The Spirit War

CHAPTER 19

After ten hours of sleep, a bath, and an enormous breakfast, Miranda was a new woman, and the first thing she’d done with her newfound energy was attack the restricted shelves of the Spirit Court archives. She’d spent all morning reading spectacular stories of Spiritualists doing the impossible—talking down erupting volcanoes, brokering peace between warring rivers, even ending a five-year drought by freeing a wind spirit whose capture by an Enslaver had so angered the wind courts that they’d held off the rain in retaliation. There was even a description of the meeting four hundred years ago between the first Rector of the Spirit Court and the Shaper Mountain that had led to the raising of the Spirit Court’s Tower in a single day. The actual deed the Tower was in thanks for had been carefully omitted, but Miranda’s frustration was soothed by the dozens of secrets that hadn’t been crossed out.

For someone who’d given her life to the Court, it was breathtaking reading. It was also infuriating. All of the restricted reports dealt in one way or another with a star. Of course, they were never called stars, but now that Miranda knew what she was looking for, it was easy enough to read through the sometimes excruciatingly vague language and find the truth. The Spirit Court had encountered stars numerous times over centuries of enforcing the good treatment of spirits, but every time the real nature of these greater than Great Spirits had been hushed up and locked away in the archives. It was enough to make Miranda grind her teeth to stubs.

“I don’t understand,” she said, yet again. “What’s the point of hiding this? If we were only taught about stars, told these stories… Look here, the great river Ell that runs through the southern kingdoms is a star. All that time we spent two years ago badgering the Felltris River to flood the fields and not the houses? Wasted. We could have solved the whole thing with one trip down to the southern delta to chat with the river all the others have to listen to.”

Gin flattened his ears against his head with a whine. “Can you please stop talking about stars? You’re going to get us all in trouble.”

“In trouble with whom?” Miranda said, slamming down the report and spinning around in her chair.

Gin looked away.

“You mean the Shep—”

“Stop,” Gin growled, lashing his tail. “Don’t say her name. It attracts her attention.”

“Fine with me,” Miranda said, crossing her arms. “There are several things I want to ask her.”

“Get in line,” Mellinor rumbled bitterly. “But if the Shepherdess could be appealed to, I wouldn’t have spent four centuries locked in a pillar of salt.”

“Mellinor,” Gin said in a warning tone.

“No,” Mellinor said. “I don’t care if it’s forbidden to speak of the Shepherdess’s business with humans. The Shaper Mountain already broke the edicts. Why should we bother keeping them?”

“The Shaper Mountain is one of the oldest spirits in the world,” Gin said. “He’s also the biggest. He can afford to take risks.”

“So can we,” Miranda said firmly. “Slorn said the Shaper Mountain showed us the truth for a reason.”

Gin snorted. “Yes, because the mountain knows you’re ignorant. The old rock pile wants you to take the fall for asking questions spirits shouldn’t ask.”

“What do you mean?”

The ghosthound sighed. “There are things that it’s better not to know, Miranda. And just because some great mountain and his pet bear man are fed up with the Shepherdess’s antics doesn’t mean you should go putting yourself in danger.”

“If the Shepherdess isn’t doing what she should, then I have to take action, danger or no,” Miranda snapped. “I’m sworn to protect the spirits.”

“Good,” Gin snapped back. “So do that. Kill Enslavers, stop abusive wizards, but don’t go poking your nose where it’ll get bitten off.”

Miranda turned away with a huff. Gin crouched low, his swirling fur moving in quick little patterns, and Mellinor began to rumble.

“Listen,” she said, calmly now. “Whatever happens from here out, I’m always going to choose the path that leads to a better, fairer world for all of us. That’s my job. That’s why I became a Spiritualist. And if that path leads me off a cliff, then so be it, but I will not turn back. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to follow.”

Gin bared his teeth. “Don’t even try,” he growled. “I go where you go, no matter how reckless or stupid. But that doesn’t mean I have to keep my mouth shut about it.”

Miranda couldn’t help grinning at that. “Nothing could make you keep your mouth shut, mutt.”

Gin snorted and put his head on his paws. “Better put away your reading. Someone’s coming.”

Miranda glanced at the door a split second before the knock sounded. Gin gave her a superior look, and Miranda rolled her eyes. She stood up, carefully marking her place before closing the record book, and walked to the reading room door. A young man in apprentice robes was standing on the other side. His face lit up when he saw her.

