The Spirit War

CHAPTER 26

Josef clutched the Heart of War, blinking against the sweat that dripped into his eyes. In front of him, the metal-and-stone creature hovered over its two severed legs, still not dead. Josef lifted his wrist to his face, rubbing the sweat and dirt away as best he could. This was taking too long. Cutting the Empress’s war monster was easy, but keeping it down was another story, and he was getting tired.

Tired was, as Eli would say, the bedrock of understatement. He was exhausted. His fight with Adela, becoming king, sinking the ships, defending the beach, and—his mind grew dark—the death of his mother, it was all adding up. He’d been fighting in one way or another since midmorning, and now this. He watched as the war creature rolled back to a defensive position, its severed legs already crawling back toward its body. He had to finish this quickly and go help the Spiritualists with the others before the whole island was overrun. Assuming, of course, it wasn’t already.

He glanced up at the city. The mountain above him glowed like a sunset. Everywhere he looked things were burning and falling. Even at this distance he could hear the screams of the people, now his people, as they tried to fight the fiery monsters destroying their homes. Rage built up in his chest, but before he could give in to it, the Heart grew heavy, calling his attention back to the fight at hand. Josef obeyed, letting everything else fall aside as he focused on the war spirit, which was nearly finished pulling itself back together. The Heart’s hilt pressed against his sweaty palms, pulling him forward, urging him to finish it now, while they still could.

Josef obeyed. He lunged forward, letting the sword’s weight pull him into a low sweep. The Heart caught the war spirit’s left front leg just as it reattached, and the war spirit opened its great, steel-toothed mouth in what Josef could only guess was a scream of pain. Sometimes being spirit deaf had its advantages.

The Heart jerked in his hands, and Josef refocused. He was beneath the creature now. The blasting heat dried his sweat instantly, baking his skin hard. Josef coughed at the reek of smelted metal, but before he could flee between the creature’s legs to cool, dark safety, the Heart jerked again. Josef nodded and shifted his stance, turning with the Heart as the sword flew up to strike the monster’s exposed, red-hot belly.

The black blade cut upward, slicing through the glowing metal like a razor through snow. The war spirit jerked above him, a belated dodge, but it was no use. The Heart was lodged at the center of its great, lumbering torso. But Josef was now at the limit of his reach. He stood on his toes, fully extended below the writhing creature with the Heart buried to the hilt in its body. He had no leverage to continue the blow up or strength to knock the spirit over. So he did the only thing he could. He planted his feet and brought the sword down in an arc in front of him.

The Heart cut cleanly down and burst free with an explosion of heat as the war spirit’s torso tore open. The spirit was thrashing now, and Josef rolled away before one of those writhing legs could skewer him by accident. The second he was clear, Josef spun to face the monster again. The war spirit was on the ground now, rolling and thrashing as it tried to pull its split torso back together. The Heart of War shook in Josef’s hands, but Josef didn’t need to be told twice. He darted forward, dodging the spirit’s thrashing metal legs as he swung the Heart over his head with both hands. Then, gritting his teeth, he swung it down.

The first blow slammed the spirit to the ground. The next drove it into the stone. Josef swung the Heart as hard as he could, shivering with power as the black blade came alive in his hands, hammering the war spirit into the stone of the storm wall with the weight of a mountain. Finally, on the tenth stroke, the war spirit lay still.

Josef fell backward, nearly dropping the Heart as he gasped for air. In front of him, the Empress’s monster lay at the bottom of the crater left by the Heart’s rage, beaten beyond any recognition. Stumbling, Josef pushed himself up, ears still ringing with the fading power of his sword. Because of this, he didn’t hear the woman yelling until she standing right beside him.

“What?” he shouted, turning to see Miranda. She looked terrible, clothes ripped and stained, hair bedraggled and clinging to her sweaty, soot-streaked face. She also looked determined, and that worried him. In his experience, Miranda looking like that meant something terrible was about to happen.

