by Rachel Aaron
“Now, just a moment.” Eli stepped in front of Miranda, hands in his pockets. His voice was bland and casual, but something in his tone was enough to stop the wave in midcrash. “Is that any way to talk to the Spiritualist who risked her own life to free you?”
The water retreated a bit. “And who are you to defend her?”
“Just a common thief who doesn’t like the idea of drowning.” Eli smiled. “But this girl here”—he slapped Miranda on the shoulder—“she teamed up with her enemies, disobeyed her orders, and stuck out her own neck, all to keep Gregorn’s descendant from enslaving you. Now,” he said, arching an eyebrow, “don’t you think you should at least hear her out?”
The wave fell a bit, almost as if it was embarrassed. “Very well,” it gurgled. “She may speak.”
Eli nodded and nudged Miranda forward. For her part, Miranda was too shocked to do much besides gape.
“You can’t talk to a Great Spirit like that,” she hissed when Eli nudged her again.
“I just did,” Eli whispered. “Now you’d better do your part, or we’re all in the drink.” He pushed her hard, and she stumbled out right in front of the wall of water.
She straightened up, squinting into the blinding light. The spirit loomed over her, and she wished more than anything she had not left her rings behind. Even if her spirits’ powers were nothing to the sea before her, maybe they would at least have some idea how to talk to it.
“Great Spirit,” she started shakily. “I know we have no right to prevent you from reclaiming your land, but if you could just wait a day or two, I’m sure we could move people and some of the spirits out of the way. Then you could reclaim your basin, and we could limit the loss of life.”
She finished hopefully, smiling up at the glowing water. It did not respond. Miranda’s smile faltered, and she began to fidget. “Of course, it might take some convincing to get people to—”
“Are you finished?” the great wave rumbled.
Miranda jumped. “More or less.”
“Then I have heard you out. Your offer is unacceptable. I will not delay my freedom for the convenience of those who have profited from my imprisonment.”
“Now hold on,” Eli said, stepping up to stand beside Miranda. “If you’re a Great Spirit, isn’t it your responsibility to watch over the lesser spirits?”
The wave turned, angling the peak of its foaming crest directly at Eli’s head. “What do you know of that, human?”
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Eli said, staring up at the swirling water with his arms crossed over his chest. “I know your imprisonment was awful, but, enslaved or free, you’re still a Great Spirit. Those animals and trees and all the rest living on what used to be your land, they’re yours to guard just as much as the fish that lived in you when this was all sea. Even if things have changed, you can’t just turn your back on them.”
Without warning, the shallow water at Eli’s feet geysered up, lifting the thief clear off the ground until he was level with the wave’s crest.
“What would a human know of the pain of enslavement?” the spirit roared. “Who are you to lecture me when it was your kind who created this situation? You humans disgust me. You came from nowhere—blind, short lived, half deaf—and yet you were given dominion over the spirit world? Understand this, boy”—the geyser of water surged higher still, pushing Eli almost to the ceiling—“I take no more orders from your kind.”
With a flick of his current, the great spirit sent Eli hurtling across the ruined hall. For a gut-wrenching moment, Eli flew silently through the dark. Then he struck the crumbling wall with a deathly thud and tumbled with a splash to the ground. Miranda held her breath, waiting for him to move, to breathe. But he did not stir. The ripples around him stilled, and Miranda felt her stomach turn to ice. Without thinking, or knowing what she could do if she reached him, she hurled herself forward, slipping and skidding across the wet floor. Before she had gone more than a few steps, a wall of water erupted, blocking her path.
She whirled on the spirit, eyes flashing. “You had no right!” she shouted. “Thief or not, he helped us, helped you.” Her spirit roared open, stronger and brighter than it had ever been and sharp as a spear as she leveled it at the water’s glowing heart.
“Come then, little girl,” the wave rumbled, rising up. “If this is how your kind repays kindness, it’s better I kill you like this than leave you to dirty my waters later.”
