by Rachel Aaron
Benehime’s cruel smile grew sharper. Because, darling, you seem to be laboring under the false assumption that the spirits are your friends. That they should be coddled and protected. But I made humans to be the spirits’ enemies, not their allies. You were created to be the lesser but immediate threat. You are the feint, the ploy that kept the spirits from dwelling on the real danger. You are a tool, my tool to keep my spirits in line, and as such, you owe them nothing. Not your love, not your friendship, certainly not your life. I, on the other hand, am your entire world.
She closed the distance between them, her white hair rustling behind her. This close, Eli could feel the heatless burn radiating from her skin, but he forced himself to remain still, staring up at her cold, white eyes.
I am your creator, she whispered. Everything you have, every power, every breath, every clever thought in your head, I gave you. I gave you everything, Eliton, and you threw it back in my face. Now the world is collapsing, and you’ve come running back like nothing happened. But you’ve abused my generosity too many times for me to be lenient now, Eliton. If you want to leave this place alive, you must prove your sincerity.
She held out her hand and closed her fingers, leaving the first pointing down. Kneel, she commanded. And beg. Beg your creator for forgiveness, and we shall see if I am feeling merciful.
Eli took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold, stale air of the Between, and then, slowly, he fell to knees. Benehime’s eyes lit up as he leaned forward, lowering his head to the floor.
“I am begging,” he said against the white ground. “But I’m not begging for myself.”
Benehime tensed. What?
“I thought you loved me,” Eli said, sitting back up with a glare. “Forever and always, that’s what you promised.”
Why are you saying this now? Benehime cried, stepping back. You had your chance, Eliton. I gave you everything and you turned your back on me.
“You gave me nothing!” Eli said. “You promised me everything, but it was all empty. You only loved me on your terms.”
That’s not true, Benehime said. I loved you more than you can comprehend.
“You’re right. I don’t comprehend it,” Eli said. “I don’t understand how you can say you love me and yet stomp on every happiness I find. You’ve threatened me, threatened my friends, taken my lava spirit, and your excuse for all of it was that you loved me. Is it any wonder I rejected your sort of love?”
You understand nothing about love! Benehime screamed. What is your suffering compared to mine? Do you know what I sacrificed for you? What I gave up to have you with me?
Eli leaned back, looking up at the White Lady. “And do you still want me with you? Do you still love me?”
Benehime’s face softened. You know I do, darling.
Eli spread his arms. “Then prove it. Don’t do this, Benehime. You cared for this world once, so go to your brother and help him repair it. Make a new Hunter who can guard the shell before it cracks completely. Go out into the world and show yourself for what you are: our Shepherdess, our guide. Make this world a paradise. Give me a reason to love you rather than a reason to hate you, and I will be yours forever. I will love you, cherish you, and I will never leave your side again.”
His words echoed in the whiteness. Above him, Benehime stood frozen, her eyes so wide he could see the full circle of the silver shadow that rimmed her irises. At last, she fell to her knees, her white hair spreading around her with a whisper.
Eliton, she murmured, reaching out to pull him to her. For the first time in many years, Eli leaned into her embrace, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Please, Benehime,” he whispered against her burning skin. “You were everything to me once. You were my beautiful Shepherdess, the guardian and guide for the spirits. We could go back to that, you and me. It’s not too late. Please, if you love me at all, help me now. Open the veil, go to the Weaver, and help save the world you were created to love.”
He felt her arms tighten around him, and for a moment, Eli thought it had worked. But then her fingertips dug into his skin, and that hope shattered.
No, she whispered. I can’t keep on like this. Not even for you. I’m done with this world, Eliton. Done playing nursemaid to its stupid, sleeping spirits. Done holding out hope for a creator who’s never coming back. She turned her head and kissed him on the lips. Come away with me, she pleaded. I’ll be anything you want, darling, but not here. Not anymore.
Eli sighed deeply. “Then I’m sorry.”
You don’t have to be, the Shepherdess said, her eyes tearing up. I love you. Forget this world. Come with me and we’ll start over. I promise. All will be forgiven.
