by Rachel Aaron
Miranda stood in the courtyard where the League man had left her, leaning on Gin and trying not to look as wobbly as she felt. Though she’d never admit it, she was vaguely disappointed. She’d always thought flying would be more freeing, or at least more fun. But after a night and a morning spent hurtling through the air, she’d never been happier to be on solid ground. From the way Gin had pressed himself into the stone the second they touched down, she knew he felt the same. Her stomach certainly did, though this particular stretch of ground wasn’t helping much on that account.
Against her better judgment, her eyes drifted up again. The League’s fortress was perched on a lonely jut of land in the far, far northwest corner of the continent, a desolate country well beyond the Council maps. The sea, iron gray and choppy beneath the cloud-heavy sky, surrounded them on three sides, and the land wasn’t any more hospitable with its wet stone and wild nettles.
The fortress itself looked as though it had been pushed up from the rock during some great argument among the lava flows and then forgotten completely. Its surface was black and pitted save for the sea-facing walls that had been worn smooth by the endless wind. The stern black battlements, the sharp, jutting towers, the harsh military efficiency of it all was dreadful to look on and even worse to stand under. Already, after less than five minutes of waiting for Alric, her stomach was a quivering mess of nerves far worse than the man deserved.
Miranda closed her eyes, missing Mellinor terribly. Diminished or not, he had still been a Great Spirit, and his presence, not to mention his advice, would have been very welcome now. As it was, all she could do was clutch Gin’s fur and try to keep her mind calm, for her other spirits if nothing else.
She could feel them shaking in their rings, even Eril, and the wind spirit was usually the cockiest of them all. Miranda couldn’t blame them. The longer she waited, the more she realized that it wasn’t the fortress or the anticipation of meeting Alric that made her uneasy. The League’s Fortress was just a building, and she’d dealt with the Deputy Commander before, but the growing dread that gnawed at her resolve was something greater. She could feel it rising in her throat even now, an icy bile of fear, completely irrational and so omnipresent it seemed to radiate from the black stone itself.
“It’s the vault,” Gin whispered.
Miranda jumped and looked down to see her ghosthound was crouched low on the ground, his pointed ears pressed flat against his skull. “It must be right below us,” he whispered again, softer this time.
“What?” Miranda whispered back.
“The vault of the demonseeds,” a strong voice answered.
Miranda whirled around to see the tall, dark League man who’d been there when the wind had dropped her into the courtyard. The one who’d told her to wait. He’d been gone awhile, but now he was back, standing only a few feet from her. His hand rested on the red sword at his hip as he looked her over, its hilt glowing as red as an ember between his fingers.
Miranda winced. She hadn’t heard him return, but from what she’d seen of the League, that was normal. The man’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t touch his eyes and he nodded to the ground at her feet. “The dog is right. The fear you’re feeling comes from the vault. This citadel is built on the great cavern where the League stores the seeds of the demons after we cut them from their hosts.”
Gin whimpered and pressed himself flatter against the paving stones, but Miranda stepped forward in alarm. “Why would you keep such things?”
“Demonseeds are indestructible,” the man said with a shrug. “All we can do is pile them up and lock them away. If that’s how it must be, then what safer place is there for them than beneath the Lord of Storms’ own fortress?”
Miranda frowned. She didn’t have an answer to that. Fortunately, the League man seemed to have lost interest. “The Deputy Commander will see you in his office,” he said, pointing at the gate behind him. “Second floor, first door on the right.”
“Thank you,” Miranda said, but before she’d gotten to the “you,” the man was gone. She stood a moment, staring at the shimmering white line as it faded from the air, and then, setting her shoulders, she marched across the black-paved courtyard. “Stay here,” she ordered.
For once, Gin didn’t argue. He just put his head down, his orange eyes following her as she vanished into the fortress.
