by Rachel Aaron
Svena stared at the spot for a moment, and then she nodded, stretching out her hands.
“I still say you’re all overreacting,” Amelia called from the couch. “This is Marci we’re talking about. Hundred bucks says she’s already busted herself out by the time you get there.”
Julius sincerely hoped she was right. But while he’d never doubted Marci was incredibly capable, she was still alone with an enemy no dragon dared face, and she was very, very mortal. A fact Julius had never been more aware of than he was right now.
“Brace yourselves,” Svena warned, raising her hands.
“Ooh!” Amelia said, pulling herself to the edge of her couch. “Do it without the snow this time so I can see how it works!”
“Not for all the gold in your mother’s treasury,” Svena growled as she slammed her hands down. A wave of snow rose at the same time, whiting out Julius’s vision as the wind came to blow them all away.
***
Marci had had it with this stupid mountain.
From the moment Algonquin had left, she’d tried everything she could think of to get her and Ghost off of the ledge/lobby combo where the Lady of the Lakes had left them. She’d tried blasting, she’d tried digging, she’d tried flying (and had the bruises to prove it), she’d even tried opening a portal using the Kosmolabe and what she remembered from watching Amelia, all to no avail. Frustrated as she was, Marci was tempted to blame herself for that, but the real problem was the cliff.
At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a hollowed-out rock face spruced up with a bit of interior decorating. The longer Marci picked at it, though, the more obvious it became that there was a lot more going on here than just furniture and cliffs. It wasn’t a ward, exactly. There was no detectable wall or barrier. It was more like a resistance, an invisible, implacable force that got stronger the further she pushed out from the little square of tamed mountain where the Leviathan had set them down.
“Ugh, so frustrating!” she cried, throwing the now-empty breakfast tray off the ledge. Naturally, it didn’t get caught by the invisible whatever-it-was. The tray just sailed out into the night, falling for an impressively long time before finally hitting the rocks below with a distant clatter.
“See?” she cried, throwing out her hands. “How does that even work?”
It could be a ward tuned only to you, Ghost suggested from his perch on the table.
“Ah, but a ward would still flicker when something passed through it,” she said, glaring at the empty—and obviously not glowing—air. “This is some weird spirit mumbo-jumbo I’ve never seen.”
Don’t look at me, her cat said, lashing his tail. I free people, not trap them.
“I shouldn’t even be trapped,” Marci argued, flopping down on the cold stone. “I’m supposed to be a Merlin! What kind of super mage can’t escape from an unmonitored prison cell?”
She can’t keep you locked up here forever, Ghost said helpfully. Unless Algonquin wants you to starve, someone has to be by to feed you. We’ll just jump them and get out then.
“I’m pretty sure she’ll have thought of that,” Marci said. “Anyone careful enough to wrap us in a bubble like this isn’t going to do something stupid like have an easily attackable guard bring us breakfast.” She looked down at her hands, which were scraped, dirty, and chalk covered after hours of fruitless casting. “What I want to know is where all this Merlin power is when I actually need it. ‘Cause so far, all it’s done is make my life complicated.” She glanced back at her cat. “I don’t suppose you’ve gained any insights on that score while I’ve been beating my head against invisible walls?”
If I had, I would have told you, Ghost assured her. But again, I don’t know any more about this than you do. Sometimes I hear things and they feel right, and then I know. Most of the time, though, your guess is as good as mine. It’s not like there’s another Mortal Spirit around to tell me how this works.
Marci knew that feeling all too well. “I just wish I knew what a Merlin actually did,” she grumbled, hauling herself up off the stone to go flop into the chair beside him. “It’s hard to figure out how to be something when you don’t even know what it looks like or how it works. So far, most of what I’ve heard is ‘like a mage, but better.’ How am I supposed to work with that? I’m already being the best mage I know how to be.”
Maybe it’s me?
“It’s not you,” she said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. “You’re a great spirit.”
