by Rachel Aaron
“As there are no objections,” Krigel said, “the Spirit Court offers the office of Rector to Miranda Lyonette.” He turned slowly, fixing Miranda with his eyes. “Do you accept the Court’s call, Spiritualist?”
Miranda very seriously considered saying no, but old Krigel was looking at her with so much pride. The same pride that lit his face when he looked at Banage, she realized. That line of thinking brought her back to her lost master. As Rector, she’d have the clout to fight for his release. Powers knew they needed him now more than ever. She glanced sideways to see the Lord of Storms was watching her, his eyes going through her like hailstones as his boot tapped against the edge of the podium.
Miranda set her jaw and turned to face the Court. “I accept,” she said, proud that her voice betrayed none of the bone weariness that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her.
The second the words left her mouth, everything changed.
Without warning, the Rector’s ring tightened on her finger hard enough to make the bone ache and a presence roared into her mind. Miranda jerked in surprise, her eyes slamming shut in pain and shock. It was like binding a spirit, an enormous one, but she’d given no oath, made no pledge. Yet the connection was there, as strong as Mellinor’s had been, but where the sea had been inside her, this spirit was all around her, enormous and steady and, she frowned, laughing at her.
“Of course I laugh, little Rector,” the voice boomed in her mind. “Banage always told me you would come.”
Her eyes popped open. The golden mantle of the Rector was glowing as bright as noon across her shoulders, a multicolored light show that, she realized for the first time, was the product of one spirit, not many. That same spirit ran through the floor below her feet, up the walls that surrounded her. It reached up to the Tower’s peak and down to the Tower’s foundations, which ran deeper than she’d ever imagined, down to the very roots of Zarin itself. She could feel every bit of the stone like she held the whole of it in her hands, and her mind filled with wonder until it was all she knew.
“You are the Tower,” she whispered, clutching the gold chain.
“And you are faster than most.” The Tower’s voice laughed in her head. “Though I’d expect as much from Mellinor’s master and one who has seen the truth of Lord Durain’s heart.”
“Durain?” Miranda repeated foolishly. “The Shaper Mountain?”
“The Lord of all Mountains,” the Tower said reverently. “It was he who bade me to enter a pact with your kind many years ago, but it is another lord you should mind now, Rector.”
The words were accompanied by a sort of mental prod. Miranda followed it and found herself facing the Lord of Storms, who was looking dangerously bored.
“Can we get on with this?” he drawled, tapping his long fingers on the clawed arm of the Rector’s chair. “I have a hunt to finish.”
Miranda nodded, grabbing her shocked mind and forcing it back to the here and now. “Lord of Storms,” she said, her voice rising as she became mindful of the crowd of Spiritualists who were watching her like hawks. “The Spirit Court is honored to accept your bargain as offered.”
The Lord of Storms nodded and vanished in a swirl of cloud only to reappear again on the witness stand at the center of the room. “Line them up here,” he said, pointing to the stand’s small step. “I’m not bothering the Lady for permission on this, so I’ll have to do them one at a time. And be fast about it. I’ve wasted enough time with Court theatrics for this century.”
Miranda nodded and, almost without thinking, turned and stepped off the Rector’s elevated platform into thin air. She couldn’t say why she’d gone that way instead of taking the stairs, and for a moment she was sure she was going to fall and break her fool head. But as soon as her foot left the platform, the floor of the chamber rose to meet her. The white stone moved like water, flowing up to form an elegant stair, each step coalescing a moment before her foot landed. A gasp went up from the gathered Court, and Miranda began to blush.
“You make me do things now?” she hissed, stomping her way down.
“Not at all,” the Tower whispered. “I merely offer suggestions, and your mind, though distracted, seems to know a good idea when it hears one. Besides, I’ve been an ally of the Court for a long time. I know when it needs a little impressing.”
She had to admit the spirit’s plan worked. The Spiritualists were watching her with round eyes as she walked across the smoothly polished floor and came to a stop before the Lord of Storms. He held out his hand impatiently, but just before his palm landed on her head, Miranda ducked away.
“Wait.”
The Lord of Storms gave her a murderous look. Miranda ignored it and turned to face her Court. “Before we begin, I wish to make a few things very clear. First, even with the power of the League behind us, know that the path we begin today will be a difficult one. You will see spirits suffering as never before, and it may come that you will have to use a strong hand to stop their panic if it becomes violent. The use of force over spirits, even for their own protection, is abhorrent to Spiritualists by nature. Therefore, participation in this operation is entirely voluntary. I want only the willing, and there will be no punishment or shame for those who do not wish to accept the Lord of Storms’ offer. Those who do wish to help may come down now to receive the League’s gift of power. However”—the sudden sharpness in her voice interrupted the scrape of benches—“before anything is given or received, each of you must stand before the Court and reaffirm your oath as a Spiritualist.”
The Spiritualists began to mutter angrily, and Miranda put up her hand. “I don’t ask this because I doubt your loyalty or resolve. I wouldn’t be standing here if that were the case. But the League’s powers go far and beyond the normal scope of our Court. If this is to work, we must be above reproach. We must be exactly what our oath requires: servants of the spirits. With that in mind, I want everyone who means to work with the League to reaffirm that loyalty, starting with myself.”
