Spirit’s End loem-5

by Rachel Aaron

  Eli smiled. “How could I forget?” Lava spirits weren’t stone or fire, but a mix of both. That dual nature made them extremely argumentative, especially with each other, and before too long the great stone spirit who held them would get fed up and kick them out, which is why volcanoes were constantly blowing. “Your volcano threw you out right on top of our heads while Giuseppe and I were robbing the King of Ser blind. Cost us two golden lions, though the chaos left by the fire made for a nice escape.”

  “The volcano didn’t throw me out,” Karon said quietly. “We were forced out. The volcano wanted to go dormant and it forced us out so it could sleep. But it’s a volcano’s purpose to hold us lava spirits. That’s why it exists. Used to be if a spirit did something like that, violated its purpose and left the spirits in its charge to die, the Shepherdess would be there to knock some sense into it. But she wasn’t. Of all my brothers, only I survived, and only because you were there to take me in before my fire died out completely.”

  “Never let it be said the Shepherdess took her job too seriously,” Eli said bitterly.

  “It’s not just negligence,” Karon said. “Gredit was right. She’s ignoring the world on purpose. It’s almost like she actively hates us now. The only one she doesn’t hate is you, and that scares me, Eli. The Shepherdess is supposed to be our guardian, our caretaker, but she was willing to crush all of Osera just to get you to give in.” Karon fluttered nervously in his chest. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

  “Add it to the list,” Eli said, rolling onto his stomach with a sigh.

  “You have to do something,” Karon hissed. “If you won’t save yourself and escape, then maybe you can get the Shepherdess to change, but you can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  “You think I like this?” Eli snapped. “I hate being here. I hate every second of it, but I told you, that woman is crazy. I was the one who made myself weak. I was stupid enough to get attached to that dumb swordsman and his demonseed and the Spiritualist and all the other poor saps I care about. The whole war was my fault. I could have stopped it at any time, just like Miranda said, but I didn’t. I held out for my pride and people died, so now I’m going to sit here and be a good dog and maybe everyone I’ve cursed by calling them friend will get to live a little longer. Including you.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Eli,” Karon said. “Don’t make yourself a martyr.”

  “You think I’m selfless enough to be a martyr?” Eli said, punching the bed as he rolled over again. “Whose body have you been living in all these years? I’m the thief, remember? I’m just taking the path of least resistance.”

  “Yeah, right,” Karon hissed, and Eli winced as his burn began to ache with the lava spirit’s anger. “Well, I’ll just leave you to your misery, then, favorite. When you’re done sulking, let me know, and we’ll figure out how to beat this together. Until then, I’m going to sleep. Maybe this will all turn out to be a dream.”

  “I didn’t know spirits had dreams,” Eli grumbled into the bed.

  “We don’t,” Karon said. “But I’d kill for one right now. Anything to get out of here.”

  Eli closed his eyes as the lava spirit sank into him and fell into a grumbling sleep. Karon was probably right. He probably should be planning an escape, or at least a new plot to get Benehime to let him go of her own will again, but he just couldn’t summon up the energy to care. He could almost feel Benehime’s hand on his throat. She had him good and tight now, and every time he tried to think about the future, all he could see was endless white.

  He’d been so arrogant, thinking he could run forever. He’d forgotten the first rule of thievery: no one runs forever. That was why you had to fence your goods and move on. But he’d just kept running, thinking he was smart, thinking he could do it all on his own. Now Josef’s island was destroyed, Nico was nearly dead, Mellinor was lost, and that was just the tip of the iceberg of things that were his fault.

  Unbidden, his mind went back to that day in the forest when he’d tricked Benehime into letting him go. He’d thought of that moment daily since then, usually with pride. His freedom was what he’d always fought for, but now he saw that first con in a different light. If he’d known how bitterly things would end, would he still have made the deal?

  Eli rolled violently, kicking the wall with his feet. He didn’t like the way this was going, and he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He tossed and turned, throwing the white jacket into the corner. As always, the temperature in the Between hovered just slightly cooler than was pleasant, but he couldn’t stand having her white all over him. He flopped over again, slamming his head angrily into the soft, white pillow and found himself facing Benehime.