That’s not what I meant, Ghost said. On the jet, Raven told you that the path to Merlin was different for each person.
“How do you know that?” she asked. “You were asleep.”
I live in your head, he reminded her. I know what you know. Think about it, though. The potential to become a Merlin is defined by a human making a connection to a Mortal Spirit. But if that’s the case, it only makes sense that the same spirit would be the key all the way through. Otherwise, why would they be required in the first place?
Marci had never thought of that before. Now that she’d heard it, though, she couldn’t believe she’d seen things any other way. “I think you’re right,” she said, eyes going wide. “The only reason people think I can be a Merlin at all is because of you. Of course you’d be the secret to actually getting! It makes total sense!” It also explained why every Merlin’s journey was different, because every Merlin bonded with a different Mortal Spirit. “You are such a clever kitty!” she cried, scooping Ghost into her arms.
He yowled in protest, but considering he could have phased through her arms and gotten away at any point, Marci didn’t believe it. “So what do we do now?” she asked when she finally put him down. “You’re the key to all this. What do you need?”
I don’t know, he confessed, looking out over moonlit spirit land toward the faint glimmer of the DFZ on the horizon, which looked much farther away than it really should have. But it probably has something to do with my purpose.
Marci frowned. “Your purpose?”
Every spirit has a purpose, he explained. A thing we’re meant to do, like how Algonquin was born to watch over her waters or how Raven minds his flock. I don’t have land or animals, but even when I knew nothing, I heard the calls of the dead.
“You’re talking about your domain,” Marci said. “The place where your magic comes from.”
Ghost nodded. The lost and forgotten have always called to me, and I’ve always been compelled to reply. But there are so many, I can’t answer them all. His glowing blue eyes slid back to her. If I had more power—
“Not this again,” Marci said, crossing her arms over her chest. “We went through this deal-with-the-devil stuff already, and it nearly got me under your boot.”
But it’s different now, Ghost said, swishing his tail. That pompous UN mage went on and on about how Merlins are spirit/mage pairs. What if the reason I haven’t seen our path yet is because you’ve been holding me back from my purpose?
Marci set her jaw. “That’s not—”
You did promise you’d help.
He had her there. When she’d bound him again after Vann Jeger, she’d promised to help the Empty Wind do his work in exchange for going back to a more equal relationship. Since then, she’d nearly gotten him killed dragging him all over for her business with Julius. He’d steadfastly stayed by her side the whole time, saving her life at least twice in the process, but Marci hadn’t kept her end of the bargain even once. Just thinking about that made her feel terribly guilty. Guilty enough to give his idea a shot at least, especially since none of hers had worked.
“Okay,” she said with a long breath. “What did you have in mind?”
Ghost jumped into her lap. Ever since Algonquin mentioned I was an accident, I’ve been wondering, why me? Why did I rise faster than whatever carefully groomed spirit she’s growing down there? I was thinking it was just luck like she said, but now I understand. I wasn’t born by accident. I rose because everything Algonquin’s built in
this city—Reclamation Land, the skyways, the borderlands, everything—rests on the bones of the dead. The pleading voices of those who died in her flood and were forgotten were what woke me in the first place. If we harness that anger, if we grant the dead of Detroit the vengeance they cry out for, we might be able to take it back.
“Take what back?” she asked. “Reclamation Land? The DFZ?”
All of it, Ghost said, his blue eyes boring into hers. Everything she has.
“Whoa, there,” Marci said, jerking back. “We’re talking about becoming a Merlin, not overthrowing Algonquin.”
Why can’t they be the same? he asked. Everything I know about Merlins I got from your mind, and the picture you’ve always had is a mage powerful enough to stand up to giant spirits like Algonquin. Someone who can lift humanity out from under the claws of the monsters who returned with the magic. That’s a Merlin to you, Marci, and overthrowing Algonquin fits right into that picture.
