The Spirit Eater

CHAPTER 22

Time’s almost up,” Alric said.

Eli nodded, but didn’t say anything. It had been four minutes since he’d shouted at the demon, and about two minutes since it had suddenly stopped moving. Now it was just standing there, staring stupidly at the sky with its hundreds of horrible eyes while its wings flapped slowly. Eli wasn’t sure if this was a good development or a bad one in the long term, but at least it wasn’t screaming anymore.

“Time,” Alric said. “All right, Monpress, do it. Call the Shepherdess.”

“No need,” the Heart rumbled. “Look.”

Eli and Alric both stepped backward as the demon, now grown twice as tall as even the tallest tree, began to dissolve. The hideous body broke apart, collapsing like a dried-out sandcastle to the destroyed forest floor. The darkness became simple black as the glowing eyes winked out one by one. Once it began to fall apart, the demon was gone in less than a minute, and everywhere it had touched, the valley began to grow back. A great torrent of dirt filled the sundered ground. Broken rocks repaired themselves, and though the toppled trees could not be righted again, new growth instantly began to spring up from the felled trunks.

The last to dissolve was the demon’s head. It fell with a shudder, the jagged teeth breaking free before dissolving like everything else until only one part remained. Nico landed gently on the new grass where the demon had been standing only moments before. She was naked, but something moved to cover her as Eli watched, snaking over her body so quickly his eyes could barely keep up. It had covered half of her before he realized it was her coat stitching itself back together.

He started to laugh and ran to her, dropping to the ground just as she opened her eyes, which were no longer even slightly yellow, but a deep, deep brown.

She stared at him, confused. “Is Josef okay?”

“Yes,” Eli said, grabbing her hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Nico answered, smiling. “More than okay.”

“So I see,” Eli said. “You’ll have to tell us how you did it later. Right now, it’s time to collect. You just won a very nice bet for me.”

Nico frowned. “I did?”

Eli just grinned and stood up, turning to Alric, who was still walking over.

“Well,” Eli said, “I believe I just saved your bacon.”

“What?” Alric stopped and crossed his arms. “You put all of our lives on the line for a long shot and I’m supposed to fall over myself thanking you?”

“I never said anything about a thank-you,” Eli said. “I’m a thief, remember? I can’t use thank-yous. No, we made a deal, Alric, Mr. Deputy Commander. I held up my end, but we never set down what you would pay if I won.”

Alric gave him a dirty look. “And an uneaten world is not payment enough?”

“Of course not,” Eli said. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Look,” Alric said. “I don’t think—”

Eli rolled over him. “There’s also the little matter of you threatening to kill me earlier. Considering you’re not even supposed to go near me, I think you should be more open to bargaining.”

Alric started to say something, then he looked away. “What do you want?”

“Oh,” Eli said, “just a tiny favor. Itsy-bitsy, won’t take but ten minutes of your time.”

“What?” Alric said, glowering.

Eli grinned from ear to ear and began to lay out his plan. By the time he was finished, Alric was ready to revisit the option of killing him.

Miranda sat on the edge of a broken building with Gin’s head in her lap. She kept her mind perfectly blank, letting her calm be an anchor for her terrified spirits. The demon had stopped screaming ten minutes ago, but it took longer than that to bring her spirits out of their panic after something like this. Deep inside, however, Miranda couldn’t help shuddering. She could still see the thing in her mind’s eye, the hideous wings reaching up to claw the sky. If that’s what it had looked like to her blind human eyes, she dreaded to think what her spirits had seen.

She had heard horrible stories of demons all her life, but not even in the most terrifying had there been anything like what she’d seen today. How could something like that even exist? Wasn’t the League supposed to keep this sort of thing from happening?

When her spirits were finally calm again, Miranda opened her eyes. The League men were moving around her, putting things back together, just as they had in Mellinor. They worked in pairs, walking down the destroyed streets putting buildings back together with a few hushed words and a wave of their hands. Slorn was still down in the crater working on Nivel’s seed with a pair of League men standing guard over him. Alric, however, was conspicuously absent. That bothered Miranda, but the League men didn’t seem worried. Maybe he was still dealing with the other demon? She bit her lip. That seemed like a lot for one man to handle. She looked north, studying the trees where the enormous creature had been scarcely an hour ago. The forest was deathly still now, but she could still see the monster’s shape above the trees, an aftervision burned into her eyes even when she closed them. Miranda sighed. She’d just have to deal with it for now. Things like this took time to fade away.

Anxious to be moving, Miranda left Gin where he was and walked over toward Slorn. The bear-headed man was handing the seed to the League men, who took it with gloved hands. One of them made one of their cuts in reality while the other put the seed in a black sack. When it was secure, they stepped through the portal, vanishing instantly. Slorn watched the space where they had been, his face distant as Miranda walked up to him.