“I need you to cover me down to the beach,” Miranda said, her voice exasperated, as though she’d already said this many times.

Josef blinked. “The beach? Why?” He looked over the storm wall and winced. Apparently that crash he’d heard earlier had been more than just the war spirits. Something had punched through the wall that protected the bay. The water was full of boats now, some with their soldiers already out and wading toward the shore.

“Forget it,” he said, turning away. “The beach is a lost cause. Fight the battles you can win. We should regroup at the top of the stair and—”

“No.” Miranda’s voice was determined. “I’m not going down there to fight the soldiers. I need you to protect me from them so I can get to the water.”

“The water?” Josef said. “What are you going to do in the water?”

Miranda lifted her head stubbornly. “I’m going to do my best to save your people.”

Josef ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Where’s that dog of yours? Can’t he do it?”

“No spirit can help me with this,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “The Empress is a star. That’s why I need you.”

Her words made no sense, but then most wizard talk made no sense to Josef, so he didn’t bother asking for an explanation. Instead, he leaned back and studied her face. She looked as she always did: utterly determined, completely implacable. Powers, it would probably be more work to fight her off than to fight for her. And who knew? Maybe her plan, whatever it was, would be what they needed. He glanced at the dead war spirit lying in the crater beside them. Anything would be more effective than hammering down the rest of the Empress’s metal monsters one at a time.

“All right,” Josef said, jogging toward the stairs. “How much time do you need?”

“Not much,” Miranda said, running beside him. “Success or failure, I have a feeling it’ll be over soon.”

Josef paused when he reached the top of the stairs. Down below, the first line of soldiers had just reached the sand. He hefted his sword, leaning forward. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t wait for her reply before he charged. The soldiers on the beach were focused on their landing, pulling the boats in and watching the air for arrows. They didn’t see him coming until it was too late. He half fell, half ran down the storm wall and landed in the sand swinging. The Heart’s power sang through him, washing away his tiredness. His first blow tossed the closest soldier into the cliffs, his next threw two more into the water. The fourth man had time to draw his blade, but the steel shattered the second it met the Heart’s black edge, and he went flying as well, slamming into the boat he’d been in the middle of hauling onto the sand.

Josef moved in a circle, swinging the Heart back and forth like a scythe to clear a small stretch of beach. The moment the opening was made, Miranda rushed into it. She ran straight for the water, wading in until it reached her knees. As she splashed into the dark bay, Josef could see more water pouring out of her. Beautiful, glowing blue water cascaded from her outstretched hands, falling into the waves lapping at her knees. It was so beautiful, the shimmering, glowing water mixing with the black surf, that Josef nearly lost his arm to a well-aimed stroke. He cursed and resumed swinging, sending the enemy scuttling back. But even as he drove them off, more came. Hoards of black-armored soldiers jumped from their boats, swords drawn. Josef was panting now. He could feel the fatigue in his muscles now even with the Heart’s power roaring through him. That was a bad sign. Even the greatest awakened sword had limits, and he was fast approaching them.

“Spiritualist!” he shouted as the Heart broke another sword. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly!”

If Miranda answered, he didn’t hear. He caught a glimpse of her as he came back around. She was kneeling in the bay, her face inches from the lapping waves. The glowing water was gone, but he could still make out a small, shimmering line of it running from her out into the bay. That was all he saw before he had to turn back to the fight. He cursed louder than ever, forcing his tired muscles to keep moving, keep fighting. Whatever that fool girl was doing, he hoped she was as right as she always seemed to think she was.

That was his last conscious thought before he abandoned himself to the fight completely.

Miranda knelt in the bay, her fingers digging into the sand below the water. The bay was freezing cold, but she didn’t feel it. Battle raged all around her, but she didn’t hear it. All her focus, all her attention, everything she was flowed with Mellinor as he pushed out to sea.

When the inland sea had first told her what he meant to do, she’d balked. After all, it was the threat of being sent to the sea that had driven him to accept her as his mistress in the first place. Sending him there now violated the core of their Spiritualist pact, yet Mellinor had insisted, and Miranda, having no other options, had agreed, but only if they did it right.