“Spiritualist Lyonette? Master Banage wants to see you at the top of the Tower. He says it’s urgent.”

“The top of the Tower?” Miranda said, wrinkling her nose. “You mean his office?”

“No, ma’am,” the apprentice said, shaking his head. “He said the top.”

“The top?” Gin said, suddenly behind her. He grinned, showing a wall of teeth. “I’ve never been to the top.”

“Neither have I,” Miranda said, elbowing her dog. The apprentice was staring at Gin’s teeth like he might faint. “Take us there.”

“Yes, Spiritualist,” the boy said, starting down the hall sideways so he wouldn’t have to put his back to Gin. “This way.”

Miranda shook her head and followed. Behind her, Gin crawled through the door, slipping his long body through the small opening with practiced ease. They climbed up and up, past floors of meeting rooms, guest rooms, and storerooms, until they reached the landing outside the Rector’s office. This was where the stairs usually ended, but now there was a new opening in the wall beside the Rector’s office door, a set of stairs Miranda had never seen before, leading up.

“We can make it from here,” she said, smiling at the apprentice. “Thank you for your service.”

“It is an honor to serve, Spiritualist,” the boy said with a halfhearted bow. After a final, terrified glance at Gin, he vanished down the stairs like a frightened rabbit.

“That one knows his place,” Gin said, flipping his tail smugly.

“Stop it,” Miranda muttered, starting up the new stairwell. “You’d better stay here.”

Gin growled and sat, ears turned forward so he wouldn’t miss anything.

The new stairs wound up for a dozen feet before stopping at a little stone door barely larger than she was. It opened when Miranda touched it, and a blast of wind nearly blew her back down the stairs. The door let out on the very top of the Tower’s spire. Below, she could see all of Zarin and the plains beyond. The white buildings were almost blinding in the afternoon sun, and the Whitefall River was little more than a glittering thread between the dark shapes of the bridges and barges. The wind roared around her, and for a moment Miranda was afraid it would blow her off altogether. Thankfully, the door was set back in the Tower’s spire, and the tiny alcove provided just enough shelter to keep the wind from ripping her off the Tower. Master Banage was already here, standing with his back pressed against the stone and his head tilted up toward the sky.

“Miranda,” he said in a voice that carried over the wind. “Glad you could join us.”

The moment he said it, Miranda felt the truth. The wind howling around them wasn’t the usual gusts found this high up. There was a familiar heaviness to it, a great spiritual pressure that made her ears pop, and she didn’t need Eril’s frantic clamor to know who, or what, she was facing.

“Lord Illir,” she said, clutching her wind spirit’s shaking pendant against her chest. “It is a pleasure to meet you again.”

“Pleasure tainted with crisis, I’m afraid,” the wind hummed around her. “Let the little one pay his respects before he bursts.”

Miranda let Eril fly at once. The smaller wind tore out of his necklace, spinning in a reverent circle before returning to Miranda’s side.

She exchanged a brief look with Master Banage, and then the Rector Spiritualis stepped out a fraction and addressed the wind. “Lord of the West, Miranda Lyonette is here, as you asked. Now, how may we help you?”

“I bring a message,” the great wind said. “From Osera.”

That threw Miranda. Who in Osera could use one of the four great winds as a messenger?

“The Immortal Empress has arrived,” the wind continued. “Her ships will reach Osera by evening, if not sooner. War is here.”

Miranda and Banage exchanged a wide-eyed look, and then Miranda looked toward the Council’s citadel. It looked the same as ever—no panic, no surge of troops.

“They don’t know,” the wind said, answering her question before she could ask it. “And they won’t, unless you tell them. Osera’s Relay points were destroyed by a traitor on the inside. That is why I’ve come.” There was a shift in air pressure as the wind turned to focus on Banage. “I know you have declared that your Court will not enter the human’s war, but I am here to ask you, on behalf of all spirits on this continent, not to let the Empress land on this shore.”

For the first time in all their years together, Miranda saw Master Banage look completely bewildered.

“How do you know…” he said, and then shook his head. “Never mind. Why do you care what human rules this land? The Court will always look after you no matter who calls themselves Merchant Prince or Empress.”

“You don’t understand,” the wind rumbled. “If the Immortal Empress were only human, I would agree with you. But she is more, far more.”

Banage scowled. “What do you mean ‘more’?”

“I cannot tell you,” the wind said. “It is forbidden, even for me.”

