by Rachel Aaron
“What is that?” he cried, moving to the edge of the forest to get a better look. “I thought the only humans allowed in here were Algonquin’s mages. Who are all those people?”
“They’re not people,” Myron said, his voice shaking. “At least, not anymore.”
For a moment, Julius had no idea what the old mage was talking about. Then something cold passed through him, and he turned around to see that the people were here, too, walking through the dark woods silent as shadows, their semitransparent bodies blending into the dark in a way Julius had seen before.
“They’re ghosts,” he said, his stomach knotting in a painful mix of fear and hope. “It’s gotta be Marci! This is what happened when she killed Vann Jeger.”
“I think you’re missing a couple of zeros off the end of that assessment,” Chelsie said quietly, gripping her sword. “This is orders of magnitude bigger than what she did before.”
“It’s working, though,” the general said, peering across the field. “Look down by the lake.”
Her eyes must have been insane. Even Julius couldn’t see that far in the dark, and he considered night vision to be one of his better draconic traits. If he squinted, though, he could just make out the faint glimmers of what he could only assume were spirits, all huddled in a line against the water as if they’d been driven up against it.
“It’s the power of the Merlin,” General Jackson said, her voice caught somewhere between fear and excitement.
“This is not the power of the Merlin,” Myron snapped, glaring at the silent ghosts. “This is an abomination. This is death.”
As much as he hated to admit it, Julius kind of agreed with him. He loved Marci to pieces, but her pact with Ghost had always made him uneasy precisely because it did things like this. Even the magic here reminded him of the deathly, heavy aura of the Pit where they’d fought Bixby. Just the memory was enough to raise the hairs on his neck, but while this place wasn’t quite as dirty feeling, it was much colder than the Pit had been. Colder than Svena’s ice storm, for that matter. Cold as the grave.
“Let’s just find her,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around his chest with a shiver.
“Shouldn’t be hard,” Raven said, fluttering up to perch on a branch above their heads. “All we have to do is follow the ghosts, and they’re all walking toward that hill in the middle there.”
“That’s not a hill,” Chelsie said quietly, her mouth compressing to a thin line. “I think we just found out what Algonquin did with all the dragon bodies left over from her head collection.”
Julius almost choked. He’d been so distracted by the fleeing spirits and the army of ghosts, he hadn’t paid much attention to the rest. Now that Chelsie had pointed it out, though, he didn’t know how he’d missed the pile of dragon corpses standing like a monument at the clearing’s center. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“No time for that,” the general said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Raven, fly up and see if you can find Marci. The rest of you, stick with me. We’re following the ghosts.”
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Myron said, staring out at the dark with fear in his eyes. “This isn’t what the Merlin is supposed to do. The Mortal Spirits are supposed to be the best of us: our hopes made real, human magic given form. This is a cold hell.”
“It’s also got Algonquin on the run,” Emily said, striding out of the trees into the grassy clearing. “She’s taken over all of Reclamation Land. That’s better than we’ve ever done.”
“But at what cost?” Myron asked, pointing at the ghosts who were still walking silently past them, their flickering faces contorted with rage. “Is this what you want?”
The general shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Myron. You go to war with the army you have, not the army you want.”
“But there’s a line, Emily,” the mage said, his voice shaking. “You might be willing to throw away everything to win, but I say a victory that looks like this is no victory at all.”
Emily turned around, glaring up the hill at her partner, but it was Julius who spoke first. “It’s not like that,” he said firmly. “I know what she does can look scary, but Marci’s a good person, and the dead aren’t always bad. See?” He waved his hand through one of the passing figures, gritting his teeth to keep from shivering when the grave-dark cold went through him. “They’re not attacking us.”
“I don’t think they can even see us,” Chelsie said, waving her hand in front of a ghost, who walked right through it.
“Well, they’re going somewhere,” Emily said, looking out at the ranks of ghosts marching toward the middle. “This is an attack, and where it stops, that’s where we’ll find Marci.”