“Did they make you give it up?” she asked.

“They would have,” Slorn answered. “But I handed the seed over of my own volition. I had learned all I could hope to learn from it.” He looked up, staring off at the snowcapped mountains. “That thing was never a part of my wife,” he said quietly. “Nivel’s soul has already been reborn. All I can do now is work to make this world a place that is worthy of her.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed letter. It was quite fat, several pages, and sealed with a large smear of wax. Slorn hefted it in his hand, and then tossed it high into the air. It spun a few times, and then took off like a bird, soaring through the air south and a little east.

Miranda whistled, impressed. “What was that?”

“A letter for my daughter,” Slorn said. “Explaining where I went and why I’m not coming home. I’m not sure where she is, but the letter will find her sooner or later. Preferably later. I don’t want her trying to follow me.”

Miranda frowned. “You’re not going home?”

“No,” Slorn said, walking past her toward his wagon. “I stayed in isolation for Nivel. Now that she’s gone, there is much for me to do. The world is changing, Spiritualist, and not for the better. A great demon eats an entire forest and the Shepherdess doesn’t even send the Lord of Storms to deal with it.” Slorn snorted as he pushed his spent cannon under the now dry and empty barrels. “I’ve dedicated ten years of my life to studying demonseeds, and yet the League has never asked for my findings, nor welcomed them when I forced the subject. Their Shepherdess has no interest in how to make things better. She only cares to keep things as they are, even as her world crumbles around her. So I’m taking my work to someone who will care.”

“Who?” Miranda said.

“The Shaper Mountain,” Slorn said, climbing into the wagon seat.

Miranda’s eyes widened. She’d heard stories about the awakened mountain, but she’d never been there. No one had, except Shaper wizards. It was rumored they knew more about spirits than anyone, and if Slorn was an example, she believed it.

“Take me with you,” she said.

He looked down at her, confused. “Why do you want to go?”

“Because I hate working for the Council with jerks like Sparrow,” she said. “Because I’m sick of going back to Zarin empty-handed, and because I’m sworn to protect the Spirit World.” She looked north again, tracing the outline of the demon that was still burned into her eyes. “After this afternoon, catching Eli Monpress to save the Spirit Court’s pride feels almost petty.” She turned back to Slorn. “Let’s just say my priorities have taken a pretty significant shift in the right direction. If you’re taking your knowledge of demonseeds to the Shapers to make sure things like that don’t happen again, then I’m going with you.”

Slorn leaned back. “And what of your orders? What about Sara and the Council?”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “The Council can choke on its paperwork for all I care, and Sara can go back to her menagerie. The only command I follow is Master Banage’s, and he would tell me to go.”

Slorn smiled, showing his sharp, yellow teeth. “Yes, I believe he would. Very well, you can come if you like. I warn you, we’ll be moving quickly over hard terrain. I hope you’re ready.”

“Travel we can do,” Miranda said. “Just say the word.”

Slorn’s spider-legged wagon stood up with a creak, and he turned it back toward the cliff where his other wagon waited. Gin was already up by the time Miranda reached him, his long body pulled in a great bowing stretch.

“So we’re tossing our lot in with the bear,” he said. “Good. I like him much better than the idiot bird.”

“Glad you feel that way,” Miranda said, jumping onto his back. “Because we’re in deep now.”

“Like we ever do anything halfway.” Gin snorted.

Miranda gave him a friendly kick, and he bounded forward, hopping over the destroyed city after Slorn.

“There they go,” Tesset said, watching the ghosthound through a hole in the wreckage.

“You see?” Sparrow said. “I told you she would turn traitor.”

Tesset looked over his shoulder, but Sparrow wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to the ball of blue glowing glass in his palm.

“She is Banage’s little pet.” Sara’s voice pulsed through the orb. “I’d hardly expect her to do otherwise.”

“Well, what do you want us to do about it?” Sparrow said. “Eli’s gone, the Heart is gone, and now Slorn’s off to who knows where. Even if the Spiritualist hadn’t run off, this whole bloody mission would still be a disaster. I say we cut our losses and head back to Zarin before Izo finds us and sends our skins to Whitefall’s office as a warning.”

There was a huff over the orb that Tesset recognized as Sara blowing a stream of smoke into the air. “There’s no call for such drama,” she said. “And there’s no call for scrapping the mission. Honestly, you just got up there. Coming back now would be a waste. I want to know what Slorn is up to and what kind of mission he found to inspire Banage’s girl wonder. Follow them.”

“Sara!” Sparrow cried.

“Do it,” she snapped. “I’m cutting off now. Whitefall just sent a page. I have to go to some sort of emergency meeting in ten minutes and it will take me at least that long to get up to the hearing room. I’ll check in tomorrow to see how you’re doing, and I don’t want to hear any complaints, Sparrow. Don’t forget, there’s still a nice-sized bounty on your head I could turn in to Whitefall any time I like, and they don’t hand out prison sentences for what you’ve done.”

