by Rachel Aaron
The need to cry almost overwhelmed Miranda then. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself on the floor beside Krigel and let the bawling sobs ride through her. But even if this was the end of the world, she was Rector Spiritualis still, and she had work to do.
But just as she bent down to try and get Krigel to sit up so they could start regrouping, she felt a familiar prickle on the back of her neck. She froze halfway down, eyes darting to the twisting city below. No, she thought with a frown. It couldn’t be.
That was her last thought before Etmon Banage’s open spirit landed on Zarin.
His will fell like an iron weight, and wherever it landed, the panic stopped. The twisting spirits lay still, frozen beneath Banage’s pressure as a deep, deep silence fell over the city.
For five breaths, Miranda stood dumbstruck, and then she clenched her fingers around her glowing rings. “Where is he?”
The Tower’s answer was joyous and immediate. “Front promenade.”
Miranda nodded. “Take me there.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when the floor opened beneath her feet.
She fell like a stone, hurtling past the floors. The descent was over in seconds, the Tower slowing her gently before setting her down in the corner of the Court’s enormous entry hall. Miranda was running the moment her feet touched the ground. The newly repaired red doors sprung open for her before she reached them, and she flew down the stairs into the wide promenade that led from the Tower to the city proper.
All around her, spirits were bowed under the pressure. Even the laurel trees that lined the Spirit Court district’s broad streets were bent over like they were bearing up under a deep snow. Miranda saw none of it. Her eyes were fixed on the tall figure standing at the center of the empty road, his hands spread in front of him as though he were waiting to receive a heavy burden, his gray-streaked black hair falling limp around his tired face.
“Master Banage!”
The name flew from Miranda’s throat as she charged into him, arms flying around his chest and squeezing him in a vise. He stumbled a little as she hit him, but the weight on the city didn’t even flicker. Miranda wouldn’t have noticed if it had. Her eyes were too blurry with tears to see anything other than her master.
“Where have you been?” she cried, burying her face in his shirt. She knew she was making an undignified scene, but she didn’t care. Master Banage was smiling down at her with one of his rare, true smiles, and the sight of it was almost enough to dissolve her.
“I’m still a criminal,” he said. “I thought it best that I stayed away, but now I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
His voice was low and strained, no doubt from the effort of keeping so much pressure on the city. Miranda dropped her arms at once and stepped back guiltily. Powers, what was she doing? Master Banage was maintaining the largest open spirit she’d ever seen. He was pressing down an entire city; she’d never even heard of such a thing. She beamed up at him, remembering yet again why he was her Rector.
“Here,” she said, reaching to take the golden mantle of the Tower off her shoulders. “This is yours.”
His hand stopped her before she’d gotten it to her chin.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I gave up being Rector. But the fact that you’re wearing the Tower’s chain proves I made the right gamble on the beach at Osera. The Tower and Court are yours by bound oath now. I cannot take them back.”
Miranda stopped, stricken. “But you’re the—”
“Not anymore,” Banage said, looking out over the silent city. “But I am still a Spiritualist, and I mean to hold Zarin as long as I can.”
“I can’t let you do that alone,” Miranda said. Calming the Tower had taken everything she had, and that was just one spirit. How long could Master Banage possibly expect to keep a whole city calm?
“It won’t be as hard as you think,” Banage said, smiling again. “I’m not alone in my work. The Tower is here as well, and we don’t need the mantle to work together. Do we, old friend?”
“No, indeed,” the Tower said, its deep voice buzzing through the gold-wrought chain. “We will hold here.”
“That we will,” Banage said. Then he caught Miranda’s eyes with his, and his look grew deathly serious. “You have greater work to do, Rector. This disaster is the sort of thing this Court was created for. Whatever this is, the spirits are powerless before it. We must stand for them, and you must stand for the Court.”
“But what do I do?” Miranda cried.
Banage tilted his head. “What do you think you should do?”
Miranda bit her lip and looked down at her rings. They glittered back at her, each of them keeping strangely silent. She thought about what the Tower had said earlier. The end, he’d called it. Miranda didn’t know about that, but whatever this was, it was something the Shepherdess had forbidden the spirits to speak of, something they feared above all else. Something was broken, that much was clear, but she had no idea what.
Miranda’s hands curled into tightly balled fists. This worry was getting her nowhere. If she was going to do any good at all, she needed knowledge. She needed answers, real, straightforward ones, and she had a good idea where to get them. Of course, going there would likely get her killed, but if she did nothing she was pretty sure she’d end up dead all the same, along with everything else. In that light, the risk didn’t look so bad.
“I’m going,” she said, raising her head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“We’ll hold as long as it takes,” Banage said. “Keep the Tower’s mantle close to you. He’ll need your strength.”
“I’ll need no such thing,” the Tower rumbled. “Go, little Rector. We will hold.”
Miranda nodded and looked over her shoulder only to see Gin sitting right behind her.
She jumped in surprise. “How long have you been there?”
“Since about a second after you got here,” the dog answered, showing his teeth. “Come on, Banage’s spirit coming down on everything? Not hard to guess where you’d be.” His orange eyes shifted to Banage. “Though your weight did slow me down, old man. I’d have beaten her otherwise.”
