The Spirit War

CHAPTER 10

Heinricht Slorn sat cross-legged on the floor of his cell, staring at the mountain. Looking with that sight that his human mind could still barely comprehend, even after so many years, he could see the pulsing core of the mountain’s strength beneath the cell walls. The power of the spirit flowed like a glacier from its peak to its roots buried in the very foundation of the world. The Shaper Mountain surrounded him, cutting him off from the outside, and yet the more he looked, the closer he came to understanding the world he had seen in the mountain’s memory.

But as he studied the spirit, a tiny sound drew his eyes away from the mountain to the much humbler shape of the vent above his door. Strong as it was, the Shaper Mountain had no dominion over the winds. This deep in the mountain, the Teacher had been forced to create ventilation shafts so his human followers would not suffocate. The vent in Slorn’s chamber was far too small for a man of Slorn’s size, but not all men were Slorn’s size. His ears flicked as the tiny noise sounded again, the light, small sound of leather on stone. Slorn turned his head, bear eyes slowly moving back and forth across his tiny cell, but he saw nothing. In fact, he saw less than nothing, a blank emptiness that was itself telling. He smiled and focused his large brown eyes to see not as spirits saw, but the mundane shape of the physical world, and as he did, the man slowly appeared.

“Hello, Heinricht,” Sparrow said, flashing a superior smile as he straightened up from where he’d landed below the air vent. “Been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Slorn said.

Sparrow shrugged and leaned against the door, his shape flickering. Slorn blinked in annoyance, struggling to keep his eyes focused only on the physical world, the only place where Sara’s little weapon was visible.

Sparrow’s smile widened at his frustration. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want?”

“Why should I ask such an obvious question?” Slorn said. “You’re here to offer me freedom in exchange for joining Sara’s menagerie, correct?”

Sparrow shrugged. “Good guess.”

“It was no guess,” Slorn said. “You don’t have to know Sara long to know she would never let a situation like this slip by without playing her hand.”

“Way I see it, Sara has all the cards now,” Sparrow said, looking around at the small cell. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the mess, haven’t you? Whatever you came to tell your former masters, they must not have liked it since you’re in a cell rather than at the head of a workshop where you belong. Sara can change that.”

“I’m sure she could,” Slorn said. “But Sara’s price is always too high.”

“All she asks is that you share your knowledge,” Sparrow said. “Is that so much?”

Slorn’s calm expression turned into a snarl. “I’ve seen how she treats her people, Sparrow. I’m already a bear. I have no interest in becoming a dog. Besides”—Slorn looked down at the floor, toward the mountain’s roots—“I have unfinished business here.”

“What business can you finish here?” Sparrow said, laughing. “The Shapers are so bound in by law they’ve locked away their greatest asset for a minor transgression from a decade ago. Such people don’t deserve access to talent like yours.” He pushed off the wall, walking across the tiny cell until he was barely a foot from Slorn’s muzzle. “Sara’s different,” he whispered. “She doesn’t care about pasts or traditions, only results. Come with me to Zarin and nothing will ever stand in your way again.”

Slorn looked him in the eyes. “And that is exactly why I’m not coming with you. I cannot work with someone who values only the ends and never the means.”

Sparrow’s face fell. “You’re not exactly in a position to judge, bear man,” he said in a low, sharp voice. “You were the one who led that poor, ignorant Spiritualist girl straight into the Shaper Mountain, knowing full well she’d never be allowed to leave. Tell me, Slorn, is that something a moral man would do?”

“No,” Slorn said. “But I had no choice. I knew when I decided to return to the Shapers that I would never leave this mountain again. That’s why I needed another wizard, someone I could trust, who could hear my argument and the mountain’s reply and take that knowledge where I no longer could.”

“And where was she supposed to take it?” Sparrow said. “Into her cell? Because that’s where she is, you know. Alone, suffering, without even her puppy for comfort, and it’s all because of you.”

“I am fully aware of my fault in this,” Slorn said. “But Miranda has a much bigger role in things to come than she knows. A role I forced her into by bringing her here, and a role I will force her to continue by hiring you to free her on my behalf.”

Sparrow snorted. “I don’t think you can afford me.”