She’d made their plan clear as Josef had led the way to the beach. The sea was a mass of unruly water spirits, too large to have names or souls of their own. Any water spirit, even a great one like Mellinor, would be torn apart if he entered the sea on his own. But he wasn’t on his own. Miranda was with him, and her spirit would act as a wall to protect him against the pounding currents. So long as they kept in physical contact, she should be able to pour enough strength into Mellinor to keep him together long enough to do what needed to be done. Or that was the theory, anyway.

“Just stay with me, Miranda,” Mellinor whispered, his voice trembling up the thin tendril of water that connected them as he rushed across the bay. “Don’t leave the water, no matter what.”

Miranda nodded and opened her spirit wider, reaching out with everything she had. She’d never been this close to a spirit. Her mind seemed to blend with Mellinor’s, and suddenly she could feel the ocean all around her as though she were Mellinor. When it happened she nearly fell forward at the shock, sputtering as she took in a great mouthful of bitter seawater. But the burning taste was far away. She was flying with Mellinor through the water, clinging to him as the sea tried to rip them apart. Water pounded her from all directions, cold and sharp and filled with tiny, babbling voices. They pushed her, pulled her, beat her soul like a drum as they tried to break through her and join Mellinor’s water with their own, but Miranda would not let go. She clung to her inland sea with everything she was, her will an iron wall around him as they pushed out of the bay.

The moment they entered the open sea, a current hit them at high speed, sending both Miranda and Mellinor reeling.

“Hold tight!” Mellinor cried, clinging to her as they tumbled with the stampeding water. “Don’t let go!”

Miranda didn’t. She held on, wrapping herself in and through Mellinor’s spirit until she could no longer tell where she ended and he began. After a few moments, Mellinor righted them and they started upward again, cutting through the churning water like an arrow.

This tied together with her inland sea, Miranda could almost see the currents. They reminded her of flocking birds—great packs of water spirits moving as one, screaming with a million voices. They rushed Mellinor whenever he came near, and Miranda felt each tiny spirit strike her like a needle shot at high speed. Any one alone would have been nothing, but there were thousands of them, hundreds of thousands, and they would have torn her apart had Mellinor not been whispering in her mind.

“You’re doing fine,” he said, his own voice strained so thin she could hardly make it out. “Just a little farther.”

“It’s horrible.” Miranda didn’t realize she was crying until the sob strained her chest. “How can anything survive here?”

“It can’t,” Mellinor said bitterly. “At least, water can’t. Right now, with me, you’re as much water as human. That’s why you can feel it.” A tremor of fear ran through her, and she realized she was feeling an echo of Mellinor’s terror. “The sea tears us all apart,” he whispered. “It is the horrible end that awaits all water that loses its shore. Now do you see why I was so thankful when you saved me from being sent here by Monpress?”

“If I’d known what it was like, I’d have killed him before I let him send you here,” Miranda whispered back.

“Glad it didn’t come to that, then,” Mellinor said. “Prepare yourself, we’re here.”

“Here?” Miranda whispered. It felt like any other place in the water.

“Yes,” Mellinor said. As he spoke, Miranda could feel the slick, heavy weight of the wood as though she’d hit it with her own back. She looked up, seeing as though she were standing inside Mellinor. Great, black shapes loomed overhead, their edges outlined by the shifting, distorted torchlight. They were below the palace ships.

“I’m going to need to take over a very large amount of water to do this,” Mellinor said. “More than I can take on my own, even if I weren’t in the sea. This is the most crucial point, Miranda. I’m counting on you to hold me together. Whatever happens, do not leave the water. If you step out of the sea, our connection will weaken and I won’t be able to hold together. Do you understand? Do not move, no matter what.”

Back in her own freezing body, surrounded by the clanging of swords, Miranda dug her hands deeper into the sand, lying in the water with only her head still above the waves.

