by Rachel Aaron
When the demon had finished growing, its yellow eyes roved down and focused on Josef. The swordsman glared back without flinching. The demon smiled at his bravado, showing its thousands of teeth, and moved its gaze to Nico. Unlike Josef, she shrank under the unblinking stare, and the demon’s smile grew wider.
“Well, then, daughter.” The horrible mouth didn’t even move as it hissed the words. “Show the good people what you’ve made of yourself.”
Josef started to raise his sword but stopped when Nico’s hand landed on his arm. She shook her head and said something Miranda couldn’t hear over the screaming. Josef’s face tightened, but in the end he nodded. Only then did Nico begin to change.
Her change wasn’t like the other demon’s. There was no stretching, no horrible bending of her human form. She simply vanished into a column of shadow, her body washed away beneath a torrent of liquid black.
Pain shot through Miranda’s chest, and she looked to see the Lord of Storms straining against their bond, his teeth clenched as the shadows around Nico grew solid. Like the Demon of the Dead Mountain, her skin was glossy and black. Unlike him, however, her form was almost human.
She stood on clawed feet that reminded Miranda of a raven’s. Unlike the other demon with his four legs and curled, stout body, Nico’s two-legged form was straight and tall, her long torso hidden beneath a cloud of swirling shadows that shifted and spun in the memory of her coat. Her shoulders were sharp and narrow beneath the flowing shadow, and her arms, while still proportionally too long and clawed, had only one joint at the elbow.
Her head, however, was totally different. It sat on her shoulders like a mask, a great, horned carapace with two narrow, angled eyes glowing like golden lanterns above a narrow, jackal-like snout filled with even, razor-sharp black teeth.
“My, how fancy,” the Demon of the Dead Mountain said, his horrible voice thick with laughter. “You can’t do anything normally, can you?”
Nico didn’t answer. She simply looked up as the darkness around her began to spread. It rose and solidified, forming four enormous, swirling wings that blacked out the sky. The Lord of Storms sucked in a breath as she rose with one, slow flap and began to climb toward the hole in the sky. “Daughter of the Dead Mountain.”
He spoke the name with such fury that Miranda didn’t dare ask him how he knew the thing that Nico had become. Instead, she focused on the cracked sky where the wounded arm was still thrashing. By this point, other clawed fingers were working their way in, worming past the squirming arm of the injured demon to pry at the sky in an attempt to break the hole wider.
Josef gave a shout and swung his sword again. The blow shot past Nico and sliced the end off one of the newcomer’s claws. The creature’s scream was lost in the roar, and the new hand vanished only to be instantly replaced by another. Josef frowned and glared at the Demon of the Dead Mountain. The demon smiled back wide enough to show every one of his uncountable black teeth and then, almost lazily, stretched his long, stocky body and jumped after Nico.
Miranda was trying to decide if she should cheer or cry at that when a loud snap cut through the screams. Her head shot up so fast she almost broke her neck, and she cried out in alarm. A second crack was sprouting from a small branch of the first one, spidering across the crumpled dome of the sky directly over their heads. Almost as soon as the crack formed, the sky broke, and two more hands just as large as the first burst through.
They shot screaming toward the ground, one of them coming straight for Miranda’s head. It happened so fast, she didn’t even think to move out of the way. She just stood there staring as the hand came down to squash her like a bug. She was imagining how the black claws would rip through her when something strong and painful clamped on to her arm and jerked her around.
Despite that she was on Gin’s back and he was standing on the ground, the Lord of Storms towered over her, his hand like a vise on her arm. “Time to honor your part of our bargain, woman,” he said, his voice fading into thunder as the wind began to pick up.
Miranda didn’t have to ask what he meant. She could already feel her link with him tightening as he began to pull, draining her through their bond. His hand vanished from her arm, turning into cloud as she watched. The rest of him followed, and the sky filled with enormous thunderheads lit up with bolt after bolt of branching, tree-thick lightning.
Gin went stiff beneath her, and Miranda was glad. It made him easier to cling to as the storm rolled through her, taking everything it could. She gave herself gladly, pouring her will into the storm as she had poured into Mellinor back on the beach at Osera. That time, she had been one with her beloved sea. Now she was nothing but the ground the storm rose from, the wind that lifted the heavy clouds.
The Lord of Storms took and took, drinking everything she was without apology. She let him, clinging to Gin’s fur with her soul roaring open and her spirits cowering in their rings. Around her neck, she felt the Spirit Court’s Tower distancing itself, probably to avoid being sucked in by the Lord of Storms’ ravenous thirst for strength.
She let the stone spirit go, pushing him away so she would have more to give the storm. As her eyes closed, she promised herself that if she survived this she was never letting another Great Spirit other than Mellinor into her body ever again. That was her last thought before the air flashed white and something heavy and kicking landed right on top of her.
CHAPTER
23
Eli groaned and lay back on the lumpy ground, thankful for whatever it was that had broken his fall, even though that kind cushion was now elbowing him in the ribs and cursing at him in a very familiar voice. Obligingly, he rolled off, landing on his knees in the snow with the Hunter’s seed clutched against his chest. He steadied himself and looked up just in time to see a furious Miranda kick to her feet in front of him.