“Ah, but I won’t be paying you,” Slorn said, taking something from his jacket pocket. It was a fat, leather-bound notebook tied with a loop of string.

“What’s that?” Sparrow said, leaning in for a better look. “Your diary?”

“My research notes,” Slorn said, holding the book like a precious relic. “This book contains the complete record of Nivel’s and my work for the last ten years. I may not be able to afford your services, but this book should be plenty to buy the services of the woman who owns you. Every answer to every question Sara has asked me about demons over the last decade is in his book. I’m giving it to her in exchange for Miranda’s freedom, plus freedom for all her spirits.”

A sly smile spread over Sparrow’s face. “All her spirits?” he said, scratching his chin. “A clever touch, bear man.” He eyed the book, and Slorn could almost see the scales weighing the danger of freeing Miranda versus the danger of angering Sara. Sara must have won out in the end, for a moment later, Sparrow’s hand swooped in and snatched the book from Slorn’s fingers.

“The Council accepts your offer,” he said, hefting the book in his hands. “But I must say, you’ve become a very trusting bear in your old age, Heinricht. How do you know I won’t just take this and leave poor little Miranda to the mess you made for her? I mean, it’s not like you can go for a stroll to see if I kept my word.”

Slorn smiled. “It was because I knew you were following us that I risked bringing Miranda to the Shaper Mountain in the first place. Sara’s too good a judge of opportunity to abandon a spirit like Mellinor. My guess is that you have orders to take us both back to Zarin. However, breaking someone out of the Shaper Mountain is no easy feat, and since I’m not going, you might be tempted to cut your losses and just leave. With this in mind, think of that book as collateral. You’ll find a letter to Sara on the inside cover explaining that Miranda is supposed to be with you.”

Sparrow’s smile faltered, and he flipped the book open, glaring at the note scrawled across the inside cover, impossible to rip out without ruining the first half of the notes.

“You can be a very conniving bear, Heinricht,” he said, snapping the book shut with a deep sigh. “You know, of course, that this little payment is between you and Sara and won’t spare the Spiritualist the enormous debt she’ll owe the Council for her escape.”

Slorn shrugged. “Miranda is a competent woman. I trust her to handle her own obligations.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you said so,” Sparrow said, tucking the notebook into his pocket as he walked back to the wall. “Lovely chatting with you, Heinricht.”

“You take care of Miranda, Sparrow,” Slorn said, his voice heavy with warning. “She knows things now that could save us all.”

“What, haven’t you heard?” Sparrow said, glancing over his shoulder. “The Empress is on the move. Nothing can save us now.” He pressed himself against the wall and jumped, catching the edge of the vent with one hand. “Good-bye, old bear,” he said, pulling himself expertly into the opening. “Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”

“Likely not,” Slorn said.

Sparrow laughed and folded his thin body, slipping out of the cell like smoke. Slorn watched the place where he had been for several minutes, blinking his eyes every time his focus drifted from the physical world toward the spirit. Someday, he told himself, someday he would ask Sara where she’d found Sparrow and how his spirit invisibility actually worked. It was a lie, of course. In all likelihood he would never leave this cell again. Still…

Letting the spirit sight take over again, Slorn looked down through the heart of the mountain, down to its base, the enormous shelf of rock that supported all the mountains around the Shaper peak, and then down farther still to where its roots ended at the very bottom of world. There, the stone suddenly stopped in a smooth, curved base, as smooth as the arc of the sky, but upside down. Slorn swallowed. He’d never looked so deep underground before, and it was only because the mountain was one single spirit that he could do it now.

He almost wished he hadn’t.

Slorn pressed his broad hands to the stone floor. Tiny tremors, too small for anyone who wasn’t feeling for them to notice, ran through the Shaper Mountain. They came in long, jagged scrapes, as though something far away was rubbing against the stone. Every time the stone shook, he saw a flicker of movement far, far below, a flicker of movement in the horrible, familiar shape of an enormous, clawed hand.

Slorn lifted his hands from the stone and folded them in his lap. If the hands were above as well as below, then Gredit was right. There was something terribly wrong with the world, something the Shepherdess didn’t want the spirits to see. The Shaper Mountain knew this, but it could not act because of the Shepherdess. However, Slorn was certain that, while the Teacher made all the motions of an obedient servant, not even the Shepherdess could cow such an old, stubborn spirit forever. All he had to do was wait.