“I won’t move,” she whispered, ignoring the taste of salt that filled her mouth as she spoke. “So long as I can, until I die, I will never, ever abandon you.”

“I believe you.” Mellinor’s voice seemed to flow through her, filling her completely. “Here we go.”

Miranda saw what happened next two times, one far away through her own human eyes, the other from Mellinor’s perspective as though she were floating at the center of his water. Mellinor was spreading out below the boats, pulling the tiny sea spirits into his own flow. They screamed as he ripped them from their currents, and then fell silent as they were absorbed. His water grew and grew, spilling off in all directions until Miranda could feel the entire sweep of the Oseran island against her body. Mellinor’s spirit was straining now, thinning, and she strained as well, holding him together. Finally, just before they both broke, Mellinor stopped taking in water. For a moment he hung there, a vast sea inside the ocean. And then, with a great, undulating roar, he surged upward, taking Miranda with him.

The palace ships began to creak. From her body in the surf, Miranda was dimly aware that the fighting around her had stopped. Everyone, even Josef, was staring across the bay as, with a great groan of creaking wood and the sea’s own moaning, the line of the Empress’s palace ships lurched to the left.

The ships tilted in unison as Mellinor’s sea surged beneath them in a great, vertical wave. Sailors scrambled as the decks turned sideways. Some managed to grab the railings in time; others were not so lucky. Miranda felt them splash into the sea as though they were landing in her own body, but she paid them no mind. Only one body mattered.

From both her perspectives, she looked up at the woman standing on the long plank at the prow of the center palace ship. The Empress stood steady even as her ship tilted beneath her, but her head was turned down toward Mellinor. That was all the warning Miranda got before the Empress’s spirit hit them.

The force of the Empress’s will knocked Miranda’s breath out. It landed on the sea like an iron, crushing Mellinor’s wave beneath a wall of immovable, unconquerable power. The sea flattened, its surface pressed glassy smooth by the Empress’s will. As the wave vanished, the palace ships crashed back to the water, bobbing back and forth as they righted themselves. The Empress smiled haughtily and turned back to the island, already confident in her victory, and had Mellinor been alone, a simple spirit, it would have been a victory indeed. But he was not alone, and his spirit was not only water. Miranda’s will ran through him like a steel net, holding him together even as the Empress pressed him down, for, immortal as she was, powerful as she was, the Empress was still human, and she was still subject to the one immutable law of wizardry: One human spirit cannot control another.

“Go!” Miranda shouted, scrambling to get her head above water as the wave from the palace ship’s landing washed over her. “Now!”

Mellinor answered with a roar, and his water surged upward with four hundred years of pent-up rage. This time, though, the wave did not move the boats. It rose in a solid whip of high-pressured water, flying straight for the Empress.

Now it was the Empress’s turn to be surprised. She whirled around, her face open with shock as Mellinor crashed into her. The lance of water shattered her golden armor, knocking her off her perch like a bird shot off a treetop. For one glorious moment, the Empress plummeted toward the water, Mellinor’s wave rising to meet her with a roar of victory. And then, just as quickly, everything changed.

Seconds before she hit the water, a wind howled down from the sky to catch her. The Empress bounced on the cushion of air and then shot up, riding the wind back to her ship. She landed on the deck and fell to her knees, clutching her chest as the scales of her golden armor fell around her like rain. Down in the water, Mellinor roared with frustration, but Miranda lay still, watching from both viewpoints as red blood covered the Empress’s hands.

Their blow had hit. The Empress was wounded, but even as the rush of victory sent her head swimming, Miranda saw the Empress stand. She straightened up, tossing her sundered golden armor to the deck. Her chest was covered in bright red blood, but even as Miranda saw it, the wound began to heal. The edges of the Empress’s broken skin glowed blinding white, closing up as Miranda watched. The blood vanished, leaving her pale skin clean and whole. In a matter of seconds, the Empress’s wound was completely gone.

