The Spirit Eater

CHAPTER 8

They climbed for three days, moving ever higher into the sharp, gray mountains. The trees vanished on the second day, replaced by thorny shrubs, and then nothing, just endless slopes of bare stone and snow. At night, great gusts blew in icy sheets across their meager campsite, leaving tracks of frost on the path that Josef had to break up with his boots before they could move on. Still, despite none of them being dressed for mountain weather, they made good time, mostly thanks to Karon, Eli’s lava spirit.

As soon as the cold became uncomfortable, Eli had opened his shirt and had a nice long chat with the burn on his chest. Karon was happy to help them stick it to the ice and wind spirits, and he cheerfully kept the air around Eli as warm and dry as a smokehouse.

“I only wish it didn’t reek of sulfur,” Josef said, pressing up the mountainside. “I’d almost rather deal with the cold.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Eli huffed, though even he looked a little green. “Who am I to stand between a man and his frostbite?”

Nico would have chuckled at that, but even a smile felt out of place on the gray slopes. They were getting close. Though she kept her hood down and her eyes on the path, it did little good. She could see the mountain all the time now, even when she closed her eyes, which she did as little as possible. It only made her more aware that she was never alone. The voice sat like a lump in her mind, rarely speaking but ever present, a constant weight that could not be removed or ignored.

“Nico?”

She jumped at her name and looked to see Eli staring at her.

“You stopped. Are you all right?”

Nico swallowed. She didn’t remember stopping. “I’m fine,” she said softly.

Eli gave her a look of superb disbelief, and she hurried forward, scurrying up the mountain until she was at the edge of Karon’s warmth.

If you embraced what you were there would be no need for these charades, the voice tsked. If the thief and the swordsman are so important to you, why bother fighting this fight we both know you’re going to lose? What do you hope to gain? Admit it, everyone would be so much happier if you just accepted your fate.

Nico clenched her jaw and focused on pulling herself up the slope. Eli followed behind her, watching her back with a cautious, closed expression.

Josef reached the top of the slope first. He’d taken to pushing forward, plowing through the snow to make a path for the others before falling back to the circle of Karon’s heat to warm up again. This time he waited for them, standing impatiently at the peak while Nico and Eli trudged the last fifty icy feet. The top of the slope was not the top of the mountain, however. Instead, they came out in a short, narrow pass between two peaks. It was a forbidding place, a wide alley of stone paved with sharp, icy rocks and crusted snow, but it was sheltered from the wind and that was enough to make it feel almost homey.

“At last,” Eli said. “I thought we’d be climbing forever.”

“We may not be done yet,” Josef answered, picking his way down the pass. “Don’t get too cozy.”

Eli’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing. Though they were speaking mostly as usual, Nico was keenly aware that Josef and Eli still weren’t looking directly at each other. It made sense, of course. No matter how close the friendship, the things they’d said outside the bear’s cave couldn’t be forgotten as easily as that. Still, Nico couldn’t even look at them together without feeling a horrible pang of guilt. She had to find Slorn as soon as possible, she thought, hurrying down the pass after Josef. The sooner the pressure was lifted and the problem was resolved, the sooner they could all go back to how they were before.

She caught up to Josef quickly, not because she was moving so quickly but because the swordsman had stopped. He was standing at the other end of the sheltered pass, staring out at the white landscape beyond with a hard look on his face. She didn’t have to ask him what he saw; she could feel it waiting out there, beyond the snow.

“We’re here, aren’t we?” Josef said softly.

Nico could only nod, forcing her foot to take the last, terrified step to stand beside him and look out on their final destination.

The pass between the mountains let out on a steep, snow-covered slope that plunged down into a little valley. Snow blew in sheets across it, hiding everything else behind a blanket of pure white, but here and there the wall of snow thinned, allowing a fleeting glimpse of the mountain at the other end of the valley. It towered above the other peaks, twice as high as any of the lesser mountains that ringed it, its cold, black stone showing through the blowing snow like dark water under ice.

“There’s no snow on its slopes,” Josef said, squinting against the white storm.

“No,” Eli said, stepping up to join them and bringing the welcome sphere of warmth with him. “No snow, no water, just dry, dusty stone, and the cold, of course.” He glanced at Nico. “Or so I’ve heard.”

Nico looked away. She didn’t know how to answer that. All the way here she’d been probing her mind, trying to dig up memories about her time on the mountain. The closer they came, the more familiar things had felt, but a black haze hung over her mind, drawing a curtain between the morning Josef found her from everything before it. Nico frowned. Perhaps the demon ate her memories as well as her soul. Perhaps she really was starting to lose her mind.