It was just as cold inside the fortress as it was outside, but at least the black stone walls blocked the endless wind. Still, Miranda shivered as she climbed the stairs, blowing on Kirik’s spark to keep her hands warm. When she reached the top, she went to the door the League man had indicated and knocked purposefully.
Alric’s voice rang clear and immediate through the heavy, metal-bound wood. “Enter.”
She opened the door to see a spare but surprisingly normal office. A large, worn desk took up most of the room. Alric sat in a high-backed chair behind it, looking the same as he ever did. On the wall above his head, a sheathed sword rested on a mounted stand, its swooping, golden hilt shining like the day’s last sunbeam in the dim, cloud-shrouded light that filtered through the tall window. Outside, she could see the courtyard where Gin was still crouching and the sea beyond, an endless swath of ash-gray water and white peaks running to sky’s edge.
“Spiritualist Lyonette,” Alric said. “Or, forgive me, Rector Spiritualis. Please”—he held out his hand toward the carved wooden chair in front of his desk—“sit.”
Miranda sat, folding her hands in front of her so that her rings would catch the gray light. “Why am I not surprised you’ve already heard about that?”
“I try to stay informed,” Alric said with a tight smile. “And on that note, would you mind telling me how you arrived at our headquarters today? Chejo was vague on that point.”
When Miranda frowned, Alric held up his hands.
“I don’t ask just to be nosy. We guard many things here, so you can understand how an unexpected guest, no matter how welcome, would be a matter of some concern.”
That made sense, Miranda thought, and there was little point in trying to keep the West Wind’s involvement secret after his wind had blown her across half the continent. “One of Illir’s winds brought me,” she said. “Payment for a favor.”
“Must have been some favor,” Alric said thoughtfully. “Thank you for your honest answer, Rector, but I’m afraid you’ve caught us at a rather busy time.”
“I thought you might be busy,” Miranda said quickly. “That’s why I’m here.”
Alric gave her a strange look. “Really?”
Miranda nodded emphatically. “I think we can help.”
If Miranda had known the Deputy Commander better, she would have known how rare the look of pure confusion on his face was. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Maybe you should explain from the beginning,” he said. “Just to be sure we understand one another.”
“I don’t see that there’s much that needs explaining,” Miranda said. “Surely the League is aware that stars are vanishing.” She paused, watching Alric’s face. His polite smile fell at once.
“Ah,” he said. “You’re here about the panics.”
“Why else would I be here?” Miranda asked, exasperated. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the world is tearing itself apart out there. The spirits who lose their stars are convinced the world is ending, and frankly, I don’t think they’re too far off. Not when the stars who form the foundation of the world are vanishing without a trace.”
“How do you know about—” Alric stopped and took a long breath. “Never mind, I’m not going to ask who told you. It doesn’t really matter. I suppose, then, you’d like to know why the stars are vanishing.”
Miranda nodded. “It would be a start.”
“Then that makes two of us,” Alric said, spreading his hands helplessly. “All I can tell you is that the Shepherdess is the one who calls her stars away. As to the why of it, your guess is as good as mine.”
“But y
ou work for her, don’t you?” Miranda said. “I heard you say it before, in Izo’s camp. The League does the Shepherdess’s work.”
“The Lord of Storms serves the Shepherdess,” Alric said flatly. “And the League serves the Lord. We know only what the Lady sees fit to tell her demon hunter, which has never been as much as most seem to believe.”
“So you don’t know why she’s doing it?” Miranda said hotly. “Why she’s ruining the world she’s supposed to be guiding?”
“No,” Alric’s voice grew sharp and cold. “Only that it is for the best.”
Miranda gaped at him. “How can you possibly believe that?” she cried. “Open your eyes! There is no way this kind of panic is good for the spirits. How do you know she’s not ruining everything and counting on her doctrine of ignorance and fear to discourage questions until it’s too late?”
“I don’t,” Alric said. “But I’ve trusted my life to the Lord of Storms and his mistress for a long, long time now, Lady Rector. In that time, the Shepherdess has done many things I did not agree with or understand, and yet the world has continued.”
