The Spirit Eater (Legend of Eli Monpress 3)

by Rachel Aaron

  “Nothing,” Alric said. “He’s just had a bit of a fright. But it doesn’t matter. His bounty is good whether he’s dead or alive, correct?”

  This question was directed at Phillipe Whitefall, though it took a few moments for the bounty office director to realize that.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice trembling as he bent over for a closer look at Izo’s terror-stricken face. “Izo, scourge of the north, wanted dead or alive for one hundred and fifty thousand. But how did you catch him?”

  Alric closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. “I didn’t. Izo the Bandit King was captured by Eli Monpress. I’m only here to deliver him.”

  There was a collective gasp around the room, and then everyone started talking at once.

  “Hold on!” Banage’s voice rose over all others. “What right does a wanted criminal and enemy of the Council have to a bounty?”

  “Well,” Phillipe Whitefall said, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. “There’s no rule about who can turn in bounties. Keeping them open to lawbreakers actually encourages derision within the criminal element.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Sara said. “But how does Eli intend to claim his hundred and fifty thousand? Is he coming to Zarin to collect it himself?”

  “Of course not,” Alric said with a long-suffering sneer. “Monpress wishes for the reward to be added to his own bounty.”

  This time the room went silent.

  Merchant Prince Whitefall stepped forward. “You want us to add a hundred fifty thousand to Monpress’s bounty? But that would bring it to…” He looked at his cousin.

  “Two hundred and forty-eight thousand, your grace,” Phillipe answered.

  “Two hundred and forty-eight thousand,” Whitefall said, jabbing his drink at Alric. “A number like that is on the level of nations. We can’t pin that sort of power on a thief. What kind of fools do you take us for?”

  “I am only the messenger,” Alric said. “Will you combine the bounties or not?”

  “It’s not like we have much of a choice,” Whitefall said. “If we deny him, we break our own laws. I’m not about to set a nonpayment precedent that will jeopardize our highly successful bounty system.”

  “I take no more joy than you in this,” Alric said. “Monpress will be watching for his new posters. If they do not show up within the month, the world will know that the Council does not pay its debts.”

  “No need for threats,” Whitefall said, sipping his drink. “The bounty will be adjusted, may the Powers save us all.”

  Alric nodded and turned around. The white slit in the air opened immediately, and he stepped through into what looked like a destroyed town. Sara got a glimpse of shattered buildings and mountains in the distance before it closed again. She frowned and made a note to check with Sparrow to see if he’d heard anything about demons in the north.

  By this point, guards had been called in to apprehend the man on the carpet, but it was hardly necessary. Izo was limp as a rag doll, his face still frozen in a mask of fear. Sara watched as the guards dragged him away, then turned to find Whitefall deep in conversation with Phillipe and half a dozen representatives from the major Council Kingdoms. It wasn’t worth the political capital to butt in, so Sara turned, walked to the window, and looked out over Zarin as the white buildings turned golden under the setting sun.

  “Can you believe this?” a familiar, angry voice said behind her.

  She turned as Etmon Banage stepped in beside her, his sharp face scowling as he stared at the city below.

  “What?” she said. “Our being forced to see each other more than once a year?”

  Banage’s glare could have melted the glass. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  Sara took a long draw off her pipe before answering his question properly. “I thought it was a fairly clever plan.”

  Banage bristled. “It’s a disgrace to the Council and the entire bounty system.”

  “Good thing you don’t care about the Council, then.”

  “The Council speaks for us all,” Banage growled. “I’m in it whether I want to be or not. What I don’t understand is how the boy did it. I can’t even get the League of Storms to give my Spirit Court the time of day, and here’s Eli with Alric himself on a string.”

  Sara smiled. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  Banage stared at her. “How can you think that?”

  “How can you not?” Sara snapped. “He’s your son too, Etmon.”

