by Rachel Aaron
When the time came, Sara wouldn’t have a chance to use her control, Sparrow thought as he reached the Citadel’s main floor. When he was done, Sara wouldn’t know what hit her. That thought made him grin until his face ached, drawing suspicious glances from the noble hangers-on that clogged the Council hallways. Sparrow happily ignored them, picking up his pace as he started up the stairs leading to the tallest of the Citadel’s seven towers, his whistling growing louder and more cheerful with every step.
The Lady’s summons came as they always had, quickly and without warning. And, as he had done since the beginning of memory, the Lord of Storms answered immediately, leaving Alric midsentence to open a door into her white world.
Her back was to him when he entered. She was standing by her orb, bent over the curve of the sky like a woman at her spinning wheel. Her white hands were deep inside, digging through the bedrock and magma that made up the foundation of the miniature world. He could see her fingers pushing against the veil as they moved, and he wondered, briefly, if the spirits felt her passing through them. He didn’t think so; otherwise the bedrock would be shaking the world to pieces in its rush to bow. Still, it was a strange sight, the Shepherdess up to her elbows in the world she’d been ignoring for so long.
If Alric were here, he’d probably be curious. He might even ask a question. The Lord of Storms knew his deputy was bold enough for it. But Alric was not here, and the Lord of Storms did not bother with questions. So long as the Lady’s actions didn’t interfere with his hunting, he didn’t much care what she did.
She dug for sometime before going stiff, and then her hands withdrew. The Lord of Storms stood at attention, watching with growing impatience as the Lady pulled something from the sphere. From where he stood, it looked like a root. Like a root, it was long and spindly with branches curling off in all directions, but no root was ever that beautiful, golden color. The thing in the Lady’s hand shone like a river of sunlight, hanging on her fingers with a weight far greater than the Lord of Storms would have expected given its size. A gold vein, he realized at last. An enormous one.
He mulled this over as the Lady lifted the vein to her lips, whispering sounds sweet as pure water across its beautiful surface. As the gold vein shook in delight, the Lady closed her hands, pressing the vein into the skin of her fingers. No, not her fingers. The Lady was holding something.
The Lord of Storms scowled. It looked almost like a soap bubble, a translucent, shimmering sphere no larger than the top joint of the Lady’s thumb. She pushed the gold vein into it as he watched. The Lord of Storms wouldn’t have thought the thing would fit into such a small, delicate space, but the vein entered willingly, singing to the Lady all the while in a heavy, ringing voice.
When the last golden gleam had vanished, the Lady lowered her hands and turned to face him. She looked tired, he thought, her white eyes nearly gray with fatigue. He scowled. It was dangerous for the Lady to tire herself. Dangerous for her and very dangerous for everyone else. Her temper was deadly when she was tired. Even so, her voice was surprisingly sweet when she spoke to him at last.
I have a task for you.
“I should hope so,” he said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Your League held together well in my absence. We are ready to act.”
What do I care of the League? The Lady’s voice turned scornful. Did I not just say this was a task for you?
The Lord of Storms stiffened. “What would my Lady have of me?”
A hunt, the Shepherdess said, her white lips turning up in a slow smile. One you’ve been after for a long time now. She reached out for her orb, laying her free hand, the one that wasn’t still cradling the tiny pearl, on the vault of the sky. The time has come to rid the world of the demon’s protégé.
The rush of anticipation left him shaking. “You would let me hunt the Daughter of the Dead Mountain?”
I demand it, the Lady said. You’ve been very loyal, my sword. Even in your rebellion, everything you’ve done has been for me. As a reward, I give you leave to track down this threat at last. She turned, gazing at the world below her fingers. I would have my sphere clean of the demon’s filth before my brother returns.
The Lord of Storms blinked. The Hunter, of course. The days ran together when he was a storm even more than they did when he was a man. In the confusion, he’d forgotten that the Hunter’s day of rest was close at hand. Unlike her other brother, the Weaver, whom she despised, the Shepherdess honored the Hunter. It made sense that he should be the one to finally make her see what the Lord of Storms had been saying all along.
