Spirit’s End loem-5

by Rachel Aaron

  “Eli!”

  He lunged as he shouted, moving with the Heart’s supernatural speed. But even that wasn’t fast enough. A split second before his hand caught Eli’s shoulder, the white arms jerked and Eli vanished. Josef crashed into the wall of snow where the thief had been, crushing the left half of the windbreak he’d worked so hard to make. He rolled and scrambled to his knees just in time to see the last of the white line as it faded.

  Josef dug his fingers into the hard-packed snow and shouted a fresh string of curses into the wind, but even as he howled in rage, the swordsman in him, the ever calm, ever watchful core he’d nurtured for close to fifteen years, raised a warning.

  He fell still instantly. All around him, the daylight was growing dimmer. Josef raised his head. The sky, which had been white with snow clouds when they’d first landed, was now a dark gray, and growing darker. With hours until sunset, Josef didn’t even bother looking west. Instead, he turned south against the wind, and his eyes went wide as he saw the wall of black clouds rolling toward him like an avalanche.

  After that, Josef wasted no more time. Shifting the Heart to his right hand, he scooped Nico up with his left and began to climb down. He half ran, half slid down the mountain’s snowy slope, angling sideways along the ledge toward the spot where he’d spotted the bush.

  He jumped down a little cliff and pressed Nico’s slumped body into the space between the lee of the stone and the woody shrub that was indeed growing from a crack in the stone. It was so dark now he could barely see what he was doing, so Josef left the task to instinct, trusting his hands as they bound the thick, stubborn branches into Nico’s coat, pinning her upright to the cliff face. When she was as secure as he could make her, Josef turned and took in the battlefield.

  The base of the ledge was flatter than the mountain slope, but it was still steep. There was snow on the ground and ice under that. Treacherous footing, but he could find a way to use that. He could use the wind, too. It was blowing hard up the mountain, pushing him back toward the ledge above him. A good position, Josef decided. The wind would help keep him away from the steep drop down the mountain, and the cold would help numb the pain.

  Satisfied, Josef stripped off his bag and the leather pouch at his belt. His swords went next. He tossed them, sheaths and all, on the icy stone. The larger blades were followed by his throwing knives and the daggers he kept in his boots and sleeves. Josef stripped off every bit of excess weight, dropping the lot of it at Nico’s feet. Finally, completely unencumbered, he stood and rolled his shoulders, warming and loosening his body as he waited for his enemy to arrive.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Thunder crashed overhead, a deep roll that grew to a deafening crack as trunks of lightning flashed in the sky, lighting up the world in a blinding blue-white that banished every other color. The second flash came before the first had finished, and as the lightning spidered across the sky, the man appeared.

  The Lord of Storms formed from the air itself. He loomed as the light faded, his shape a dark afterimage on Josef’s blinded eyes. Josef ignored his lost sight and focused everything on his sword. He might be blinded, but the Heart of War followed the Lord of Storms like a compass needle. He could feel the man stepping into position, his boots digging into the icy ground.

  “Isn’t this nostalgic?”

  The deep voice sent tremors of fear through Josef’s body, and his back seized up in remembered pain. Josef gritted his teeth and fought it down, the pain and the fear, until his body was still again, a weapon waiting for use, just like his sword. Firmly back in control, Josef opened his eyes and glared at the Lord of Storms. “Where’s Eli?”

  “I don’t know,” the Lord of Storms said. “And I don’t care. I’m here for her.”

  He raised his arm, and as his hand stretched out, the lightning crashed again. But instead of fading, the light condensed into a long, curved, blue-white sword. Its hilt rested against the Lord of Storms’ palm, and its tip pointed behind Josef at where Nico lay against the ledge.

  “Move, master of the Heart of War,” the Lord of Storms said, hand closing on the blue-wrapped grip of his blade. “While you still can.”

  Josef said nothing and held his ground.

  The Lord of Storms’ eyes narrowed to silver slits, shining in the dark. “I’m not here to play, swordsman,” he growled. “I live for a good fight, but today is business only. Move.”

  “I’m not playing,” Josef said. “And you’re not taking her. Not while I draw breath.”