“It does,” she said slowly. “But you’re skipping the part you mentioned earlier about vengeance for the dead. That doesn’t sound nice.”
The cat’s eyes narrowed. It isn’t. That’s my part of this bargain. You get to overthrow a spirit who’s caused you nothing but harm, I get to finally answer the cries of my darling dead. It’s a win-win for both of us. An equal partnership. Isn’t that what this Merlin thing are all about?
Marci didn’t know. It sounded right when he said it, but as he’d reminded her, Ghost lived in her head. He knew what she wanted better than she did, and right now, Marci wanted nothing more than to finally become a Merlin and kick Algonquin’s watery butt until she evaporated. The plan he’d laid out satisfied both of those urges, but Julius must have rubbed off on her more than she’d realized, because even though she knew Algonquin deserved no mercy, any scheme that involved murdering someone to get her way—even a spirit—just didn’t sit right. There was also the part where Marci had barely managed to get Ghost back under control the last time she’d let him run wild.
That was long ago.
“Not that long,” she reminded him. “Less than a week.”
Long enough for everything to change, he said firmly. We’re different now. Both of us. I don’t want to master you and take control anymore. I want a partner, someone who will stand beside me and help me do the work I was born to do. He looked at her. You said that was you.
“It is me,” Marci replied. “I’m just…”
Afraid, she finished to herself. Afraid she couldn’t control it. Afraid of making things worse. Everyone kept saying how Mortal Spirits were insanely powerful, but they didn’t have to tell her that. Marci had felt the Empty Wind’s strength for herself numerous times now. If she gave him access to the pulsing magic that ran through Reclamation Land like a deep-sea current—power that put even the magic she’d pulled out of Vann Jeger to shame—how much more would he become? More importantly, how would she ever manage to stay in control?
You won’t, he whispered. You’ll just have to trust me.
Marci breathed out a long, deep sigh. There it was. There was no clever trick this time, no brilliant, last-minute scheme to save the day. If they were going to do this, then she was just going to have to trust her spirit. And herself for that matter, because Marci was also gambling that she could control more magic than she’d ever known could exist in one place. There was zero way of knowing how things would shake out, either. So far as she knew, no one had ever tried anything like this before. She could very well fry them both the second she tapped into the crazy magical engine that was Reclamation Land. If she didn’t try, though, they’d be stuck on this stupid mountain until Algonquin decided to let them out, which could mean forever.
That was the deciding factor. Worried as she was over all the unknowns, Marci hated dead ends even more. “Screw it,” she said, standing up and putting out her hand. “Let’s do this.”
A cold breeze whipped up around her, and the Empty Wind appeared where the cat had been, his blue eyes gleaming excitedly inside his empty helmet. “Together,” he said, his deep voice chilling her ears just as his fingers chilled her skin when he grabbed her offered hand. Master.
Marci jerked in surprise. He hadn’t called her that since right after Vann Jeger had died. Now as then, the word rang through them both like a gong, putting Marci firmly on top as she turned and plunged her hand—not into the barrier that had been her nemesis for the last several hours, but into the magic that flowed in and around it. The strange, thick magic she’d been steadfastly avoiding touching since they arrived. The magic of Reclamation Land itself.
The result was immediate.
The moment her mental touch brushed it, magic burst into her body like a fire hose, instantly filling her to the brim. It happened so fast, Marci was sure she was going to pop, but the Empty Wind got there first, sucking the magic down as fast as she could pull it in. And as he ate and ate and ate, Marci’s world began to change.
The cliff grew dimmer, the unnaturally bright moonlight fading to a dull gray then vanishing altogether. It was like what had happened when Ghost had protected her from Gregory, only this time it wasn’t just a few feet in a parking lot that changed. It was everything, a wave of bitterly-cold darkness that covered the land as far as Marci could see. But when she turned to ask the Empty Wind what it meant, she saw he’d changed, too.