“Miranda!” Gin howled, struggling to stand. “He’s a Great Spirit, Miranda! Don’t be an idiot!”
But Miranda’s rage had taken her further than his voice could reach. With a roar, she hurled the sharpened edge of her spirit at the sea’s glowing heart as the water at her feet erupted, covering everything in a great, white wave.
Eli lay on his back where he had landed, trying not to think. He tried not to think about the pain or the freezing water that soaked his lower body. He tried not to think about the waves of spirit power rolling over each other just a few feet away. He especially tried not to think about the frantic, desperate edge on the fiery spirit he had come to recognize as Miranda’s, and what that kind of desperation meant for their odds of survival.
Worried about her? a familiar, silky voice whispered in his ear.
Eli started, sending a new wave of pain through his body. The sultry voice chuckled. Such a pretty little wizardess, and so concerned for your safety, she tsked in his ear. These little dalliances of yours make me less inclined to help you.
“It’s not a dalliance,” he muttered. “And I didn’t ask for your help.”
A thin, white line appeared in the air above him. It hung for a moment, shedding its ghostly white light in a surgical stripe across his chest. Then, with a sound like silk sliding through sand, a white hand reached through the cut in the air to cup his chin. Long, feminine fingers, whiter than moonlit snow, stroked his bleeding cheek, leaving a burning touch behind that was almost painful, yet never enough.
I rather like you this way, she murmured, tracing the bridge of his nose. Broken and helpless. It reminds me of when I first found you. That time, you accepted me with open arms.
“Time is a fickle master,” Eli said, closing his eyes against the light. “He changes many things.”
You’re full of sayings today. The disembodied hand brushed past his lips and slid down his neck to his chest, tapping the gaping wound the stones had torn open when he hit the wall, just below Karon’s burn. Eli sucked in a breath when she touched the ragged skin, and he felt her chuckle against his skin. Your time is about to end, if you stay like this. Such a pity, I hate watching you squander my gifts. Her white fingers moved in circles along his rib cage, tracing the bloodstains on his torn shirt. Of course, her voice slid seductively along his ear, I could help you, if you asked nicely.
Eli turned away. “Do what you want, Benehime.”
She laughed gleefully as he said her name, and a second disembodied hand snaked through the white opening to join the first. Her palms slid over his open wound and, still laughing, she pressed down. Overwhelming pain lanced though Eli’s body, darkening his vision and slamming his teeth together. It was as if every wound, bruise, cramp, and discomfort from the past twelve hours was happening again, only all at once, and amplified. He gasped and tried to jerk away, but Benehime’s hands pinned him to the icy floor as surely as if he were nailed there. The pain went on and on, until he was sure it would never end and he would be stuck like this forever. Then, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, it stopped. The pressure lifted from his chest and breath thundered back into his body.
As he lay on his back in the shallow water, gasping like a landed fish, Benehime’s white hands moved to cup his cheeks. Next time, I’ll make you beg, she murmured, trailing her burning touch across his skin one last time before drawing her hands back through the white cut in the air. I will see you soon, my favorite star.
The white line faded with her voice, leaving Eli staring at the empty
air. It took a few moments more for her overwhelming presence to fade completely, and as his soul righted itself, he realized he could barely feel Miranda’s spirit at all anymore.
Miranda was on her hands and knees in the water beside Gin’s flank, panting. Her librarian’s outfit was dirtied beyond recognition, and her pinned hair had tumbled in a wet tangle down her neck, clinging to her skin like red seaweed caught in the tide hole of her shoulders. She was soaked and shivering, her eyes dull and weary, but she was not beaten. They were huddled in a small circle, with Josef and Nico’s heads propped on Gin’s paws to keep them from drowning in the shallow water that rode in hand-high waves across what was left of the marble floor. The fact that Gin did this without complaining was proof enough of how serious the situation was. Two feet above them, held back only by the invisible bell jar of Miranda’s open spirit, the wall of black water rippled in threatening patterns.