She placed both hands on her chest, rings out, just as she had when she was a raw apprentice so many years ago. Now as then, she lowered her head before the Tower and the Court and spoke the words that had guided her life from that moment on.
“I pledge my life to the unseen world,” she said, her voice ringing loud and clear. “My soul to the protection of those who suffer. On my life and my soul I swear to never stand quiet before abuse or stay my hand when my strength may aid the world’s good. I pledge my life and my soul to the spirits, and those who aid me I will bind in solemn promise: power for service, strength for obedience, a servant to the Court and the spirits it defends until the end of our days. This is my oath, and may my life be forfeit before ever I am forsworn.”
As she finished, she raised the solid gold band on her left hand and kissed the center of the perfect circle. Oath spoken, she turned back to the Lord of Storms.
His hand landed on her head like a vise, and her body trembled as a pulse of electricity shot through her. It crawled over her skin, more intense than painful, and then, as fast as it started, it was over. The pressure on her skull vanished, leaving only a faint tingling. She glanced up, confused.
“That’s it?”
The Lord of Storms sneered. “What did you expect, a speech? Unlike you lot, we don’t waste time with ceremony.”
Miranda swallowed. Surely there was more than that. Her skin was tingling, but otherwise she felt no different than before.
“It’s there,” the Lord of Storms said, answering the question she hadn’t asked. “All you have to do is hold out your hand and think of where you want to go.”
Sheepishly, Miranda obeyed, stretching out her arm as she’d seen Alric do. The moment her fingers rose in front of her, the white line appeared. It fell like a knife, cutting a door in the air that opened onto the beach by Osera. Miranda blinked in amazement. She’d done little more than picture the destination in her mind, but there was the sea, choppy and dark blue under the overcast sky.
Miranda dropped her hand, and the line vanished, fading as quickly as it had appeared. She scrubbed her eyes covertly, though there was no way the Lord of Storms could have missed the tears. But when she glanced up, he wasn’t even looking at her. By this point the room was full of the sound of shuffling as the Court came down from the benches to the floor to take part, and he was watching the approaching line with a look of growing annoyance.
“Make them speak quick, girl,” he growled, leaning against the railing. “I mean to be back on the hunt within the hour.”
Miranda nodded and motioned for the first Spiritualist to step forward. The woman, a Tower Keeper from the south, spoke her oath with pride and did not even flinch when the Lord of Storms touched her head. When he lifted his hand, she looked him straight in the eyes.
“How do we find those in panic?” she said, all business.
“Listen,” the Lord of Storms said. “You’ll hear it.”
The woman nodded and stepped aside to let the next Spiritualist take her place. As Miranda watched, the Tower Keeper closed her eyes and tilted her head like she was straining to hear a distant sound. Almost at once, her eyes popped back open and she held out her hand. The white line appeared instantly, and a blast of icy wind hit Miranda in the face as the Tower Keeper stepped through the cut and into a world of snow, ice, and something terrible. A screaming, howling fear. The hole closed as soon as she was through, cutting off the cold and the sound as though they’d never been.
By this point, the next Spiritualist, a journeyman as Miranda herself had been before the events in Osera, had finished his oath and received the Lord of Storms’ gift. He staggered as the Lord of Storms released him, and Miranda jumped to catch the young man before he fell.
“Easy,” she said, helping him regain his balance.
The Spiritualist shook his head. “How do you stand it?” he whispered. “Can’t you hear the fear?”
Miranda couldn’t. She actually hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary since the Lord of Storms touched her. Her frustration must have been plain on her face, because the Lord of Storms laughed.
“What?” he barked. “You think all human souls are the same just because you’re all shaped alike? Don’t be stupid. My gift fits each person differently. Even in the League we have people who are better at some aspects than others.” He nodded to the young Spiritualist who was still shaking in Miranda’s grip. “That man has large ears, so to speak. If you weren’t so blind, you’d see the difference for yourself.”
“So my ears are small, then?” Miranda snapped, helping the Spiritualist over to the wall.
“Not very,” the Lord of Storms said, motioning for the next person to hurry up and come forward. “Come on, come on. Move.”
The next Spiritualist waited until Miranda nodded before stepping forward and reciting his oath. The Lord of Storms grabbed his head the second he finished and released it almost as quickly, pushing the man away with a quick jab.
“Next!”
The line moved quickly after that, with each Spiritualist stepping forward just long enough to give their oath before the Lord of Storms grabbed them. Some were like the first Tower Keeper. They seemed to get the powers instinctively and jumped into action, opening their portals to places of trouble without a word of explanation or training. Others were like the young Spiritualist, staggering away, as pale as death.
These Miranda led to the growing group gathered on an empty stretch of floor by the benches. Krigel was already there, helping them sit, encouraging them to talk. Miranda watched him with a worried frown, but she couldn’t get away. The Lord of Storms drove the line forward, and she had to move quickly as well, witnessing the oaths one after the other. She was about to ask for a reprieve when a voice spoke in her ear.
“Don’t worry about it.”