With that, the problem of how to spend his imprisonment was decided. Slorn looked away from the bottom of the world and leaned back, settling against the cold stone of the mountain. When he was comfortable, he opened his mouth and, in a quiet voice, began to ask questions. He asked about the demonseeds, about the Dead Mountain, about the clawing hands. He asked about spirits, about humans, where they’d come from, why the Shepherdess had made them, why they were blind. Everything he wanted to know, he asked. No answers came, but Slorn did not stop. He would never stop until the stone replied. Nivel had told him once that he was as stubborn as a mountain. To honor her memory, to give meaning to her death, he was going to prove her right. And so he kept asking questions in the white silence until, far sooner than he expected, the cell door opened.

Miranda lay facedown on the stone floor, her eyes closed against the constant light of the mountain. It did no good. The light bled through her eyelids until even her dreams were suffused in white. She pushed herself up with a groan and stared glumly at the room that had become her world: a white box, ten feet by ten feet by ten feet, no door, no windows, nothing even to mark which wall was which. Twice a day, the wall opened and a Shaper appeared with food, but otherwise she had no outside contact, no company at all. After the stone swallowed her, she’d lost consciousness and woken up here, alone. She hadn’t seen Slorn since the meeting, but worse than that, Gin was missing. His absence bothered her more than her own imprisonment, and since he wasn’t a bound spirit, she couldn’t even feel if he was alive or dead.

After she woke up, Miranda had spent the first dozen hours of her confinement trying to break out. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Again, the Shapers had left her rings, and though the walls of her cell were part of the mountain, they were still stone. Mellinor’s water had broken down larger walls than these, so had Durn’s boulders. But the problem wasn’t the walls; it was her spirits. No matter how she harangued them, they refused to act against the mountain, and every time she asked why, every one of them gave the same answer: They could not raise their strength against a star.

Miranda pressed her cheek against the cold stone. A week ago, she wouldn’t have bought that excuse for a second. Now, after her meeting with the mountain, she understood a little better. Stars were spirits even greater than Great Spirits, chosen and backed by the greatest spirit of them all, the one called the Shepherdess. Spiritualist oath or no, so long as the Shaper Mountain was her jailer, her spirits could do nothing to help her. Not unless she forced them. Revulsion flooded her mind at the thought. She would die here before she Enslaved any spirit, much less her own.

Of course, dying here was looking more and more like her fate. She didn’t even know how long she’d been in her cell. Two days at least, but without a window she couldn’t be sure, and the guard never answered her questions. All she had was the endless, unchanging light and the slow feeling of time crawling over her skin.

Abandoning sleep, Miranda pushed herself up with a frustrated sigh. She walked to the white wall across from where she’d been lying and began running her fingers over the smooth stone. It was a futile effort. She’d already checked the walls hundreds of times. There were no cracks, no weaknesses. Still, she kept looking. She had to keep looking, keep trying for an escape, or she would go mad.

She was standing on tiptoe, running her fingers along the corner where the ceiling met the wall, when she heard the familiar soft grinding of stone. Miranda fell back on her heels and turned just in time to see the stone of the far wall fold in on itself to create a small door. It happened instantly, the flawless stone she’d run her fingers over just a minute before curling away to reveal the stern face and tall, heavy frame of the Shaper who served as her jailer. He was glowering, as usual, and Miranda glowered right back.

She was about to make her traditional demand to be set free when she noticed something was wrong. The man’s scowling face was off, somehow, his dark eyes unfocused and glossy. That was all she saw before he fell forward.

Miranda danced back with an undignified squeal. The Shaper landed face-first on the floor with a hollow thump, his arms flopping beside him in a way that made her stomach twist. She stared at him for several seconds before an infuriating, familiar voice brought her eyes back up.

“Well, well. Still alive?”

Sparrow was leaning on the door to her cell, a smug smile on his thin lips.

Miranda took a step back. “You!”

“Your gallant hero,” he said, spreading his arms with a flourish.

Miranda took another step back, keeping her distance as Sparrow stepped into the cell. He was dressed in the same dull brown he’d worn to chase Eli, and though the color should have stood out like a stain against the pure white walls, she was having a hard time focusing on him. Slowly, subtly, she hid her hands in her pockets and began to wake her spirits, just in case.