  “Those terms are acceptable,” the Lord of Storms said. “I have no problem killing you.”

  Josef bared his teeth. “I think you will.”

  The Lord of Storms laughed, a harsh, cracking sound like lightning ripping through a tree. “Really?” he said, grinning wide. “I must have hit your fool head harder than I thought last time if you’ve forgotten how things ended.”

  “I’m not the man you fought then,” Josef said, boots crunching as he ground them farther into the snow. “And I won’t move.”

  The Lord of Storms regarded him in silence for several moments, and then his broad shoulders arched in a shrug. “As you wish, swordsman.”

  He swung his sword up, and Josef felt a flash of fear as the blue-white blade whistled through the air. Then he forced the pain away, focusing instead on the heavy feel of the Heart in his hand. Just as he had done in Osera, he threw himself into his blade, giving himself over to the Heart and accepting the sword in turn. Their wills met and began to resonate until the Heart was no longer a weight in his hand but a part of his arm. The scarred black metal became an extension of his own heart, his own soul, binding them inextricably together in one purpose: to cut the enemy.

  After all—the Heart’s voice was Josef’s own—even lightning can be cut.

  “Impossible.”

  Josef blinked. He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until he heard the Lord of Storms answer. The Lord of Storms grinned at his confusion and flipped his sword around, stabbing the tip through his black coat and into his own chest.

  Josef flinched instinctively. From where he stood, it looked like the man had just skewered himself, but the Lord of Storms wasn’t cut. As the blade met his chest, it became lightning. It forked inside him, lighting up his body like a cloud until the Lord of Storms removed it, turning the glowing tip toward Josef’s own chest.

  “I am the storm,” he said. “The first and greatest of the Shepherdess’s servants, the star of storms, bound together from the greatest storm spirits by the Lady herself at the dawn of creation. To cut me would be to cut the Shepherdess’s own will.”

  Josef raised his chin. “There was another man who told me he couldn’t be cut,” he said defiantly. “I took off his arm.”

  The Lord of Storms’ jaw clenched in fury, and the glowing sword shook in his hand, its tip leaving jagged trails in the dark. “I see your arrogance finally matches that of your sword,” he said, his voice as tight as a wire. “Come then, boy. If you’re so eager to die, I will not stop you.”

  Josef’s answer was to lift his sword, sliding the enormous blade forward as he set his feet in first position. The Lord of Storms watched him move through slitted eyes, and then he was gone.

  It was the same as before, that terrifying speed, the sword that moved like the wind and came from anywhere. But this time, Josef was different. He might not be able to see the Lord of Storms’ movements, but he could feel them through his sword like the Heart’s metal was his own bone. His sword moved without thought, rising to meet the Lord of Storms’ blow before the swing could flicker back into existence.

  When the Lord of Storms appeared at Josef’s left, the Heart of War was waiting. The lightning blade struck the Heart’s scarred, black edge with a squeal of metal. The impact nearly sent Josef to his knees, but he forced himself to hold, and then, feet digging into the icy rock, he began to push back. He had one fleeting glimpse of the Lord of Storms’ astonished face before the League Commander vanished
in a swirl of cloud. He reappeared instantly on Josef’s right, his glowing sword falling toward Josef’s unguarded thigh.

  Even as he saw it, Josef knew there was no time to dodge, and he caught himself saying good-bye to his leg before he remembered what was at stake. The Heart was buzzing in his hands, and Josef had the distinct impression the sword was screaming at him, demanding to be let in. Josef surrendered at once. His body went slack, his fingers relaxed, no longer holding the Heart but being guided by it, his arm following the black blade as it would follow his hand.

  What happened next was the fastest thing Josef had ever seen his body do. One moment he was wide open below the Lord of Storms’ swing, the next the Heart was there, an iron wall between him and the glowing blade. Now it was the Lord of Storms who had no time to change course. The swords met with a crash, the blue-white blade pulsing as it ground against the Heart’s black barrier.

  Push up.