“No,” Eli said. “Not this.”
And then his hands shot up and yanked the glowing pearl from her throat.
The second he touched it, several things happened. Benehime’s scream filled his ears, a surprised gasp that turned to an enraged shriek, but Eli was too overwhelmed to pay much attention. As soon as his fingers had wrapped around the Hunter’s seed, blinding white light filled him. At first he felt nothing but shock, and then shock turned to anger as a surge of power ripped through him, nearly tearing him apart.
The Hunter’s rage exploded into his mind. The raw fury at his sister’s betrayal mixed with the bitter anger of regret. It pounded through Eli’s veins, filling him to bursting, pulsing so strongly he couldn’t move even as Benehime’s hands shot forward to snatch the prize back.
Just before she reached him, another burning hand locked on Eli’s shoulder and tore him away. He flew through the white nothing, landing on his back with such force that even the Hunter’s fury fell silent. In the stunned calm, he looked up to see the Weaver. The old Power stood face-to-face with his sister, his gnarled fists clenched as his long, white hair writhed over his body like a nest of snakes.
Go! he shouted.
Eli tried to ask where, but before he could even open his lips, he saw Benehime draw something from the fall of hair at her back. It was long and so black it ate even the Between’s whiteness as she wrapped her hand around it, brandishing it like a dagger at her unarmed brother.
Go! the Weaver shouted again, raising his hand to catch the demonseed as it fell. Now!
Eli didn’t wait to be told again. He scrambled to his feet, hands clenched tight around the Hunter’s burning seed, and ran. As he plunged into the blank whiteness of the Between, he heard a sound so loud it drowned out even the Shepherdess’s enraged scream. It was a great crack, like a thousand panes of glass had all broken at the same time, and the second Eli heard it, he knew. Knew without looking that the sky of the crumpled sphere floating forgotten behind Benehime had cracked at last.
The white Between bucked under his feet, and suddenly Eli could see the walls of Benehime’s endless world at last. They were ripping, the whiteness tearing like rotted cloth as the black shapes so horrible Eli’s mind couldn’t comprehend them began to claw their way through.
As the Between ripped, fear hit Eli like a punch in the gut, mixing with the Hunter’s rage and his own exhilaration until he felt he would fly apart. But he didn’t. He ran. He ran like he had never run before, dodging the black, grasping hands as they reached blindly for him. He ran straight for the place where he had come in, trusting his feet to remember the way back in this world without markers. When he found it, he gripped the Hunter’s white seed and, raising his leg with a furious roar, kicked a hole in the white world.
The veil shattered like glass as he struck it, and Eli began to fall.
Miranda wrapped her arms around herself and burrowed deeper against Gin’s chest. Now that Eli was gone and the white gate had closed, things in the snowy valley were growing… tense. No, tense wasn’t the right word. Tense was how she felt when she had to report bad news to Master Banage. This was a massacre waiting for an excuse.
They’d formed a rough triangle—Josef and Nico stood at the place where Eli had vanished, dividing their glares between
the Lord of Storms, who was standing beside Miranda with his arms crossed over his healed chest, and the demon. For his part, the Lord of Storms was locked on the Demon of the Dead Mountain, and it was only Miranda’s death grip on their connection that kept him from attacking. The demon was standing with his hands on his hips and looking far, far too pleased with himself for Miranda’s taste. As his grin widened, Josef’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, and Miranda felt she’d better say something before the four of them tore each other to bits.
She was still trying to decide what that something was when a loud sound made everything else insignificant. It was a crack. A sharp squeal like glass breaking, but infinitely larger. As it faded, Miranda could only wonder what in the world was large enough to make a sound that enormous when it broke. And then, with a horrible sinking feeling, her eyes turned up.
The breath fled from her lungs. There, running along the warped and crumpling sky, was a crack. It ran up from the eastern horizon, weaving back and forth in wide jags before finally thinning to nothing just beyond what had been the sky’s zenith. The crack sparkled in the sunlight, its edges gleaming white.
