The Spirit Rebellion (42 page)

“So you abandoned your spirits?” Mellinor roared. “All to save yourself?”

“Not forever!” the river roared back. “Judge all you want, but you never lived with the duke. We have to, and we suffer every day for it. Our only consolation is that, awful as he is, the duke is only human. He’ll die sooner or later, and then we’ll be free. But for now, we do as he says, all of us, even me, because no humiliation, no
suffering he puts us through is worse than what he would do to us if we disobeyed.”

Miranda opened her mouth to answer, and so did Eli, but it was Mellinor who spoke first, his water almost boiling with rage.

“You rivers,” he sneered. “Always flowing downhill, always taking the easy way out. You let him walk all over you just because he won’t live forever?”

“Don’t talk so mighty, lost sea,” the river rumbled, sending ripples through their bubble. “What right do you have to judge us? It’s not like you’re so pure. I know you, Mellinor. We’ve all heard of your failure, the sea defeated by a wizard. Rage all you want, but I had no mind to follow your path into madness. A few years of shame is nothing compared to hundreds trapped under a dead wizard’s thumb. I just did what you should have done, and I have kept my lands.”

“Then your lands are poorer for it,” Mellinor rumbled, his water spinning faster and faster, “saddled with such a coward!”

“Live a year in Gaol and you’d understand!” Fellbro shouted. “I only did what I needed to survive!”

“Mellinor!” Miranda said sharply. “Enough! This isn’t—”

A great tide of power cut her off. Mellinor’s spirit welled up inside her, choking her breath, pushing his way free. He poured out of her, pushing the black water of the river back in a great, shining wave. Through it all, Miranda could only stand there, the conduit of his power, until, all at once, he was gone. The emptiness hit her like an avalanche, and she toppled over. Eli caught her just before she hit the mud, pushing her back onto her knees.
But even like that, Miranda could barely keep her balance. She clung to his wet shirt, staring up at the great white wave above them as it invaded the river.

“What is he doing?” she said, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t he listen? We’re supposed to be
helping
the river.”

Eli gave her face a little slap, startling her back into the present. “He’s being a Great Spirit,” he said, nodding up at the glowing water. “I warned you about this, back in Mellinor, but you were the one who wanted to be his vessel, as I recall. You can’t complain now when he acts according to his nature.”

“He’s going to ruin everything,” Miranda groaned, staring helplessly as Mellinor’s white water invaded the dark river. “We need the river on our side. This isn’t the time for fighting!”

“I think Mellinor knows a lot more about being a Great Spirit than either of us,” Eli said softly. “Trust him.”

Miranda gave him a sideways look. “Must you be so smug about everything?” she grumbled. “I should have left you up top.”

“I told you to,” Eli said. He pointed up with a grin. “Now things are getting going; watch.”

Miranda looked up. Mellinor’s blue water was invading the dark river in every direction. She could feel Fellbro’s fear as it fought the sea for control of its water, but Mellinor’s rage was ironclad, and he did not fall back.

“Mellinor!” The river’s roar had a pleading edge to it. “Don’t do this!”

“You have betrayed your station, Fellbro.” The blue water foamed and flashed.

“You have no right!” the river shrieked, its murky
waters racing away. “This is my land! Mine! I will run it as I see fit!”

But Mellinor’s water pressed on without mercy or hesitation, and when he spoke, his voice echoed from all directions. “You relinquished your right to rule the moment you gave your powers away to save your own water. You have acted in a way unbecoming of a Great Spirit, and you know the price for that, same as the rest of us. Therefore, as Great Spirit of the Inland Sea, I, Mellinor, claim your rights as restitution on behalf of your spirits.” The river trembled and fought, but Mellinor’s wave ate everything as his final decree rang out. “Your water is now mine.”

With that, the river’s face shattered, and the entire river flashed the color of sea foam. The wave of power took Miranda and Eli off their feet, tumbling them along the river bottom as the bubble collapsed. But before they could come to harm, the water caught them gently. It carried them in a swell up from the depths, and they broke the river’s surface with a gasp, sucking clean, fresh air into their lungs.