“Why are you here?”

“To rescue you, of course,” Sparrow said, his voice all sincerity.

Miranda didn’t buy it for a moment. “If you think I believe that you snuck in here and killed a man to rescue me out of the goodness of your heart—”

“Perish the thought,” Sparrow said. “I’m here because Sara wants you alive and useable, which means not locked up. And I didn’t kill anyone, for your information.” He kicked the downed man with his boot. “It’s a paralytic poison. He’ll wake up in an hour with pins and needles like he’s never felt, but otherwise unharmed. Not to crush your ego, but Sara doesn’t care enough about your rescue to risk angering the mountain by killing a Shaper.”

“But freeing a prisoner is fine?”

Sparrow gave her a withering look. “My patience is very thin today, Spiritualist. If you would rather not be rescued, I can leave you here.”

“No, no,” Miranda said quickly, her shoulders slumping. “I’m in your debt, Sparrow.”

“You don’t know the half of it, dear,” he said, walking farther into the cell. “Shall we be off?”

“No,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “Gin and Slorn are still prisoners. I can’t leave without them.”

“Way ahead of you,” Sparrow said. “I knew you wouldn’t turn down an offer of escape, so I took the liberty of freeing the dog first. As for Slorn, he’s decided to remain in the mountain, so we’ll just have to make do without his sterling company.”

Miranda gave an incredulous snort. “You actually think I believe that?”

“I don’t much care what you believe,” Sparrow said. “But understand that Slorn is worth a lot more to Sara than you are. I would gladly trade you for him if I could, but the bear man said he had unfinished business with the mountain.”

“So you left him?” Miranda said, horrified. “Just like that?”

“Just. Like. That,” Sparrow answered. “I have many jobs, Miss Lyonette. Bear wrestler isn’t one of them. We came to an arrangement of mutual benefit to the reasonable satisfaction of both parties. Let’s leave it at that. Now, we should be going before the Shapers miss our friend here.” He tapped the prone man with his boot again. “Or before your overprotective dog gets nervous and decides to come find you himself.”

Miranda paled. She wouldn’t put it past Gin. “Fine,” she said. “How are we getting out?”

Sparrow smiled and slipped his hand into his pocket. “The Shapers must not think too much of you,” he said, pulling out something small, flat, and dark. “This cell is right up against the mountain’s outer wall, so that’s the way we’re going to go.”

“What?” Miranda said. “Through the wall?”

“A bit flashy, I’ll grant you,” Sparrow said, tossing the small, black object with one hand and catching it in the other. “But thanks to your overly inquisitive and suspicious nature, we don’t exactly have the luxury of time.”

Miranda’s eyes darted to the thing he was tossing between his hands. It was shaped like a teardrop, smooth, dark, and slightly wrinkled, like a peach pit. “What’s that?”

“One of Sara’s experiments,” Sparrow said, bending over and tucking the thing into the crook where the wall met the floor. “You may want to step back.”

Miranda’s eyes widened, but she obeyed, stepping back to the door to her cell while carefully avoiding the paralyzed guard. Sparrow followed a moment later. In the hall was the small cart that the guard had been pushing before Sparrow had interrupted him. It was loaded with plates of cold prison rations, which Miranda recognized far too well, and a stone pitcher of water, which Sparrow grabbed.

“This should do,” he said, hefting the full pitcher with both hands.

Before Miranda could ask what he meant by that, Sparrow turned and threw the pitcher’s contents across the room. The water flew in an arc, glittering in the mountain’s white light for a moment before splashing down on the peach pit Sparrow had left against the wall.

The moment the water hit, the thing exploded. Miranda jumped back as a sound like a breaking tree cracked her eardrums. She slammed her hands over her ears, but it did no good. The sound was as much spiritual as physical, throwing her spirits into an uproar. Looking up, she saw why.