For several seconds the world was silent. The wind didn’t blow, the snow didn’t stir, even the spirit panic seemed to have stopped. Everything was staring at the crack in the sky. And then, with another booming crack, a second fracture split off from the first.
This one grew as Miranda watched, running across the distended sky like lightning toward the western horizon. It stopped just at the edge of the afternoon sun, the tail end of the crack splitting the top of the yellow orb. As the sun cracked, its light skewed, and that was when Miranda began to panic in earnest.
Even though the Weaver and the Shaper Mountain had warned her, even though she knew this was coming, there was something about seeing the world lit from that new, unnatural angle that her mind simply could not wrap itself around. All she could do was raise her shaking hand, catching the broken sunlight with her rings, and wonder if there was a sun at all. Was anything real, or was the world she’d taken for granted her whole life little more than a painted backdrop?
She didn’t realize she was screaming until the Lord of Storms’ hand wrapped around her neck. She heard Gin’s snarl far in the distance, but the ghosthound was drowned out by the thunder that was suddenly pounding through her head. The Lord of Storms lifted her by the throat and leaned in until his pale face and waving black hair were all she could see. The rage behind his flashing eyes overwhelmed her, but when he spoke, the words were low and controlled.
“If you fall apart on me now, Spiritualist, I will take everything you have to give until you die,” he whispered. “Do you understand?”
There was no hatred in the threat, no malice. It was simply a promise to do what must be done, and the calm reality of it snapped Miranda’s jarred mind back into place. She swallowed against his grip and nodded. The Lord of Storms nodded as well and dropped her onto Gin’s back. She scrambled, nearly falling, but Gin’s nose nudged her into place.
“Never do that again,” he snarled once she was seated.
“I do what I need to, pup,” the Lord of Storms said, looking back at the sky. “See you don’t get in my way.”
Gin snapped at the Lord of Storms’ leg before Miranda could stop him. But the hound’s teeth slid harmlessly through his body as his leg dissolved into storms. The dog growled and went for another snap, but Miranda grabbed his ear.
“Let it be,” she commanded. “Now’s not the time.”
Gin bared his teeth one last time, and then turned back to the sky. They were all looking up now, the demons, the humans, everyone. Josef had drawn the Heart, Miranda noticed out of the corner of her eye. What he meant to do with it, she had no idea. Compared to the crack in the sky, even the Heart’s enormous blade looked small and useless. They all did. She bit her lip as the sky began to whine under the pressure. Even if Eli was successful, even if a new Hunter was born, how were they ever to stop this?
“Stand firm,” the Lord of Storms commanded. “Here they come.”
Miranda tangled her fingers in Gin’s shifting fur as the crack splintered and then splintered again, shooting across the sky like branches from a tree. The new cracks spread in long lines, carving the bulging sky into a network of shards until the blue was almost gray from the strain. With each crack, the groaning, glass-on-glass sound of the sky grinding against itself grew worse. And then, just when Miranda was sure she could bear the creaking no longer, the sky shattered.
After the cracks, the actual break was startlingly quiet. At the place where the three largest cracks met, the sky simply fell apart. The blue shards rained down, dissolving to nothing before they hit the ground with a soft sigh. The sound that came next, however, Miranda knew she would never be able to forget no matter how desperately she tried.
As the sky broke, a scream burst into the world. It wasn’t a spirit’s scream, or a human sound, or even the cry of an animal in pain. It wasn’t like anything Miranda had ever heard. The sound was strangely empty, like a chord missing its key note. It was almost like the dissonance of Nico’s voice, but a million times more. And then the fear hit Miranda like a punch in the gut.
Even though she was expecting it, she nearly fell over. Fear rolled over the world like a sticky fog, and the spirits, already worn to breaking by the earlier panics, began to howl anew. Miranda wanted to howl with them, but she forced the fear away, clamping down on her own terror as well as her spirits’, and though every instinct she had was screaming at her to run and hide, she held her ground and raised her eyes.
