The Spirit War

CHAPTER 3

So,” Miranda said. “One more time. The demon under the Dead Mountain is sealed, but he can sneak out shards of himself, called seeds, that bury themselves into host bodies, who become demonseeds.”

“Correct,” Slorn said. “Demonseeds are tiny slivers of the demon itself. Each seed has the potential to grow into a new demon, given enough time and food. The stronger the host and the longer the seed is able to incubate, the stronger the resulting demon is at awakening.”

Miranda shuddered, blinking her eyes against the memory that refused to vanish—the hideous black shape standing over the woods outside Izo’s bandit city, its black wings blotting out the sky as it ate the screaming world.

“How do we stop it?” she said quietly. “Stop the seeds from coming out?”

“I don’t know,” Slorn said. “Unawakened demonseeds constantly travel through the shadows in and out of the mountain, bringing their master new vessels. There is a human cult that serves there, presenting wizards to the demon in hopes of becoming demonseeds themselves. The League has cleared out the mountain several times—killing the human followers, setting up a perimeter, but the seeds always get through. All demonseeds can hear the demon’s voice in their heads, and he moves them like pieces on a board that only he can see the whole of. This makes them very hard to block completely, especially as the League can find them only when they cause a panic. Alric gave up trying to blockade the mountain years ago. Staying on the mountain for any length of time is dangerous, even for the Lord of Storms, and the reward wasn’t worth the risk. They now focus on the eradication of seeds that cause problems.”

“Well,” Miranda said with a huff, “it doesn’t seem to be working.”

“It works,” Slorn said, looking at her with his black, calm, bear eyes. “We are still alive.”

Rebuked, Miranda shut her mouth and focused on the path ahead. Seeing that the lesson was at an end, Slorn leaned back on the roof of his walking cart to stare thoughtfully at the wispy clouds flowing like silk across the pale blue sky.

They were high in the mountains, riding north. It was slow going, even for Gin. The constant wind kept the ground clear from snow, but the stone itself was icy and treacherous. The ghosthound kept his eyes on his feet, delicately picking his way across the steep slopes, his dappled silver coat shifting with the wind. Still, they could have gone faster if not for Slorn’s wagon. The wooden cart climbed at a snail’s pace, rattling and scraping as its carved wooden legs scrabbled on the ice despite the metal hooks Slorn had attached. Sometimes they barely made ten miles in a day, but the pace didn’t bother Miranda. She’d learned more from Slorn in the two weeks since they’d left Izo’s camp than from all three years she’d spent training to begin her apprenticeship with the Spiritualists. Gin, however, didn’t seem to be enjoying himself.

“I don’t like him,” the ghosthound growled when they stopped for lunch.

“You don’t like anyone,” Miranda said, smearing a sliver of cold butter across her hard baked bread as best she could. “And keep your voice down.”

“He asks too many questions,” Gin said, loud as ever. “And he looks at the sky too much.”

Miranda glanced at Slorn. He was standing beside his cart, talking to it softly as he checked the wooden legs. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Gin made a harrumphing sound. “He shouldn’t be doing it, is all. Or talking about the Dead Mountain like he does. I’ve never understood you humans and your constant need to know things. You’re the nosiest spirits in creation.”

“And you’re the biggest curmudgeon in creation,” Miranda said, smacking him across the haunches. “You saw that thing at Izo’s the same as all of us. I’m a Spiritualist, but that thing, demon or demonseed or whatever, makes the usual Spirit Court worries look like children’s games. It’s not something I can just ignore, and until I find out what I can do to stop what happened at Izo’s from happening again, even if that turns out to be nothing, I can’t go back to Zarin. Not while still calling myself a Spiritualist.”

Gin flattened his ears. “Not everything’s a crusade, Miranda. The bear man’s leading you places you shouldn’t go, and you’re going to get hurt if you keep following.”

“I’m a big girl,” she said, reaching out to scratch his nose. “I won’t get in over my head.”

Gin moved away from her hand and shook himself, sending dirt and ice everywhere. “Just watch yourself,” he said, trotting away.

Miranda frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Hunting,” Gin growled, stalking off down the frozen path.