You can’t blame everything on me, the voice purred. You locked those memories away yourself. Pity, you were so much stronger then. It sickens me when I think of what you threw away.

Nico firmly turned her attention toward the valley floor. She did not want to hear it.

“All right,” Eli said, dropping his bag on the ice at his feet. “Since you can’t go to the mountain, Nico, Josef and I will sneak in ourselves and find that map you mentioned. We’ll have to take Karon with us. Will you be all right without heat?”

Nico considered. “I should be. I’m sheltered here, and I’ve got my coat. I’ll be good until nightfall.”

“Plenty of time,” Eli said, glancing at Josef. “Let’s go.”

Josef nodded, and the pair of them started down the steep slope toward the black mountain. Eli skidded a little on icy snow and half ran, half slid down the first slope. Josef, however, took one step and stopped cold.

Nico thought he was testing the ground, but the seconds ticked by and still he didn’t move. Eli recovered his footing and, realizing he was alone, glanced up at his swordsman.

“Are you all right?” he called.

Josef didn’t answer. He had a look on his face Nico had never seen on him before. On anyone else, she would have called it bewilderment. For a long minute he just stood there, the wind blowing snow into his short blond hair. Then, very slowly, as though he were pushing against enormous pressure, Josef lifted his arm, raised his hand to his shoulder, and, with a flip of the buckle, undid the strap that held the Heart of War to his back. The sword fell to the ground with a crash that echoed off the mountain walls, sending the snow sliding down the slopes. The second he was free, Josef staggered forward, panting and red-faced like he’d just run a mile in full armor.

Eli looked from sword to swordsman. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Josef said, struggling to stand upright. He turned to face his fallen sword, which was lying on the ice just inside the ravine. Scowling, he leaned forward and grabbed the handle with both hands, pulling as hard as he could.

The sword did not move.

Josef braced his legs and pulled again, but the sword stuck to the icy stone as though it had grown there, and nothing Josef did could move it. After the third pull, he fell backward into the snow. Josef sat up again with a flurry of thrown snow, gasping and glaring at his sword. But the Heart just sat there, black and silent as ever.

Eli climbed back up the slope and leaned over the sword until his nose was almost level with the leather-wrapped hilt, staring intently. When he had examined it from every angle, he stood up with a shrug. “I guess it doesn’t want to go to the Dead Mountain either.”

“That’s too bad,” Josef said, breathing hard. “Because I’m not going in there without it, so it’ll just have to come along.”

He grabbed the hilt to pull again, but this time he stopped, his face going ghostly pale.

“What?” Eli said.

Josef shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. “It can’t go,” he said.

Eli stared at him. “What?”

“The Heart just told me it can’t go to the Dead Mountain,” Josef said again.

“Since when do you talk to your sword?” Eli scoffed.

Josef gave him a murderous look. “It’s more like a feeling, but I know what it said. It told me it has to stay here.”

Eli sighed. “Well, did it give a reason?”

Josef crossed his arms. “Sure, it explained all its motivations to me in great detail. And then we sat down and had tea.”

“Okay, okay,” Eli said, putting his hands up. “The Heart stays. But if it’s not going, then you shouldn’t either.”

Josef arched an eyebrow, and Eli shook his head. “I’m not saying anything about your fighting prowess, but if you can’t bring your big weapon I’d probably have an easier time sneaking in alone.”

“How does that make sense?” Josef growled.

“It’s the first rule of thievery,” Eli said with a shrug. “One person makes less noise than two. And I’d much rather you be here with Nico and the Heart than stuck on some mountain with just me and your pot-metal normal blades.”

Josef’s hands flicked to the blades on his hip, as though he was about to show Eli just how dangerous those pot-metal blades could be, but Eli was already walking over to the cranny where he’d dropped his bag.

“If I go solo then I can do things I can’t do with you two,” he said, pulling a folded bundle of black clothing out of his sack. “Anyway”—he began to take off his jacket—“it’s not like I’m planning on fighting. I’ll have a much easier time giving trouble the slip if I don’t have to worry about you and your bash-happy ways.”

Josef frowned but didn’t argue the point. Satisfied, Eli leaned on the wall and began pulling off his boots. He placed them carefully beside his pack, followed by his jacket. Then, standing in the snow in his shirtsleeves and socks, Eli shook out the folded black cloth and started to pull it over his head. It was a tight fit. The fabric was obviously meant to go over the skin, not other clothes, but Nico didn’t blame Eli for layering. Even with Karon there to keep him warm, the cold was bitter. When the black cloth was wrapped all the way down to his feet, Eli slid on a pair of padded black boots, completing the ensemble. When he straightened up, he was dressed toe to chin in a black catsuit not unlike the one Giuseppe Monpress had worn back in Gaol.

