentauree met her? Or did she channel Gedaavik’s dislike?

“She tried to work around Gedaavik’s code,” Lapis said. “The khentauree have to pray at specific times of day, in specific rooms, to her and the stars. This is a problem because Ree made the giant a priest and they have to pray with him. But they said he’s going to harm them when they show up because he’s angry. And, um . . . he’s pretty angry.”

“Linz said you attacked him?”

“He vowed to harm Lanth and Patch,” Chiddle told him, loud enough for the mic to pick up his voice. “I attacked his arm, so he could not.”

“It kinda fell off,” Lapis said. “And then he threw it at us.”

She did not appreciate Rin’s gales of laughter in the background. She looked at Chiddle, and he made a credible hmphing sound.

“The local khentauree said that he wanted to go outside, but the people who ran this workstation said no. And it broke his programming.”

“Or Ree did,” Jhor grumbled. “When are they supposed to pray next?”

“Tonight. Any suggestions?”

“Ah, yes. How closely do they follow their programming?”

“They do not want to comply, but they do anyway,” Chiddle said.

“OK. Chiddle, ask them if they have to follow human orders or their code first.”

He buzzed and clicked. One swiveled their head and hummed back.

“Heven says they must follow human orders first. Gajov Miaam, the foreman, he found out that they ignored human orders and it put them behind schedule and he did not like that. So he told Ree-god to change the code, and she did.”

“Who did they take orders from?” Lapis asked.

A quick buzz of conversation between them ensued. “Only workstation humans.”

“What constitutes a workstation human?” Jhor asked.

“Heven says someone who works for Maphezet Kez.”

Lapis raised her eyebrows, cleared her throat, and regarded Heven, who kept her head backwards. How long must she work with khentauree, before that seemed normal? “I work for Maphezet Kez. You need to help Lanth and Patch and Chiddle in their search for an entrance large enough for terrons to enter the workstation. Then we have to find a way into the Shivers Mine. You will ask me if there is anything else you need to do before you return to pray with the priest.” She paused. “Does that work?”

Chiddle buzzed, Heven hummed, and the other khentauree stopped, turned, and regarded them.

“It works,” Chiddle said. “They are very literal.” He raised his chin so slightly. “We are not literal.”

Indeed.

Lapis could not explain it, but since her order, the khentauree seemed more relaxed. Their dainty dance became a normal walk, their humming took on a milder tone. They did not appear so flighty and strode with purpose.

The locals led them down several hallways, all with the same glowing white atmosphere, all with identical doors, identical plaques. The workstation would have sucked her will to live, had she labored there. No life, no soul, dull in its bright, pristine repetition. She doubted humans brought passion and excitement to the place, and instead walked with their heads down, the weight of absolute conformity breaking them.

Too many temples in Jiy would love to force their worshippers into a similar, spirit-sapping environment.

Chiddle slowed, and she drew her attention away from her hollow surroundings and focused on the end of the hallway. The immaculate white ended in a dark hole that looked as if someone blew the rock into pieces. The edges were uneven, jagged, and debris littered the floor on each side. The stark contrast blasted dread into her chest.

The other khentauree did not hesitate and hopped over the lip. Lapis glanced up at Chiddle; he cocked his head but did not issue a warning. The bottom jutted up to her thigh, and she snagged the rough rock and half-crawled, half-hauled herself into the tunnel. Chiddle’s forehead produced a soft glow so she did not have to dig for a light, and she followed the trail between rough-hewn walls.

The tunnel had turns, dips, rises, some steep and just high enough, her companion had to help her reach the top. When the floor evened out, a glow filtered to them from the exit.

Another hallway. Wondrous.

She trudged to the opening, concerned that the lighting did not strengthen much. The scent of evergreen needles reached her, though the cold she associated with trees blanketed by snow did not accompany it. She stepped into a circular room, her eyes drawn to the jittery khentauree group and the mechanical being that had their attention.

The khentauree’s metallic sheen had a whitish cast, reminiscent of Ghost. Their horse torso laid on its side, legs curled to the belly, while their upper arms stuck straight out, the lower perpendicular. The hands pointed out, palms up, a pose that the Stars of Luck’s Dance used when they performed for religious gatherings. Each one cupped a brilliant glow.

Silver bands covered their upper arms and legs, and bracelets decorated the lower. A circlet rested above their brow, and another two hung from their ears, creating shoulder-brushing earrings. A crumpled cloth with glittery embroidery sat at their side.

White haze hovered throughout the room, thick in some places, sparse in others. Within the thicker clouds, sparkles floated, a random display of brightness and color. The illumination from the haze, juxtaposed against the dark ceiling, reminded Lapis of the night sky in its moonless glory. She reluctantly entered the cavern; who was she, to interrupt this? The locals hummed and clicked and pranced down the rock ramp and across the flat, smoothed ground to the ghostly one, unconcerned about disrupting the show.

“The humans called her the Wailing One,” Chiddle whispered as they continued down the ramp.

“Does she wail?”

“No. She is the voice of the stars who cannot speak. The khentauree say she is Vision. They say she is not beholden to Ree-god.”

Something in their favor.

“They say to sit with Vision and that she will wake soon. I asked if she runs diagnostics. They said no, she sleeps. But khentauree do not rest like humans. We do not sleep like you.”

Lapis looked up, scanning the clouds. “Is she creating this? Like Ghost makes sprites?”

“Maybe.” The mechanical being’s doubt triggered her own. His head completed a 360 before rotating back. “The sparkles are constellations.”

“Are they?”

He pointed at the cloud just above their heads. “This is the forever tree,” he said, tracing the points.

She followed his lines, deciding that his forever tree represented the jouster constellation. The jouster, a knight from the Three Men fables, was a character whom the Sixth God’s followers heralded as the model champion of the common man. Lapis did not care for the tales, finding the sugar-sweet morality and the heavy dose of honor an annoying throw-back to a never-time, when stout men defeated the villains and brought prosperity to the righteous. Reality had a nasty way of proving storybook heroes could never exist; greed and lust for power were mightier than the chivalrous sword.

That, and the near-absence of women except in meek lover roles, irritated her.

The clouds dimmed but did not disappear and the glow in Vision’s hands snuffed out. She dropped her arms as they reached her, then swiveled to Chiddle. Her buzzing sounded different, and Lapis attempted to distinguish why; a depth to the tone, perhaps? A busy background noise underlying the primary? She sounded warmer than the other local khentauree.

 Chiddle sounded dead. He really did not trust her.

“She is Vision,” Chiddle told her, his voice even and with a tinge of static. After listening to khenaturee put emotion into their words, their hums and their buzzes, the lack of it concerned her. What made him so suspicious? “She wails for the stars who cannot speak. She greets us and says the stones spoke to her, told her we would come, told her we would cast the fallen.”

That sounded distressingly like the fake fortune tellers who divined futures in the Lells. Lapis never bothered with the scam artists. At least Carnival put on a good show when he plied his sleight-of-hand, rather than scare the senseless senseless with tales of death and destruction, mitigated only by another bit or two in their money bowl.

Dice appeared in Vision’s hands, many shapes, sizes, colors, some solid, some transparent, some with so many small sides she could not tell if numbers or letters adorned them. The khentauree cupped her hands, rattled the dice around, and threw.