Mellinor surrounded them on all sides, his powerful current beating steadily against the thin bubble of Miranda’s spirit. Each time the water crashed down, she felt her mind drowning under the endless, tireless power. Each time, it pushed her right to the edge of buckling, but each time she rallied and met the crash strength for strength, keeping their tiny bubble intact for another few seconds before the next wave hit and the struggle started all over again.
In the tiny space between the surges, the grim corner of her mind that could still think on things besides mere survival wondered why she bothered to resist.
She had done well, at first. After Eli went down, she’d been able to go blow for blow with the water for a little while. The great spirit was powerful, but his imprisonment had left him slow and weak. However, the longer he spent in the open air and moonlight, the more his power returned, and as he had gained strength, Miranda had exhausted hers. Slowly, inch by inch, the great spirit had pushed her back until he washed her under entirely. Now, trapped in a bubble with her air running out, it was all she could do to survive another wave. Of course, the grim corner muttered, just surviving wasn’t winning. She wasn’t even sure what the standards of victory were in a fight like this. Even if she had been stronger, more resilient, even if she hadn’t let herself be trapped, her enemy was a great spirit of an inland sea. She could no more defeat him than she could defeat a mountain.
So why was she holding out, her doubt whispered. What hope was she trying to preserve? There was no help coming, no knight to ride to her rescue. Even if she could somehow get a message to the Spirit Court, Master Banage was the only wizard strong enough to have a chance against Mellinor, and he would never raise his soul against a great spirit, not even to save her. Hopelessness welled up in her chest, and Miranda choked back a sob, almost losing her rhythm as another wave crashed down. As she struggled to keep their last few feet of air intact, she couldn’t banish the thought that, even if she did somehow get out of this alive, Master Banage would never forgive her for fighting a great spirit. Especially seeing as she was doing it to protect two bounty-carrying criminals and a demonseed. Perhaps it would be kinder to everyone if she dropped her shield and let the water carry them away.
“Just concentrate.” Gin’s gruff voice was frighteningly close to her ear, but the sound of his growl lovelier at that moment than any music in the world. “Great spirits may be old and flashy, but they’re still spirits. The strength of their souls is limited by their physical form. Your strength, a wizard’s strength, is limited only by your will. That’s the secret I learned back on the steppes, when I first decided to follow you.” He pressed his wet muzzle hard against the small of her back. “I will watch your back, mistress, so never let your will falter.”
Miranda turned and clung to him, burying her face in the coarse fur of his long nose. “I will not let you down.”
The waves pounded harder than ever against the shell, but Miranda met each one blow for blow, and no water got through. With every failure, Mellinor roared and foamed, his waters churning as he struck again and was again defeated.
But just as Miranda steadied herself into this new pattern, a surge of oddly familiar spirit power shot through the black water like an arrow, freezing everything with one word.
Stop.
The waves stopped. The water stopped. Even Miranda paused, pressing her hands to her mouth to keep from crying out. Even though the word had not actually been spoken, she would know that spirit voice anywhere. It was Eli.
CHAPTER 27
Like someone had opened a drain, Mellinor’s waters poured away. Miranda’s bubble shattered, and she toppled over, gasping at the fresh air. Mellinor’s water was still ankle deep on the floor, but the spirit’s attention wasn’t on her any longer. The wave had reformed itself above the shattered dais, and all its attention was focused on the gangly figure standing at the far end of the room in a circle of shattered marble.
“What a pain,” Eli said, running his hands through his wet hair. “We go to all this trouble, and the spirit at the heart of everything turns out to be an ungrateful jerk.” He stepped out of the crater he’d made when Mellinor threw him and smiled up at the enormous wave. “It’s time to go.”
“I go nowhere, boy,” the sea spirit hissed, pulling his water closer.
“We’ll see.” Eli’s smile widened, and he opened his spirit.