Miranda started to remind him that there was dried meat in Slorn’s cart, but the ghosthound had already vanished into the frosty landscape, his shifting fur blending into the white mist rolling down from the peaks.

“I’m starting to understand why they call them ghosthounds.”

Miranda turned with a start. Slorn was standing behind her, smiling in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring but never quite made it, thanks to his sharp teeth.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Gin doesn’t have a lot of tact.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Slorn said, sitting down on the large, flat rock that sheltered their little fire from the wind. “It’s a ghosthound’s nature to be protective and wary of outsiders, and I never fault a spirit for following its nature. Besides, he’s not exactly wrong. Spirits have learned over countless centuries that some things are better left alone.”

Miranda frowned. “You mean the demon?”

Slorn shrugged. “The League, the Dead Mountain, demonseeds, these are all things that spirits, even Great Spirits, have learned to ignore. Must learn to ignore. You can’t have a life worth living when you’re constantly worrying about things you cannot fight or change. All they can do is trust the system that has worked for thousands of years and go on with their lives.”

Miranda’s frown turned into a scowl. “And where does the thing we saw at Izo’s fit into that system?”

“It doesn’t,” Slorn said. “That’s why we’re going to the Shaper Mountain. If the League will not listen, then I must make my case to an outside party. If I can find even one voice to speak for me that the Shepherdess will heed, Nivel’s death won’t have been in vain.”

Miranda bit her tongue. Slorn spoke his wife’s name with such sadness that words felt pointless. But there was so much of what he said that she still didn’t understand and she could not keep quiet.

“The Shepherdess,” she said. “I’ve heard of her, of course, but never in any detail. Most Spiritualists are lucky if they ever get to talk to a Great Spirit.” Mellinor found that amusing, but Miranda ignored his bubbling laughter and pressed on. “She’s the greatest spirit, isn’t she? The one at the top of the spirit world.”

“Assuming she’s a spirit at all,” Slorn said. “Which I don’t think she is. The Shepherdess is the force that guides the world and commands the spirits. She also controls the League and keeps the demon locked beneath the mountain, among other things.”

“How can she not be a spirit?” Miranda said. “Everything has a spirit.”

“I don’t know the answer precisely,” Slorn answered. “But I do know her control is nothing a spirit could manage. No spirit except a human’s can control another, and humans can’t touch the spirits of other humans. But, so far as I understand it, the Shepherdess can command everything. Therefore, she’s not a spirit. Or, at least, not a spirit like we are familiar with.”

Miranda slumped down. “I feel so ignorant,” she muttered. “You’d think I’d have at least heard more than a passing mention of something so important.” A tremor of reproach went through her before she could stop it, and deep in her mind she felt her rings twinge.

“Don’t blame your spirits,” Slorn said. “Nothing talks about the Shepherdess unless they have to. It took me decades to piece what little I have together, and even I don’t know for certain. All I have are theories. Suppositions based on years of asking too many questions, as your dog would say. It may be that the Shaper Mountain can do nothing and this journey is little more than a waste of time.”

“But we have to try,” Miranda said.

“Yes,” Slorn said quietly. “We have to try.” He leaned back, looking up at the snow-covered slope they’d been following all day. “If we keep this pace we’ll make Knife’s Pass by sunset. From there it’s a straight shot to the Shaper Mountain. We’ll reach the gate by noon tomorrow, weather permitting. After that, there’s no turning back.”

Miranda laughed. “There’s been no turning back for a while now. Remember, I was the one who asked to come along.”

“I have not forgotten,” Slorn said, standing up. “Let’s go. We have more miles to cover than we can make if we dawdle.”

Miranda took his offered hand, and he helped her to her feet. They had almost everything together by the time Gin returned with a scrawny mountain goat in his jaws.

It was late when they reached Knife’s Pass and Miranda was too tried to look at anything besides her bedroll. When she woke at dawn, Gin was still sleeping, his body curved to shelter her from the icy winds. She smiled and packed her blankets, and then, stepping softly so she wouldn’t wake the ghosthound, she tiptoed to Slorn’s wagon. As always, Slorn was already awake. He was sitting on the fold-out steps, staring up at the clear morning sky. There were two steaming mugs of tea on the step beside him, one half empty, the other full. Miranda took the full one.

