by Rachel Aaron
Nico flinched. “Over there. I had to—”
Eli waved his hand dismissively. “If you’re still human it couldn’t have gone that badly. Get them; we’re leaving in just a moment.”
Nico nodded and hurried across the bloody stone with a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach. Eli had never been this sharp toward her.
He’s using you because he can’t move the swordsman alone, the Master said calmly. How practical.
Nico closed her mind to the sound and walked over to where her manacles were lying in the center of the black circle of stone. She hesitated. She could feel the absence of the stone’s spirit here like a hot brand across her body. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and grabbed her manacles, slapping them on as fast as she could. They began to buzz like insects the moment they touched her, and she felt some of the pressure ease from her mind. When they were all in place, two on her wrists, two on her ankles, and the large ring around her neck, she put her coat on properly, keeping the demon arm inside beside her rather than chance putting it through the sleeve. Throwing her hood up so her face was hidden, she turned away from the circle of dead stone and ran to where Josef had dropped his weapons. These she picked up lovingly, gathering the bandoliers of throwing knives, the sheathed swords, and the long-handled daggers he wore in his boots into her arms before hurrying back to Eli.
The thief nodded when she approached, but he didn’t look at her. He was staring down the ravine they’d climbed to get here, his face invisible in the dark.
“There’s no chance we can get him down that, is there?”
Nico looked down at the steep mountainside they’d scrambled up only hours ago, before everything went wrong. “No.”
Eli sighed. “Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that.” He stopped and looked at her, eyes flashing in the dark. “What I’m about to do, you will tell no one.” His voice was quiet and deadly serious. “Swear to me on Josef himself you won’t.”
Nico stepped back. “What are you going to do?”
“Just swear,” Eli said.
“I swear,” Nico answered quickly. If it would save Josef, she didn’t care if Eli turned into the Master of the Dead Mountain himself.
“Right.” Eli turned away. “I’d say don’t look, but there’s really no point anymore. Just don’t say anything. I haven’t done this in a while.”
Nico nodded, but Eli wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. He walked to stand at Josef’s feet and, after a deep breath, closed his eyes. Nico leaned forward, expecting to feel the hot rush of his open spirit crash over her like it had before, back with the bears, but she felt nothing but the cold wind. So far as she could tell, Eli was just standing there. Then, without warning, the air rippled in the dark in front of him, and a thin, white line appeared. It grew as Nico watched, cutting soundlessly through the empty space until it was as tall as Eli himself. When it reached the ground, it turned slightly, and a hole opened. Nico blinked in amazement. Hanging in the air in front of them was a door in the world. Through it she could see what looked like the inside of a small cabin, complete with a cold stone fireplace and green trees dancing outside the tiny window. She stared unbelieving even as a warm breeze floated through to brush her skin. Nico breathed it in, smelling pine and the musty scent of unused furniture. It was real, but where it was Nico had no idea.
Eli nodded and turned to grab Josef’s arms again. His movement snapped Nico out of her gawking, and she scrambled to get the swordsman’s legs. Using Josef’s arm to move the Heart, for there was no other way to move it, they placed the black blade on his chest. Then, grunting with effort, they lifted sword and swordsman and carried them through the hole in the air.
Nico gasped as she stepped through. The biting cold of the pass vanished instantly, replaced with crisp air that felt almost balmy by comparison. Their boots clomped on the wooden floorboards, tracking in dirty snow that melted quickly as they lugged Josef through the gap in the world. The second Eli was through, the opening vanished, fading into the air with only the lingering smell of ice and stone to prove that it had ever been.
They were standing at the center of a large, well-appointed cabin filled with evening sunlight. Paintings of rustic scenes hung on the rough timber walls above dusty racks of wine bottles and sheet-covered furniture. There were even gold candlestick holders on the mantel above the large stone fireplace.
