by Rachel Aaron
She turned back to the gathered spirits. “My ancestors made a huge mistake. We were afraid, and in our fear, we took what was not ours. We stole the magic and locked it away because we knew we could live without it and you couldn’t. That was wrong, and on behalf of all the Merlins—past, future, and present—I am sorry.”
Her words were met with silence. Not angry silence or dismissive silence. Shocked silence. As it stretched, Marci realized with a start that no human had probably ever apologized for the drought. Not before, not during, and not since. But while she was certain one apology wasn’t going to be enough, the silence was the best reaction she’d gotten so far, so Marci kept going.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, lowering her head. “I’d give those years back to you if I could, but all I can do is promise to learn from my ancestors’ mistakes. They let fear push them into doing something incredibly stupid that hurt everyone. Now Algonquin’s doing the same thing on an even bigger scale. She’s let her hate of Mortal Spirits convince her to end everything, including us.” She looked at Wolf. “I know you have good reasons to be angry. The bad blood between the land and animal spirits and the mortal ones stretches back farther than human civilization. It’s impossible to reconcile something that big in one conversation, or even one lifetime, but if dragons and humans can work together for this, surely we can too. I’m not asking for peace or forgiveness. We can work on those later. All I’m asking right now is for you to help me ensure that there is a later, because the world won’t make it another six hours without your help.”
Marci held her breath as she finished. That had been her best shot. If an apology plus the threat of mutual annihilation didn’t change their minds, nothing would. Even Raven seemed nervous, hopping foot to foot on her shoulder as they waited.
“I will help,” said the bloody man, breaking the silence. “I have to survive, or I’ll never find out why I’m like this.”
“I’ll help as well,” said the woman with the nettles. “I don’t know what I do yet, but I will aid you if I can, Marci the Merlin.”
With that, all the Mortal Spirits began to nod. Some of them violently, some awkwardly, as if they still weren’t sure what they were agreeing to. But while many of the Mortal Spirits clearly weren’t all there yet, none of them walked away, which was good enough for her.
The other camp was less optimistic. Now that her eyes had gotten used to the dark, Marci could see just how much smaller the crowd of land and animal spirits was. They were still huge compared to her, but next to looming shadows of the Mortal Spirits, they looked tiny. Small and scared, their dark shapes huddled around Wolf and Vann Jeger, who were still the only two who’d come forward. But while the whispers from their group were angry, Algonquin must have been the only one who was truly willing to die to spite the Mortal Spirits, because a few minutes later, Wolf stepped forward.
“What do you need of us?”
It took everything Marci had not to collapse in relief. “Your magic.”
It didn’t seem possible, but Wolf looked even less pleased. “How much?”
There was no good way to say it, so Marci just spit it out.
“All of it.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before every spirit balked.
“All our magic?” the bloody man cried. “But we just got it back!”
“We’re not giving all of our magic to a mortal!” Vann Jeger yelled at the same time. “What guarantee do we have you won’t keep it and start the drought all over again?”
“Come on,” Marci snapped, glaring at him. “You, of all spirits, should know how much I like being a mage. Do you really think I’d give that up? Give up Ghost?” She scoffed. “No way. And yes, I really do need all of your magic. We’re talking about banishing something as big as Algonquin. That takes world-class power, and in this world, that means you.”
“But how will you use it?” the bloody man asked. “Where will we go?”
“The only circle big enough is the Heart of the World,” Marci said apologetically. “I know you just got out of there, but I swear it’ll only be for a moment. Once I’ve gathered your magic, I’ll cast the banish and blow up the Leviathan, scattering Algonquin’s power and everything else. Since you’re all immortal spirits, you’ll just fall back into your vessels to rise again once things calm down, but the Nameless End will be left high and dry. When that happens, our plane will shove him back out into the void between worlds, and we’ll all be free.”
The spirits began muttering again as they discussed this. Marci waited impatiently, biting her lip as the whispers dragged on and on. Then, as if he were just as fed up with waiting as she was, Vann Jeger threw up his arms and stomped over to Marci.