  She was sitting in front of her sphere exactly as she’d been since he lay down. Her profile was toward him, probably so she could keep an eye on him while she watched the world, he realized sourly. But her eyes weren’t looking at him now. They were locked on the sphere, and her mouth was moving.

  Eli’s eyes darted back and forth, but he didn’t see anyone, not even the Lord of Storms. Didn’t hear anything, either. Thankful to have something to puzzle over besides his own misery, he scooted to the edge of the bed to get a better look.

  It was night inside the glistening globe. The sea was dark and calm, the mountains still. The moon rode high in the sky, its light a pale reflection of Benehime’s own as her hands rested on the curve of the sky. Her gaze was fixed on the ocean, but other than her mouth, she wasn’t moving at all. After five minutes of this, Eli was about to dismiss the whole thing as another of her eccentricities when her lips stopped moving, curving instead into a smile that turned his blood to ice water.

  Without warning, her hands pressed down, passing through the sphere’s sky like she was pressing through the surface of a soap bubble. Her white fingers turned transparent the second they entered, but Eli could still make out the edges of her hands as they descended through the night and plunged into the dark sea below.

  Eli watched in stunned silence as Benehime reached into the sea up to her elbows, going down so far that her fingers must have scraped the very bottom of the ocean floor. Her hands fished around for a moment, and then Eli saw her muscles clench, tightening her fingers into a fist. Her sickening smile grew wider as Benehime began to pull.

  And that was when her eyes moved toward Eli.

  Only years spent as a thief let him react fast enough. In the blink of an eye he was asleep, his body splayed, his breaths even and deep, his eyes closed. The white world was silent, but he didn’t dare move. He stayed that way until his muscles were aching from stress. Only when he was sure not even Benehime could draw a connection between the movement and what had just happened did he risk a look.

  Body as slack as a rag, he rolled over, cracking his eyes as he did. Benehime was sitting exactly as she had been before, but her hands were at her sides now, and her mouth was closed in a quiet smile. The sphere floated same as always, and though the ocean looked a little choppy, there was no other sign that anything had happened.

  Frowning, Eli turned again, trying for a better look, but then Benehime glanced at him. This time he didn’t have a chance to fake, so instead, he caught her eye and gave her a sleepy blink. She smiled indulgently and mouthed, Sleep.

  Eli nodded and turned to lie on his back. His heart was thudding in his chest, but he kept his eyes closed. His whole body was wired, and he didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. Even so, he forced his breathing to remain deep and even. He was a good dog now. Good dogs obeyed their mistresses.

  Just the thought made him feel ill, but Eli kept it to himself. He lay perfectly still, focusing on his breaths until exhaustion finally took him for real, and he fell into a deep sleep full of white, terrifying dreams.

  The minute he drifted off, Benehime rose from her seat beside the sphere, walking silently to stand over her sleeping favorite. When she reached him, she laid her hands on the invisible
wall. When Eli didn’t stir, Benehime’s face broke into a wide, sharp smile. Without a sound, her hands passed through the barrier and began to descend toward Eli’s bare chest.

  And in his safe haven beneath Eli’s skin, Karon began to scream, but it made no sound at all.

  CHAPTER

  3

  It was midnight when Gin finally trotted through the white gates of Zarin and started up the hill toward the Spirit Court’s Tower. Miranda clung to his back, blinking blearily at the rowdy late-night crowd scrambling to make way for her panting ghosthound. Gin’s trot slumped to a walk as they got closer, but Miranda didn’t try to speed him up. The dog was exhausted. With the run down from the mountains and then the mad dash to Osera and now a night run back to Zarin… well, even ghosthounds had limits.

  Of course, Miranda wasn’t doing much better. She’d spent seven hours clutching Gin’s back for dear life as the hound forced his way through roads crowded with soldiers and Oseran refugees. Add to that the hours she’d spent reaching in vain for Mellinor this morning and the battle before that and she was wrung out completely. Clinging to Gin as they wove through the Zarin streets, she felt fragile and stretched, but as the Tower’s moonlit spire came into view, she forced herself to sit straight. She had work to do. Banage had entrusted her with the fate of the Spirit Court. She could not let him down.

