by Rachel Aaron
“You will not pass, thief,” the Lord of Storms said, his voice rumbling. He raised his sword, the glowing blade sliding through the wind with a screaming whistle. “Go back to your Shepherdess or die with the rest of us, your choice, but none of you will set foot on the demon’s prison while I can lift a sword.”
Eli wasn’t a violent man, but it took every ounce of self-control he had right then not to punch the Lord of Storms in the face. There couldn’t be more than twenty minutes remaining in the hour before the shell broke. He did not need this. But even when he was nearly cut in half, attacking the Lord of Storms was suicidally stupid, and so, optimistic fool that he was, Eli decided to take a long shot and try reason.
“Listen. You. Idiot,” he said, spitting out each word. “Have you looked at the sky with those eyes of yours? Do you know what’s happening?”
The Lord of Storms’ look grew black as his storm clouds. “Better than you do, human.”
“Then why are you here?” Eli shouted. “And why are you still injured? You should be off laughing it up with Benehime in paradise. Oh, let me guess, you told her you’d rather die making our lives difficult than spend eternity blowing around her little fishbowl with nothing to do.”
The Lord of Storms didn’t answer. He just stood there, sword raised, his body shifting between cloud and solid like he was barely holding himself together. The icy wind howled around them, tugging the clouds away from the Lord of Storms’ wound. It was a strange, unsettling sight, and Eli couldn’t shake the feeling he was watching the storm bleed out right in front of them. As the icy silence stretched on, a creeping realization formed in Eli’s mind, and suddenly he was looking at the Lord of Storms in an entirely different light.
“She didn’t offer to heal you, did she?” Eli said quietly, the words barely audible over the wind and the distant screams of the spirits.
The Lord of Storms’ glare didn’t waver, and his voice was as sharp as the sword in his hand when he answered. “There’s no need for storms in paradise.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Eli shouted. “After five thousand years of absolute loyalty, after you brought her the demonseed she used to kill the Hunter, she abandons you now?”
“And this surprises you?” The Lord of Storms’ face fell into a disgusted sneer. “I was never more than a sword to her. A sword has no use in a world of peace.”
“She cut you loose!” Eli cried. “After all those years, all you did for her.” He clutched his head with his hands, amazed that he could hate the Shepherdess more than he already did. “But—” He almost couldn’t get the words out. “Why are you here, then? Why are you still working as her guard? You should be—”
“This is my purpose!” the Lord of Storms roared. “I was bound together for one reason, to guard the world against the demon that lies beneath that mountain. For that I lost my names, my autonomy, lost everything but the purpose that binds me. And though the Shepherdess breaks all oaths and turns her back on the world, I will not be forsworn.” He lifted his sword higher, training the point on Eli’s heart. “So long as a spark of lightning flashes within me, I will serve my purpose!”
Eli cursed loudly. He was scrambling his brain for an argument powerful enough to make the man-shaped ball of thunderclouds see reason when he felt a hand grip his arm hard. Josef pulled him close, nearly taking him off his feet in the process.
“We don’t have time for this,” Josef whispered low. “I’ll handle him. You need to go. Now.”
Eli scrambled against the swordsman’s grip. “But—”
“Nico!” Josef barked. “Take him up.”
“Hold on now!” Eli shouted, but Nico’s arms were already around his waist. The last thing he saw was Josef lifting the Heart of War, and then the world vanished as Nico pulled him into the dark.
Josef set his feet in the snow, watching the Lord of Storms warily. The Heart was roaring through him, heightening his senses to a level he’d never felt before. He could feel each snowflake as it flew by, each icy stone holding up the snowdrift under his boots. He could taste the storm on the wind, smell the ozone smell of the Lord of Storms’ fury. He dropped into a crouch, legs ready to jump after the League Commander the second he moved, but the Lord of Storms stayed put at the valley’s edge, his sword waiting in his hands.
“Aren’t you going after them?” Josef said.
The Lord of Storms shook his head. “I no longer have the strength to step onto the Dead Mountain.”
Josef clenched his jaw. All that posturing, and they could have just gone around.