“Stop gawking and help me get him on the bed,” Eli gasped, pulling Josef’s shoulders toward a narrow bed in the corner. Nico scrambled to help, and together they set the swordsman down on the heavy blankets.
“We have to stop his bleeding,” Eli said, pushing past Nico toward a chest at the other end of the room. He dug into it, pulling out a jug of clear liquor, bandages, and a surgeon’s thread and needle. “You’ll have to sew him up,” he said. “Help me turn him over.”
“No,” said Josef’s breathy, pained voice.
Eli and Nico were at his side in an instant.
“Don’t be stupid,” Eli said. “And don’t talk. We’re going to get you patched up.”
“No,” Josef said again, shaking his head. “The Heart is telling me it’s going to handle things.”
“What?” Eli cried. “Is the pain making you delusional? You can’t even hear spirits and you’re telling me your sword is promising to un-fillet your back?”
“Something like that,” Josef whispered. “The Heart also says that it has a lot more experience in keeping swordsmen alive than you do, and that you should mind your own business.”
Eli jerked back. “And does it have anything else to add?”
“Yes.” Josef’s voice began to slur and fade. “Don’t move me for two days.”
“Two days?” Eli shouted. “We’re supposed to sit here and watch you bleed for two days?”
But Josef didn’t answer. He lay on the bed, eyes closed, his chest moving in long, shallow breaths beneath the Heart of War, which lay across his chest from chin to knees with his white-knuckled hands still clutching the hilt. With a long, angry sigh, Eli pushed away from the bed and began shoving the first-aid supplies back into the trunk. Nico watched, biting her lip as Eli walked over to the dusty wine stand, grabbed a bottle at random, and flopped down on the floor.
When it was clear he was more interested in digging the old cork out with one of Josef’s throwing knives than giving her vital information, Nico asked the burning question. “Where are we?”
“Safe,” Eli said, popping the cork at last. “Well, safer. We’re still in the Sleeping Mountains, though not as far north as we were, and much farther east, about fifty miles from the coast. This is one of Giuseppe Monpress’s many hideouts. The old fox set them up years ago as refuges of last resort in case things got too hot, which explains the extravagant furnishings.” He cast a disapproving eye at the richly appointed wine rack. “He could never stand to be without his luxuries. We’re still technically inside Council lands, but no patrols come up here.”
Something about the way he said that made Nico distinctly uncomfortable. “Why not?”
Eli took a long drink from the bottle. “Because this is bandit land,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “The Council can claim it all they want, but without influence in the area, it’s all talk. Izo is the real power here.” He took another swig. “Bastard has a bounty higher than mine.”
“Will he be a problem?” Nico said.
“Shouldn’t be,” Eli answered, leaning back against the cabin wall. “Not unless we make trouble for him, which we might have to.” A strange expression passed over his face. “I didn’t just choose this place because it was safe and far away. This is also the closest spot I knew to where Sted is.”
Nico’s eyes widened. “It worked then! You learned where Sted is!” She couldn’t believe it. Her plan had worked! But Eli didn’t look happy.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Among other things.”
Nico flinched at the bitterness in his voice. The black arm began t
o ache beneath her coat, and Nico clutched it as subtly as she could. It didn’t matter, though. Eli was staring into his bottle with a focus so intense, she got the feeling he was not looking at the wine so much as avoiding looking at her. A cold, heavy feeling settled at the base of Nico’s stomach, and she scooted closer to Josef, tilting her head down so she didn’t have to watch Eli staring anywhere but her.
You always knew he would turn on you. The Master’s voice was soft and coy. It was only a matter of time.
Nico put her head on her knees. Outside, the sun sank lower. It was going to be a long two days.
Benehime stood in her white nothing, a furious scowl on her perfect white face as she stared at the man hanging suspended by his thumbs in the air before her.
You presume too much! she hissed, her voice like cut glass as she paced back and forth in front of the Lord of Storms’ dangling body. I told you to stay away. I told you to let it be. And still you disobey!