All around them, the river had changed. What had been a dark, stagnant flow now glittered a deep, deep blue. The water glistened with its own blue light, and she could feel the familiar weight of Mellinor’s spirit all through it, comforting and a little apologetic.

“I am sorry,” the water whispered. “I know you wanted a peaceable solution, but we spirits have our own laws that must be upheld.”

“No,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “Being a Spiritualist means understanding and respecting my spirits’ natures. But”—she slapped the water, sending a splash up
in the air—“I
wish
you’d
told
me what you were going to do
before you did it
.”

She felt a wave of power that was distinctly like a shrug. “I didn’t know I needed to until I was doing it.”

“I see,” Miranda said. “Well, at least no one can argue that I Enslaved you now. Not after that display.”

“Only idiots argued it in the first place,” Mellinor said. “But”—she felt a motion that could only be the spirit equivalent of a grin—“you’ll like this next part.”

Miranda sank into the water, suddenly alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“He means he’s the Great Spirit of Gaol now,” Eli said beside her. “And everyone knows it.”

Miranda looked at him, confused, and he nodded toward the shore. She followed his gaze, and her eyes widened. The city, which had been a knot of controlled chaos, was perfectly still. The lamps were all burning steady, not flashing, and the dark clouds were frozen in the night sky. On the bank across from them, Miranda saw the army of conscripts standing with their torches. The archers drew their bows when they saw the two floating in the water, but even as they notched their arrows, Mellinor gave a warning rumble, and the bows went limp. The soldiers scrambled, but the bows had lost their tension and refused to draw.

“Was that you?” Miranda said in awe.

“Partially.” Mellinor sounded extremely pleased with himself. “Most of it is the spirits.” He laughed. “Let’s just say they didn’t particularly like being under the good duke’s thumb, and now that I’m here to back them up, they’re not feeling particularly charitable toward his forces.”

As if to prove him right, at that moment every sword of the enemy army cut through its sheath and clattered to the ground, some of them going straight through the feet of their previous owners. A great cry of fear and surprise went up, and, sensing the chaos, the torches they carried chose that moment to erupt in great geysers of flame. Suddenly, fire was everywhere, and the army broke into a mob. Men in flames screamed and dove into the river, which pulled back at the last moment to let them land in the mud. Others ran away, disappearing down the alleys and leaving the wounded gripping their bleeding feet.

“That’s what I call a complete rout,” Eli said cheerily. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen an army defeated by its own swords before.”

Miranda grinned. “Come on,” she said, turning to swim for the far shore. “Let’s get your swordsman and my dog and we’ll finish the duke before he does something drastic.”

“Sounds marvelous,” Eli said, swimming beside her. “See, we can agree on occasion.”

“Don’t push it,” Miranda said, giving him a sideways look. “Swim faster; you’re dragging me down.”

“Yes, mistress,” Eli quipped, earning himself a baleful glare, which he ignored completely, swimming in long, easy strokes toward the shore.

High overhead, Othril watched the battle of the Great Spirits with a growing sense of terror. This was bad, very bad. He needed to warn the duke before things got completely out of hand. He spun around to start toward the Duke’s citadel, but as he turned, something inside him hitched, and he froze motionless in the air. For a moment, panic completely
overwhelmed his mind. Had a wizard caught him? Was the duke angry? Then he felt a familiar cold breeze, and he realized what was wrong. He was blowing west.

“Othril.”

The voice blew through him, cold and salty and enormous as the western sea. Frozen in place, he could only tremble as he answered.

“All hail the West Wind.”

A laugh gusted past, and he felt other winds slide up beside him. Strong, powerful winds, and all blowing from the west.

“Othril,” the great voice of the West Wind chuckled. “Did you honestly think that allying yourself with a wizard who coerces Great Spirits would end well?”