“Not like this,” Miranda said. Her anger was boiling now, and her head was full of the memory of the river’s screaming voice.
Gone! Gone! Gone!
She forced herself to stop and take a breath. Only when her temper was firmly back under control did she let herself speak again.
“When I first decided to come here, I meant to demand that the Shepherdess stop whatever she was doing,” she confessed. “But while I was stuck in the air, I had time to calm down and think, and I realized I was asking the impossible. The Shepherdess is the top authority in this world, isn’t she? No one stands up to her, not the Shaper Mountain, not the Lord of the West, no one.”
Not even Eli, her mind whispered, but Miranda forced the thought out of her head. “I am a Spiritualist,” she continued. “My oaths demand that I serve the spirits, protect them from abuse, and try to make the world better for them. I don’t know why the Shepherdess is taking her stars away seemingly without a care for the spirits who depend on them, but I understand now that I can’t stop her. All I can do is try to control the damage as best I can.”
Alric was looking down at his empty desk when she finished, tracing the worn grain of the wood with his fingertip. “That is unexpectedly wise of you, Rector,” he said quietly. “But while I can understand why you came here initially, I don’t yet see what you want from the League now.”
“I want to help,” Miranda said. “I’ve seen the League work twice now, once repairing the damage in Mellinor and once in Izo’s camp. I saw your power firsthand both times, how you calm panicked spirits and repair damage like it never was. I’ve also seen how you can move easily through the world using those white lines. All over the world, on this continent and I’m sure on the Empress’s as well, maybe even in the frozen north, spirits are panicking. With every star that vanishes, the spirits who relied on it lash out in fear and despair, hurting themselves and everything around them. If we don’t stop the panic quickly, the spirits will do enormous harm in their fear. I’ve seen it already with the rivers, and it’s only going to get worse as more stars vanish.”
“It can’t be helped,” Alric said. “Spirits are panicky by nature.”
“Anything would be panicky if it thought the world was ending!” Miranda cried. “The only reason people aren’t tearing their cities apart is because we’re too blind and ignorant to know what’s going on. The Shepherdess holds all the power. The spirits have no choice but to depend on her. How can you fault them for panicking when she rips the floor out from under their feet?”
Alric took a deep breath. “I’m not blaming them,” he said. “Believe it or not, Rector, I’m on your side, but the League has other priorities at the moment. We are not a large organization—”
“I know that,” Miranda said. “It’s not your job to guard the common spirits, but it is mine.” She pulled herself straight in her chair, fixing her gaze solidly on Alric’s. This was it. “The League is small, far too small to deal with a crisis of this scale, but the Spirit Court is over a thousand strong, and every one of us has sworn the same oath to serve the spirits and protect them from harm. What I’m proposing is a partnership. If you will share the League’s powers with the Court for the extent of this emergency, we will take over calming all the panicked spirits gently and with understanding, in accordance with our oaths.”
To her surprise, Alric smiled. “You don’t think we’ll be gentle?”
“I think you’ll be rushed,” Miranda answered. “The League doesn’t have the manpower to handle every panic. We do. If we don’t have to worry about travel time, my Spiritualists will be able to take the care needed with each outburst. With us handling the panic caused by the lost stars, your membership will be free to pursue your ‘other priorities.’ ”
Alric drummed his fingers on his desk, his brows furrowed in thought. “You propose an interesting plan, Lady Rector,” he said at last. “But I wonder, could you follow it through?”
Miranda jerked back. “What?”
“You forget I am well informed,” Alric said, his voice bland. “The Court is fractured, and you are Rector only until those who balked at Banage’s leadership organize to kick you out. Even if it were in my power to wave my hand and give you everything you ask, you’re hardly in a position to be making deals on behalf of the Spirit Court.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Miranda said, holding her head high. “I know which way the Court will go once the situation is properly explained. We may quibble about how the Court is run, but to stand back and abandon the spirits to panic and fear goes against the very nature of our purpose and our oaths. No Spiritualist would allow that, no matter who wears the Rector’s mantle. So long as there are rings on our fingers, we will honor our oaths and do our duty. That I swear to you, Deputy Commander.”
