by Rachel Aaron
He was released when you smashed the paradise, the Weaver said. He was deathly exhausted. Apparently he’d been fighting the stars, trying to get back to you. After he was free, he refused to leave until I let him return to your body. I hope you don’t mind.
“How could I mind?” Eli said, laughing as he ran his fingers over the burn’s circular pattern. Everything really was coming back together, the loose ends tying themselves off. All but one.
He glanced at Miranda, buttoning his shirt again. “Where’s…” He trailed off. Somehow, it was hard to say her name. Fortunately, Miranda caught his meaning.
“The Shepherdess is gone,” she said. “After losing both her paradise and her favorite, she stopped fighting. The Lord of… I mean the Hunter took her with him outside the shell. I don’t know what happened next, but the demons were driven back and the Weaver was able to repair the shell.”
Not fully, the Weaver said, his voice despairing. I am not the Creator. I have patched the cracks, but the shell will never be truly whole again. And though the new Hunter bears the seed of the old, he will never be as strong as that which the Creator wrought with his own hands. He closed his white eyes and rubbed his forehead with tired hands. So many spirits lost who can never be replaced. The trust of the world is shaken, and our Shepherdess is gone. We are diminished forever, I fear.
“Surely not forever,” Miranda said.
Forever, the Weaver said again. We avoided destruction today, Spiritualist, but the problems that drove my sister mad still remain. The spirits will continue to grow smaller, sleepier, and stupider in their confinement, perhaps even faster now that we’ve lost so many. I can weave the shell stronger, but I can’t make new spirits. Even the Shepherdess had only one act of creation, and she spent that long ago.
“Making us,” Eli said.
The Weaver nodded and sat back with a deep sigh. This sphere is too small to support a true spirit ecosystem. It was meant as a lifeboat, not a home. Unless the Creator returns to breathe new energy into this world, the best we can hope for is a slow, peaceful decline.
He shook his head, white eyes locking sadly on Miranda. It may be soon enough that you humans find yourselves alone in this prison. And though wizards will continue to be born, there won’t be anything awake enough left to talk with. The Hunter will hunt and the Weaver will weave, but our jobs only keep back the tide. This is the spirits’ world, not ours, and in the end even the Shepherdess couldn’t make them thrive.
Miranda flushed, and Eli knew she was about to argue. The thought made him grin. Trust a Spiritualist to argue with a Power of creation. But before she could open her big mouth, a noise made them all jump, even the Weaver.
It was a demon scream, a sound Eli could now recognize instantly, much to his dismay. But not just one. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands, all screaming in the distance. Beside him, the Weaver closed his eyes, his fingers twitching frantically as he searched for the hole in the shell. But the white world was flawless again, as though the last few hours had never occurred.
Just when Eli was growing well and truly stumped, he spotted it. There, a dozen feet away, a black line was falling through the air. It fell quickly, forming a door in less than a second, and a blast of cold hit Eli like a blow to the face. He jerked back, lifting his arm to shield against whatever might be coming. He’d barely gotten it over his nose when the Lord of Storms stomped into the shell.
It was strange to see him so white, Eli thought idly as the black door closed behind him, cutting off the screams like a knife. Everything else was the same, the sword, the coat, the long hair, the insufferable expression. Only the color was missing, and with it, any trace of kindness, though Eli wasn’t sure the old thunderhead had possessed any of that to begin with.
The Weaver stood as the Hunter approached. Welcome back, brother.
The Hunter didn’t answer, just thrust out his fist. As he opened his hand, a soft, white radiance shone from his palm. Eli blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought the Between or its Powers could get any whiter, and yet the light kept shining from the Lord of Storms’ hand. He held it there until the Weaver offered his own hands, and then he dumped the light unceremoniously into the old man’s cupped palms.
Eli sucked in a breath as it came into view. The thing that fell from the Lord of Storms’ hand was a perfect pearl, its smooth surface glowing whiter than the moon through alabaster. It rolled as it landed in the Weaver’s hands, filling his palms with light.