The peach pit was now a tangle of roots and branches. The wood seethed like a nest of snakes, coiling and shooting in all directions. Roots dug into the white stone of the mountain, crumbling the rock as they pushed their way down. The cell wall came apart in chunks as the growing limbs, now covered with the first growth of new leaves, shot out in search of sunlight. The cluster of wood doubled in seconds. Whole chunks of stone were breaking off the cell walls, falling away as the newborn tree fought to reach the open air. The mountain began to shake under Miranda’s feet, but it was too late. With a final snapping crash, the tree broke through the last layer of stone and golden sunlight streamed into Miranda’s prison.

She stood there gaping for a split second before Sparrow grabbed her hand and yanked her off her feet. They jumped over the paralyzed guard, now dangling from the branches like a caught kite, and ran up the trunk of the newborn tree. Branches were still exploding from the trunk under their feet as great clusters of green raced to catch the newly won sunlight. Sparrow dodged them deftly, pulling Miranda up through the hole in the mountain and into the sun.

“You’ve still got that sea in you, right?” he shouted over the roar of the growing wood.

“What did Sara do to this poor spirit?” Miranda shouted back, nearly slipping when a branch suddenly sprouted under her foot. “This violates—”

“Shut up and answer the question!” Sparrow snapped. “Sea, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Miranda yelled. “Why?”

The tree bucked beneath them as the mountain wind tossed the branches. They were outside, but Miranda could see nothing but the backs of leaves. Sparrow grabbed her hand and pointed it down. “Make a chute of water here.”

Miranda tried to rip her hand away. “What do you—”

A horrible sound of snapping wood cut her off, and she whirled around to see the white stone of the Shaper Mountain chomp down on the hole the tree had broken. The trunk squealed as the rock clamped down, shaking violently as the mountain began to chew through the wood. Miranda grabbed for a branch to steady herself, but Sparrow still had her hand. He yanked her forward until she looked at him. The minute he had her eyes, he made a good luck gesture with his free hand and pushed her off the tree.

For a breathless moment, Miranda felt almost weightless as her feet left the pitching trunk. Then gravity kicked in, and she began to fall. She plummeted through the branches, grabbing for them desperately as she passed, but every one broke in her hand, too new and thin to stop her fall. Sunlight blinded her as she burst through the canopy into the icy air. The mountain towered above her, enormous and blindingly white against the pale morning sky. The freezing wind tossed her as she plummeted in free fall, unable even to turn and see what waited below. It was at this point, hurtling through the air, that her mind finally caught up with her falling body and she began to scream.

The sound was scarcely made before Mellinor answered. Water poured out of her. It flowed through the air, catching her fall in a series of pools. She splashed through each one only to drop to the next, but every pool slowed her fall until, at last, she landed safely in the snow on the mountain’s slope. Sparrow landed beside her and rolled just in time to dodge Mellinor’s water as it hit the ground.

As soon as the water landed, Sparrow was on his feet. “Keep going!” he shouted, pushing her.

Miranda ignored him and looked up. High overhead the enormous tree still clung to the side of the Shaper Mountain. Its branches were still straining toward the sun, but its trunk was a gnawed mess of broken wood where the mountain was clamping down harder and harder as it fought to break through the tree and close the wound. The branches shook one last time before the mountain closed up entirely, cutting the core of the trunk with a final, echoing snap.

“Mellinor,” Miranda said softly as the enormous tree began to fall, the wide green crown flying like a broad arrow straight at their heads. “Get us out of here.”

Water exploded out of her, shooting down the mountain in a torrent. Sparrow jumped in first, and the water swept him away like a twig. Miranda went next, throwing herself into the fast-moving water just before the broken tree crashed into the ledge. The tree screamed as it hit, sending a wave of snow crashing down the mountain, but Miranda was already far away, racing down the icy slope on Mellinor’s water.

It should have been a horrible ride. The mountain was almost vertical below the shelf where they had landed, and the slope was strewn with sharp outcroppings and sudden crags. But Mellinor was adept at keeping her afloat, and the inland sea’s water buoyed her over the roughest bits. Ahead of her, Sparrow seemed to be having a much harder time of things, but she had no time to see why. Less than thirty seconds after picking them up, Mellinor washed them out onto the bridge spanning the ravine between the Shaper Mountain and Knife’s Pass.

Miranda fell coughing and gasping on the cold stone, but before she’d pulled herself together enough to handle more than a simple breath, Mellinor’s voice roared in her ears.