“How are you even here?” Othril said with as much authority as he could muster. “Fellbro told you to get out! I don’t care how strong you think you are, you can’t ignore a direct dismissal. Winds are forbidden by the Shepherdess from interfering in the affairs of other Great Spirits within their own domains!”

“But Fellbro isn’t the Great Spirit anymore,” the wind said. “You were riding high as the duke’s right hand, weren’t you? Far more power than a spirit of your level would ever gain in the usual course. I can see how you were tempted, but your days of playing spy and weather-maker for the the duke are over.”

Othril began to dispute that, but clawed hands, airy but sharp and cold as iced iron, interrupted him, digging into the core of his spirit.

Panic sent him rigid. Being caught is the greatest fear of all winds, and Othril was no exception. It was how the duke had convinced him to serve in the first place.

A laughing breeze blew over him, but the words it whispered in his ear were as cold as the claws that held him. “It’s time to remember your true loyalty, little wind.”

Othril struggled one last time, and then he was gone, tumbling off to the west. The other winds watched until his spirit winked out of sight. Then, without a word, they spun up high into the cloud layer and began to carry out their lord’s commands.

Slowly, the sky grew dark and heavy with clouds. And then, in long sullen sheets, a night rain began to fall on Gaol for the first time in twenty years.

D
uke Edward stood at the top of his citadel. The soft rain fell on him, trickling down his clenched jaw and trembling fists. He was staring at the river, its water shining silver in the night, and the last of his routed soldiers beside it. Behind him, his officers stood uncertainly, waiting for orders, but no orders came. The duke just stood there, staring at the river, growing paler and paler as his rage set in.

It was Hern who dared to speak first, stepping up to stand beside the duke.

“Edward,” he said, very softly. “That water spirit is Miranda’s. We still have her rings. That’s all the leverage we need on a girl like her. We still have control.”

“Control?” The duke’s voice was low and sharp. “What do you know about control?” His hand shot out, grabbing Hern’s collar with alarming strength, dragging the Spiritualist until they were an inch apart.

“I have devoted my entire life to shaping Gaol,” he
whispered. “Every moment, from the first moment I heard a spirit’s voice, I knew that this was my purpose, to turn this ragged hash of spirits into a land of order, discipline, and prosperity. I did not work all those years to lose it now.”

“Edward!” Hern gasped against his grip. “I know what you’re thinking, but be reasonable. Sometimes controlled retreat is a victory. We still have—”

“There will be no retreat!” the duke roared, tossing Hern to the ground. “I rule Gaol! It is not a matter of that girl controlling the river, but of my spirits disobeying me!” As he spoke, his spirit surged through the words until Hern could barely hear them over its roar. “I rule here,” the duke said, turning back toward the river, “and disobedience will not be tolerated.”

“Edward!” Hern shouted, but it was too late. A massive wave of Enslavement rolled out of the duke. It hit Hern full force, and he toppled over, dragged down by his rings. The Enslavement surged up the connection he shared with his spirits until he was writhing on the ground. But even as the overwhelming pressure threatened to crack his mind, he reached up and began to pluck his rings one by one from his fingers. With each ring removed, the pressure grew less. He kept taking off rings until he could stand again, and then, using a leather pouch to grab them so the terrified spirits did not touch his skin and reopen the connection, Hern gathered his spirits and fled.

Edward had gone too far. Hern shook his head, making his way quickly down the shaking stairs. He wouldn’t help the duke Enslave his country. He was a Spiritualist still, and there were limits to what even he would do. Besides, if word ever got back to Zarin that he’d been involved in
this in any way, no amount of politics could save him. So, with that, Hern vanished into the night, running for his tower as the city began to go mad around him.

Miranda pulled herself out of the river, grinning from ear to ear as she bent over to help extract Eli from the glowing water. Gin was waiting for them on the dock, looking as pleased as she was, which didn’t seem to be making the elder Monpress more comfortable. Gin’s toothy smiles were difficult to appreciate unless you knew him.