Mellinor’s rage caught Miranda by surprise. The Great Spirit exploded from the sea, flying over the ship to strike the Empress again. Miranda clung to the water, throwing everything she had into Mellinor’s blow, but this time, the Empress was ready.

She raised her hand, and Mellinor’s wave stopped as though it had hit a wall. Mellinor screamed in fury, pounding on the Empress’s barrier with every drop of water he’d absorbed. Miranda screamed with him, pouring herself into the attack. They were so close she could see the Empress’s face less than a foot from their water, her ancient, dark eyes shifting away to look…

Miranda gasped, bringing in a lungful of water as her perspective shot back to her own human body. She coughed and blinked the burning seawater out of her eyes as she raised her head. She couldn’t see anything, but even at this distance she could feel the Empress staring at her. A spike of terror plunged into her mind as Mellinor’s voice washed through her.

“Hide, Miranda!” he screamed. “Hide!”

But it was too late. Across the water, the Empress raised her arm, the one that wasn’t holding Mellinor back, and flicked her finger. The second the motion was complete, the sand below Miranda exploded.

The force blew her backward, ripping her from the water and sending her flying through the air with such power she couldn’t even move her limbs to flail. She landed hard in the sand, rolling up the beach until she struck the sharp stones at the base of the storm wall. For a moment the world went completely black. She could feel nothing, hear nothing, and then, with a deafening roar, it all came back. Josef was standing over her, the great, black, bloody blade of the Heart glistening in his hand. He was knocking the soldiers back without looking, shouting at her to get up. Miranda stared at him, literally struck dumb. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening, but she felt empty, like something was missing.

Then, in one, cold, horrible moment, she realized she could no longer feel Mellinor.

She scrambled away from Josef, running all out toward the bay. Soldiers grabbed for her, but she kicked them aside, scrabbling on her hands and knees through the sand until she reached the water at last. She threw herself into the surf, slamming her body beneath the cold waves. Her soul roared open as she submerged, reaching out until her mind was on the edge of breaking. She yelled Mellinor’s name, screaming with her spirit and her voice until both were raw. She screamed again and again, taking in great gulps of seawater with each shout, but it was no use. Nothing answered.

Hands closed on her shoulders, pulling her out of the surf. She fought wildly, writhing in the man’s iron grip even as she recognized Josef’s voice telling her to calm down or they wouldn’t get out of here alive. But she didn’t want to calm down, she didn’t want to get out alive.

“No!” she shrieked. “Let me go! I promised! I promised I wouldn’t leave him!”

Josef ignored her. She fought as he dragged her out of the water, but her punches and kicks bounced off him. He tucked her under one arm and ran for the stairs, keeping the Heart high in his free hand, ready to swing. He didn’t have to. The enemy was keeping their distance now, unwilling to engage him even when he was burdened with a hysterical woman. Perhaps it had something to do with the dying men lying scattered across the sand. Whatever it was, Miranda didn’t care.

“You don’t understand,” she screamed, the words broken by sobs. “I let him go. I left the water! I failed him!”

“That may be,” Josef said, charging for the stairs. “But we’re still alive, though not for long if you don’t stop fighting me.”

Miranda went limp, her body flopping in his grasp. She was sobbing violently now. She couldn’t help it. She’d poured too much of herself into Mellinor, and what she had left was barely enough to keep her lungs working, let alone stop the tears.

She was still crying uncontrollably when the force hit her, but it wasn’t until Josef stopped that she recognized what it was. After all, she’d felt the Empress’s spirit just moments before, but that strength, strong as it was, was nothing compared to the wave of pressure that rolled over her now.

All around them, the soldiers were dropping to their knees, pressing their foreheads into the sand. The beach grew silent as everything went still. The fighting on the wall above them silenced as well, and Miranda got the feeling that if she could somehow climb up to look at the city of Osera, she’d find that even the fires had stopped burning. With the sole exception of the waves lapping on the shore, everything in the world seemed to have gone still, and in that stillness, the Empress spoke.