  When they reached the gate separating the Spirit Court’s district from the rest of Zarin, she motioned for Gin to stop. He lay down for her to dismount and didn’t get up again as she stretched the ride out of her joints.

  “Good work,” Miranda said, rubbing the short, coarse fur on the bridge of Gin’s muzzle. “The stables should still be open. Go and get some sleep. I’ll have them bring you a pig as soon as I can.”

  “Two pigs,” Gin said and groaned, pushing himself up one last time. “Fat ones.”

  “Fat ones,” Miranda promised as the ghosthound walked slowly between the buildings and toward the stables, his patterns swirling sluggishly.

  When she was satisfied he would make it to the stables without falling over, Miranda turned and started down the wide boulevard toward the Tower itself. The Spirit Court’s district was silent and empty. All the non-wizards who made a living serving the Court’s human needs had distanced themselves as soon as the Court fell into the Council’s bad graces. The wind whistled between the closed-up buildings, rattling the bolted shutters with a lonely sound. Ahead, the Tower rose like a white bone from the ground, smooth and straight and, Miranda saw with dismay, still sealed against the world, just as Banage had left it after his confrontation with Whitefall’s army.

  She climbed the wide steps with trepidation. The great red doors were still lying where they had fallen. In their place, the Tower’s grand entry was a smooth wall of stone. Hesitantly, Miranda laid her knuckles against the cold rock, tapping the Rector’s ring against the Tower’s surface.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again. Nothing. Not even a flicker of movement.

  Miranda pulled her hand back and stood there a moment, focusing her mind on the Rector’s ring. Waiting for… she wasn’t sure what. A sign, maybe. A direction. Some hint of what she was supposed to do. Nothing came. The gold ring sat sullen and silent, its stone underside as cold as the Tower against her skin.

  Miranda heaved an enormous sigh. She was too tired for this. All she wanted was to get inside to Krigel and call the Conclave before things got any worse than they already were. Holding that goal firmly in mind, Miranda balled her left hand into a fist and slammed it into the stone.

  The golden Rector’s ring hit the Tower with a deep, ringing sound, just as hers had when she’d first returned to the sealed Tower days before. That time, the ringing had faded and a tunnel had opened through the stone. This time it only grew louder. The sound doubled and redoubled, filling the air until all of Zarin seemed to be vibrating. And then, without warning, the ringing simply stopped, and as it stopped, the Tower opened.

  Stone peeled away from the great doors, the white rock curling like unfurling petals before vanishing again into the smooth stone walls. Gleaming windows winked open up and down the Tower’s spire as the protective layer of stone slid away. At the Tower’s peak, the enormous windows of the Rector’s office reemerged, the thick glass catching the moonlight until the Tower’s top shone like a lighthouse.

  The whole transformation took less than a minute, but it was a minute more before Miranda could stop gawking. She looked down at the golden circle of the Rector’s ring. She hadn’t felt anything the whole time—no draw of power, no spirit pressure, just a faint heat against her skin. But the ring was already cooling, and Miranda, too exhausted for mysteries, stumbled gladly into the now-moonlit entry hall where Spiritualist Krigel was running down the stairs to meet her.

  “Miranda!” he cried. “What are you doing back so soon? Where’s Banage? Why did he open the Tower?”

  Each question came on the heels of the one before it, and Miranda, too tired to form coherent answers, just held up her hand. The Rector’s assistant stopped cold when he saw the ring on her finger, his eyes growing wide and horrified.

  “Powers,” he whispered. “He’s not—”

  “He’s alive,” Miranda said, lowering her hand. “But we’ve still got problems. We have to call a Conclave right away. Let’s move somewhere private and—”

  She’d taken a step toward him as she spoke, but it proved to be one step too many. As her foot hit the floor, her legs gave out. She toppled sideways, landing on her side, too tired to catch herself.