The room changed. Every spirit, from the stones underfoot to the air overhead to the clothes on Miranda’s body, was suddenly wide awake and focused on Eli like he was the only thing in the world. His open spirit was quick and airy as it raced through the throne room, but there was something different about it, something Miranda had never felt in a spirit before, wizard or otherwise. It felt like light. There was no other way of describing it.
Eli walked casually, seemingly oblivious that he was the object of so much attention. As he walked, the spirits made way. The dirt from the flood rolled aside when he came near, so did the fallen stones and the broken glass, making a clear path. Miranda watched in amazement as the room rearranged itself to make Eli’s walk easier. Even the marble trembled as he stepped on it, not with fear, but with anxiousness, as if it wanted more than anything to make a good impression as he walked the last few steps to the crumbled dais.
Mellinor had shrunk to a wavering ball. He floated over the pile of stones flashing between nervous gray and deep blue.
Eli stopped when his boots were almost touching the shattered rock that had been the first step of the dais stairs. He put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the quivering water. “Now”—the word hummed with power—“I need you to get up.”
It was not an enslavement, as Miranda had been bracing for. It was a request. Mellinor shivered, sending tall waves across his surface. “How is it possible?” the water whispered. “How was I allowed to toss you like that when you bore her mark? Had I but known, had you shown me…”
“None of that matters now,” Eli said. “Just get up. You’re ruining what’s left of Henrith’s throne room.”
The remaining loose water leaped back into Mellinor’s sphere, and the floating ball of water churned as the sea spirit tried to make himself smaller. The best he could manage was still twice Eli’s height. He was about to try again when Eli’s voice stopped him.
“That’s good enough,” the thief said. “Now, please understand that we are, in fact, very sorry all of this happened to you. You have every right to be angry at Gregorn and his descendants, but you need to understand our position. This kingdom”—he pointed toward the ruined windows where dawn was just beginning to tint the sky—“it’s not yours any more. You need to move on.”
The sphere of water spun slowly on its axis, its light muted to a deep, cold blue. “Where would I go? My home was here, my seabed and my fish. Without the land, I am nothing. A homeless spirit is no better than a ghost.”
“You’ll go where all water eventually goes,” Eli said gently. “To the ocean.”
“The ocean?” The light at the spirit’s heart fluttered madly. “Not there. I’l
l die before I go there. You’ll have to kill me first.”
“Why are you so afraid?” Eli said. “All of your water has been through the ocean thousands of times.”
“But he hasn’t.”
Eli sighed and turned to watch Miranda hobble toward them, clutching her sides. Her face was pale and exhausted, and fresh yellow bruises stood out stark on her pale, waterlogged skin. Her eyes, however, were determined as she dropped to the ground beside the thief, breathing heavily.
“Water spirits flow in and out of each other,” she gasped. “Rain falls and makes creeks that flow to rivers and, eventually, as you say, to the sea, but,” she said and looked up at the slowly turning water, “a sea is more than the water that passes through it. Even the smallest creeks have their own souls separate from the water that fills them. You can’t just blithely send that soul to fend for itself in the ocean.”
“She speaks the truth,” Mellinor rumbled. “The ocean is a hungry mass too large to have a cohesive soul of its own. As soon as I joined the waves, that mob of water spirits would tear me apart. They would split me into smaller and smaller pieces with each tide, and with every split I’d grow weaker and stupider, until I could no longer remember my own name.”
Eli shook his head. “You’d still be alive.”
“To what end?” Mellinor’s light flashed wildly as the water heaved. “I’d be worse than a ghost. At least if I dry up here, I can die as myself, with my soul intact and entirely my own.”
“Is that really what you would prefer?” Eli said.
The sphere bobbed in the approximation of a resolute nod. “If you won’t let me have my land, yes.”
Eli thought a moment, then nodded gravely. “Very well, we’ll do as you ask.”
Miranda looked up at Eli, horrified. “You can’t just kill him.”
“That’s how he wants it!” Eli shouted, spinning to face her. “Were you listening at all? Why do you care, anyway? As I recall, he was trying pretty hard to kill you when I interfered.”