“No one ever won a battle putting off the inevitable,” he said, his words breaking like ice as he put out his giant hand. “When this is done, you shall again be my sworn enemy, dragon lover, but for now…” He trailed off, staring up at the pillar of the Merlin Gate with a mix of hate and resignation. “Show me where to jump.”
“Right this way,” Marci said, turning around so he wouldn’t see her triumphant smile. “Just let me see if Myron has the landing pad ready.”
***
Myron did not have the landing pad ready. Marci wasn’t sure how long she’d spent talking to the spirits—time flowed a bit wonky in the Sea of Magic, and it wasn’t as though her soul had a watch—but it felt like enough time to patch up a circle. When she returned to the Heart of the World, though, Myron and the DFZ were still elbow-deep in preparations. Soggy bits of spellworked leaves and rocks were scattered everywhere, making the island mountaintop look like a yard after a big storm. When Marci nudged one of the branches aside so she’d have somewhere to stand, Myron shouted at her, stomping over to put the branch back exactly as it had been.
“Please tell me you’re almost done,” Marci groaned, squeezing her feet into the one bit of clear mountaintop left. “I’ve got every spirit in the world lined up to help, but it won’t count for squat if they’ve got nowhere to go.”
“Sorry to lag behind,” Myron snarled. “But I’m doing my best to pull off the impossible here, and that’s hard enough without you stomping all over my matrices.”
“He’s in a bad mood,” the DFZ informed her. “His first attempt didn’t work.”
“If you want to be useful, get in here and help me hold all of this in place,” Myron said, gesturing at the interlocking maze of wet leaves he’d layered over the top of the broken seal.
Marci tiptoed through the chaos and put her hands where he pointed. “How much longer do you—”
“It’ll be done when it’s done,” he snapped as he laid down another layer. Sticks, this time. “I’m using the mountain’s existing spellwork to save time, but it took forever to gather materials with everything being underwater. Shiro was helping, but then he had to go deal with the situation downstairs.”
Marci frowned. “What’s happening downstairs?”
“The Leviathan’s tentacles are starting to creep into the base of the pillar,” the DFZ said, handing another armload of sticks to Myron.
“Are you kidding?” Marci cried frantically. “This place was built to be a magical collection chamber! If he gets his slimy tendrils into the Heart of the World, he’ll be able to suck all the power out of our plane like he’s drinking it through a straw!”
“Why do you think I’m working so fast?” Myron said testily, nudging the last stick into position. “There, that’s done. Now I just have to…” He spread his hands over the layer of leaves and twigs, closing his eyes as the green light began to rise from the maze of spellworked foliage. As it lit up, Marci felt the magic working through every part of the submerged mountain below, but it wasn’t until the stone itself began to shift that she realized what Myron had done.
“Holy—” She backed away, eyes widening as the leaves and twigs began to burn themselves into the seal, forming a patch over the crack that had split the stone circle. “Yo
u reordered the mountain?!”
When they’d first arrived, one of the things that had blown Marci away most about the Heart of the World was how everything—the rocks, the trees, the leaves, the grass, even the pebbles—was crafted from spellwork. The whole place was a giant circle, the biggest spell ever made, and Myron had just made it bigger. He hadn’t just taken spellwork from below and repurposed it. He’d woven his own school of labyrinth magic into the work of the ancient Merlins, adding new spellwork not just on top of, but into the finished matrix of an already functional circle. That was hard enough to do with normal spells, but Myron had done it on the most complicated magical artifice ever constructed. Even more impressive, he’d done it in hours rather than years, but the most amazing part of all was the fact that it worked.
The crack in the stone seal that had once held all the world’s magic was healing in front of Marci’s eyes, the labyrinth of leaves and twigs melting into the spellworked stone as though they’d always been part of it. When the green light finally faded, the stone circle at the center of the mountain was whole once again. Not perfect—the patch job was obvious—but it held together when Marci knocked on it, and she looked up at Myron in awe.