There, Julius agreed. The wind was picking up now, carrying scents from all across the giant clearing. If he sorted through them, pushing aside the heavy scents of forest and water and the smothering blanket of freezing magic that lay over it all, he could just barely catch the warm, familiar smell that belonged to Marci alone. “There,” he said, pointing at the stony mountain that poked straight up from the plains like a tack. “She’s up there.”
“I’d say coming down,” Chelsie said, breathing deep. “You’re catching where she was. When you’re tracking, always go for the moving scent. That’s where your prey is now. Going by the movements and the wind, I’d say Marci’s there.”
She pointed at the ghost-covered field leading up to the pile of headless dragons, and Julius nodded. Now that she’d shown him how, he could tell the difference between the old and new scents, too, and Marci was clearly on the move. So he followed her, jogging toward the center with Chelsie at his side. The general caught up with them at once, easily keeping pace with the two dragons as they loped down the hill.
“Blast you, wait for me,” Myron grumbled, running at a much slower, human speed as he chased the others into the grassy field, where the ghosts were thick as flowers.
***
Marci walked across the field with the ghosts, her eyes wide as she glanced around the grassy plain she’d been staring at all night from above, which now looked completely different. Even in the Empty Wind’s odd dark, the loss of the spirits was painfully obvious. There were no more huge wolves or deer, no more jewel-like ponds. Even the giant trees were gone, leaving only turned-up ground to mark where they’d been. Marci hadn’t known it was possible for a tree to run away, but these clearly had, and that bothered her.
“Go!” the Empty Wind commanded, his voice ringing out from where he marched in front of her, rising larger than life above his ghostly army. “Drive them out! Take back the land as she took it from you!”
His words howled over the multitude, but the ghosts didn’t need encouragement. Their shadowed faces were already contorted with rage as they charged ahead, driving the last of the spirits—the giant wolves and golden deer, the trees and the water, anything that had dared to form Algonquin’s circles—off the field and into the lake beyond. Even the Thunderbird had taken refuge over the water, perching on top of one of the pikes holding the Three Sisters’ heads that ringed Algonquin’s tower. He was hardly alone, either. Algonquin’s lake was teeming with spirits fleeing the long-suppressed anger of the forgotten dead of Detroit.
And it bothered her.
She couldn’t say why. Logically, Marci knew she had nothing to complain about. Ghost had done everything she’d asked, breaking Algonquin’s prison on the mountain in seconds and setting them free. She certainly didn’t begrudge the ghosts. If she’d been minding her own business only to be drowned without warning by a skyscraper-sized wave because some lake spirit had woken up and thrown a fit, she’d be angry, too. When you were mortal, this brief life was all you got. To have that stolen from you by a careless immortal who’d never understand what it meant to live and die was an injustice that demanded to be answered. Marci understood that, and yet…
Her eyes went back to the Empty Wind, who was now standing tall as a giant over his army. Other than
the increased size, which was new, she’d seen him in this form plenty of times, and yet he looked different. The spirit she knew had always been calm, his anger cold and determined. Now, the muscles of the Empty Wind’s bare back were as knotted as old roots, and his hands were fisted around his spear, whose point had somehow gotten more jagged. She’d never seen his face, didn’t even know if he had one, but Marci was still sure that if she somehow saw it now, his expression would be every bit as furious as the ghosts walking at his feet, and that felt wrong. All of this felt wrong, and as the ghost army finally reached the bloody pool where Algonquin’s Mortal Spirit was forming, Marci decided she had to do something about it.
Stop.
The dead paid her no attention, but the Empty Wind froze. “Why?” he rumbled. “We are not finished.”
Yes, we are, Marci said firmly, raising her odd, disembodied voice until she could feel it rattling inside his head. We got what we wanted. We’re free, and the dead have gotten their payback by taking over Reclamation Land. All the circles are broken now. Even the crazy magic is starting to fade. That’s enough. Let’s go home.