On her last word, she slapped him across the face. Wherever she touched him, his body broke apart into black, flashing clouds. The Lord of Storms cried out, his voice more gale than scream.
You are my creation! she roared. Mine to do with as I see fit! To use in what work I choose! A tool does not act without its master, or have you forgotten what you are?
She lowered her hand, and the Lord of Storms slowly pulled himself back together. But when his face reformed from the thunderheads, his murderous expression was even harsher than hers.
“It is you who has forgotten, Shepherdess,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You knew the Daughter of the Dead Mountain was still alive. You knew, and you let her wander free, all because of your shameful intoxication with that thief! Have you forgotten what happened the last time she awoke? Have you forgotten your duty?”
I forget nothing! Benehime began to stalk back and forth in front of him. Do you think I fear the demon? The little worm trapped under a rock he can never lift? In the five thousand years since I tore the spirit from the mountain and flung the dead stone on top of him, the creature has never managed to get so much as a tendril over the edge of my seal. The seeds he sends out are a nuisance, nothing more. And even if he succeeded, even if a seed managed to grow large enough to be a real threat, I would just trap the new demon as I trapped its father.
“And at what cost?” the Lord of Storms yelled, straining against the unbreakable force of the Lady’s will that held him in place. “I don’t know if you’ve taken time from your little one-sided love affair to notice, but this world isn’t what it was, Shepherdess! This isn’t some nuisance seed grown too big. If the Daughter of the Dead Mountain were to fully awaken and start feeding in earnest, we would need another great mountain to keep her down, and we both know you no longer have one to spare. Have you forgotten what’s at stake?”
He jerked against his bonds like he was trying to throw his arms out, but all he managed was to set himself swinging slightly in her hold. Still, from the way her eyes narrowed, it was clear Benehime didn’t need the gesture to know what he meant.
All around them, at the edges of her white world where she did not look, something was moving. Everything was still perfect, still flawless white, but beyond the white perfection, something pressed against the walls of her world. Long claws scraped at the barrier like knives against a sheet stretched taut, probing and searching for weakness. The movements were small, faint, gray shadows, but they were everywhere, pressing in on every inch of the Shepherdess’s domain.
“They never get tired, do they?” the Lord of Storms whispered. “That is the fate that awaits all of us if you forget your duty.”
I forget nothing, the Lady said, layering cold power into the words until he writhed beneath her voice, his body flashing between flesh and storm. But even her displeasure was not enough to keep the Lord of Storms from raising his head to met her eyes again.
“Everything I do.” He spat the words at her. “Everything I’ve ever done has been in your service. If you will not let me do my job, then dissolve me back into wind and water right now, because I won’t stop until all demonseeds, all threats to your domain, are crushed, even those who hide in your favorite’s shadow.”
Enough! The Lady’s voice echoed through the white nothing, and the Lord of Storm’s body dissolved into cloud, his cry of pain becoming a low rumble of thunder.
You would be so lucky if I dissolved you, she said, glaring at the thunderhead floating where the Lord of Storms’ suspended body had been only a second before. But you belong to me, and I have no desire to toss you aside just yet. I have been too soft with you for too long. Go and blow out your anger over the sea. We’ll see if some time as a mindless storm will help you remember the obedience you owe me.
She waved her hand and the thunderhead vanished. Baring her teeth at the place where he had been, the Lady whirled around and stalked back to her sphere.
In all her white world, the sphere alone was vibrant and colorful. Inside that perfect bubble, the world, her world, hung in suspended beauty. Continents floated on a flat, glassy sea, their wrinkled faces covered with tiny forests, golden deserts, and rolling plains dotted with tiny grazing creatures. White-capped mountains rose from the forested hills, their snow-covered peaks cutting through the clouds like islands on a second, sky-bound sea. Deep beneath the oceans, sea trenches scored the heavy layers of stone that filled the lower half of the sphere, cutting down to the glittering red flow of the magma that pooled at the sphere’s lowest point.