He was still clearly not human. His face was still nothing but shadows beneath his helmet, but his body was no longer transparent, and his hand was now the same temperature as hers. She was opening her mouth to ask how that could be when she heard the voices.
They were soft to begin with, frustrating whispers on the edge of her hearing, but the more she listened, the clearer and louder they became. Hundreds, thousands, millions of voices calling out in every language imaginable, but while she couldn’t always understand what they said, their meaning was unmistakable. They were crying for help. Begging not to be forgotten.
“You hear them.”
She jumped in surprise. Even the Empty Wind’s voice was louder here, the deep bass vibrating through her chest. When she nodded, his glowing eyes smiled. “This is my world,” he said, looking down at the circling spirits, who now appeared as little more than shadows on the field below. “Here, they are the ghosts. We are what is real. Us, and them.”
He turned as he finished, dragging Marci with him as he came around to see—not the back of the cave where they’d been stuck for the last half of the night, but an endless, empty dark filled with an army of people Marci had never met. They were all different ages and ethnicities, but unlike the ghostly figures she’d seen in the Vann Jeger fight, all of these people wore modern clothing. They were also all dripping wet, and that was when Marci finally understood what she was looking at. These were the dead of Detroit, come to collect their due.
“Because of you,” the Empty Wind said, clutching her hand tighter. “They came for your promise. It’s because of you that I was able to bring them all here. Now, with your help, they will be answered at last.” He looked at her. “Are you ready?”
Marci opened her mouth to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make a sound.
“Because you are not dead,” the Empty Wind explained. “Speak anyway. I can hear you.”
Like this?
She jumped at the sound of her own voice echoing in his head, but the Empty Wind just laughed. “Like that,” he said, turning back to the cliff. “Just keep the magic flowing. I’ll do the rest.” He took a deep breath of the freezing wind. “Once more, are you ready?”
Marci tried to take a breath herself, but that didn’t work either. She really was the ghost in this place, but it didn’t seem to matter. The maelstrom of Reclamation Land’s magic was still there, pouring through her into her spirit. She gripped it tighter, answering the Empty Wind’s question with a burst of magic that made his whole body stiffen.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, looking over his
shoulder at the army behind them. “Come!” he shouted, raising his hand, which now gripped a spear. “It’s time to take back what she stole from us!”
Behind them, the wind picked up as the ghosts began to wail. The sound was so loud, even the endlessly circling spirits in the field below faltered, looking around for the source of the terrifying sound as the Empty Wind lowered his spear, his blue eyes narrowing to slits.
“Destroy it all.”
Wait! Marci cried, but it was far too late. The dead were already flooding past her, trampling the barrier that surrounded her mountain prison as they poured off the mountain and down into the valley below. And as she stood at the Empty Wind’s side, watching the beautiful spirits of nature flee for their lives before the wave of angry death she’d just helped unleash, Marci began to worry that she’d made the wrong decision.
Chapter 17
Like all of his clutch, Julius had grown up hearing stories of what was inside Reclamation Land. Most dragons painted it as a horrible place where Algonquin tortured their kind mercilessly, but privately, he’d always imagined it as a spirit safe haven crossed with an environmental clean-up project, hence the “reclamation” part. After Justin’s report, he still felt that was a pretty good assessment, and under different circumstances, he would have loved to see the endless forest and wild spirits his brother had described. Even in his panic over Marci and the inherent fear that came with charging into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold, part of him was still unaccountably excited to see something truly wondrous and magical that simply didn’t exist anywhere else in the world. But when Svena’s snowstorm faded, what he saw was nothing like he’d imagined.
“What the—”
As promised, Svena had dropped them at the edge of the ring of deep forest. According to Justin’s map, this meant they should have been just under the tree cover looking down on a field full of spirits and other wonders. But while the field and the trees were there, there were no spirits to be seen. Even the moon was hidden behind thick, black clouds hovering low above what appeared to be hundreds of thousands of human figures walking down a mountain.