But even if she hadn’t come to her senses, the end would have been the same. Unlike his siblings, the Hunter was a warrior. He would never abide a demon at his back. He would slay the Daughter as soon as he entered the sphere, robbing the Lord of Storms of his rightful prey. But that crisis was averted. Finally, the Lord of Storms would hunt as he had been created to hunt.
“All shall be as you say, Lady,” he said, his deep voice rumbling with pleasure. “I will destroy anything that threatens your sphere.”
The Lady didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned away from her sphere and walked to him, reaching up to cup his face in her burning hand. Do it quickly, my Lord of Storms, she whispered, her fingers tightening on his face. Strike down the demon’s daughter and bring me her seed. Bring it to me. Do you understand? It must be large and powerful by now, far too great for your vault. Bring it here and I shall take care of it myself.
The Lord of Storms strained against her burning touch. He wanted nothing more than to take her permission and run, throwing everything into the hunt. But he’d been too long in the company of Alric’s prudence, and he knew the question he must ask just as surely as he knew how much he would regret the asking.
“What of the thief? He still favors the demon’s company. What would you have me do if he gets in the way again?”
Benehime’s fingers froze against him, and the Lord of Storms braced for her inevitable anger. But, though her eyes narrowed, she didn’t strike him or scream. Instead, she stepped back, regarding him with a fury so cold it froze the air.
The thief is nothing, she said, her voice like ice in his ear. Do what must be done. Get the seed, and do not return here or bother me again until you have it.
The Lord of Storms’ face split into an enormous grin of pure, mad joy. So simple, so beautiful, just as it had been at the beginning. At last, after so long, his Lady was back. “As you say,” he rumbled. “So it is done.”
The Lady nodded and turned away, walking back to her orb with small, tight steps, her shoulders set at a furious, bitter angle as she leaned over the sky again. The Lord of Storms barely noticed that she was upset. Already, he was lost in the hunt. With one swipe, he tore his way out of the Lady’s white world, reappearing in his Deputy Commander’s office with a crack of thunder.
To his credit, Alric didn’t jump. He simply turned and looked up. “Well?”
“We hunt!” the Lord of Storms roared, marching to the window. He flung it open, cracking the glass with his force, and leaned into the wind. Outside, those League members not on assignment were gathered in the yard for practice. They looked up as one at the sound of breaking glass and saluted when they saw it was the Lord of Storms. He grinned back, feral as a wolf.
“Drop everything and get to the hall,” he bellowed. “The League hunts the Daughter of the Dead Mountain!”
A shout went up, but the Lord of Storms had already ducked back inside. Behind him, Alric was on his feet, buckling what was left of his golden sword to his hip. “A good meeting, I assume?”
“The best we could have hoped for,” the Lord of Storms said, crossing the room in two long strides. “Come, we’ve work at last.”
Alric nodded and followed the Lord of Storms into the corridor to join the stream of League men already flowing toward the great hall.
CHAPTER
7
Miranda had been avoiding Banage’s offi
ce since she’d come back to Zarin. Going in now was even harder than she’d expected, but there was nowhere else she could talk to the West Wind’s human representative the way she needed to, as the Rector of the Spirit Court. The room looked exactly as it had the morning they’d left for Osera. As she held the door for Lelbon, she almost expected to see Master Banage sitting at his desk like always. But the desk was empty, and, after a short hesitation, Miranda walked over and slid behind it, sinking into the Rector’s high chair with as small a grimace as she could manage. Lelbon took the seat in front of the desk, the one that was usually hers.
“You’ve been promoted since last we spoke, I see.”
“Considering the last time we spoke I was exiled from the Court, that’s not saying much,” Miranda said, straightening up in a vain attempt to keep from being overshadowed by the enormous desk. “But it’s been made clear to me that I won’t be here long, so I’ll just get right to the point. I have reason to believe we’re facing a crisis the likes of which has never been seen in the Court’s existence. How much has your master told you of the Shepherdess and her stars?”