Where the sky had broken was a hole filled with the deepest black she had ever seen. It was like looking into the opposite of light, and Miranda had the feeling that even if she were to take the sun itself and shine it through, it still wouldn’t be enough light to show her what was on the other side. That would actually be fine with her. Miranda didn’t want to know what lived in such darkness. Unfortunately, her ignorance was short lived. For one long second, the black hole hung empty in the sky, its edges vibrating with the strange screaming, and then, a clawed hand shot through the opening and plunged toward the mountains.
It was enormous. Truly enormous and utterly black, its great fingers opening to grasp as it plummeted. On and on and on it reached until the arm was as long as a mountain range, its claws each as large as a city. But long as it was, the arm was so thin compared to its length that it turned Miranda’s stomach. Thin and sickly, the arm fell down through the air until, at last, the enormous clawed fingers dug into one of the distant mountain peaks. A new scream drowned out all the others when it connected. A scream of triumph and endless, mad hunger as the hand tore the mountain from its roots and began lifting it back toward the broken sky.
Even this far away, even with all the other sounds, Miranda felt the mountain’s scream in her bones. The stone sobbed with impotent fury, gripping the ground even as the claws tore it away. It kept screaming even as the claws dragged it into the air, crying and begging for help. The cries shot through her like arrows, but Miranda could do nothing except watch, horrified and helpless, as the hand pulled the mountain up toward the dark.
And then, in a flash, everything changed again.
Miranda felt the blow before she saw it, a great iron wave of power that knocked her into the snow. It swelled and vanished in the space of a second, and the enormous hand split in two.
The demon’s scream doubled, the alien sound twisting from triumph to enraged pain as the arm jerked back. But it was too late. The cut was razor straight across the back of the monstrous black palm. The beetle-shiny flesh peeled away in a line as three claws fell free and began to plummet, taking the mountain with them. The severed demon flesh dissolved like smoke as it fell, and by the time the mountain crashed back into the ground, there was no trace of the severed claws at all save for the long, burned imprints of the demon’s hand on the mountain’s slope.
Miranda stared a second longer and then
turned her wide eyes to Josef as he lowered the Heart of War. She could still feel the enormous power rolling out of him like heat off a bonfire, but the swordsman’s stance was even and calm as he watched the enormous arm writhe and slither back up toward the splintered sky.
“You always did have a flare for the barbaric,” the Demon of the Dead Mountain said, his handsome face broken by a sharp-toothed smile.
Nico snarled at the comment, but Josef just set the Heart point first into the snow at his feet. “Any time you feel like holding up your end, feel free.”
The Demon of the Dead Mountain began to laugh, a two-toned cackle with that missing harmonic that made Miranda’s skin crawl, and the more he laughed, the less human his face became. His cheeks split as his teeth lengthened, the white crowns fading to jagged, black points. His clothes stretched and changed as his body grew. He doubled in size, and then doubled again, and with every inch he grew, the fear that crawled over the world thickened.
It took forever, and yet it was finished sooner than Miranda would have thought. One minute the demon had stood before her looking too much like a young Banage to trust; the next all she saw was the monster. It towered over them, so large and so terrifying she couldn’t see the whole of it at once.
Unlike the thing outside of Izo’s, this demon was no mad, stumbling horror. Nor was it like the hand in the sky, all thin desperation and hunger. This was a monster in its prime, cold and compact and radiating predatory menace. Its arms were triple-jointed as Den’s had been after the change, and the creature balanced delicately on them as it rocked back on sturdy legs braced by nine-foot claws that dug into the screaming ground. Its head was a long, hard muzzle covered in a glossy black shell and filled with row after row of jagged black teeth. On top, three enormous, golden eyes narrowed in anticipation as its six-clawed fingers tapped against its snout.
When the demon had finished growing, its yellow eyes roved down and focused on Josef. The swordsman glared back without flinching. The demon smiled at his bravado, showing its thousands of teeth, and moved its gaze to Nico. Unlike Josef, she shrank under the unblinking stare, and the demon’s smile grew wider.