  She whirled around and stomped toward the door, sending officials scrambling to get out of her way. Banage stared after her, shocked beyond retort. When he came to enough to realize he was being stared at, he turned back to the window and glowered out over the city as the lamp-lighters began their rounds.

  Benehime sat in her white nothing, staring, as always, at her orb when a man appeared in front of her. There was no opening portal, no door in the air. One moment there was nothing, and the next he was standing there, glaring down at her.

  Shepherdess.

  Benehime’s white eyes narrowed, and she pushed her orb aside. The man’s white face was that of an old but active man with a pure-white beard that fell to his knees. His hair was the same, a snowy cascade that hung around him like a robe. His white hands were folded in front of him, the white fingers long and skilled, and his eyes were the same white as her own.

  Weaver, she said. You’re out of your element.

  You left me no choice. The Weaver’s deep voice filled the air. Not when you take such risks. He looked at the orb. Benehime followed his gaze to the ruined valley where the demon had woken.

  I had everything under control.

  Did you? The Weaver’s beard did nothing to hide his frown. It didn’t look that way from where I stood.

  It is not your place to be looking at all, Benehime said fiercely. Your place is to tend the shell. The sphere and everything inside is my domain.

  So it is, the Weaver said. But when your risks threaten the shell, they become mine as well. What were you thinking, letting a demonseed grow that large? You put everything in danger, and not for the first time, I hear. Your spirits have been complaining to me. They say you ignore your duty, that you play favorites to the point of exclusion. Have you forgotten why you are here?

  I forget nothing! Benehime shouted. It is you who has forgotten his place, Benehin! Now get out. You have no right to order me around.

  And you have no power to make me leave, the Weaver said. We three, Shepherdess, Weaver, and Hunter, are the children of the Creator, equals in all things. There is no power you can wield that I cannot counter. You may force your spirits to grovel at your feet, but you cannot touch so much as a hair on my beard.

  Benehime stood up, eye to white eye with the Weaver. This is still my sphere. It is by my will alone that you can exist at all in this place, and I am done listening to the hysterical ravings of a cowardly old man. Leave, now, before I force you out.

  The Weaver stayed perfectly still.

  Eyes still locked with hers, he stretched out his white hand and laid it against the edge of her domain. As if in answer, the dim shapes of clawed hands began to gather, their edges pressing hard against the wall, scraping at the fabric that separated her world from theirs. Far in the distance, the screaming grew louder.

  The shell is a delicate thing, the Weaver said, stroking the thin barrier as the claws scraped against his hand. I can maintain it against assault from without, but not from within as well. He glared hard at her. Remember that the Hunter has his day of rest in one year’s time. When that happens, it will be two against one. I suggest you think very carefully about what happened today, Benehime. We have served together for a long, long time. I would hate to lose you over something as petty as a favorite, sister.

  I forget nothing, Benehime whispered. Get out.

  As silently and suddenly as he had appeared, the Weaver vanished. Benehime stared at the place where he had been for a long time. Eventually, her white eyes
drifted past it, to the edge of her domain and the long, clawed hands still clustering where the Weaver’s hand had rested. With a furious snarl, she turned back to her sphere and buried herself in her world.

  extras

  meet the author

  Rachel Aaron was born in Atlanta, Georgia. After a lovely, geeky childhood full of books and public television, and then an adolescence spent feeling awkward about it, she went to the University of Georgia to pursue English literature with an eye toward getting her PhD. Upper-division coursework cured her of this delusion, and she graduated in 2004 with a BA and a job, which was enough to make her mother happy. She currently lives in a 1970s house of the future in Athens, Georgia, with her loving husband, an overgrown library, and a small, brown dog.

  Find out more about her at www.rachelaaron.net.

  introducing

  If you enjoyed THE SPIRIT EATER,

  look out for

  THE SPIRIT WAR

  The Legend of Eli Monpress Book 4

  by Rachel Aaron

  The Perod bounty office was packed with the usual riffraff. Dozens of men (and a few scowling women) lounged on long benches stolen from the tavern across the street, polishing a startling variety of weaponry and trying to look bored and not like they were waiting. It was a farce, of course. It was criminally early on a Monday morning, and the only reason bounty hunters ever came into a regional office before noon was to get their hands on the weekly bounty update from Zarin.