“Keep moving,” he thundered as he drew his water back into her. “The mountain is furious.”

As soon as he said it, Miranda heard it too. A deep roar vibrated through the air, and the whole world began to shake with fury.

“Sparrow!” she shouted, jumping to her feet.

Sparrow was lying on his stomach a dozen feet from her. He rolled over with a groan when she reached him, coughing and clutching his ribs. “Powers,” he muttered. “How do you do that all the time?”

“We have to go,” Miranda said, yanking him up. “The mountain’s destroying the bridge.”

Even as she said it, the stone beneath them started to rock violently back and forth. She pulled Sparrow to his feet and they began to run. The rumbling grew worse with every step, and a new sound began inside the mountain’s furious scream, the sound of stone cracking.

“It’s trying to cut us off,” Sparrow wheezed.

“I know, I know,” Miranda cried, dragging him faster up the arch of the bridge. Cracks spidered under their feet as they ran, spreading like lightning across the smooth stone. Miranda cursed and pushed them faster.

“Come on!” she shouted, dragging Sparrow until she was nearly ripping his arm out of its socket. “Run!”

They ran. They ran as fast as they could, but they could not escape the mountain’s anger. Huge chunks of rock were breaking free all around them, plummeting into the ravine below with small, terrified screams. The cracks under their feet grew larger as the shaking grew more violent until, with a final, echoing crack, the bridge itself broke free.

They weren’t going to make it. The realization hit Miranda like a blow to the face. Already the world was tilting crazily as the bridge, shaken free of its ancient supports, lurched sickeningly sideways. Even so, Miranda kept running. She didn’t know what else to do.

Suddenly, something white landed on the falling bridge in front of them. At first, Miranda thought it was a pile of snow, but it was too gray for snow, almost silver, and moving in swirls. Then the pile stretched out and began to run. Miranda’s eyes went wide, and she felt the scream leave her throat before she realized she’d made a sound.

“Gin!”

Gin tore down the falling bridge faster than the wind itself, barreling straight at them. Miranda held out her hand and jerked for Sparrow to do the same. Gin reached them a second later, and as he passed, she dug her fingers into his thick, coarse fur. The moment her fist clenched on his coat, she was ripped off her feet by the ghosthound’s momentum. He turned on a pin, claws digging into the crumbling stone, and then he kicked off again, running even faster back toward the pass.

Miranda clung to his side, her legs tangled with Sparrow’s as they fought to hold on. This close, she could feel Gin’s lungs thundering, his legs pumping faster than ever before. But in the seconds since Gin had appeared, they’d already fallen a frightening distance. The wall of the ravine rose above them, sheer and white and impossibly tall, the edge completely out of reach. She felt Gin’s muscles tense as his back legs folded beneath him, and then he sprung, kicking the broken bridge off behind them as he launched into the air.

For a breathless moment, they were flying, soaring up out of the ravine. The jagged edge of the bridge’s broken end hung just above them, ten feet, five feet, nearly in reach. And then, just as quickly, it began to move away. Gin’s legs kicked frantically, and Miranda realized they were falling. It was too far. Gin had missed.

From this point, everything happened both painfully slow and blindingly fast.

Miranda’s hand shot out, Durn’s cloudy emerald already flashing with light. The rock spirit tore himself from the ring, grabbing the bridge’s broken edge with one enormous boulder of a fist. At the same time, his other hand swung down to grab Gin’s middle. The stone wrapped around them in a vise and then released, flipping them up. Miranda’s fingers were torn from Gin’s coat as they tumbled through the air and landed sprawling on the smooth stone paving of Knife’s Pass. She grabbed the ground and lay still, pressing herself into the stone to make sure it was real and, more important, not falling. When she was sure she really was grounded, Miranda lifted her head to check on the others. Gin, of course, had already rolled to his feet. Sparrow, on the other hand, was still flat on his stomach, staring at the ground like he’d never seen it before.

With a long, shaky breath, Miranda sat up and held out her hand for Durn. The stone spirit was still hanging from the remains of the broken bridge. When he saw her reaching, he pulled himself up and rolled to her.

“Thank you,” Miranda said, patting the stone with a smile.

“My pleasure, mistress,” Durn said, his gravelly voice smug with pride.