The moment the white pearl was transferred, the Hunter turned and marched away. The black line appeared with a jerk of his hand, and even though Eli expected it this time, the cold mixed with the screams made him cringe anyway. The Hunter didn’t even flinch as he strode into the dark, but he did pause at the threshold.
I can see your fear, old man, he said, his low voice rumbling like thunder. Make no mistake. I am not your brother, but, like him, I was also born to fight the demons. He smiled, his white eyes glittering with pure, bloody joy. I will not fall.
I know you shall not, the Weaver said. And I will still name you brother, if you will have it.
The Hunter turned back and strode through the door. As you like. See you in a hundred years.
The Weaver nodded. Good hunting, brother.
The Hunter was gone before he finished, the black line vanishing behind him without a trace. The Weaver sighed and looked down at the light in his cupped hands. All is not lost, it seems.
Eli leaned forward, arching his neck to see, despite the pain. “That’s the Shepherdess’s seed, isn’t it?” When the Weaver nodded, he added, “What are you going to do with it?”
There’s no choice but to make a new Shepherdess, the Weaver said. We must be three, else we are incomplete.
“This from the man who was going to lock her away,” Eli said with a snort.
The Weaver’s eyes narrowed. The Shepherdess would still have existed then, he said. A dead Power does us no good. She must be reborn.
“Fine, fine.” Eli groaned. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
Actually, the Weaver said. I mean it to be you.
Eli jerked up so fast he was staring the Weaver in the face before he remembered sitting was bad. He fell back again, fighting the nausea all the way down. When he had himself under control, he glared at the Weaver and said, in what he considered a very measured tone given the circumstances, “Are you out of your muddled white mind?”
It’s the logical choice, the Weaver said. As a star, you’re already familiar with the spirit’s power structure and politics. Of all her favorites, you were certainly the most popular, and since you’re a powerful human wizard who bore her mark for years, you carry a large fraction of her will with you already. That should help ensure that as much power as possible survives the transfer. Really, I can’t think of anyone better suited for the task.
Eli closed his eyes. “Listen, old man, I can’t believe I’m having to explain this, but the Shepherdess or Shepherd or whatever is the Power responsible for every spirit in existence. Obviously you’re not a fan of my work, or you’d have realized by now that, overlooking today’s extremely uncharacteristic heroics, I’m probably the least responsible man in this oversized spirit preserve. Ask Miranda, she’ll vouch for me.” Eli glanced at the Spiritualist, who dutifully nodded her head. “See?”
The Weaver sighed. I’m sure you would be—
“No, I wouldn’t,” Eli said. “Even if I would make a fine Shepherd, I don’t want the job.”
The Weaver stared at him. Didn’t you hear me? There must be a—
“I don’t care,” Eli said, jerking his thumb at his chest. “Irresponsible, remember? And anyway, I’ve done my time. I’ve spent the last decade trying to get away from this boring white whatever. If you think I’m coming back of my own free will now that Benehime can’t make me, you’re crazier than the Shepherdess. I don’t care how much power is in that glow rock, count me out.”
The Weaver stared down at the glowing pearl in hi
s hands. If you won’t take it, I don’t know who else could.
“I do,” Eli said. “And I cast my vote for Miranda.”
Eli bit back a grin as the Spiritualist jumped. Actually, the more he thought about this new solution, the better he liked it.
“It’s an inspired choice,” he went on. “I mean, she works all the time, she’s stubborn as a mountain, and she always has the spirits’ best interests at heart. I can’t even count how many times she’s nearly killed herself for some ungrateful ball of water or hunk of rock. Illir the West Wind is half in love with her already, so that’s the Wind Courts right there, and they’re always the worst. Even the Shaper Mountain respects her, and let’s not forget that you have her to thank for the fact that we have such a hardworking new Hunter. If she hadn’t bound the Lord of Storms, we might have ended up with Josef in the job, and then the world would really have been doomed.”