“Good positioning,” he said, rubbing his bruised ribs. “You might have just saved me a broken neck.”
“I’ll give you a broken neck!” Miranda roared, but then the fury seemed to drift out of her as her eyes latched on to the glowing pearl in Eli’s hand. “You did it!”
“ ’Course I did it,” Eli said, sticking out his free arm for her to pull him up. “How much time do we have left?”
Miranda’s hand was icy as it grabbed his, and her voice was no less bleak. “See for yourself,” she said, nodding at the sky as she yanked him up.
Bracing himself for the worse, Eli looked up…
… and realized that there is no amount of bracing that can prepare you to see the sky ripped open.
There were three holes in total, and each one was filled with monstrous black hands the size of mountains straining like starving animals as they reached for whatever they could grab. For a long, confused moment, Eli couldn’t understand how the cracked shell was still holding. Then, as his mind worked its way around the crack and the giant hands, he saw the defenders.
Josef stood on the lowest ridge of the Dead Mountain, the Heart of War flying in his grip like the blade was part of him. Every time he swung, one of the grasping hands lost a chunk, even though they were miles away. But even as one demon squealed in rage and yanked its hand back, another would surge forward to take its place, the new hand just as desperate as the last as it fought to reach the screaming spirits below.
But Josef wasn’t the only one holding the invaders back. Flitting between the enormous black hands were two other shadows that, though smaller, were equally unsettling. Just looking at them made Eli’s stomach heave, but he forced himself to study them long enough to see that the two were different.
One was all teeth and predatory malice. It snarled and bit the invading hands, driving them back with territorial fury. The other was softer, quieter, but no less deadly. Her body was shrouded in a shadow, and her back was dominated by four wings that rippled like black water. Her long claws dragged over each demon she passed, and every place she touched crumpled under enormous pressure, making the demons scream in pain. Eli
almost smiled then. Leave it to Nico to stay quiet even when she was the monster in the night.
But the demons weren’t the only monsters fighting the things from the other side of the sky. Down below, where the hands would have broken through to dig into the mountains, a wall of black cloud prevented them, driving them back with arcing silver lightning.
The Lord of Storms carpeted the land in all directions, a barrier against whatever Josef, Nico, and the Demon of the Dead Mountain missed. Every time a claw came near, the lightning would rise up in a great thunderhead that opened like the mouth of a wolf, biting the grasping claws with crackling teeth that flashed out before the demon could eat them in retaliation. Each time one vanished, another took its place in an endless series of lightning strikes that drove the ravenous demons back.
The four defenders were such an impressive sight, Eli almost felt hopeful. The worst had come, and they were still holding. But then his eyes went to the sky again, to the network of shining cracks, the split sun, the black claws fighting for purchase on the rims of the broken holes, picking away at the shell’s edge, and his fledgling hope vanished as quickly as it had come.
He looked down at the seed in his hand. Wherever the pearl touched his fingers, his skin was pure white. White as Benehime’s. Power flowed through him, hot with rage, tingling with promise. For a moment, Eli let it fill him, burning away his fear and exhaustion until he was strong enough to make the decision that shouldn’t have been his to make.
He turned to Miranda. “Call the Lord of Storms.”
“What?” she cried over the screaming.
“You’re connected to him, right?” Eli shouted back. “Call him down.”
“Are you paying attention?” Miranda roared. “He’s the only thing keeping—”
“Now,” Eli snapped.
Miranda glared furiously at him, but then she lifted her head. The storm thundered in answer, and then the Lord of Storms appeared in a flash of lightning.
“What do you mean by yanking me—”
Eli didn’t wait for the spirit to finish his tirade. He lunged straight at the Lord of Storms’ chest. The storm was so furious at Miranda’s infraction, he didn’t even notice as Eli’s shoved the Hunter’s glowing seed deep into his stomach.
The second it was inside, the Lord of Storms froze. Overhead, the clouds stopped swirling and the lightning hung midflash. On the ground, the Lord of Storms’ body was still as a statue, his silver eyes wide and unreadable as they watched Eli remove his now-empty hand and step back, drawing Miranda back with him.
She tried to protest, but he forced her down behind Gin with the last of the Hunter’s fading strength. Good thing, too, because not a second after he’d gotten her to shelter, the Lord of Storms’ face broke into an enormous grin and the Hunter’s rage filled the valley with a white flash.
The light was blinding, filling not just the Lord of Storms’ body but the thunderclouds as well, washing out even the lightning flashes in a flood of pale brilliance. It was so bright Eli didn’t even try to watch. Instead, he kept his head down, crouching behind Gin with Miranda huddled against him, her eyes closed tight against the light and her hands clutching her chest like she was trying to staunch a wound.
On and on and on it went until, finally, the light began to fade. Eli was about to peek over Gin’s back to see if his plan had worked when Miranda grabbed his shoulders and whirled him around. “What did you do?” she screamed in his ear.
“I made him the Hunter,” Eli said, wincing.
Miranda’s furious face grew horrified. “That’s it? You just made him the Hunter? Don’t you think you should have asked first?”