  The only person who didn’t try to hide his anticipation was a young man toward the back of the crowd. He stood on his bench, hopping from foot to foot and ignoring his dour-faced companion’s constant attempts to pull him back down, an anxious scowl marring the boyish face that everyone should have recognized but no one did.

  “Honestly,” Eli huffed as Josef finally managed to drag him down. “Are they walking from Zarin?”

  “It’s not even eight,” Josef said, his voice low and annoyed as he nudged the wrapped Heart of War farther under the bench with his foot. “The post isn’t due until eight fifteen. And can you at least pretend to be discrete? I love a good fight, but we walked all night to get here. I’d like some breakfast and a few hours of shut-eye before I have to put down an entire room of bounty hunters, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Eli made a disgusted sound. “Go ahead. I could wear a name tag on my forehead and these idiots still wouldn’t notice. No bounty hunter worth his sword goes to a regional office for his tips. There’s not a soul here who’s good enough to see what they don’t expect.” He slouched on the bench. “Sometimes I think there’s no pride in the profession anymore, Josef. You were the last of the bounty hunters worth the name, and even you got so bored you took up with the enemy.”

  “Not bored,” Josef said. “You just gave me better fights. And Coriano was quite decent. And what about that man who attacked you at the hotel? Gave you quite a scramble for a dying profession, didn’t he?”

  Beside him, Nico did her best to stifle a laugh, but her coat gave her away, moving in long, midnight waves as her shoulders shook. Eli rolled his eyes at both of them.

  “Well, too bad you killed them both, then,” he said with a sniff. “Knocking over the best of a dying breed without even leaving a calling card. It’s such a waste. No wonder your bounty’s only ten thousand.”

  Josef shrugged. “I see no need to define myself by an arbitrary number, unlike some people I could mention.”

  Eli bristled. “Arbitrary? I earned every gold standard of that bounty! You should know. You were there for most of it. My bounty is a reflection of our immense skill; you should take some pride in it. After all”—he grinned painfully wide—“I’m now the most wanted man in the Council Kingdoms. Two hundred and forty-eight thousand gold standards! That puts even Nico’s number to shame. My head is worth more than a kingdom—no, two kingdoms! And to think, just last year I was struggling to break thirty thousand. This is an achievement no one else in the world can touch, my friends. You are sitting beside a national power. Tell you what, the moment the Zarin post arrives with my new posters, I’ll sign them for you. How’s that?”

  Josef looked decidedly unimpressed, and made no comment.

  “It is a large number,” Nico said after the uncomfortable silence had gone on long enough. “But you’re not the highest. There’s still Den the Warlord with five hundred thousand.”

  “Den doesn’t count,” Eli snapped. “He was the first bounty, made right after the war. The Council hadn’t even decided on a valuation for its currency yet. If they’d made the bounty properly with pledges from offended kingdoms rather than just letting old Council Daddy Whitefall pull some grossly large number out of his feathered helmet, Den would never have gotten that high. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be passing him soon enough. Just you watch. This time next year I’ll be at a million, and see if I offer to autograph your poster then.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Josef grumbled, eyeing the crowd. “Look lively, I think the post is here.”

  Eli was on his feet in an instant, elbowing his way through the crowd that was no longer even pretending to look bored. The hunters thronged around the door as a sleepy-eyed bounty officer and two harried men in Council uniforms with piles of paper under their arms attempted to push their way in.

  “No shoving!” the officer shouted. “Stand back! Individual posters can be purchased after the official notices are hung!”