  She’d gone limp before she hit, so the fall didn’t hurt like it should have, but even as she realized she was on the ground, she knew for certain she couldn’t get up again. She heard Krigel’s voice giving orders, and then something hard and sweet smelling slid under her body, lifting her off the ground. She looked up to see the lovely crown of a linden tree spreading overhead, its branches cradling her body like a mother’s arms. Krigel was right beside her, the bright green ring on his index finger illuminating his worried, wrinkled face. He said something to the tree, and Miranda felt herself begin to sway as they moved toward the stairs.

  The tree’s roots rolled over the smooth stone floor with one wrapped around Krigel’s outstretched hand. He was feeding it, Miranda realized with a flash of worry. Krigel wasn’t a young man anymore. Feeding a tree who had no place to dig its roots was a tall order, especially if you were making it move as well. She should say something, she thought, tell him to stop so she could get one of her own spirits out to carry her. But as she opened her mouth, Krigel gave her a look so sharp it skewered the words before she could speak them.

  “If you so much as imply I am too infirm to do my duty as your assistant, Rector Lyonette, I will drop you down these stairs.”

  “But I’m not Rector,” Miranda said, or tried to. The words came out in a garbled mumble.

  Krigel seemed to understand well enough. “The Rector’s ring doesn’t go to just anyone,” he said. “If Banage gave it to you and the ring accepted the transfer, then you’re Rector enough for me. Now shut your mouth for once and let me do my job.”

  Miranda licked her lips. “Pigs,” she whispered.

  This time it was Krigel’s turn to look confused. “Excuse me?”

  “Gin’s in the stable,” she whispered, enunciating each syllable. “He needs pigs.”

  “I’ll see to your dog,” Krigel said. “Now go to sleep before I have Ellinell knock you over the head.”

  The tree shook with laughter, swaying Miranda back and forth. She leaned into the motion, falling into a deep sleep before they’d reached the second landing.

  Miranda woke suddenly to bright light in her face. She closed her eyes and rolled away, bumping her nose into the pile of pillows behind her. Raising her hand as a shield, she tried again, opening her eyes slowly as they adjusted.

  She was lying on a narrow bed in the corner of a small, neat room. Her dirty boots were off, so was her j
acket, leaving her in her shirtsleeves and pants on top of the embroidered bedspread. She also realized with a bit of a shock that her hair was wet. She moved her hand up timidly, running her fingers through damp curls that smelled faintly of the mountains.

  “I took the liberty of asking my spring spirit to wash it,” said a deep voice. “I thought you’d sleep better if you were clean.”

  She looked up with a start to see Spiritualist Krigel rising from a deep armchair beside the bed. He took a covered tray from the table beside him and plopped it unceremoniously onto Miranda’s lap.

  “You’ll be relieved to know that your ghosthound has been taken care of. He ate three pigs and passed out in a fat stupor in the stable yard. Since you already had your pass out, I’m hoping you’ll take care of the eating part so we can move on to what exactly happened in Osera that sent you running back here with Banage’s ring.”

  Miranda pushed herself up and uncovered the tray. A lovely smell wafted up, and she grinned in delight at the large bowl of egg soup and the round loaf of walnut bread.

  “Thank you for looking after Gin,” she said, tucking the napkin under her chin. “And me, I should add. I’m sorry to impose—”

  “I’ve been the assistant to the Rector Spiritualis for close to thirty years now,” Krigel said. “It is my job to mother you. Now”—he sat down in the deep chair again—“talk.”

  Miranda took a mouthful of soup and a bite of bread. Once those were down, she told him. Krigel listened impassively as she described the mad ride down to Osera, how they’d broken the Empress’s siege and retaken the beach only to lose it again. He didn’t even flinch at her description of the war spirits, though his eyebrows did furrow when she reached Banage’s meeting with Eli and his argument with Sara.

  That part still felt unreal. Even two days later, she wasn’t able to fully wrap her brain around the idea that Master Banage was Eli Monpress’s father, or Sara’s husband. But Krigel took all these things without comment and told her to get on with it.