She jumped and turned to see Alric standing behind her, a thin smile on his lips.
“It’s the way of the Lord of Storms’ power,” he said softly, his eyes on his commander as the Lord of Storms grabbed the next Spiritualist’s scalp. “Some take to it like fish to water; others take longer to come around. It’s the same within the League.”
“Shouldn’t we be explaining something?” Miranda said. “It seems downright foolish for the Lord of Storms to give his gift and not teach people how to use it.”
“That’s how it’s always been,” Alric said with a shrug. “The League’s gift isn’t some boon or mystical power. It’s a sliver of the Lord of Storms’ own soul. Think of it as piggybacking on his strength. He’s not making something new so much as breaking up what he already has. That’s why he doesn’t explain how it works. His powers come to him as natural as breathing comes to us, and he could no more explain them than you could explain how you make your heart beat. But this is the way it’s been since the beginning, and it works. You yourself were able to make a portal with little more than a cursory explanation, after all.”
Miranda scowled. “It’s reckless.”
“Storms aren’t known for their caution and forethought,” Alric said, smiling. “Of course, if you don’t like it, you could always go to a different spirit for aid.”
Her scowled deepened, and Alric chuckled. “Don’t worry, Rector,” he said. “Even your tremblers over there will come around in time. For now, we should focus on getting as many of your Spiritualists into the field as possible. There’s so much panic at the moment I can hardly hear myself think.”
“I hear nothing,” she said. “Am I doing something wrong, or—”
“You can’t ‘do something wrong’ with an instinctive power,” Alric said. At her crestfallen expression, he added, “Think of it this way. Panic rings best in hollow vessels, but your soul is full, isn’t it?”
“Very full.” The Tower’s deep voice rumbled through Miranda so loudly that her bones rattled.
“I begin to see your point,” she said, wincing at the sensation. “I suppose it’s hard to hear anything through all this rock.”
“You should be glad,” the Tower said. “It’s a storm out there, little Rector. Be thankful of my protection.”
“I just hope I’m able to do my job deaf,” she snapped.
“Excuse me?” Alric said.
“Nothing,” Miranda muttered, a blush spreading over her face as the Tower’s chuckle rattled her teeth.
“Don’t worry,” the Tower said, its voice full of black humor. “You’ll hear the panic when it’s close, and when you do, you’ll wish I could block it all out.”
Miranda had no answer to that, and she turned her attention back to Alric. “We’ll just have to weather whatever comes.”
“Oh, no, my dear,” Alric warned. “You’re part of the storm now. There’s no more weathering, no more sitting back. You ride with the Shepherdess’s favor now, good or ill, just like the rest of us. I only hope this little trick of yours works. If we don’t find the demon, I dread to think of the consequences.”
Miranda steadied herself, turning to hear the next oath before asking the question that had been smoldering in her mind since this morning. “What are you hunting?”
Alric’s answer was so cold she almost didn’t recognize his voice. “A demon who should be dead twice over,” he said, his hand vanishing from her shoulder.
When she turned to ask what he meant by that, Alric was across the room, standing beside Krigel as he talked with the Spiritualists who hadn’t instantly adapted to the change.
She watched him another moment before giving up. She had enough to worry about without pressing into League business. Steeling herself, she turned back to the matter at hand, acknowledging each oath as, one by one, the entire Spirit Court received the Lord of Storms’ gift.
It took a good
hour before the last Spiritualist left the Lord of Storms’ grasp. By that time, most of those who hadn’t adapted to the gift at once had come around, just as Alric had predicted. Alric himself had left twenty minutes ago after a brief, whispered conference with his commander. He was probably going to prepare the rest of the League for the hunt, Miranda realized.
The Lord of Storms was certainly ready. As the line dwindled, he seemed to grow larger. He loomed over the platform now, and the room felt colder for his presence. Colder and full of reined-in power. It reminded Miranda of the minutes just before a storm broke, which was appropriate. She just hoped he didn’t break in her assembly room.
When the final Spiritualist had received the League’s gift and vanished through her portal, Miranda expected the Lord of Storms to vanish with her, but he didn’t. Instead, he began to stalk around the room with his eyes closed, as though he were listening. After watching him circle for several nervous minutes, Miranda decided to ignore him and go on with her, which was to say the Court’s, business.
The assembly room was nearly empty now. Krigel was seeing off the last of those slow to adapt to their gifts. Miranda held her tongue, waiting until the last Spiritualist vanished before asking for a report.
“It’s as you see, Rector,” Krigel said, leaning against the wall below the Rector’s seat with a sigh. “One thousand twenty-two Spiritualists attended the Conclave today, and of those, nine hundred and ninety-eight renewed their oath and took the League’s gift. An excellent turnout, all said, especially when you consider what Blint’s influence was not two hours ago.”
Miranda bit her lip and glanced around. Save for the stalking Lord of Storms and Gin resting behind her, she and Krigel were alone in the enormous room. Even so, she reached down and gave the Tower’s ring a little prod.
At once, the enormous room shifted subtly, the acoustics changing. When she spoke again, the words that should have echoed across the empty stone fell tiny and flat, just as she wanted. There could be no chance of anyone overhearing what she said next.