“We have no home,” the spirit growled, his blue-white eyes flaring in the gaping emptiness of his helmet as he whirled around to face her. “There can be no home while Algonquin lives!”
His anger made Marci take a step back. But she’ll always live, she reminded him. She’s immortal.
The Empty Wind clenched his fists. “Then we shall kill her again. Over and over. One death for every life she took.”
Marci shook her head. What is wrong with you? Why are you so angry?
“Because they are angry!” he yelled, sweeping his hands over the ghosts, who’d already begun plunging their hands into the unborn Mortal Spirit’s puddle, bailing out armfuls of the magic-rich dragon blood that was keeping it alive. “She took our lives! She took everything. Now, we will take from her!” He turned and walked to the pool’s edge, kneeling down to plunge his now-giant hand into the glowing red water. “She’s spent sixty years growing this,” he growled. “So we will destroy it, and when that’s done, we’ll turn on her precious lake. We will destroy everything she’s built as she destroyed us. We will make her pay.”
“Pay,” the dead agreed. “Pay. Pay. Pay.”
Marci cringed as the mob around her began to chant, their colorless eyes flashing blue in a cold, hate-filled imitation of the Empty Wind’s own. It was so strong, Marci could actually feel their anger radiating up her connection to her spirit like electricity through a wire. As it stung her, Marci finally understood what was going on. The Empty Wind wasn’t suddenly going insane with rage toward Algonquin. He was the product of his domain, the sentient magic that had filled the concept of the Forgotten Dead. The humans were the angry ones. He was just reflecting that, becoming what their screaming voices demanded he be. And that was when Marci knew she had to stop this, before she lost her cat for good.
Stop, she commanded again, grabbing their connection as tightly as she could. We’ve done our duty here, Ghost. Let them rest.
The Empty Wind’s head snapped around in fury, and then he was right in front of her, towering over her like a falling redwood. “Rest? Do you know how long they’ve suffered? How long they were forgotten?”
Too long, Marci agreed. But—
“You said you’d help,” he growled, grabbing her entire body with one hand, which was now as large as a car. “You promised. You swore to help us get vengeance!”
No, she said calmly, fighting not to panic as his huge, freezing grip lifted her off the ground. I swore to help you do your duty, and this isn’t helping.
“What do you know of duty?” he cried. “I am the Empty Wind, spirit of the Forgotten Dead! I am them!”
All the more reason not to do this, she said, staring into the depths of his empty helmet. You’re their spirit. You’re supposed to help them, to ease their suffering and remember them when no one else will. That’s what you told me back in the alley when I first gave you magic. But vengeance doesn’t help anyone. Didn’t you learn anything from watching Estella fall apart?
“Do not compare us to your precious dragons,” he said, his angry blue-white eyes flashing. “We are different. We are human. Algonquin has no idea what she’s unleashed.” He squeezed her tighter. “We are bigger than she could ever be.”
And that’s why you have to stop! Marci cried, pushing on his hand. Algonquin thinks Mortal Spirits are monsters whose rise will destroy the world. I turned her down because I thought she was wrong, but all you’re doing here is proving her right!
“We are punishing her!” the Empty Wind roared. “Stop defending her! The dead deserve justice!”
I’m not defending her! Marci roared back. I’m trying to help you! This isn’t even justice. You’re just smashing things because you’re angry.
The spirit sneered. “That sounds like something your Julius would say.”
It is, she agreed. Because he’s right. A dragon would know better than anyone what lies at the end of that road. All these ghosts, these poor people, they’ve been prisoners to their anger for sixty years now. That’s why they were yelling at you, because they were angry, and you were the only one who could still hear them. But while they have every right to be mad, you’re the spirit of the Forgotten Dead, not the Vengeful ones. Your duty is to remember them, not keep their rage burning. If you really want to serve these people, then we should stop feeding their rage and help them move on. Do for them what you did for that poor boy in the dumpster, and let them find peace. That’s why you’re here: to remember and care for the souls no one else will. That’s the spirit I signed on for, not this.