Miranda frowned. Forbidden? Even for a spirit as great as the West Wind? But as she tried to puzzle out what Illir meant by that, the wind shifted and grew colder. Suddenly, she could smell cold stone, snow, and thin high air. The smell of the mountain filled her lungs, and everything came together.

“The Empress is a star.”

“What?” Banage turned to her. “Impossible. The Empress is human.”

“Humans are spirits as well,” the wind said. “And the Empress is not called Immortal for show.”

The blood drained from the Rector’s face. “Then the obedience I saw?” he whispered. “The war spirit’s devotion?”

“Any devotion you saw is the result of the obedience stars command,” the wind said. “She is no Enslaver, so I doubt you would feel anything wrong, but the truth of her control is almost worse. Enslavers are human. They can be defeated. They can die. But the Empress is immortal, her life held sacred by the White Lady. Her control over the spirit world is complete, eternal, and inescapable. To disobey a star is to disobey the Shepherdess herself.”

The West Wind grew cold enough to make Miranda shiver. “The Empress comes here to bring the whole world under her control, but I am the West Wind. I am freedom itself. The winds have no star; we have no need of one. It is not our nature to serve, but if the Empress comes here, we won’t have a choice. Nothing will. So I am asking you as a spirit, as the voice of all spirits on this continent who as yet have no idea of what they are about to lose, fight the Empress.”

“How?” Miranda said. “My spirits couldn’t go against the Shaper Mountain even to set me free. What can we do against the Empress?”

“Your spirits could not,” the wind said. “But you are different. Even a star cannot change the laws of magic. Immortal though she may be, the Empress is still human, and no human spirit can force another. That’s why she needs an army to beat her human opponents the old-fashioned way, and that’s why you humans are the only ones who can stop her and save us.”

Miranda looked at Banage, but he was gripping the Tower wall, his face deathly pale. “How could I have been so mistaken?” he whispered. “All this time I thought spirits obeyed the Empress out of love and respect, as our spirits obey us.”

“That is our own fault,” the wind said. “We are forbidden from speaking of the stars to humans. It is the Shepherdess’s will that you stay ignorant. Really, I shouldn’t even be talking to you, but the secret’s already out, told by a star, no less.”

“Wait,” Miranda said. “The Shaper Mountain told you about us?”

“No,” the wind said coyly. “But I always find out. The wind is everywhere, Miranda. You should know that by now.”

“Our path is clear,” Banage said, straightening up. “We must fight. Star or not, the Empress is human. Though she’s not technically an Enslaver, I think we can all agree that controlling spirits by force is an abuse the Court cannot tolerate.”

“We must warn the Council and get down there as soon as we can,” Miranda said, looking up at Illir. “You said she was landing in Osera?”

“Yes,” the wind said. “And precious little stands in her way.”

“Then we will ride at once,” Banage said.

“Hurry,” the wind whispered.

“Wait!” Miranda cried as the wind turned. “Why did you not ask our help earlier?”

“I could not,” the wind sighed. “All spirits are forbidden from interfering in a star’s affairs by order of the Shepherdess. The Shaper Mountain might have told you about stars, but talking about them and asking for help in fending one off are entirely different matters. Were it not for this message, or, more correctly, for the wizard who sent it, I couldn’t have asked your help in this at all.”

Banage scowled. “What wizard is powerful enough to command you to break the Shepherdess’s law?”

The wind turned, and Miranda got the feeling it was smiling. “I believe you call him Eli Monpress.”

The tower fell utterly silent. Miranda and Banage stood stunned, unable to speak, and the wind used this gap to make his exit. As the pressure of the Great Spirit faded, Miranda clenched her hands into angry fists.

“Always,” she muttered. “I swear, he’s always at the center of everything that goes wrong in the world.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Banage said quietly, running his hands over his face. “We have to get to Osera.”

“At least the Council will be with us now,” Miranda said. “If we’re going to fight the Empress, then we have no more quarrel with Whitefall.”

“I fear it’s too late for that,” Banage said. “Look down.”

Confused, Miranda grabbed the wall and leaned out, peeking over the Tower’s edge. It was a terrifying view. She’d never really appreciated how tall the Tower was until she was looking straight down it with nothing but her own grip for an anchor. Still, it wasn’t the height that made her flinch back.