“How could I forget,” Sparrow grumbled, but the orb had already gone dim. He glared at it for a moment more and then shoved the Relay into the pocket of his ruined silk jacket. “Well, isn’t this just lovely?”

“It is,” Tesset said. “It’s been awhile since I had a good old-fashioned hunt.”

Sparrow harrumphed and ran his fingers through his dusty hair.

Tesset watched him, frowning. “Why didn’t you tell her about the demons?”

“Because I’m trying to get out of here, remember?” Sparrow said. “If I’d told her, she would have asked us to investigate that as well, and I’d rather her hand me to the bounty office on a platter than go anywhere near that place.”

“She’ll find out,” Tesset said. “And she’s going to be mad.”

“We’ll worry about that when it comes,” Sparrow said, giving up on trying to tame the dusty mess on his head. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Tesset nodded and followed him out of the maze of broken buildings. He was grinning. A hunt, and a fine quarry too. Just what he needed to combat the city softness he’d been sinking into. He needed something to push him forward, because he wasn’t getting any younger. Somewhere out there, Den was waiting for him. When they met again, Tesset knew he would have only one chance to show his master that his lesson had been well learned. He had to be ready.

Clenching his fists, Tesset started jogging toward where they’d last seen the ghosthound. Sparrow stumbled along behind him, sending a stream of curses into the late-afternoon breeze.

Sara marched up the stairs of the fourth and largest of the Council Citadel’s seven towers. Servants in flawless white pressed themselves against the walls as she passed, peeking at her curiously from under their lowered lashes. She bit her pipe and kept walking.

The meeting room was already full when she got there. Council officials milled beside the catering table, enjoying the array of little sandwiches, cheese plates, and brandy aperitifs that the Council demanded even for its emergency meetings. Sara pushed right past them, going straight for a tall man with close-cropped silver hair holding court by the picture windows, the only person in the room who actually mattered.

“Whitefall,” she said, nodding as the crowd parted to let her through. “I’m extremely busy. What’s this all about?”

Merchant Prince Alber Whitefall, Lord Protector and Grand Marshal of Zarin, gave her a politician’s bright smile. “I was hoping you could tell me, Sara dear.” He touched her shoulder, guiding her in beside him. “I received an urgent message from the League of Storms. Normally, they fall under your jurisdiction, but this time the message was addressed specifically to me. Very odd. Haven’t I asked you not to smoke in here?”

Sara took a pointedly long draw from her pipe. “What does the League want with you?”

“I don’t know, the reasons were quite vague, but the letter specifically said that I was to call a meeting with you, Phillipe, and all the upper Council. And since you’ve always stressed that the League of Storms is never to be ignored, I did.”

“Phillipe?” Sara gave him a skeptical look. “The bounty office windbag? What does the League want with him?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Whitefall said. “But that’s my cousin you’re talking about. Only I get to call him a windbag.” He waved and smiled. Across the room, the topic of their conversation jumped, and then hesitantly waved back before returning to his plate of sandwiches.

Sara rolled her eyes. “Well, since we’re all here, can we get this mystery meeting under way? I have work to do.”

“Not quite yet,” Whitefall said, adjusting the lapels of his black dinner suit. “We’re still missing the representative from the Spirit Court. And, of course, whomever the League is sending to enlighten us.”

“Spirit Court?” Sara said as the doors opened. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Etmon Banage himself sweep into the room.

“Powers,” she muttered, smoking furiously.

Etmon saw her as well, but to his credit the only change was a slight hardening of his eyes as he approached to pay his respects to the Merchant Prince.

“Lord Whitefall,” he said with a nod. “What is the emergency?”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Whitefall said, glancing toward the far wall. Sara and Banage both turned to see a thin white line dropping down through the air. When it reached the floor, a man stepped through. Sara winced. Alric looked furious. He also looked worse for wear. His face was badly bruised, and he walked with a limp. Of course, in his line of work, that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the man he was dragging behind him.

By the time the white doorway closed, the room was silent. Everyone was watching the Deputy Commander of the League of Storms and the man dragging on the floor behind him. When he was sure he had everyone’s attention, Alric tossed the man forward. He fell sprawling, leaving thick smears of dirt on the silk carpet.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Council of Thrones,” Alric said through gritted teeth. “I bring you Izo Barns, also known as Izo the Bandit King, wanted by the Council for one hundred and fifty thousand gold standards.”

The man on the floor curled into a ball, moaning softly to himself with his eyes wide open like a horrified child. Alric just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest.

It was Sara who recovered first. “What’s wrong with him?”

“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.