“That’s impressive.”
“I’m aware,” Myron said, brushing off his hands with a superior smile. “I am the world’s greatest mage.”
Any other time, Marci would have rolled her eyes. This time, though, Myron had earned his bragging, and she applauded accordingly. “Bravo.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking around. “So where are these spirits you were boasting about?”
Now it was Marci’s turn to show off. She walked to the line in the stone that served as the temporary Merlin Gate since the official entrance was underwater and grabbed hold of the magic that kept the barrier closed. The spellwork yielded easily to her now that she was officially a Merlin, allowing her to peel the bright air back like a curtain to reveal what was waiting in the chaos outside.
Raven flew through first, followed immediately by Vann Jeger. The bleeding man came in third, his bloodshot eyes wide as he looked around at the island in wonder.
“Is all of this yours?” he whispered to Marci.
“It’s ours,” she replied warmly, turning to Myron. “Did you remember to build an entrance into your seal?”
“Of course,” Myron said as he gave the giant stone circle a shove. “Hop in.”
Marci’s jaw dropped. The very first time she’d come up here, she’d thought that the circular stone at the center of the mountain looked like the cap on a well. Now, she saw that she’d been right. The giant seal—which had always felt as solid as the mountain itself whenever Marci had touched it—moved easily when Myron pushed it, sliding aside like it was on tracks to reveal a shaft that went straight down into the stone below.
“It was a well,” she said breathlessly.
“More like an access port,” Myron replied. “You don’t put water into a well. But this is by far the easiest way into the Heart of the World’s holding chamber. So, as they say in your country”—he pointed down the deep, dark hole—“Geronimo.”
“No Native American says that,” Raven chirped as he hopped to the edge of the pit. “It is big down there, isn’t it?”
“It held all the magic in the world at one point,” Marci reminded him. “But I promise it won’t be for long this time.” She turned to the doorway where the other spirits were waiting. “We won’t even put the seal back on. I just need you to lend me your magic for a few minutes, and then you’ll all be returned to your vessels.”
The dark shapes shuffled nervously, but Vann Jeger pushed his way to the front. “Enough coddling,” he growled, shoving Raven aside. “I am not afraid.” He glared down at Marci. “I am the immortal hunter, and I will be back to hunt you and your dragon again, in this life or the next. For now, though, I will do what must be done.”
With that, he stepped off the edge, dissolving into water as he fell into the dark.
Marci held her breath, waiting for the splash at the bottom, but she didn’t hear a thing. The spirit was simply gone, eaten by the mountain below.
“That was anticlimactic,” Raven said, fluttering up so the other spirits could see him. “All right, you all saw where the Geirangerfjord went, so let’s hop to! The world won’t save itself.”
“Who are you to give us orders, thief bird?” Wolf growled, pushing his way through the door. “If you’re so sure, let’s see you go in.”
“I was about to,” Raven said, fluffing his feathers as he landed at the edge of the pit. Then, as he was turning to go in, he paused to look up at Marci. “We’re betting it all on you,” he whispered. “Don’t fail us, Merlin.”
Marci opened her mouth to swear she would not, but Raven was already gone, the beat of his wings vanishing as he plunged into the dark.
After that, there was nothing else to be said. One by one, the spirits marched through the Merlin Gate, their huge forms shrinking to human scale so they could squeeze through the doorway and jump down the well inside. The bloody man went after Raven, then Wolf dove in, then the crone with the nettles, then a tree Marci didn’t recognize, then something that looked like an eel with a man’s face.
On and on they came like a silent parade of imaginary monsters. Some—the animals mostly—were easy to recognize, but most Marci couldn’t have named if she’d tried. Word must have spread while she’d been waiting on Myron, because there were even more spirits waiting outside than she’d seen while she was pleading with them. Hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of spirits tromped through the door she held open. Every time Marci thought that must be all, more would appear, and as they jumped one by one into the holding circle that was the Merlin’s mountain, the raging sea outside began to retreat.