Lelbon tilted his head. “My master would never tell me anything the Lady did not wish humans to know,” he said cautiously. “However, what I deduce on my own is outside of his control. Considering I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life in service to the winds, most of them are comfortable enough to forget I’m there half the time. As a result, I’ve heard enough to draw my own conclusions.”
“Good,” Miranda said. “Then you know that stars are at the very top of the spirit world. Ancient spirits, some even older than the Shepherdess herself, chosen by the Lady to guide those spirits beneath them.”
“And fixed with her mark of authority,” Lelbon added. He smiled when he saw Miranda’s brows furrow. “That’s the part of the story the spirits themselves focus on. Benehime’s mark is what makes the stars so powerful, even outside of their areas of control. That mark allows them to act in the Lady’s name. For a spirit, disobeying a star is the same as disobeying the Shepherdess herself.”
Miranda nodded. She hadn’t heard it phrased quite that way before, but considering her own spirits’ reactions to the stars they’d met, it made sense. “Well,” she said, “if you understand all that, then you’ll understand the crisis we’re facing. I have reason to believe that stars are disappearing.”
She paused, waiting for his reaction, but Lelbon just nodded. “Go on.”
“Do you need more?” Miranda said, pulling herself forward until the edge of the desk cut into her stomach. “The largest spirits in the world are vanishing without a trace and leaving the spirits who depend on them in a state of panic. This isn’t some minor emergency.”
“Have any of your spirits been affected?” Lelbon said.
“Not yet, but that’s hardly the point,” Miranda said. “The Spirit Court stands for all spirits, not just the ones who serve us. If stars are vanishing, it’s a problem for all the spirits below them, and we need to stop it.” She held up her hand, counting off the questions on her fingers. “We need to know why they’re disappearing, where to, how many are already gone, and how we can stop this. That’s why I need Illir’s help. He may not be a star himself, but he’s certainly powerful enough to know what’s going on.”
“And what will you do with that knowledge?” Lelbon asked.
“I’m going to use it to mobilize the Court,” Miranda answered. “Even if we can’t stop the stars from vanishing, we might be able to help prevent the panic. But I need to know what’s going on so I can explain it well enough to get the Tower Keepers moving; otherwise idiots like Blint are going to claim I’m making this up as an excuse to hang on to power.”
Lelbon raised his eyebrows. “Blint?”
“One of the sort of Spiritualist who’d sit around arguing over the Rectorship while the world crumbled under his feet,” Miranda said bitterly, leaning over the table at him. “I need answers, Lelbon. I swore an oath to protect the spirits, and I will not be forsworn.”
Lelbon leaned back with a long sigh. He’d watched her carefully while she was speaking. Now he looked down at his hands resting on the folded cloth of his robe.
“Your dedication is a credit to your organization,” he said. “But I’m worried you’re missing an important point.” He glanced up at her. “Stars are beloved by the Shepherdess. They are her lieutenants, overseeing their segments of her flock. If you’re right, and they are disappearing without explanation, would it not be logical to assume that she had some hand in their disappearance?”
Miranda set her jaw stubbornly. “My wind spirit mentioned something to that effect,” she said. “But I thought the Shepherdess’s purpose was to care for the spirits? Why would she do something that throws them into such chaos? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t,” Lelbon said matter-of-factly. “But who else could make stars vanish? They are enormous spirits with an echo of the Lady’s own authority, unassailable by any save a demon as large as that which waits under the mountain. So, either the Master of the Dead Mountain has made his escape at last, in which case I’m sure we’d already know, or the Shepherdess is stealing her own stars.”
“But”—Miranda was openly gaping now—“ why? The Deep Current was vital to the function of the oceans. If my Mellinor hadn’t taken it over, the sea would be falling stagnant even as we speak. And what about the tree at the heart of the Allva? Its loss has thrown the entire forest into a panic. If a demon did half so much, the whole League would be down there. How could the Shepherdess condone such actions? What end could possibly justify such painful means?”