“But I do have the strength to stop you,” the Lord of Storms said, his face breaking into a deadly smile. “Your demon is gone and the veil does not open this close to the Mountain, so even though I don’t have the energy left to rip my gift from her, the Spiritualist behind you will be of no use. You have no way forward save through me, and I will not let you turn back.” He held out his free arm, beckoning Josef forward. “Come, Josef Liechten, Master of the Heart of War. Let’s finish our duel before the demons finish it for us.”
Josef raised his eyes to the black slope of the Dead Mountain. Nico and Eli were on it somewhere, but he couldn’t see them. He let his eyes drift up farther still to the sharp peak at the very top. It stood bold and dark against the late-afternoon sky, free of haze or cloud. That made sense, he supposed. Even mad, spirits knew better than to approach the demon’s den.
Though he’d never been close enough to see it clearly before, Josef smiled at the peak like an old friend. He knew the folds of its crags better than he knew his own face. It was the peak that had filled his mind when he’d cut the Lord of Storms, the peak that had been the beacon to lure him back from death. Though the stone above him was black now instead of the white he saw in the Heart of War’s memory, the sight of it stilled his mind and sharpened his purpose. He would end things here, in the shadow of his sword’s former self.
Clutching the Heart in his hands, Josef stepped into first position, his boots sinking into the deep snow. But as he readied his body for the blow, he felt the Spiritualist dismounting behind him, whispering to her rings like she was getting ready to fight as well.
“Back off,” he said, his voice harsh.
The Spiritualist froze behind him, and through his heightened senses he felt her take a breath to argue. “Shut up, back away, and don’t interfere,” he snapped. “This is my fight.”
The commands only made her bristle, but the announcement that this was his battle seemed to stop her cold. All at once, her presence vanished, and he glanced over his shoulder to see she had moved back to the center of the valley, taking her dog with her.
Good, he thought. Pushy, annoying, and overbearing as she was, Miranda was a brave soldier of her order. Josef would hate to see her die.
“Come,” the Lord of Storms said, his voice booming over the raging winds.
Clutching his sword, Josef obeyed. He launched himself at the Lord of Storms, and as his feet slammed into the snow, the image of the Heart’s peak filled his mind. With the real thing hanging against the gray sky above him, it was easier than ever. He swung with a roar, meeting the Lord of Storms’ sword with such force that the ground trembled under their feet.
The blades met with a crash. Met and held, the Lord of Storms bracing with both hands against the Heart’s onslaught. Josef braced as well and shoved back, pitting his strength against the League Commander’s. The seconds ticked by as the blades edged back and forth, grinding against each other in a stalemate. Sweat began to pour down Josef’s face, but he refused to let up the pressure. This time he was going to make the Lord of Storms break the lock and step back. This time the League man would be on defense while Josef attacked, slicing away his clouds until nothing was left but clear air.
The Lord of Storms’ face was only inches away from his own. Josef snarled over the crossed blades, trying to bait him, but the man’s silver eyes were unnaturally calm. His hair was entirely storm now, a black mass of
rolling clouds streaked with lightning. The cut in his chest was widening as well, the black coat unraveling into vapor. The smell of ozone was stronger than ever, but the lightning bolts flashing inside the wound were not as numerous as they once had been.
The longer the stalemate dragged on, the larger the hole in the Lord of Storms’ chest grew until his entire lower torso was nothing but cloud. The storm was creeping up his neck beneath the high collar of his black coat now, but the Lord of Storms didn’t seem to notice. He just kept staring at Josef over their crossed swords with those uncharacteristically calm eyes. And then, with an ear-splitting crack, the Lord of Storms’ blue-white blade snapped.
The Heart surged forward, carrying Josef through the fading arc of the Lord of Storms’ broken blade. Weaponless, the commander held out his arms, welcoming the Heart of War as it plunged toward the rolling clouds of his open chest. Josef’s eyes widened, and then, with a move that made his head ache, he threw away the vision of the mountain and spun hard, breaking his momentum with a snap.