“Don’t ever tell the old man I actually wore this,” Eli said, pulling the last bit, the black mask, over his head. “I’d never hear the end. Of course”—he grinned behind the thin cloth—“mine has improvements.”

“I hope they make you demonproof,” Josef said. “You’ve got four hours before dark; don’t dawdle.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Josef snorted indignantly. Eli gave them a final wave and started down the slope, half walking, half sliding over the ice-crusted snow. Despite being a black dot on a field of white, he vanished almost instantly. Still, Nico and Josef watched for several minutes more, just in case.

Finally, Josef turned around. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find something that will burn before I turn blue.”

Nico nodded and hurried after him. For the next half hour they scoured the ravine and the slope they’d come from, eventually gathering enough burnables to make a fire. It was a small, pathetic thing, but at least it was bright and warm, and they huddled together beside it.

Now that it was clear they weren’t going to the Dead Mountain, the Heart let Josef pick it up again. He sat with the black blade in his lap, idly running his fingers across its pitted surface. This close, Nico could smell the bite of cold iron and the fearsome, bloody scent of the sword itself. Even so, it was a comforting, familiar smell, and for the first time since they’d seen the bears, she began to think things might turn out all right.

That was when the sunlight began to fade.

“Powers,” Josef grumbled, looking up at the fast-moving clouds. “A storm. As if we didn’t have enough to deal with.”

He lowered his head and crouched tighter over his sword, but Nico could only stare wide-eyed as the swift, gray clouds were pushed aside by black, angry thunderheads moving against the wind. “Josef,” she whispered. “I don’t think that’s a normal storm.”

He looked at her, and then looked up again. By this point, the storm clouds blotted out every inch of sky. They tumbled overhead, enormous and midnight black, lit up from the inside by flashes of blue lightning. Thunder crashed, drowning out even the howling of the wind outside the pass. Josef muttered a curse and stood up, the Heart of War in his hand. It was as dark as night in the ravine now, their pathetic little fire the only sputter of light.

All at once the world flashed bright blue as lightning struck, and in the lightning, a tall man appeared before them. His long black hair fell over the shoulders of a long black coat edged with silver. A long sword with a blue-wrapped hilt sat on his hip, and his long, ageless face was transformed by a triumphant smile.

The lightning faded, but the image of the man was burned into Nico’s eyes. In the second before the thunder crashed, a harsh, laughing voice spoke over the howling wind.

“Alone at last.”

Nico went cold as the stone behind her. She knew that voice. It came roaring from the memories she’d locked away, from the place in her mind she could never go. Instinctively, she dropped into a fighting stance, feeling stupid even as she lifted her tiny fists. But she didn’t back down. So long as Josef stood beside her, she could not ever run away.

As her eyes adjusted to the returned darkness, she saw that the man in the black coat was looking at her. His blue-silver eyes flashed like the lightning in the sky, and his victorious smile grew even colder as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t move.”

The command fell on her like an avalanche, slamming Nico to the icy rock. Her breath flew out of her lungs as she crashed into the stone, and she felt a sharp pain as her arm, caught beneath her by the sudden fall, snapped like a twig. Gasping, she tried to roll over, to save her injured arm from her weight, but she could not move. She couldn’t even twitch. It was just like what Sted had done in Gaol, only a thousand times stronger, a million times. That time at least she had been able to shift a little; now it took every ounce of her will just to take another breath.

Not for much longer. The voice filled her mind, louder than even the blood pounding in her ears. You know who this is, Nico. You know how he works. He’s letting you breathe, playing with you, savoring his victory. Soon, when he decides or when the pain becomes too much, you’ll suffocate under the weight of the spirit’s hatred for our kind. But there’s no need to suffer. No need to be weak. After all, you’ve broken his hold before.

Nico took a desperate breath and closed her eyes, but something inside her head reached out and pried them open again, forcing her to look as Josef stepped forward, his mouth moving in words she could not hear over the pain.

Tears running from eyes she could no longer close, Nico watched Josef reach back and draw the Heart of War. A moment later, the horrid man in the black coat drew his own blade. Her breaths were coming in shallow little gasps now as the swordsmen faced each other, and though she would have gladly broken her own neck to do it, she could not look away.

Watch closely. This time the voice was a bare whisper over her mind. Everything that’s about to happen is your fault. The voice grew fainter with every word. When you’re ready to do what’s necessary, when you’re ready to fight again, I’ll be here.

With that, the voice trailed off, leaving Nico to gasp in the sudden, enormous silence of her own head.