“I did!” Eli shouted, prying her fingers off him. “Sort of. Anyway, we had no time and it’s not like he would have said no.” He pushed up and glanced over Gin’s back. “There, see for yourself.”
Miranda shot up, and then nearly fell back again in surprise.
The Lord of Storms was standing exactly as he had before, sword in his hand, his face suffused in an enormous grin, but he was now pure white. His coat, his sword, his skin, his long hair, even his silver eyes were now whiter than moonlit chalk, so white that the snow around him looked ashy by comparison. The light of him filled the valley with harsh, cold radiance, and though the fear was still thick in the air, the spirits around him had stopped screaming. One by one, they bowed down, trembling before the presence of a newborn Power.
The Lord of Storms ignored them completely. He sheathed his sword and strode forward, white eyes locked on Eli. “Where is she?”
The hatred in his voice was like a knife against Eli’s ear, and he didn’t have to ask who the Lord of Storms meant. “She’s fighting the Weaver,” he answered. “And you’d better hurry.”
The Lord of Storms nodded and lifted his arm to make a portal through the veil. This time, though, instead of forming the usual neat, white line, the Lord of Storms took a handful of air and ripped it sideways. The veil tore open with a sound that made Eli wince, but the Lord of Storms paid it no mind. He kept tearing, splitting the veil until he’d made a hole large enough for him to step through.
“Wait!” Miranda cried.
The Lord of Storms froze and turned on the Spiritualist with a look that would have killed anyone else. Miranda just glared back. “What about them?” she snapped, pointing up at the remaining three defenders. “They need you.”
The Lord of Storms’ white lips split into a blinding grin. When I’m done, there won’t be anything left for them to fight.
Eli closed his eyes. The voice was still the Lord of Storms’, but it filled his mind with that strange echo he now recognized as the hallmark of a Power. Miranda must have recognized it, too, because her face went almost gray. The Lord of Storms only smiled wider.
Come on, both of you, he said, marching through the hole in the veil. We have unfinished business.
Eli and Miranda exchanged a look and silently followed the Lord of Storms into the Between. Gin tried to go, too, but Miranda shook her head, motioning for the dog to stay as they walked into the blank nothing. The ghosthound watched them until an unseen curve of the Between hid him from view. It was only then that Eli realized with a cold, creeping dread that the veil had not closed behind them.
Nico closed her claws around the demon’s enormous wrist and twisted. The creature screamed as she sliced through the hard tendons, and she smiled beneath her mask as the black hand retreated. She followed it, twisting again, cutting again, until the hand pulled back through the hole completely.
A new one took its place immediately, shooting past Nico toward the ground. She fell after it, but Josef got there first, severing two of the six fingers with one strike. Nico smiled at him, but Josef didn’t see. How could he? Her face was hidden beneath the mask of glowing eyes and sharp teeth.
At that thought, Nico felt the hunger rising in her again, the black water bubbling from her depths. She snarled and crushed it back down. She’d won that battle already, and she had no intention of fighting two fronts at once. The grasping hands from the sky were almost too much to handle as it was. She closed her eyes and fought the black water of her demon nature back down until her mind was once again a calm, dry field. Only when the absolute control filled her body did she resume her attack.
The most recent black hand was still flailing from the Heart’s attack. Nico folded her wings and dove toward the lashing claws. She’d take it out at the elbow this time, she decided. That was, if the second of the three hinge joints could even be called an elbow.
Honestly, she wasn’t sure if the long limbs were arms or legs. The demons looked nothing like anything she’d ever seen, even herself. They were huge, true, far larger than she, but so thin they made her form look healthy by comparison. Next to their dull, wasted blackness, the Demon of the Dead Mountain positively shone as he took down the limb to her left, breaking the thin appendage with a snap of his enormous jaw.
Even if the Weaver hadn’t told her these de
mons were starving, Nico would have known. They tore at the sky without intelligence or guile. Any cunning they might have possessed had been eaten long ago, along with everything else. Now they cared only for getting in, and as each scrambled to be first, they inadvertently blocked their only entrance. Had they not been so hungry, they would already be inside.
Of course, it was only a matter of time.
Nico looked up. She had no human eyes now. Spirit sight was her only sight, and through it she could see why the world below shook with panic. The sky, usually full of the enormous, weaving trails of the winds, was now empty, its blue arch a sickening, bruised purple where the pressure of the demons’ hunger had crushed it in. But worse still were the cracks. They were everywhere now, white, jagged lines running from horizon to horizon. They creaked and groaned under the demons’ assault, sending cascades of dust down with each new impact.
The sight of them filled Nico with hopelessness. With the shell so broken, it was only a matter of minutes before another hole opened and more hands thrust out of the impenetrable dark on the other side. They could barely keep the three they had under control as it was. One more, one tip of the balance, and everything would fall.
“Daydreaming, my daughter?”
She bared her teeth at the hateful voice and turned to see the Demon of the Dead Mountain hovering nearly on top of her, his enormous fanged mouth open in a wide grin.
“Go back to your work,” she hissed, digging her lower claws into the demon hand below her. The monster screamed and yanked back, but the Demon of the Dead Mountain didn’t move.