Miranda grinned. It wasn’t often the stone got to play hero. Gin would never hear the end of it. She held her hand steady as Durn broke down and returned to her ring. When he was finished, Miranda let her eyes drift back across the ravine. The Shaper Mountain rose above her, as cold and enormous as ever. Its slopes were smooth and snowy with no trace of the hole Sparrow had punched or the tree he’d used to punch it. Two jagged edges at either side of the ravine, the remains of the broken bridge, were the only signs of the mountain’s anger or their narrow escape from it. The ground, however, was still rumbling.

“Come on,” she said, standing up. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What a wonderful idea,” Sparrow said. “Little help, please?”

Miranda walked over and grabbed his hands, pulling him to his feet. He grimaced as he stood, bending slowly, like his ribs hurt him, but he didn’t say anything when Miranda finally got him to his feet.

She left him to get his balance on his own and hurried to catch up with Gin, who was already making his way down the pass.

“Don’t ask,” the ghosthound growled, moving to walk so close Miranda couldn’t take a step without bumping into him. “He’ll hear.”

Miranda nodded and kept her mouth shut.

“He showed up about two hours ago,” Gin continued. “They had me chained in the front hall with the carriages. I would have eaten him, but I didn’t know where you were. He kept saying he was going to get you next. I didn’t believe him, but it’s better to be out than in, so I let him spring me. If you hadn’t shown by noon, I would have hunted him down.”

“Thank you for the sentiment,” Miranda said, glancing back at Sparrow, who was limping to catch up with them. “How did he get you out?”

“Picked the lock,” Gin said. “Impressive bit of work, actually. He’s almost as good as Eli.”

“That’s saying something,” Miranda grumbled, looking back again. Sparrow was falling behind. His face was set in a smug smile, but his body was moving in jerks, and Miranda realized that he must be really injured.

“Stop,” she said, turning around. She caught Sparrow’s eye before climbing onto Gin’s back. “Get on. We’ll be walking forever if we wait for you.”

“How kind,” Sparrow said, walking over to the ghosthound.

“Kind nothing,” Miranda said. “Practical. We may owe you our freedom, but that doesn’t mean I want to take a hiking holiday together. I just want to get to Sara and discharge my debt as soon as possible. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that horrible abuse of a tree spirit. I will be making a full report to the Court about that.”

“I’m sure you will,” Sparrow said, pulling himself slowly onto Gin’s back.

Miranda glared, suspicious. “How did you get so injured, anyway?”

“Bit too much excitement for me,” Sparrow answered, finally sliding into place behind her on Gin’s back. “I don’t usually get out this much.”

Gin snorted. “Lies. He’s a born sneak. I saw your crazy ride down the mountain. Mellinor cushioned you, but bird boy was bouncing all over, probably because Mellinor couldn’t see him.”

“See who?” Mellinor said, sloshing in Miranda’s head.

Miranda tightened her grip on Gin’s fur. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. “It makes me dizzy.”

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the sea grumbled.

“Don’t blame the water,” Gin said. “I can’t see him unless I look with my eyes. He doesn’t even have much of a smell. You can’t trust a man with no smell, but at least he’s not flickering so much anymore.”

“Would you care to explain any of that?” Miranda said, poking Gin in the back.

“I’ve already told you,” Gin said. “Weren’t you listening all those times I said he flickered?”

“You didn’t explain then either!” Miranda cried.

“It’s not something that can be explained to a human,” Gin said, lashing his tail. “Right now, for instance, I can’t see him at all unless I look with my actual eyes. Otherwise, he’s like a nothing, a blank. I would say I’ve never seen anything like it, but I wouldn’t know if I had, so forget it. You’ve thrown our lot in with his already. Just watch yourself.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mellinor said. “Who’s a blank?”

Miranda shook her head with a frustrated sigh. Behind her, she felt Sparrow lean back. “Is everything all right? Your dog is growling more than usual, which I didn’t think was possible.”

For a moment, Miranda considered just asking Sparrow about the flickering, but quickly decided it would be a waste of time. Sparrow wasn’t a wizard. He probably had even less of a clue than she did about whatever it was about him the spirits didn’t like. Even if he did know, this was Sparrow. Getting a trustworthy answer out of his mouth was like a flood in the desert—not impossible, but very unlikely, and cause for alarm if it did actually happen. So Miranda dropped the subject and moved on to questions she might actually be able to get a straight answer for.