  The crowd took a grudging step back as the Council postmen began tacking up the latest posters under the bounty officer’s direction. First, they hung up the small-fry, lists of names with tiny descriptions and even tinier numbers beside them. Next came the ranking bounties, criminals with a thousand or more on their heads whose notoriety had earned them a sketch and a small poster of their own. These were all posted between the floor and waist level. The top of the wall was reserved for the big money. Here, the Council men hung the famous names.

  Izo was gone. The men stripped his old poster down with minimal fanfare, moving those bounties below him up a notch. The old, yellowed poster offering two hundred thousand for the Daughter of the Dead Mountain was left untouched, as was Den’s large poster at the top of the board. Between these, however, the men tacked up a fresh, large sheet featuring a familiar face grinning above a rather astonishingly large number.

  Eli stopped shoving the men in front of him and gazed up at his poster, his eyes glowing with pride. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered. “Two hundred and forty-eight thousand gold standards.”

  Josef pressed his palm to his forehead in frustration as Eli began shoving his way forward. Thankfully, no one else seemed to have heard the thief’s remark. The bounty hunters were all loudly clamoring for copies, shouting over one another while the bounty officer tried to shout over everyone that no one was getting posters until the official copies were up.

  Eli vanished into the fray only to reappear moments later with a scroll tucked under his arm. Josef raised his eyebrows and began easing the knives out of his sleeves, just in case, but the bounty officer was too busy screaming at the bounty hunters to get in line to notice one of his carefully protected posters was already missing.

  “They get better with every likeness,” Eli said, proudly unrolling his poster for Josef and Nico to appreciate. “If it wasn’t black and white, I’d say I was looking in a mirror.”

  Nico nodded appreciatively, but Josef wasn’t even looking. Eli turned to berate his swordsman for his shocking lack of attentiveness, but Josef was just standing there, staring at the bounty board like he’d seen a ghost. Eli followed his gaze, glancing over his shoulder at the bounty wall where the Council men were hanging one last poster, just below Den’s and just ahead of Eli’s. As the Council men tacked the poster’s corners up, a familiar stern face glared down at the room, and below it, in tall blocky letters, was the following:

  JOSEF LIECHTEN THERESON ESINLOWE.

  WANTED ALIVE, 250,000 GOLD STANDA
RDS.

  “Josef,” Eli said, very quietly. “Why is your number larger than mine?”

  Josef didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring. Then, without a word, he turned, pushed his way through the crowd to their bench, grabbed his bag and his wrapped sword, and stomped out the back door.

  Eli and Nico exchanged a look and ran after him.

  “Josef,” Eli said, running to keep up with the swordsman’s ground-eating strides. “Josef! Stop! What’s this about? Where are you going?”

  Josef kept walking.

  “Look,” Eli said, jogging beside him. “If you’re worried I’m upset that you have a higher bounty than I do, you shouldn’t be. I mean, I am upset, but you shouldn’t be worried. I’m sure it’s just a mistake. If you’ll stop walking for just a second, I can go nick your poster and we’ll take a closer look. Maybe they added an extra zero by accident or—”

  “I don’t need a closer look.”

  Eli stumbled a little. Josef’s voice was taut with rage. Quick as he’d taken off, Josef stopped and turned to face them. Eli shrank back at the cold, white anger on his face, nearly stumbling into Nico.

  Josef’s eyes flicked from thief to girl. “It’s no mistake,” he said. “That bounty is her last card. I can’t let her do this.”

  “Her who?” Eli said.

  “Queen Theresa.”

  “I see,” Eli said, though he didn’t. “Well, if it’s not a mistake, then I’m stumped. What did you do to this queen to earn a number like that?”

  The side of Josef’s mouth twitched. “I lived.”

  Eli crossed his arms. “Could you try being a little less cryptic?”

  “No.” Josef pulled his bag off his shoulder and tossed it to Nico. “I have to go away for a while. There’s food enough for the next day in there. Nico, I’m counting on you to keep Eli from doing anything stupid. I realize it’s a tall order, but do your best.”

  Nico glared at him and tossed the bag back. “I’m going with you,” she said.