Alric leaned back in his chair, his face closed, considering. “It is a bold offer,” he said at last. “Bolder than I’d ever expect from the Court, but I can find no guile in it.”
“Of course not,” Miranda said, insulted. “I’m not a liar.”
“No, you’re not,” Alric said, looking at her with a faint smile. “Your offer is a good one, Lady Rector, and would actually solve a great number of my problems if you were successful. Unfortunately, the League’s power is not mine to dole out. It, like all else we have, flows from our commander, the Lord of Storms. He’s the one you’ll have to convince.”
Miranda sighed, frustrated. “Fine, when can I talk to him?”
Alric’s smile widened. “I believe he’s already here.”
Miranda started and looked around, but the office was empty. The only change at all was a faint smell of ozone in the air. And then, without warning, the white line opened right in front of her face, and the Lord of Storms filled the room.
Miranda jerked back without thinking, nearly falling out of her chair. Her eyes saw a tall man stepping out of the air between her and Alric, a man with long black hair that fell well past the high collar of his black League coat, pale, intense eyes set in a pale, intense face, and a long, gently curved sword at his side, its hilt somewhere between blue and silver, like a lightning bolt glimpsed suddenly on a clear night.
That was what she saw, anyway, but her other senses were screaming at her that this was wrong. She’d felt the man appear, felt the air thickening, tightening with the anticipation that came just before a storm. The room was still, and yet she could smell the storm on the air, cold and wild and dangerous, and it took every bit of pride she had to resettle herself in her chair instead of running for cover like her body was screaming for.
The Lord of Storms, for who else could it be, was saying something to Alric, but Miranda couldn’t make out the words. They rumbled through her like distant thunder, and then the Lord of Storms turned to look at her, and his lightning-colored eyes narrowed. All at once, the pressure relented and the Lord of Storms seemed to sh
rink. It was like he was pulling himself in, resettling the human shell that contained the full extent of… whatever he was. Miranda swallowed and forced herself to be still, but she couldn’t stop the beads of sweat rolling down the side of her face or the deepening feeling that she was now not only in over her head, but so far out that the bottom had vanished completely.
“You.” The Lord of Storms’ voice was softer now, more human, but Miranda could still feel the words vibrating through her ribs. “Wizard girl. Alric tells me you have an offer?”
Miranda swallowed. “Yes,” she said, proud that her voice trembled only a little. “I understand you are having problems containing the spirit panic that is—”
“You understand?” the Lord of Storms’ sneering voice cut her off. “You understand nothing, human. We are in the middle of the greatest hunt of your age. I have no time for your ignorance. Tell me the offer, if you have one, but don’t waste my patience reaching above your place.”
Miranda tensed in anger, glaring up at the Lord of Storms. Who did he think he was? She’d faced down the Shaper Mountain; she’d taken in Mellinor and answered the Lord of the West’s call for aid. She wasn’t some wizard girl for him to kick around.
“My offer is a simple one,” she said, standing up to meet the Lord of Storms’ glare with one of her own. “The world is in a panic and the League does not have the resources to quell it. I can help you. As acting Rector Spiritualis, I offer you the Spirit Court’s aid. We have over a thousand wizards with centuries of experience handling spirits between us. If you will consent to grant my Court limited access to the League’s gifts, namely instant travel throughout the world and the ability to still and reconstruct spirits, we will handle the panic caused by the vanishing stars, leaving you free to continue your hunt.”
She’d expected the Lord of Storms to be angry at her disrespectful tone, but the tall man only put his hand to his chin, considering. “I give your Court temporary access to the League’s power, and you’ll handle the spirits?” He frowned. “Why do you take so much on yourselves? What are you after?”