Directly below, the Spirit Court’s district was no longer empty. Soldiers in Council white circled the Tower on every side. There had to be a quarter legion of infantry down there with another squad of archers on the rooftops to back them up. But worse than the soldiers was the line of wagons set up across the main boulevard and watched over by a small figure standing beside a man wearing a pink coat so vivid Miranda could see it from the Tower’s peak.

“Sara,” she hissed, leaning back.

Banage nodded. “They’ve been setting up since shortly after dawn. Apparently, Whitefall has decided he cannot afford to harbor traitors.”

“But we haven’t done anything except sit here!” Miranda cried.

“We,” Banage stopped. “I refused to help. Whitefall’s played the game of nations long enough to know that those who won’t be allies will eventually be enemies. He’s taking us out early rather than risk us at his back while he’s fighting the Empress.”

“What are we going to do?” Miranda said. “We have to get to Osera. They have to get to Osera, while there’s still an Osera to get to.”

“Then we’ll have to hope they’ll listen to reason,” Banage said.

Miranda bit her lip. “I hate to say this, master, but they’re never going to believe you’ve changed your mind.”

“They’d also never believe I’d tell a lie to save my skin,” Banage said. “Being intractable has its advantages as well as its pitfalls.”

Miranda gaped at him in disbelief. “Master Banage,” she whispered. “Was that a joke?”

Banage looked almost affronted. “I have been known to tell them on occasion,” he said, starting down the stairs. “Come, we don’t have time to stand around with our mouths open.”

Shaking her head in wonder, Miranda hurried down the stairs after her master as the Rector Spiritualis called for the Tower to spread the word. The Spirit Court was going to war.

“How much longer does Myron mean to make us wait?” Sara grumbled, trailing smoke as she stalked back and forth in front of her wagon. “He has an entire city full of soldiers. How long can it take to surround one tower?”

“I think the good general is dragging his feet on purpose,” Sparrow said, buttoning his garish pink coat against the wind. “He doesn’t care much for wizard business, after all.”

“And I don’t care for standing around,” Sara snarled. “We were supposed to crack the Tower at ten. It’s nearly noon.”

“Well, here’s your chance to tell him yourself,” Sparrow said, nodding at the knot of armored men riding toward them.

Sara turned and marched toward the riders, biting her pipe as the leader, Myron Whitefall, the Council’s general, dismounted.

“Are you done wasting my time?” she cried over the clatter of the horses.

“Only if you’re done wasting mine,” Myron answered. “I have a war to prepare for, Sara. The Empress could arrive as early as next month. I don’t have men to waste on your marital spats.”

Sara lifted her chin. “Try fighting the Empress without the wizards that I’m going to get by cracking this Tower and then say that again, Myron.”

Myron’s reply was predictably nasty, but Sara wasn’t listening anymore. Sparrow had touched her arm. She turned, and her eyes widened. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Myron snapped. “That you’re a waste of Council resources and—”

His voice sputtered out as Sara hurried away. She ran to the front of her wagons and stopped, watching in amazement as the blank face of the Tower peeled open like a curl of shaved wood and Banage himself stepped out into the sunlight. He was dressed in a dark suit with the great gold and jeweled mantle of the Tower on his shoulders. Bow strings creaked as the Council archers trained their arrows at his chest, but Banage paid them no mind. He just stood there, glaring defiantly at Sara with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’d never believe it if I wasn’t seeing it myself,” Sara said, grinning around her pipe. “Have you come to your senses at last, Etmon?”

“I never took leave of them, Sara,” Banage answered, glancing at the gathered troops in disdain. “Unlike some.”

“That’s enough, traitor!” Myron shouted, recovering at last. “You have exactly three seconds to surrender before—”

Sara rolled right over him. “What brings you out of your little spire? I can’t believe you’re giving up.”

Banage straightened. “You can’t ‘give up’ being right, Sara. But the situation is no longer what it was.” He reached out his arm, pointing east with one ring-covered finger. “The Empress has arrived. She is about to attack Osera, if she hasn’t already.”

“Are you mad?” Sara laughed. “We’ve heard nothing of the sort.”

“You wouldn’t,” Banage said. “Both of Osera’s Relay points were broken this morning, just before the ships appeared.”

Never taking her eyes off Banage, Sara reached down, sorting through her pouch for the two orbs that controlled Osera’s Relays. She brushed each of them with her spirit, probing the connection. But her prod faded off into nothing. There was no echo, no reply.

Her mouth pressed into a thin line against the narrow stem of her pipe. “It seems the Rector is right,” she said slowly.