He felt his will lurch, and his body lurched with it, slamming to a stop. Josef skid to a stop inside the Lord of Storms’ guard with the Heart of War’s edge just touching the swirling clouds of the Lord of Storms’ wound. He stood panting for a moment, centering himself before he dared look up. Above him, the Lord of Storms’ face was open and betrayed.
“Go on!” he growled, the words fading into thunder. “Finish it!”
Josef stepped back, lowering the Heart to his side. “No.”
The Lord of Storms lurched, grabbing Josef by the shoulders. His grip felt more like rain than flesh now, but it was still strong enough to make Josef wince as the League Commander dragged him close.
“You deny me a warrior’s death,” the Lord of Storms whispered. “I thought we understood one another, human. All my life I have served one purpose, and yet I longed for an opponent. Not a demon, but a true equal. Someone who could push me beyond the dog the Shepherdess created me to be.” He looked down, silver eyes bitter as he searched Josef’s face. “I’d thought it could be you.”
“I am your opponent,” Josef said, stepping out of the commander’s weakening grasp. “But I am not your enemy. Not any longer.”
“If you are my opponent, then finish what you started,” the Lord of Storms growled. “My life is at an end one way or another, swordsman. The Shepherdess saw to that. All I ask is that you pay me the same kindness I showed you in our first battle. I offered you a clean death then. An honorable death, facing the sword of a worthy foe. Will you deny me the same?”
Josef’s eyes flicked down. The Lord of Storms’ body was falling apart. His legs were dissolving, as were his arms. Rolling black clouds licked at his face and neck, but no more lightning surged through the thunderheads, and no more thunder rolled through his voice. The Lord of Storms had told the truth. He was dying, fading away.
With a deep breath, Josef closed his eyes and nodded. “So be it.”
The Lord of Storms stepped back, dropping his hands to his sides. He raised his chin as Josef stepped into position, his face calm, his body relaxed even as bits of him blew away. The Heart of War was heavier than Josef could ever remember it being as he raised it to his shoulder, readying the swing. But then, just as his foot slid forward to begin the strike, a loud cry cut the air.
“Stop!”
Josef and the Lord of Storms both jumped as Miranda ran forward, her hands shooting out to grab the Heart of War’s blade.
“Did I not tell you to stay away?” Josef shouted, but Miranda didn’t seem to hear him at all. She was shoving herself between the men with seemingly no care at all that the Heart of War was hanging right over her head.
“How can you do this?” she cried.
Josef opened his mouth to explain that the League man had demanded it, but then he realized the Spiritualist wasn’t yelling at him. She was yelling at the Lord of Storms.
“Why are you throwing your life away?” she shouted. “You were the one who was betrayed! Why should you die here obeying the Shepherdess’s command?”
The Lord of Storms bared his teeth. “Don’t lecture me, woman!” he snarled. “I have the right to choose my own death, and I chose to fall in the line of duty as a warrior should!”
“Don’t talk to me about duty!” Miranda snarled back. “Duty means giving your life freely to a good that’s greater than yourself. It means never compromising your principals, and never letting those who rely on you down. But you said yourself that you were made to be a sword. That you served thousands of years as a sword, and now that the Shepherdess has no use for you, you’ve been cast aside. That’s not duty; that’s abuse! You aren’t forsworn. She abandoned you. What are you doing, giving your life in service of a horrible woman who cares nothing for the world she’s supposed to protect?”
The Lord of Storms closed his eyes in frustration. “Listen, human, and try to understand. It’s done. The Shepherdess is done with all of us. She’s already pulled me apart. You can sit there and judge all you like, but until I dissolve it is my life, and if I wish to end it with dignity, that is none of your concern.”
“That might be true if you were any other spirit,” Miranda said. “But you are the Lord of Storms, and you do have a duty. Not to the Shepherdess or whatever purpose she made you for, but to the League you founded. Those men swore themselves to your service. My Spiritualists swore to use your powers to protect the Spirit World. Every one of those oaths binds you to this world and everything in it, and if you truly are a man of honor, a man of duty, you would understand that your job is to live, not to die here to assuage some sort of wounded warrior’s pride!”