“I’m sure you would have,” Miranda said walking over to put a hand in his fur. “Ready to jump into the fire?”
“Always,” Gin growled, his tail lashing back and forth.
Miranda nodded and closed her eyes, steeling her determination into an iron wall. When her mind was set in stone, she raised her hand and pictured her destination in her mind, lingering on the white stone and the soft, constant white light she still sometimes saw in her dreams. The cut appeared immediately, ripping down through the air. The moment it was clear, she stepped through the world into the Shaper Mountain, her demands ready on her lips… and ran into Eli Monpress.
Eli stumbled as Miranda slammed into him, almost falling over Josef in his rush to get back. She looked just as startled to see him as he was to see her. The Spiritualist scrambled back as soon as she realized whom she’d run into, only to get pushed forward again as Gin stepped through the white hole behind her.
Miranda caught herself at the last second, clinging to her ghosthound. Gin, to his credit, immediately fell into guard position, ears back and teeth bared as he growled at Eli and Josef. Through the hole in the veil, Eli caught sight of his father’s tense face looking out at what appeared to be a ruined Zarin before the white portal closed, the line fading away as fast as it had appeared.
Realizing suddenly that he looked like a proper idiot, Eli pushed off Josef and stood on his own two feet. He was about to call the Spiritualist out for barging in like that, but the words died in his throat. Miranda looked terrible, like she hadn’t slept in a week. Her eyes were a mix of dark circles and puffy edges, as though she’d been crying, and she looked utterly confused, almost fragile in her bewilderment.
The illusion was gone in an instant. The second she caught him looking, she pulled herself straight, casting off tiredness and d
oubt like a veil. It was then he noticed that she was dressed in the formal crimson robes of a high officer of the Spirit Court. The intense color was almost painful to look at after the blank white of the Shaper Mountain, and the effect was only enhanced by the glittering rainbow of rings on her fingers and, brighter still, the enormous collar of woven gold and gems draped across her shoulders.
Eli pursed his lips, impressed. Banage really had made her Rector, and she seemed to be playing her part full force. But, for all the trappings, it was still Miranda, a fact that was hammered home as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared icy death in his direction, her curly red hair bristling with righteous fury.
“Eli Monpress,” she said, speaking his name the same way most people said dead skunk. “Is there any disaster in this world that doesn’t have you at its center?”
Eli blinked in surprise. “Now hold on,” he said. “What makes you think any of this is my fault?”
“The fact that it’s always your fault,” she snapped. Beside her, Gin’s growl swelled in agreement.
“And you always jump to conclusions,” Eli snapped back. “I’ll have you know I am an innocent bystander.” That wasn’t completely true, but this was Miranda. Give her a handhold and she’d pull the whole rope down. “And I’m trying to make things better, believe it or not. The real question should be why are you here? You’re no Shaper, and that was one of the Shepherdess’s portals, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You are,” Miranda said. “It’s a League portal.”
“Same difference,” Eli grumbled, but Miranda was already rolling over him.
“I’m here on behalf of the Spirit Court and all spirits under our protection,” she announced. “I demand to know what is going on, and I’m not leaving until I get some answe…”
Her voice faded off as she finally realized that Eli wasn’t alone. Her eyes darted across the group, pausing longest on Slorn, but when she got to the Weaver, they stopped altogether. “Are you the Teacher?” she whispered, her voice shaking with wonder.
Overhead, the Shaper Mountain made a disgusted sound. “I would never put any part of my power into a human form. That is the Weaver, a Power of Creation. If you’re going to barge in whenever you like, Spiritualist, the least you can do is try to be informed.”
“The Weaver?” Miranda sounded more confused than ever. Suddenly, even her self-righteousness didn’t seem to be enough to hold her up. Her body began to shake, legs wobbling like jelly. She would have fallen into a heap had Eli not grabbed her arm.
Miranda let him ease her down without comment, another sign of how bad a shock all this must be for her. When she was safely seated on the floor, she looked up again, her eyes flicking between the white man, the bright white wall hanging in the air, Eli and Slorn standing beside him, Josef and the Heart, Nico’s coffin, the Shaper Guildmaster, and then she put her hands over her face as though she were dizzy.
“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” she whispered, her face almost green. “But will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
Be at ease, child, the Weaver said, his eyes dropping to the golden mantle on her shoulders. You are the leader of those humans who have sworn themselves to the spirits?
She nodded.
Then you must be here because the world is in panic.
Miranda laughed at that, a dry, humorless sound. “The world’s been in panic for the last two days, sir,” she said, her voice shaking. “We’d just gotten that under reasonable control when… whatever it was that just happened happened.” She lowered her voice again. “Who was the Hunter?”
Our greatest protector, the Weaver answered gravely. My brother, killed by the Shepherdess, our sister.
Miranda went white then, her color fading away until she was as pale as the stone she sat on. Behind her, Gin made a low keening sound.
“The Tower told me our hope had died,” she whispered. “Our wall, he said.”