The Weaver tilted his head, staring at Miranda with new interest. For her part, the Spiritualist looked like someone had just dunked her in freezing water. Her mouth kept opening and closing, and she was staring bug-eyed at Eli like she was trying to choose between being flattered or punching him in the face. Since his face was one of the few parts of his body that didn’t hurt, Eli hurried to clinch the deal.
“She’s a wizard strong enough to power the Lord of Storms, who’s also utterly, almost pathologically dedicated to serving the spirits,” he said solemnly. “And I guarantee you she’s a much better choice than I am. In fact, I don’t think you could create a better candidate for Shepherdess if you tried.”
If that is true, then I would be glad to offer you the task, the Weaver said to Miranda, his face breaking into a warm smile. Considering all you have done for us already, Spiritualist, I would be honored to call you sister.
Miranda just sat there, her eyes flicking between the Weaver, Eli, and the white seed in the Weaver’s hands. Eli could almost see the wheels turning in her head, and he kept his face earnest, willing her to accept. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said she would be a good choice, but he’d left out the part where such a choice would benefit him doubly. If Miranda became Shepherdess, the world would get a competent minder for the first time in centuries, and the Spirit Court would lose the only person they had who could possibly catch him. He’d miss their rivalry, true, but it was a small price to pay for the good of the world, and he was in a heroic mood today.
Finally, after almost two minutes of silence, Miranda took a deep breath, and Eli burst into a wide grin. She was going to do it. He could see it by the way her mouth was set in that responsible frown of hers. But as he was celebrating in his mind, planning all the work he was going to do in Zarin now that the Spiritualist was out of the way, Miranda opened her mouth and ruined everything.
“No.”
No? the Weaver said.
“No?!” Eli shouted at the same time.
Miranda glared at them both. “I won’t be Shepherdess, but not because I don’t want the job. All my life I’ve had to face the knowledge that I can’t help every spirit, that I can’t fix every bad thing. As Shepherdess, I could, and that’s very tempting, but it’s also wrong.” She lifted her head, chin set at that stubborn angle that made Eli’s heart sink. “I can’t accept because I don’t think there should be a Shepherdess at all.”
Eli buried his face in his hands, but the Weaver said what he’d meant to anyway.
What in creation are you going on about?
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now,” Miranda said. “When the Shaper Mountain showed Slorn and me his memories, he showed us the world as it was before the Shepherdess. A world of change under a sky full of stars. A world without Powers.”
We needed none, the Weaver said. The Creator was with us then.
“The Creator didn’t manage the day-to-day life of the spirits,” Miranda said. “He was too busy creating what the demons destroyed. But the spirits, the winds and mountains, the seas, they lived free. As I understand it, the lessening wasn’t a problem then. Everything was awake and aware. Spirits grew instead of shrinking, and even though they lived under the constant threat of demon attack, they thrived. It was only after we entered the sphere that things started falling asleep, right?”
True, the Weaver said.
“How could they not?” Miranda said, holding out her hands. “There was nothing to fight, nothing to do, and nowhere to go. Even the demons weren’t a problem anymore, and the Shepherdess took care of everything. You said yourself that this was a lifeboat, not a home. Everything was under emergency rule, and as the emergency became the new normality, the spirits fell into complacency. With nothing to do, no power of their own, and no escape from the Shepherdess who demanded their loyalty rather than earning it, what other choice was there but to bury themselves deep and fall asleep?”
The Weaver started to speak, but Miranda looked down, clenching her fists in her lap. “I love the spirits,” she said. “I love serving them. I love protecting them. Ever since I first heard their voices as a little girl, I knew they were my calling. A Spiritualist was the only thing I’ve ever wanted to be, and I will not accept that slowly falling into a stupor is the only possible future for the spirits I’ve sworn to protect.