“You think I don’t want to live?” the Lord of Storms roared, looming over her. “You think I want to blow away here, like this? Stabbed in the back by that traitorous woman? I want vengeance, Spiritualist! But I cannot have it.” He held up his hands, now little more than vague shapes outlined by thinning clouds. “I am dead already. A walking corpse with too much power to lie still just yet. What would you have me do? Lead the League to battle while I fade away? If I die here as a warrior, my League and your Spiritualists will at least keep the power I’ve given them, but if I try and linger on I’ll only sap that away and make everything worse.”
Miranda blinked at him in confusion, but then he reached out and grabbed her, his cloud hands swirling uselessly around her arm before gathering enough strength to thrust her away.
“Go,” he said as he pushed her. “Leave me in peace.” When she fell sprawling in the snow, the Lord of Storms’ cold silver eyes flashed back to Josef. “Finish it,” he growled.
“No!” Miranda shouted again, slamming her fist down.
All at once, Josef felt something grab his legs and he looked down to see he was encased in stone up to his waist. A second pillar of stone shot up behind him, grabbing his arms at the wrists and biceps. He started struggling at once, but though he was strong enough to break any of the thin bands of rock, the angle was such that he could get no leverage at all. He could only stand there and thrash uselessly against the bindings.
The Lord of Storms was faring no better. The moment the rock shot up, a great pressure filled the air, and the Lord of Storms froze in place. His eyes were rolling, but he couldn’t move more than an inch in any direction.
Panting, Miranda pushed herself to her feet. Her face was pale and wild, her hair flying behind her, but the pressure didn’t let up and the Lord of Storms didn’t move. He could only stand and stare as she walked forward and thrust out her hand.
“You want to live?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “Then live. I offer you power for service, strength for obedience, and part of my life for yours.”
The Lord of Storms didn’t answer. He just stood there, clouds swirling. The wind howled in the silence, blowing around Miranda who stood still as stone with her hand out, palm up.
“Why?” he said at last. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you deserve to
live,” Miranda answered. “Because you are still a great and powerful spirit, something we have precious little of, because you are the sworn enemy of that which is coming to devour us all, and because it is my duty. You are a spirit who has been done great wrong. It is my sworn obligation to help you, and I mean to do so.”
Her hand reached out farther, fingers straining. “If the Shepherdess tore you apart, I will hold you together. If you need to draw power, I will give it to you, but you will not die. Now accept the oath. Let me be the strength she took from you, and together we will stop what is about to happen or die facing it, like warriors.”
The Lord of Storms bared his teeth. “This bargain may well kill you, girl. You have a lot of spirits drawing on your life already, and even sundered as I am, I’m a lot bigger than your pet sea was.”
Miranda lifted her chin. “I don’t care. If you are large, than I shall be larger. I am human. Spirits tell me over and over again that my power is not limited to my physical size but to the breadth of my will, and it is my will that you should live.” She stepped forward again, shoving her hand through the swirl of clouds that was all that remained of the Lord of Storms’ chest. “Accept the oath.”
The League Commander glared hard at her, and then bowed his head just slightly. The pressure vanished immediately, and Josef was suddenly glad of the stone around his legs. If the rock hadn’t been holding him up, he would have fallen flat in shock at the sight of what happened next.
As soon as the pressure vanished, the Lord of Storms dissolved into a swirling mass of cloud, and then the whole valley went stark white as a bolt of lightning the size of a tree trunk crashed down from the clear sky and struck Miranda, lighting her up from the inside. The bolt lasted less than a second, and then Miranda fell forward, collapsing face-first into the trampled snow.
The moment she hit, the stone holding Josef fell away, and he collapsed beside her, staring at her unmoving body until Gin’s body blocked his view. The ghosthound circled his mistress, snapping at Josef’s legs until he moved them. The hound nudged the girl with his nose and began to whine. When the Spiritualist didn’t move, the whining grew louder until Gin raised his head with a howl so full of fear and loss that even Josef’s spirit-deaf ears caught its meaning. Instinctively, he turned away from the mourning ghosthound and looked instead at the place where, only seconds earlier, the Lord of Storms had stood with his arms open, waiting for death.