“Osera,” she called, her voice clear and ringing through the air. It came from every direction, filling Miranda’s ears with its hated smugness. Slowly, painfully, Josef turned them, and Miranda found herself looking out at the sea she never wanted to see again and at the woman standing in midair above it.

“You have fought bravely,” the Empress said, standing on a swirl of wind above her ship. “I admire strength, but the time for fighting is over. You have lost. Your army is broken, your wizards defeated, your city burning. Put down your weapons and surrender, and I may be merciful.”

“She’s got to be kidding,” Josef said, though his voice was quiet. “Oserans don’t surrender.”

There was no way she could have heard him, but the Empress answered in the most effective way possible. She opened her spirit fully.

Miranda seized up as the true power of the Shepherdess’s star struck her. Even Josef gasped, his arm clutching painfully around her waist. But it wasn’t just the spirit pressure. Out over the water, the Empress had begun to glow. Light shone through her skin, filling her body until she glowed like the morning, but brightest of all, brighter than the sun, brighter than anything Miranda had ever seen, was the mark on the Empress’s chest. The moment she saw it, Miranda knew exactly what it was and what it meant.

Bow down.

The Empress’s voice echoed through Miranda’s mind, through the very fabric of the world, and as it faded, the world obeyed.

The soldiers around them were already bowing, but now the sand under their knees joined them. All along the island, the spirits were lowering themselves before the Empress. The winds bowed, the stone bowed, even the fires shrank back in obedience, burning low before the star. Even the spirit deaf felt her presence. Oseran soldiers fell to their knees without knowing why, their spirits obeying on instinct alone. Only the wizards remained standing. Up on the storm wall, Banage clutched his rings, staring at the Empress in astonishment and growing terror. Even Sara had lost her jaded expression. She was looking about in open amazement, her eyes wide as she watched the world change itself to honor the Empress.

Miranda’s own spirits were bowing as well. She could feel them pressing on their rings, but she barely noticed it. The enormous pressure of the Empress filled her mind, impossibly bright, impossibly glorious, and strangely familiar. Miranda clenched her teeth, forcing her mind to work. She knew this feeling, this light. She’d felt it before. Suddenly, the memory came back clearly, her kneeling in King Henrith’s throne room floor beside Nico and Josef’s bodies with Gin at her back, staring in amazement that she was not dead while all around her pressure just like this thrummed through the air. And at its center, walking through the ruined hall that bowed only for him, crushing Mellinor’s fury with only his presence…

Before she could think about what she was doing, Miranda yanked herself from Josef’s grasp and bolted for the stairs. The swordsman didn’t seem to notice. His attention, like everything else’s in this corner of the world, was on the Empress.

Miranda ran as she had never run before. She clambered up the stairs and hit the top of the storm wall running, dodging the bowing war spirits as she charged the watchtower door. She banged it open and threw herself at the stairs. They were empty now, and a distant part of her mind realized that the common soldiers had had the sense to move the wounded when the war spirits arrived. Good, she thought bitterly, less for her to trip on. She was taking the stairs three at a time now, her lungs heaving as she pushed herself with all her might.

She hit the door to the upper room like a battering ram, and it slammed open. She wasn’t sure how she’d known he would be there. Maybe some tiny part of Mellinor still remained, pointing her toward him. Whatever had led her, it had been right. The man she had come for was standing by the window, staring out across the silent beach at the Empress. He didn’t even have the good grace to jump when she came in. He just turned slowly, mouth opening to say something.

Miranda didn’t give him the chance. She charged him, barely aware of what she was doing as her fingers dug into his shoulders and slammed him into the wall beside the window. He let her, his body going limp under her hands.

She was shaking so hard she could barely keep her grip. Her mind was choked with loss, guilt, failure, and blinding anger, all mashing together until she could no longer form coherent thoughts. When she opened her mouth, the words came out in a trembling, ragged sprawl.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” she whispered. “You’re a star.”

Eli leaned back against the wall without a sound. Behind him, the Empress’s fleet started forward yet again.