Benehime’s eyes flicked past all this with the contempt born of long familiarity, darting past the mountains and the glittering rivers to a wild stretch of sea. The moment she focused on the sea, the Lord of Storms appeared above it. In his true form, he was the size of a small continent and utterly mad, a roving war of wind and water. As she watched, the storm spun in circles, eating the lesser clouds, whipping the sea into a froth. Storm surges forty feet high began to wash over the southern tip of the eastern continent, soaking the desert beneath a brine of terrified water. Benehime watched as a medium-sized city was washed under, and then she turned away in disgust.
Who was he to think he could tell her things she did not already know? She was the Shepherdess, had been the Shepherdess since the beginning. Everything within the sphere was hers alone to direct, to control. In the balance of power between her and her brothers, this was her domain. She turned back to the sphere, looking not at the growing storm, but north to the wooded foothills of the white-capped mountains.
She laid her hands lovingly along the curve of the sky. Angry as she was, there was opportunity here. The Lord of Storms had disobeyed her, raised his sword to her favorite, but he had also forced Eli to use the power she’d given him to travel her sphere freely for the first time in years. He’d shown he was willing to use gifts he’d sworn to her face he would never touch again in order to save his swordsman. What other slips might he be willing to make if pressed hard enough?
A smile spread across her white lips. Now that her darling had decided to play with things she’d warned him against, life was going to be a great deal more difficult for him. Usually, this would be the point where she stepped in to help, but not this time. This time, the Lady decided, she would make Eli come to her. This time, she’d let him stay on the hook, let things get as bad as they could get. Only when he was broken and defeated would he realize what he had thrown away. That, when he begged for her help, was when she would save him and bring him home at last to her side.
Benehime sank down beside her sphere, watching the northern forest where, somewhere, her favorite was sleeping. Behind her, ignored, the claws continued to slide over the edge of her white world while far, far away, too distant for any ears except her own, something screamed in endless hunger. Benehime turned her head and leaned forward farther still, deftly focusing her attention on the tiny world inside the sphere until it was all she knew.
CHAPTER
11
Gin was growling deep in his throat.
Miranda reached down and pinched him, hard, but that only sent the growl deeper into the dog’s chest and did nothing at all for the predatory glare the ghosthound fixed on the overdressed man riding in front of them. She pinched him one more time, then gave up, flopping forward against the prickly fur of the dog’s neck. The growling had been going on for nearly two weeks, but she couldn’t really blame Gin. She would growl at Sparrow too if she had the throat for it. Traveling with the man was insufferable.
“He’s too slow,” Gin mumbled through his long, clenched teeth. “He packs like an idiot, can barely set up a camp, wakes up too late, and he eats too much.”
“Why are you still complaining?” Miranda said. “It didn’t help yesterday; it didn’t help two weeks ago. What makes you think it’ll help now?”
“We’d have been there last week if that fool didn’t take two hours every morning getting his clothes right.” Gin’s fur bristled. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and that idiot acts like he’s going to a party every night. And he won’t stop flickering.” The dog shook himself. “If looking at him didn’t make me feel ill I’d eat him just to make it stop.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. That again. She’d stopped pressing the dog for an explanation of Sparrow’s “flickering” days ago, but getting him to stop complaining about it was like asking him to stop growling—impossible. She sat up again, looking over Gin’s ears at the path they’d been following since yesterday. Sparrow was well ahead of them, guiding his nervous horse between the thick trees like a Zarin dandy leading a shy partner through a new and intricate dance. He was certainly dressed the part. His plumed hat, orange silk coat, and chocolate-brown trousers tucked into gold-tooled boots would have been at home in any Zarin ballroom. Here in the ragged woods of the mountain foothills he looked like a misplaced tropical bird.
Gin shook his head, and the growling was back, stronger than ever. “Tell me again why we can’t just leave him in the woods.”