“How much farther?” she said, blowing on the steaming liquid.

Slorn looked at her with an incredulous expression and pointed north. Miranda’s eyes followed his gesture and she nearly dropped her tea. The sheltered pass they were camped in wasn’t a pass at all, or at least not a natural one. It was a road cut between the mountains, running due north in a perfectly straight line between two sheer cliffs, and at the end of that road stood the largest mountain Miranda had ever seen. It was impossibly tall, soaring above the surrounding mountains like a spire. Its steep sides were snowbound and blinding white in the morning sunlight, but the mountain’s peak was too sheer and tall even for snow. It loomed far, far overhead, naked and gray-white, a porcelain knife set against the pale sky.

“That’s the Shaper Mountain?” Miranda said when she could speak again. “How does anyone live on a slope like that?”

“Not on,” Slorn answered. “In.”

Miranda frowned and looked again, squinting against the glare. Sure enough, the tiny dark spaces beneath snowy overhangs that she had first taken to be shadows were now clearly windows. There were balconies as well, each placed so elegantly along the mountain’s natural cliffs that Miranda would never have spotted them if not for the faint glimmer of the icy railings. Panes of glass flashed between the snow banks, and at the end of the pass she could just make out the unnaturally straight edge of what looked like a door set deep in the mountain’s base.

“The upper body of the mountain is given over to the Shapers for their work,” Slorn said. “In return for its protection, leadership, and instruction, the Shapers serve the mountain and work in its name.”

Miranda shivered. “And what kind of work does a mountain need done?”

“All kinds,” Slorn said with a toothy smile. “Though only the Great Teacher understands how it all fits together.”

“Great Teacher?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Slorn said, standing up. “Let’s get moving. We have far to go.”

Miranda looked back at the mountain. It didn’t seem that far away. But she obeyed and walked back across the camp to wake up Gin. The hound was already up and waiting when she reached him, his orange eyes narrow and guarded as he watched Slorn’s wagon pack itself. He answered her “good morning” with a gruff snort, and though Miranda tried several times as they packed their camp, that was all the comment the hound would make.

Though the mountain looked like it was only a few miles away, the distance was deceptive. Knife’s Pass was an endless corridor between the lesser peaks, a straight, flat slab of rock large enough to march a legion down walled in by two featureless stone walls. Ahead, the Shaper Mountain rose over everything else, filling the end of the pass, but no matter how fast they ran along the smooth road, it never seemed to come any closer.

The sun was high overhead when the end of the road finally came into sight. Gin was panting hard, his feet swollen after running full out for miles on the hard stone. Slorn slowed the pace, and Miranda started to thank him on Gin’s behalf when she realized that Slorn had not slowed for them.

Just before the towering spire of the Shaper Mountain took over everything, the mountains fell away. The ground simply stopped, leaving an enormous gap of empty air between them and the Shaper Mountain. As they got closer, Miranda saw that it was a canyon. The divide cut between the rest of the mountains and the Shaper’s peak like a sword stroke. At the very bottom, a deep blue, freezing cold river glittered in the noon sun, but it was so far away that Miranda couldn’t even hear the sound of the water, only the endless wind howling between the cliffs.

The road, however, did not stop. A bridge of arching stone just wide enough for two carts running side by side spanned the enormous divide, linking Knife’s Pass to the mountain on the other side. The bridge was all one piece, a great length of curved rock that sprouted like a branch at one end from the stone under their feet and on the other from the roots of the Shaper Mountain itself. There were no railings, nothing to save a careless traveler from plummeting into the ravine, but the bridge itself was free of ice, and Slorn’s wagon stepped onto it without hesitation.

With a nervous swallow, Miranda followed, leaning with Gin into the wind that threatened to toss them both into the canyon below. She was so focused on not falling that she didn’t notice Slorn had stopped until she was past him. She turned around, nudging Gin back until they were pressed against the wagon.

“What’s wrong?” she shouted over the wind.

Slorn looked down at her from his seated position on the wagon’s roof, his small bear ears blown flat by the wind. “Things might get a little tense in the mountain,” he said. “No matter what happens, I need you to stay calm and follow my lead.”

Gin began to growl. “What do you mean ‘tense’?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Slorn said, starting his wagon forward again. “Just stay with me and everything will be fine.”