Less than five feet from her crumpled body, the two swordsmen lunged.

Out of the corner of his eye Josef saw Nico crumple, but he put it out of his mind before she hit the ground. Nico could take care of herself. She was a survivor, and she’d keep surviving, so long as he protected her chance to fight. To do that, he needed all his attention on his opponent. Across the stone ravine, the man in the coat smiled and drew his sword with a blue-silver flash. The blade shone in the heartbeat of light, long and gently curved, cutting the air with a thin whistle. The man in the coat took a step toward Nico and Josef matched him, sidestepping to block his path, the cold, dull blade of the Heart of War ready in his hands.

The man stopped and stared, his pale face almost amused. “Do not try me, human,” he said. “Step aside. This is none of your concern.”

“Nico and I are comrades,” Josef said simply. “Her concerns are my concerns.”

“Is that so?” The man arched a thin eyebrow. “Are you so eager to die, then, comrade of a demon?”

“Death comes when it comes,” Josef said. “I won’t step aside for it.”

The tall man’s eyes narrowed. “Have it your way, Josef Liechten, Master of the Heart of War.”

“That’s unfair,” Josef said. “You know our names, but we don’t know yours.”

The tall man swung his sword up, resting the flat against his shoulder. “I am called the Lord of Storms. So I was named when I was pulled from the sky and given my purpose, the eradication of the creature who stands behind you and all others of her kind. I cannot be killed and I do not give up. Now do you understand the position you are in?”

“More than before,” Josef said, tightening his grip on the Heart. From the moment he saw the clouds overhead, the Heart had been almost vibrating in anticipation. He could feel its excitement even now, and it made his own pulse quicken. The only thing that roused the sword was the possibility of a good fight. Josef smiled, remembering that night in Gaol. From the way the Lord of Storms was talking, a fight seemed inevitable, and this time, Josef was determined to honor his sword. This time, he wouldn’t hold back.

“I’ve found that men of purpose are the best fighters,” Josef said, looking the taller man straight in the eye. “Tell me, Lord of Storms”—Josef’s face broke into a wide smile—“are you a good swordsman?”

“What does it matter?” The Lord of Storms gave him a bored look. “I told you, I can’t be killed. No matter what you do, the end will be the same. I will kill the demon. You can either die with it, or step aside.”

Josef didn’t move. “It may be you can’t be killed,” he said. “But never did you say you couldn’t be defeated.” He reached up and undid the buckle on the belt of knives across his chest. The heavy belt of blades fell to the ground with a thud, followed by the swords at his waist. Piece by piece, Josef shed his weapons. When he dropped the last knife from his boot, he stepped toward the Lord of Storms, completely unencumbered. “I’ll ask you again. Are you a good swordsman?”

“I am the first swordsman,” the Lord of Storms answered. “And the best.”

“Then I will not move,” Josef said, pointing the Heart’s dull, dark blade at the Lord of Storms’ chest. “I am Josef Liechten, and I will become the greatest swordsman in the world. So come and fight me, Lord of Storms. Give me a challenge worth dying for.”

The Lord of Storms looked at him for a long time. “I won’t spare you once I begin,” he said. “If you step down this path, there’s no turning back.”

Josef braced his feet on the icy rock, the Heart sure and heavy in his hands. “I’ve never needed a path I could turn back from.”

The Lord of Storms laughed. “You are bold to the point of stupidity,” he said, swinging his sword so that it matched tip to tip with the Heart. “I find that refreshing. Very well, Josef Liechten, your life has bought you a lesson in the difference in power between you and me. It will be quick, so learn it well.”

Josef’s answer was to lunge, swinging the Heart of War with both hands. The black blade whistled through the air, carrying the weight of a mountain as it swung under the Lord of Storms’ sword and up toward his unprotected chest. What happened next happened too fast for Josef to see. One second the Lord of Storms’ guard was broken, the next, the long, blue-white sword was in front of him, poised to meet the Heart’s charge. The two swords met in a blinding clash, and the Heart stopped cold.

Josef grunted as the breath slammed out of his lungs. Hitting the Lord of Storms’ parry was like running into a stone wall at full speed. He bore down with a roar, pushing with all his strength. The Lord of Storms stood before him, a bored look on his sharp face, holding the blue-silver sword against the Heart of War’s straining blade with one, bored hand. The will of the Heart pounded through Josef’s muscles, clearing his vision and sharpening his senses to a level he’d reached only once before, and it was only thanks to that painful clarity that he perceived what was about to happen.