  The command pounded through Josef like a shot of adrenaline, and before he’d even processed the words, his body obeyed. He shot up, bringing both swords with him in a great upward lunge. Caught off balance, the Lord of Storms had no choice but to rise as well. His sword slid along the Heart’s blade, leaving a trail of sparks that faded into forked crackles, but the Heart of War was rolling like an avalanche now. With all of Josef’s weight behind it, the black blade shot upward, throwing off the glowing sword like water before slicing into the Lord of Storms’ neck.

  The blow was so fast Josef didn’t even realize what he’d done until he began to fall forward. The stroke’s power flowed through him and vanished, leaving him overextended. He slammed his leg down at once, turning and steadying himself in one motion as he looked back.

  Behind him, the Lord of Storms stood frozen, his sword flung out at his side. The blue-white blade was flashing wildly, flickering between steel and lightning, but Josef hardly saw it. His eyes were locked on the Lord of Storms neck, or what was left of it. There, right at the jugular where the Heart of War had passed, flesh gave way to roiling clouds shot through with forked lightning. Above that there was… nothing. The blow had taken his head clean off.

  A surge of triumph nearly brought Josef to his knees, but the joy was smothered almost immediately. As soon as he saw what the Heart had done, the clouds on the stump of the Lord of Storms’ neck began to rise and coalesce. They swirled together, forming long, dark hair, pale skin, a long, hard nose, and a pair of silver eyes flashing with smug triumph.

  “I warned you,” the Lord of Storms said, his voice warped as his mouth rebuilt itself from the clouds. Josef got one look at the man’s white, white teeth coming together in a smile before his lips re-formed, and then the world exploded into pain.

  Josef choked and fell forward, gripping his chest. In front of him, in the space that had been nothing but empty air not a second ago, was a white hole. Through it, the Lord of Storms’ pale hand was gripping the hilt of his sword, the blade of which was shoved through Josef’s ribs.

  For one long, breathless moment, Josef could only stare at his blood dripping down the blue-white blade and think how impossible it was. The Lord of Storms was behind him with both arms at his side, sword in hand, and yet that was the Lord of Storms’ hand in front of him, and his sword. Josef was still trying to work his mind around this when he was interrupted by the hateful sound of the Lord of Storms’ laughter.

  “You humans really are blind, aren’t you?” the commander said, walking around to grin at Josef with his fully re-formed head. “You knew I wasn’t human. You’ve seen me remake myself, seen me pull swords out of the air, and yet you still expect me to have only two arms just because that’s what your flesh eyes tell you?”

  He threw out his arms in a welcoming gesture, his sword hanging lazily from his long fingers. Meanwhile, the third arm twisted through the cut in the air, wrenching the other sword in Josef’s ribs. A fresh wave of pain blackened his vision, and Josef coughed, spitting his blood out on the ground before he choked on it.

  Somewhere above him, the Lord of Storms made a tsking sound. “It’s your greatest weakness, you know,” he said. “You’d be a real challenge if you didn’t have to rely on these blind idiots to swing you.”

  Lost as he was in the pain, it took Josef several seconds to realize the Lord of Storms was talking to his sword, not to him. That was just as well, though, for it was the Heart who answered.

  “It is you who are weak, Lord of Storms.” The Heart’s voice vibrated through him, the words clear as bells, though Josef wasn’t sure if that was thanks to his connection with his sword or the fact that he was racing toward death. Whatever the reason, Josef was glad. The conversation gave him time to process the injury.

  The Lord of Storms bared his teeth. “I’m not the one whose champion is leaking into the snow.”

  “Your anger is your weakness,” the Heart said. “You were cobbled together by the Shepherdess from other spirits same as the humans you scorn, and yet they are blessed with a measure of her power, while you are nothing but an amalgam, a storm held long past when it should have blown out. You rage on only with the White Lady’s fickle favor, but even the smallest of these ‘blind idiots’ bears more of the Shepherdess’s power than you ever could. You are bound by her will, but my swordsman lives through his own. That is why I chose him, why I’ve always chosen humans, blind though they are. You do not need eyes to cut, only the will to swing.”

  “And look where that’s gotten you,” the Lord of Storms scoffed, his voice thick with scorn. “You’re about to lose your wielder again, old mountain. How long will you rust up here, waiting for another?”