“Everything’s fine,” she said. “Where to?”

“Zarin, where else?” Sparrow said. “I’ve had all I care to see of mountains.”

“There at least we agree,” Miranda said. “Did you hear that, Gin?”

“No,” Gin growled, more annoyed than ever. “I can’t even hear him unless I concentrate. What is wrong with that man?”

“I don’t know,” Miranda said. “But I’m going to find out. Zarin, fast as you can.”

“Got it,” Gin said, laying his ears back. “Hold on tight.”

Miranda didn’t have time to relay the warning before Gin launched himself down the pass, nearly knocking Sparrow off. By the time Sparrow had regained his seat, they were well away from the Shaper Mountain. Miranda leaned forward over Gin’s neck, getting as far away from Sparrow as she could, which wasn’t very far. She had a lot to think about, but her mind kept drifting back to the mountain looming behind her and the man it still held prisoner somewhere deep beneath its stone. The image of the Shaper Mountain’s memories still stood clear in her mind, and she gripped Gin’s fur even tighter. Lock her up, would it? Well, she would tell everyone. She would tell Banage, she would tell Sara, she would tell anyone who would listen. That was her promise to Slorn, and she made it over and over again as they ran through the icy pass back toward civilization.

At the very, very top of the Shaper Mountain, perched on the crusted snow at the tip of the mountain’s peak, a man stood with his arms crossed. Pure white hair covered his body like a coat except for the white hands stroking the long white beard that covered his front as he watched the three specks of the wizard girl, the ghosthound, and the man who looked like nothing flee down the path through the mountains.

You play a risky game, Durain.

“Nonsense,” the mountain rumbled under his feet. “I am ever a loyal servant to the Shepherdess. And to you, Weaver.”

The white man smiled. I wouldn’t say that too loudly. The Shepherdess doesn’t like to share.

“All the Powers are equal,” the Shaper Mountain said. “Though she seems to have forgotten.”

My sister forgets many things, the Weaver said bitterly. And what she remembers, she ignores. But that is no call for you to risk our plans by openly defying her. Showing your memories to that group of children and then letting all but one free, what were you thinking?

“They saw nothing that was not true,” the mountain said. “I cannot help if I remember the truth. Anyway, I tried to keep her from escaping, but I am an old spirit. Too old to be looking after young idiots and too busy to spend my limited energy catching them when they run away.”

Of course. The Weaver chuckled. Very old. But do be careful, Durain. This is the Shepherdess’s domain. I cannot protect you here. If she suspects, she will not hesitate to act, and we have lost too many irreplaceable spirits to risk another.

“I have not forgotten Gredit,” the mountain said, his great voice heavy with anger. “And I am not the only one. When the Hunter returns, we will be ready. I have already started the process. Heinricht is being briefed by his father as we speak.”

The bear man? The Weaver frowned. You put a great deal of faith in him.

“I must,” the mountain said. “He is the only one who can finish Fenzetti’s work.”

Is that so? The Weaver pursed his lips. How fortuitous that he should appear now.

“Fortune has nothing to do with it,” the mountain rumbled. “The Creator is still with us. We will be free again.”

You still believe that? the Weaver said.

“Yes,” the mountain said. “You forget. We old ones, we were the first. I am older than you or your siblings, Shaped by the Creator’s own hand. I remember the world as it was, as it was meant to be, and I know that world will return. It must return, or why are we still living?”

Why, indeed, the Weaver said, looking up at the sky. I must go. I leave it to you.

“We will not fail,” the mountain said, but the Weaver was already gone, vanishing through a white cut in the thin air as though he had never been. The mountain rumbled at the Power’s sudden absence and shifted its focus away from the outside world and the distant feel of the fleeing figures. Instead, it tilted its attention inward, down toward the long hall at the very heart of its roots. There, two humans, the current Guildmaster and the wizard who shared his spirit with a bear, walked the mountain’s deepest path toward the vault where Durain, the Shaper Mountain, kept its greatest hope, the small, white kernel of a desperate plan many, many years in the making.