It happened so gradually, Marci didn’t notice the change at first, but after an hour of watching spirit after spirit disappear down the hole, she looked up to see that their tiny island was no longer tiny, or an island, but a mountain once again. Down below, the cliffs were back, and the tops of the green trees were visible beneath the churning water. Bit by bit, the sea fell, retreating down the Merlin’s green mountain until she could see the white courtyard where they’d first entered, and then the Merlin Gate itself.
But it didn’t stop there. As more spirits poured themselves into the Heart of the World, the Sea of Magic sank lower and lower. By the time her hands began to burn from holding open the door so long, the water was shallower than Marci had ever seen it, leaving the Leviathan’s gnarled roots exposed like black worms across the seabed from horizon to horizon. She was trying to wrap her head around just how much of the Nameless End was down there when Shiro hauled himself up the now dry stairs looking like he’d just lost the fight of his life.
Marci handed the door to Ghost and ran to him. The shikigami fell over when she reached him, collapsing to the stone like a pile of wet cloth. “Are you okay?” she cried, rolling him onto his back.
“No,” he gasped, grabbing her hands. “I kept him out of the Heart of the World, but…” His dark eyes met hers. “He is bigger than anything I could have imagined, Merlin. Bigger than all of us. What we see here, what he’s done, it’s just a fraction. He will crack this plane open and eat us whole. We cannot stop him.”
“Don’t say that,” Marci said angrily. “We can still win.”
“Nothing can win,” Shiro said, shaking his head. “This pillar reaches to the very bottom of the Sea of Magic, its base anchored in the wall of our plane itself. When I went down to make sure he did not enter, I caught a glimpse of what waited outside.” He started to tremble. “I saw him, Merlin. Saw what should never be seen. And now—” He cut off with a shudder, his hands desperate as they grasped hers. “No one can beat this. He is the end of all.”
Marci cursed and looked back at the line of spirits, which seemed to be winding down at last. Below her, the pillar-shaped mountain of the Heart of the World stood as high and dry as a dock po
st at low tide, its spellwork stretched tight as a drum trying to hold all the spirits that had crammed themselves inside. There were still a few puddles left in the black-riddled seabed outside—spirits who’d been too afraid or stubborn to come—but for all intents and purposes, the magic of the world was here. The spirits had answered her call, and Marci had to believe that was enough.
“I don’t doubt what you saw,” she said, turning back to the guardian. “But you’ve been claiming things were impossible since I met you, yet here we are. I didn’t come this far to fail now. We will beat this, Shiro. We will banish the Leviathan and take back our plane, and there’s nothing anyone—not Algonquin, not the Black Reach, not even the End itself—can do to stop us.”
“I hope you are right,” Shiro said quietly. “I know you are not, but I hope.”
Marci squeezed his shoulder and rose to her feet, turning around to see Myron standing between the Empty Wind and the DFZ, the only two spirits left.
“So,” the mage said, looking down at the well, which was now filled to the brim with magic. “What now?”
“What do you mean ‘what now?’” Marci asked angrily. “We hammer the Leviathan.”
“That was the plan,” Myron said nervously. “But now that we’ve got all the magic, someone has to actually cast the banish, and I’m not entirely sure how that’s going to happen without one of us burning themselves to a crisp. We’ve got the most sophisticated casting circle ever constructed, but even the best spellwork still needs a mage to operate it, and no one’s ever handled magic on this scale before.”
Marci gaped at him. “Shouldn’t you have brought this up earlier?”
“I did think about it,” Myron said. “But to be perfectly honest, I didn’t think we’d get this far. And if we did, I figured we’d just wing it since casting the banish is by far the easiest step of this endeavor. Now that I’m actually seeing just how much magic we’re dealing with, though…” He trailed off with a shrug. “I have no idea how we’re going to do this.”