  “I need no other hand,” the Heart said, its voice as deep as the roots of the world. “We will not fall.”

  “Say that when your boy is back on his feet,” the Lord of Storms sneered. He shifted his stance as he spoke, and the third hand reaching through the white slit withdrew, taking the sword with it.

  As the blade slid out of Josef’s chest, it also removed the only thing still supporting him. Josef flopped forward, gasping like a landed fish in the dirty slush of sundered snow and his own blood. The Lord of Storms turned away in disgust, walking across the frozen ground toward the cliff where Nico was slumped.

  “Don’t you… touch her…”

  The Lord of Storms stopped a foot from Nico’s crumpled body and looked over his shoulder. “How do you mean to stop me?”

  Baring his bloody teeth in a snarl, Josef forced himself back to his knees, then his feet. His body was numb with cold and blood loss, but the Heart burned like a brand against his palm, flooding him with a strength so large he could barely contain it. There was a strange pressure on his chest, and Josef knew without looking that the Heart was binding the wound, staunching the blood flow. After that, he paid little attention. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered except the Lord of Storms’ hand hovering over Nico.

  If you want to stop him, the Heart spoke in his mind, you’ll have to cut him.

  “How?” Josef wasn’t sure if he spoke the question aloud or silently, but the Heart answered all the same.

  He is a spirit, same as I am. Same as the mountain beneath us, same as the wind blowing through your hair. The Shepherdess’s will holds him together, but humans are her creatures, and your will is an echo of hers.

  Josef looked down at the black blade. It was trembling in his hand. No, that wasn’t right. The blade was still; it was his hand that was shaking. “I don’t know if I have the strength for another cut.”

  Muscular strength is meaningless. Your muscles could never have pierced the hull of a palace ship. It was your will to cut that sliced the boards. I will strike the blow, but it is your will that must cut the Shepherdess’s binding.

  “I’m not a wizard,” Josef growled.

  You don’t have to be, the Heart said, its voice steady and measured. You’re spirit deaf, not spiritless. Will is the birthright of all humans, not just wizards. Just as you learned to listen to me, so you
can learn to focus your will. The Lord of Storms’ power is enormous, but he is still nothing more than a storm. He is limited by his nature, but you are freed by yours. Human souls are not determined by size or density, but by will alone. So open your spirit to me, Josef Liechten. If you would save your precious demonseed, then you must throw away the knowledge that the Lord of Storms cannot be cut. Forget what you are not and embrace what you are.

  Josef shook his head. “And what is that?”

  The Heart’s answer vibrated through his bones. My swordsman.

  Josef stared at the Lord of Storms, his breath thundering in his head. Wisps of cloud were curling at the ends of the man’s long black hair, and his eyes flashed like lightning. But as Josef gripped the Heart, he could already see the black blade stabbing through the Lord of Storms’ chest, hitting nothing but air, just like before.

  “What if I can’t?” he whispered.

  If you could not cut the Lord of Storms, you would not have the strength to lift me, the Heart of War said. Look down, Josef Liechten, and know the truth.

  Josef obeyed without thinking, his eyes falling to the black sword in his hand, and the world fell away. It was just like what had happened in Gaol during his first fight with Sted. Josef was floating in the blackness again, and now as then, the image appeared. A mountain taller than any mountain has ever been, its peak cutting the clouds.

  Are we one, swordsman?

  Josef breathed deep. “Aye.”

  Then let’s finish this.

  “Aye,” Josef said again, bracing for the lunge. “Together.”

  In the next heartbeat, they moved as one.

  CHAPTER

  16

  Eli drifted back to consciousness slowly, waking up one bit at a time. His first thoughts were little more than groggy impressions: soft stroking on his hair, musical humming in his ears, warm, still air, and brightness. White brightness that bled through his skin.

  His eyes snapped open. Benehime’s snow-white beauty filled his vision. Her face hovered over his, her white hair falling in a curtain around them, blocking out the rest of the world. Her white eyes were soft as goose down, full of love, and her cheeks were streaked with sparkling trails. Tears, Eli realized belatedly. The White Lady was crying.