Gin snorted, sending a poof of white vapor into the air that was instantly snatched by the wind. “If he thinks we’re just going to roll over—”

“Gin!” Miranda said sharply.

The hound shut his mouth, and Miranda pushed him forward. She didn’t like this any more than he did, but they’d come too far to stop now. All she could do was press herself flat against the ghosthound’s back and follow Slorn’s wagon across the final half of the ravine.

The bridge ended at a sheer wall in the mountain’s side, the smooth stone road butting up against an unnaturally straight, unnaturally square cliff. The wind here was stronger than ever, buffeting them against the cliff face. Miranda kept low on Gin’s back, her eyes darting up the mountain for another path, but there was nothing, just the bridge and cliff. She was about to ask Slorn where to go next when a loud crack sounded over the wind. More cracks followed until the ravine sounded like a breaking glacier, and then, all at once, the cliff opened.

An enormous slab of stone twice as wide as Gin was long swung into the mountain with a long scrape, revealing a cavern larger than anything Miranda had seen before, including the Relay chamber below the Council. For a moment, she just stood, gawking at the sheer size of it, the perfect smoothness of stone so white it seemed to glow as it arched up to the domed ceiling. It was only when Gin began to growl that she realized they were not alone.

Just inside the stone door, a sternly handsome older man with a long, white beard stood with his arms crossed, as though he’d been waiting. Two younger men flanked him on either side. They were all strangely dressed. The two younger men wore what looked like work shirts and simple trousers, but the cloth was nice enough to take the front window in the best Zarin shops. The old man, however, was dressed in a padded silk robe finer than any Miranda had ever seen.

It was the old man who broke the silence. He lifted his chin, eyes narrowing as he looked Slorn over from boots to ears. “Heinricht.”

“Guildmaster,” Slorn answered, his deep voice strangely flat.

The old man’s expression wavered, and for a moment he looked almost heartbroken. Then the stern frown was back, and he flicked his fingers. At the signal, the two men stepped forward, each carrying a pair of iron cuffs. Slorn held out his hands as the men lay the cuffs on his arms, one at the wrists, one farther up at his elbows. They held the cuffs in place as the iron rings fastened themselves with a dull clank.

“Wait just a moment,” Miranda said, sliding off Gin’s back. Forget staying calm, this was ridiculous. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

“They’re arresting me,” Slorn said, lowering his bound arms.

“As you knew we would,” the old man said, his voice as deep and solid as the mountain beneath their feet. “You knew the punishment for leaving, Heinricht. Why did you return?”

“Nivel is dead,” Slorn answered. “I’ve come back to honor my duty as a Shaper and return our knowledge to the Teacher.”

One of the men who’d cuffed him looked at Slorn with a sneer. “What knowledge could a deserter have for the Teacher?”

“Knowledge has no faction, Krevich,” the Guildmaster said.

The young man blushed and bowed his head, but the Guildmaster didn’t look at him. His eyes never left Slorn. “You may bring your knowledge to the Teacher. As for the outsider you’ve brought”—his eyes flicked to Miranda—“leave. This is no place for Spiritualists.”

“Spiritualist Lyonette brings knowledge as well,” Slorn said before Gin’s growling could get any louder. “My story would be incomplete without hers.”

The Guildmaster’s face darkened, but he turned and walked away without another word, his beautiful silk robe moving with him. The men grabbed Slorn and marched him inside, the sound from their boots echoing through the beautiful cavern. After a moment of hesitation, Miranda followed, guiding Gin into the Shaper Mountain as the enormous door swung closed behind them.

“And there they go.”

Sparrow slid down the icy rock and tossed the spyglass to Tesset. “I told you this was going to end in tears.”

Tesset caught the spyglass and stowed it carefully in his belt pouch. “No one’s crying yet.”

“Sara will when she hears that her sea on a leash and pet bear are gone for good,” Sparrow said. “Assuming she could do something so human as cry.”

Tesset didn’t reply. Sparrow shook his head and pulled his now-ratty coat closer. It didn’t help. The wind on the cliffs above Knife’s Pass was cold enough to freeze his bones. “No point in dragging it out,” he said, fishing the Relay link out of his pocket. “Let’s face the music.”