Her empty voice was sad as she finished, and she gripped his giant, no longer freezing hand with both of hers. Please, Ghost, she begged. This isn’t us. You did exactly what you said you would, and I don’t regret any of it, but it’s over now. Let them go in peace, and we’ll do the same.
As she spoke, the Empty Wind began to shrink. Marci could feel the ghostly rage leaving him at the same time, returning the spirit she knew to his usual self. When it was over, he was back to his normal size and calm, standing beside her at the edge of the bloody pool, which the dead were still attacking.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his deep voice halting, almost as if he was embarrassed. “When I let the dead in, their needs are…difficult to ignore.”
You’re welcome, Marci said with a smile. And I want you to know I don’t blame them. I’d be unstable too if I’d gone through what they have. But I’m certain this is how it should be.
And she was, on more levels than one. The more she worked with Ghost, the more she realized it really was a two-way street. It wasn’t just a spirit and the mage who fed him magic. It was a partnership, a balance designed to help them rein each other in just as much as they lifted each other up. And the more Marci thought about that, the more she liked it. We’re going to be a great Merlin.
“If we survive,” the Empty Wind said, looking out at the dark lake where the spirits were hiding. “She will not let this go unpunished. But if I let the dead go, they’ll move on, and we can never summon this power again.”
Good, Marci said. They should move on. Also, while I certainly appreciated the jailbreak, I really don’t want my power to come from armies of angry ghosts. That’s some evil overlord stuff right there, and I prefer to think of us more as chaotic neutral.
The Empty Wind actually chuckled at that, and the feeling of partnership settled even deeper into Marci’s bones. She was still savoring it when the Empty Wind turned back to his army.
“Stop,” he said solemnly, the command sweeping through the darkened field like a gale. Everywhere it touched, the dead froze, staring at him with eyes as blue as his own. When they were all looking, the Empty Wind opened his arms. “Our work here is done,” he said solemnly. “Your anger is answered. Come now to join me, and be remembered forever in peace.”
The words were still ringing on the wind whe
n the ghosts began to vanish. One by one, they closed their eyes, the angry scowls falling off their faces as their colorless bodies blew away like dust into the wind that swept them back into the open arms of the spirit who’d called them, and who would remember them always. By the time the wind had swept all the way around, every one of them was gone, leaving Marci and her spirit standing alone in the empty field.
Wow, Marci said. That was fast.
“Because you were right,” the spirit said, running a hand over the shadows where his face would be. “They didn’t want to stay. Their anger kept them bound to this place, lost and forgotten. I should have let them go far earlier, but there were so many. I am as much theirs as they are mine, and their feelings overwhelmed me. If you hadn’t spoken when you did, I might have raged with them forever.” His glowing blue eyes found hers. “Thank you.”
Hey, what am I here for? Marci said with a smile. Everyone gets in too deep sometimes. That’s why you need a partner to pull you out. Julius does it for me all the time. And speaking of Julius, it was high time they got out of here. So, she said, looking around at the now-empty mirror world of dark and cold Ghost had taken them to. How do we get out of here? And for that matter, where is here? Is this your own private reality or something?
“I don’t know,” the Empty Wind said. “But it’s always been mine. This place is how I get around wards and through walls.”
Cool! Marci said. Can I do that too when I’m here?
“Probably,” he said. “But you shouldn’t. This is a place for the dead. It’s not good for the living to linger.”
Marci didn’t know about that. Other than only being able to speak in a disembodied voice, she felt great. Even the cold didn’t bother her. Plus, there didn’t seem to be any other spirits here, which was a huge bonus given how badly Algonquin undoubtedly wanted to kill them right now. But before she could make her case for staying at least until they were out of Rec Land, the Empty Wind put a hand on her shoulder, and the world of the Forgotten Dead vanished on the wind, blowing away to reveal a jewel-bright meadow shimmering with dew in the predawn light, and a great deal of dragon blood.