The Weaver nodded. He was all those things.
Miranda swallowed. “A wall against what?” When the Weaver didn’t answer at once, Miranda lurched forward, her hands slamming into the stone. “Something’s coming, isn’t it?” She demanded, “Something terrible. Tell me what it is.”
The Weaver started to answer, but Eli stepped in front of him, cutting him off. “You remember the thing at Izo’s?”
Miranda nodded.
“Think that,” Eli said. “But larger, and more.”
The Spiritualist began to tremble again. “How many more? More than the League can handle?”
Let me put it this way, the Weaver said, pushing Eli aside. Eli winced when the old man’s hand touched his arm. The painless burn was the same as Benehime’s.
The Lord of Storms and the League were created to answer the challenges of one demon, the Weaver said. Just one. And a buried, bound one at that. In less than an hour, the wall that guards this world will begin to crack, and they will pour in. Even if every spirit in the sphere were a member of the League, it wouldn’t be enough to handle what’s coming.
Miranda stared up at him, utterly still, and then her head dropped. “The Tower was right,” she whispered. “It is the end, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.”
Everyone turned to look at Eli. He put his hands on his hips and glared back. “We’re not dead yet,” he said. “We still have an hour, and I don’t mean to waste any more of it on doomsaying and hand wringing.”
There is a line between hope and self-delusion, the Weaver said, his white brows drawing together in disapproval. If we are to stop the shell from cracking, I must weave and the Hunter must hunt. The Shepherdess has made both of those impossible. How can you still play like we have a chance?
Eli clenched his teeth and fixed the Power with a glare. “First rule of thievery,” he said. “Until the noose snaps your neck, there is always a chance of escape. You just have to find it, and I mean to find ours. I didn’t work this hard just to sit around twiddling my thumbs while I wait for death.”
“The thief is right.”
Eli snapped his head down to look at Miranda. She looked just as surprised as he at the words that had left her mouth, but surprise quickly faded into a much more familiar Miranda expression: determination. Grabbing Gin’s fur, she pulled herself to her feet. “What’s your plan?”
Eli couldn’t stop the grin that was sneaking across his face. “You mean you’re going to put yourself at my mercy? You always said my plans were terrible.”
She arched an eyebrow. “They are. But, as I’ve mentioned before, your terrible plans have an infuriating habit of working, and I think I’d like that luck on my side for once. Besides, I can’t actually see how you could make things worse, for once.”
“How very astute of you,” Eli said, glancing around at the others. “Anyone else feel like taking an active role in their own survival?”
Slorn sighed and raised his hand. Beside him, the Shaper Guildmaster set his jaw stubbornly, but he nodded. Josef was in from the beginning, which left only one. Eli turned to face the Weaver. “Well, old man?”
The Weaver took a tired breath. What did you have in mind?
Eli grinned. Having Miranda burst in might actually make his plan easier. First, though, he had to make sure step one actually worked. He glanced at his swordsman. “Josef?”
Josef stepped forward. “What?”
“You cut the Lord of Storms,” Eli said, pointing at the enormous glowing wall of the blocked veil behind the Weaver. “Think you can cut that?”
Josef lifted the Heart. “I can try.”
The swordsman walked up to the glowing wall and stood there for a second with his head cocked, like he was listening to a voice only he could hear. At his side, the Heart of War began to vibrate like a tuning fork. A low humming sound filled the Shaper Mountain’s white chamber as Josef raised the blade, pulling it up over his shoulder. And then, stepping into the swing, he brought it down with all his strength.
The black blade
struck the white wall with a great gong, and blinding light exploded over everything. The vibrations rocked the Shaper Mountain, and Eli had to brace to keep from falling over again. Even within the Shaper Mountain’s own brightness, the white light flooding from the veil blinded him. Eli blinked furiously, rubbing his eyes hard as he tried to get them working again.
The first thing he saw was the Shepherdess’s seal. The mark glowed with phosphorescent fire, shining so bright the other whiteness looked dingy. For several seconds, the mark seemed to float in the air. Then Eli’s eyes recovered enough to see the mark was not, in fact, floating but set in a solid white blade the exact size and shape of the Heart of War.
Eli squinted in amazement. The Heart of War was glowing as white as the Lady herself, shining like the sun in Josef’s hands. This was the Heart’s awakened light at last, Eli realized, the light he’d never seen. But as bright as the Heart was, the mark on its blade shown brighter.
The Shepherdess’s seal burned whiter than anything Eli had ever seen, but as he stared at it, Eli realized that, though the sword was straining in Josef’s hands, the seal itself never moved. It stayed locked in place, holding the blade a hair’s width away from the white wall of the veil. On the other side of the sword, Josef was pushing with all his might, but the sword would not budge.
And then, without warning, the Heart’s light snuffed out.
The sword fell like a stone, blacker than ever as its light vanished. Josef fell with it, landing in a sprawl on the white floor. Eli was at his side before he could think to cry out. The swordsman was gasping for breath, his face pale from effort. He flipped over with Eli’s help and hugged the Heart’s blade to his body, clutching the metal like a wounded limb.