He twirled the Relay link until it turned bright blue. Since Sparrow didn’t have enough spiritual presence to wake up an awakened sword, Sara had created his link to activate when it was shaken. She’d given him a huge lecture about this when she’d handed it over. Fortunately, Sparrow hadn’t wasted his time listening.

It took Sara an uncommonly long time to answer the Relay. When her scratchy voice finally did speak, she sounded harried and annoyed.

“Well?”

“No luck,” Sparrow said. “Papa bear and Banage’s darling were swallowed by the mountain. We couldn’t catch them, which should come as no surprise, seeing how you failed to provide us with either a walking cart or a ghosthound.”

Sara’s voice grew thoughtful. “So they were going to the Shapers.”

“Of course they were,” Sparrow snapped. “Where else would they be going up here?”

“With Slorn, you never know,” she said. “Anything else to report?”

“Yes,” Sparrow said. “We’re coming home. I’m sick of being poorly dressed and freezing. And since there’s nothing left for us to—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sara said with a puff from her pipe so vivid Sparrow could almost smell the smoke. “The job’s not done. This Empress situation is getting out of control. I need Slorn and the Spiritualist girl’s sea more than ever. Actually, Tesset, are you there?”

“Yes, Sara,” Tesset said, straightening up.

“I want you to come back to Zarin. I’m headed down to the desert for a few days and I need someone here whom I can trust to deal with Myron.”

Tesset arched an eyebrow. “Myron?”

“The Whitefall in charge of the army,” Sara said, yawning. “He seems to think I’m made of Relay points.”

“Isn’t there someone else?” Tesset said, scratching his stubbly chin. “It’s a long walk back to Zarin just to run interference on a Whitefall.”

“No one he’ll like,” Sara said. “He’s a military man. He’ll like you. And that’s an order, so stop questioning it.”

Tesset furrowed his brows, giving the matter careful consideration. “It will take me a few days,” he said at last. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Sara sighed loudly. “Just do your best.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Sparrow said. “Surely you have more members of the Whitefall family who need corralling.”

“I do,” Sara said. “But you’ve got your orders.”

“Sara!” Sparrow cried. “The bear man I get, but Miranda? I understand she has fantastic powers or whatever, but you and I both know you only pulled her into this to make Banage steam. Why should I have to risk my neck just so you can stick it to your—”

“Sparrow.”

Sparrow snapped his mouth shut. He knew that tone in her voice.

“That’s better,” Sara said. “Tesset, report to Zarin. Sparrow, your orders stand. Secure the Spiritualist and the Shaper and bring them to me.”

“And how am I supposed to do that without Tesset?” Sparrow said. “In case you forgot, Miss Lyonette doesn’t feel too kindly toward our office at the moment. Even if I get to her, she’s not going to just come back. What do you want me to do, arm wrestle the ghosthound?”

“You’re charming,” Sara said. “Figure it out.”

Sparrow flopped back against the icy rock in disgust, but the link’s light was already fading. Sara had severed the connection.

He shoved the orb into his pocket with an exasperated huff. “Can you believe this?”

“That Sara is being unreasonable?” Tesset said, buttoning his coat. “Of course. What Sara have you been working for that this behavior comes as a surprise?”

“And you’re just going to abandon me?” Sparrow said, his voice pathetic.

Tesset didn’t even have the decency to look hurt. “I’m going to do my job, as are you. I couldn’t help you in the Shaper Mountain anyway. It can see me, remember? Just make sure you get a good look around or Sara will never forgive you.”

“Right, right,” Sparrow said, rubbing his eyes. “She must be distracted not to mention that angle. This Empress thing really has her on edge.”

“If the Immortal Empress doesn’t put you on edge, you’re a fool,” Tesset said, lacing his boots tight. “Good luck.”

Sparrow nodded, but when he looked up, the older man was already gone, jogging down the path and picking up speed with every tireless step. With a frustrated groan, Sparrow pushed himself up from the rock. He shrugged off what was left of his brocaded coat and tossed it on the ground. Then, dressed only in his drab pants and shirtsleeves, he began to walk along the ledge toward the Shaper Mountain, fading instantly into the gray landscape.