“But the Shepherdess got one thing right,” Miranda continued, lifting her hands to her chest. “Us. I’ve heard my whole life that she made us blind, but that’s not all she made us. We each have a bit of her will. That’s how we’re able to command the spirits, because we each carry an echo of her power.”
And that’s why one of you must become the Shepherdess, the Weaver said.
“No,” Miranda said again, shaking her head. “I’ve always noticed that spirits who live around humans are more awake than spirits who live in solitude. If the world really was lessening like you say, then all the spirits should be falling asleep at the same rate, but they’re not. A Shaper’s work stays awake for years in the hand of a good wizard, and in Zarin even the cobblestones wake easily. Do you see what I’m saying?”
No. The Weaver sighed.
“I do,” Eli said. He pushed himself up on his elbows, biting back the nausea so he could look Miranda in the eye. “You’re saying spirits are falling asleep because there’s nothing to do. They’ve been locked up in this tiny box with a Shepherdess who spent her whole life trying to keep them calm. She told them what to think and what to say and gave them no challenges and no real threats other than humans, and then never for more than our short life spans.” He felt himself starting to smile. “Horrible as Gaol was, everything there was awake. The threat of the duke kept them that way.”
“Right,” Miranda said, her face lighting up. “Of course, I’m not saying we should terrify the world, but I am saying that if we want spirits to stop sliding into sleep, if we want the world to grow again rather than settle, we’re going to have to change the way we do things. Now is not the time to thrust another Power back on top of the heap. We have to give the spirits power over their own lives again, like it was always meant to be.”
That would be a disaster, the Weaver said. Spirits are panicky in the best of times. They’ll tear each other apart without a Shepherdess.
“Only because they’ve been told for so long that they can’t live without her,” Miranda said heatedly. “Of course spirits are panicky. They have no power. But I have seen spirits stand against demonseeds even when they can’t do anything. Spirits as a whole may be prone to panic, but that’s true for humans, too. Individually, any of us can be brave if we have cause to stand firm. I’ve worked as a Spiritualist all my adult life, and the one thing I’ve learned over and over is that the spirits are all different. Some are clever, some are helpful, some are stupid, and some are cruel, but they’re all individuals, and they don’t deserve to have their choices made for them without their say, even by someone who has their best interests at heart.”
What would you have us do, then? the Weaver said. Let the Shepherdess’s power ro
t?
“No,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “Give it to the spirits. You said it yourself. This is their world. For five thousand years they’ve had an all-powerful mother telling them how to live. Their complaints were ignored and their voices silenced whenever they questioned her rule. Under such a system, how could the world do anything but stagnate? Well, I say enough. This world may have been created as a temporary shelter, but it’s our home now. If we want to keep living in it, we need to accept the truth that things change, and so must the Powers if they are to keep serving the world they were created to nourish and sustain.”
Change how? the Weaver said. This world stands on our work.
“On you and the Hunter’s work,” Miranda said. “But the world doesn’t need a Shepherdess any longer. If you want to avoid spirits sinking into sleep, then you shouldn’t use that seed to create a new Shepherdess. You should use it to give all spirits a fraction of the Shepherdess’s will, just as humans have. That way, just as one human’s will cannot dominate another’s, so will all spirits be free of human control.”
Impossible, the Weaver said. They will crush you because you cannot see or hear enough to understand.
“So take away our blindness,” Miranda said. “Let humans see and hear as the spirits do so that we can all understand the world we live in. With will, the spirits will no longer be helpless victims of humans or demons. They’ll be able to stand against whatever comes, just as we do. Share the Shepherdess’s power, give the world a reason to wake up, and we will make this lifeboat into a world we can all thrive in. A world where no one has power over another simply by virtue of being human. Our world, spirits, humans, and Powers, all working together to make a place worth saving, a world that can grow.”
The Weaver closed his eyes. You ask a great thing, girl.
“The world is fading,” Miranda said. “I could ask nothing less.”