“I cannot presume to tell you the Shepherdess’s mind,” Lelbon said. “One thing, however, is deadly certain. The Shepherdess’s attention is on us, now more than ever. All spirits, especially those large enough to know the consequences of her wrath, are minding her rules to the letter. To do otherwise under such scrutiny would be suicidal folly.”
Miranda stiffened. “Now I understand why you’re here and not Illir himself,” she said. “The Shaper Mountain may have let the cat out of the bag, but the West Wind can’t very well come and talk to a human about the Shepherdess’s affairs, can he?”
Lelbon smiled delicately. “My master did not share his reasoning with me, but I think that is a safe assumption.”
“And what am I supposed to do?” Miranda shouted. “Let it go? Sit back and watch while the Shepherdess yanks her stars out and leaves the world helpless and panicked?”
“Could you do that?” Lelbon said.
Miranda glared daggers at the old man. “Of course not.”
“Then I suggest you find another way,” Lelbon said. “One that works around the Shepherdess, rather than against her.”
Miranda sat back with a disgusted harrumph. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“Well,” Lelbon said, “the first step is to figure out exactly what you want to do.”
“Help the spirits,” Miranda said.
Lelbon sighed. “A bit more specificity would be helpful, Miss Lyonette.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Fine. Our problem is that stars are disappearing. When they disappear, they disrupt the world and leave their spirits in chaos. So, the first thing I’d want to do is stop any more stars from vanishing.”
Lelbon shook his head. “If the Lady’s the one calling them back, stopping the disappearances isn’t within the realm of our influence. What’s next?”
Miranda frowned. “If we can’t stop stars from vanishing, then we’ll need to respond to the disappearances themselves. The panicking forest, for example. If I had a team down there, we could ease the strain. Of course, to do that we’d need a way to know which stars have vanished and where so we could get there before the panic could do lasting harm.”
“You’d have to move very fast for that,” Lelbon said quietly.
“I know, I know.” Miranda ran her hands through her hair. “But I don’t know what else to do! I can�
��t just stop trying.”
“A noble sentiment,” Lelbon said. “But let us think practically for a moment. The stars are scattered all across the world. Many are in places people never go, like the bottom of the sea or high in the mountains. Even if you knew exactly where and when a star disappeared, could you get there in time to do any good? And even if you could, many stars’ spirits are spread out all over the world. Say the star of fish vanished, what would you do? Send your Court to comfort every mackrel who was tearing out his gills in terror because he thinks the world is ending?”
“Are you trying to dissuade me from my duty?” Miranda cried, clenching her fingers so hard her rings dug into her skin.
“I am trying to be reasonable,” Lelbon said. “Has it never occurred to you, Miss Lyonette, that perhaps this time you are in over your head? That the scope of these problems is simply beyond what the Spirit Court can handle, and that by attempting to blindly follow the right path, you risk doing more harm than good? It is true, the spirits suffer when stars vanish, but they won’t suffer forever. Even the greatest panic fades in time.”
He watched her reaction, and when her glare refused to soften, Lelbon pressed a hand to his chest with a deep sigh. “Let me tell you a story,” he said. “Long ago, before I entered the West Wind’s service, I was a scholar of history for the Immortal Empress.”
Miranda jerked back. “You worked for the Immortal Empress?”
“In as much as any junior official can be said to work for an immortal being,” Lelbon responded with a dry smile. “But that’s neither here nor there. You are very young, Miss Lyonette. I don’t say this to downplay your competence, only to point out that your worldview, like most young people’s, tends to center on the present. This isn’t to imply that the current situation isn’t bad, possibly even disastrous, but when you look at the entire sweep of history, you see that bad things happen all the time. Is it not wise, then, to consider what is best in the long run, even if that goes against your feelings in the short term?”