“That’s impossible!” Myron shouted, stomping up to stand beside her at last. “We heard the Empress shipyards were reactivated only a week ago. Even if she’d sailed that day, there’s no way the Empress could have a fleet here so quickly. It’s a bluff!”

“He doesn’t bluff,” Sara said with a sigh. “But even if you’re right, and the Empress is about to attack, it doesn’t explain what you’re doing out, Etmon. The whole reason I’m standing here is because you swore up and down that your Court would never go to war.”

Banage stiffened. “We have our reasons, Sara. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to share them. You will remove your troops and let us pass. There is no time to waste.”

“Enough,” Myron said. “Do you think just because you’ve decided to fight that you can do as you please? The Merchant Prince’s order is still in effect. The Spirit Court is under the control of the Council. You’ll do as we tell you.”

“The Spirit Court obeys no laws but its own,” Banage said, his voice deepening as the mantle on his shoulders began to glow. “Step aside, General.”

As he spoke, the ground began to rumble. All across Zarin, buildings began to shake. Windows rattled against their panes and awnings rippled like water above the merchant stands. Down on the river, barges rocked and bumped together. Even the Whitefall Citadel was shaking, its golden-roofed towers trembling in the sunlight.

Back at the Spirit Court’s tower, the Council soldiers gripped their swords, bracing their feet against the shaking ground. Myron grabbed Sara’s wagon, his face as pale as cheese. Sara smacked his hand away, blowing out a huff of smoke.

“Enough dramatics, Etmon,” she said. “Myron, move your troops and let them through.”

Myron gaped at her. “What? You can’t be—”

“Do it,” Sara said.

The general’s face went from pale to scarlet, but Sara cut off his tirade before it could start. “Now, Myron. That mantle of his is tied to the great bedrock spirit that runs below Zarin. He can destroy this city in a heartbeat if he wants to. I’m not about to risk that to keep him from doing what we were trying to make him do in the first place.”

“But, Sara,” Myron’s voice was almost pleading. “He could be lying.”

“He’s not lying,” Sara said.

Myron snarled. “How do you know that?”

“Because the world’s not ending,” Sara said with a sigh. “Move your men, Myron. That’s an order.”

She smacked her closest wagon, and it began to trundle out of the way. The other wagons followed, each wheeling itself over to the side of the road. Myron sputtered a moment before turning on his heel, waving for his men to follow. As the Council soldiers reluctantly cleared a path, the shaking stopped. Banage stepped back into the Tower, and Sara peered through the hole to see him removing his heavy gold mantle. She arched an eyebrow as he handed the gem-studded chain of his office to old Krigel before stepping out of sight.

When the road was clear, Banage came out again. With a final glare at Sara, he held out his hand. The heavy ring on his middle finger flashed dark green, and his enormous jade horse erupted out of the ground beside him. It knelt so Banage could climb onto its back. The moment he was seated, the Spirit Court rode out. They flashed down the street, Banage first on his jade horse followed by Miranda on her ghosthound. The dog snapped at Sparrow as they passed, but Sparrow looked more amused than frightened as he leaned out of the way. They were gone in an instant, replaced by more Spiritualists, apprentices, Tower Keepers, journeymen, everyone in the stone spire who’d ever sworn an oath. Sara sucked on her pipe, more interested than ever. Whatever caused this change of heart, it was deathly serious if Banage was emptying the Tower.

The Spiritualists thundered down the street and vanished into the city at full speed, riding east as fast as they could. The soldiers watched in awe as the wizards rode by, keeping well out of the way of the sand tigers, stone snakes, and, of course, the ghosthound. When the last Spiritualist was out of sight, Myron turned to Sara.

“What do we do now?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically bewildered.

“Well,” Sara said, tapping out her pipe. “You had better get on those Relay points I’ve been giving you and start ordering the Council fleet to Osera. You should probably also warn Alber that the Empress is running ahead of schedule.”

“And what are you going to do?” Myron said, his face pale.

Sara just smiled and walked away. She snapped her fingers as she went, and with each snap, a wagon rolled out. Sparrow jumped onto the driver’s seat of the largest and lowered his hand to Sara. She took it, and he pulled her up. The moment her feet left the ground, the wagons tore off down the road, following the trail of dust left by the Spiritualists until they too vanished into the city.

Myron Whitefall stood staring for several moments. Finally, he turned and began shouting for his Relays. Within the hour, the news had spread across the continent. The Empress had arrived. The Council was going to war.