He caught the gleam in the taller man’s eyes just in time before the blue-white blade swung, cutting through the air where Josef’s head had been a split second earlier. Josef danced back, panting, bringing the Heart up again. But the Lord of Storms lowered his blade, looking at Josef as though he were seeing him for the first time.

“If you’re good enough to dodge my attack, then you’re too good to die like a dog here,” the Lord of Storms said calmly. “The Heart chooses its wielders with great care. It must see great potential in you. Don’t waste its time on a battle you can never win.”

The Heart of War quivered in Josef’s hands, rejecting the idea, and the Lord of Storms looked surprised.

“You always did love lost causes,” he said, shaking his head. “But facing me with a deaf boy for a wielder is foolish even for you. The Lady will not be happy when she hears how you’re using the freedom she gave you.”

The Heart burned against Josef’s hands, and a surge of strength flowed up his arms, urging him forward. Josef didn’t need to be told twice. He charged, but this time he was watching for the Lord of Storms’ lightning-fast block. Sure enough, it moved into position with a silver flash, but with the Heart’s rage singing through him, Josef moved even faster. He dropped and rolled under the Lord of Storms’ sword, coming up inside the taller man’s guard with a triumphant cry as the Heart of War’s black blade bit into the Lord of Storms’ unprotected ribs.

The Heart slid into the Lord of Storms’ side, cutting flesh for a split second before a flash of lightning blinded Josef, and the Lord of Storms vanished. Josef reeled as the resistance disappeared, flying through the air on the force of his blow, which was now lodged in thin air. He was still trying to make sense of what had happened when something hard and impossibly sharp struck his back directly between his shoulder blades. Josef slammed into the ground, gasping and choking on the blood that was suddenly everywhere. The Heart of War clattered from his hand, but Josef couldn’t see where it had landed. Flashing spots danced across his eyes, but as he struggled to push himself up, something cold and dull slammed into his ribs, flipping him over onto his back.

The Lord of Storms towered over him, taller and darker than before, his long black hair dancing in a wind that blew only for him. His lightning-colored sword was dark with blood, but what caught Josef’s eye was the man’s left side, where the Heart of War had stuck. There, where the wound should have been, black clouds were billowing. There was no blood, no bone, just black thunderheads swirling in and out of the gap in the Lord of Storms’ black coat. Josef blinked in disbelief as lightning arced across the wound, and the hole in the man’s side began to shrink. The clouds pulled together until there was only the smooth fabric of the Lord of Storms’ coat, leaving no sign that he had been breached at all.

Josef’s horror must have been plain, for the Lord of Storms’ face broke into a wide grin.

“Ah,” he said and chuckled. “The arrogant boy begins to understand his situation.” He held out his sword, pressing the flat against Josef’s cheek. “And I was so impressed. To think, someone as spirit deaf as you was able to feel the Heart’s will. I haven’t seen such a thing in centuries, yet here you are, on your back like all the others, not even realizing you’re dead.”

Josef tried to answer, but his retort turned into a hacking cough. He spat out the hot blood in his mouth and tried to focus, but his back was burning against the freezing stone, and he could feel the slick, hot blood melting the ice below him. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. Above him, the Lord of Storms was blurring, becoming just another shape in the red dark, and Josef realized with a start that he was dying. Truly dying, from a single blow.

The Lord of Storms watched sadly as Josef struggled to breathe, and then he turned in a swift motion.

“I am not without honor,” he said, walking to the far end of the narrow pass. “You fought well for what you are, so I shall give you a warrior’s death.” He turned again when he reached his destination, sword held delicately in his long hands. “Stand up,” he called, fixing his eyes on Josef’s. “Stand and die as the swordsman of the Heart of War should.”

The pass fell silent. Even the endless winds outside ceased their blowing, leaving the narrow space between the cliffs dark and still, save for Josef’s ragged breathing. With a low groan, Josef’s hand reached out from his chest and began to feel for his sword. He found it at once, the rough-wrapped hilt jumping into his grip. He expected the Heart to say something. He was certainly gone enough to hear it, but the black blade stayed silent.

A great, clear sound rang out between the mountains as Josef plunged the Heart of War into the stone. He took a long, shuddering breath and, using the Heart as a crutch, pulled himself up. The moment he was no longer horizontal, blood began to rush down his back. The pain between his shoulders grew so intense he had to stop a moment, halfway between sitting and standing, just to bear it. But a second later he was moving again, uncurling inch by inch until he was standing straight, facing the Lord of Storms with his sword clasped in both hands. He would not die. He would not fail Nico. He would not fail Eli. He would not fail his sword. He hadn’t thrown everything away to die like this. He would stand and meet the monster, the man whose body was made of storms, and he would not go down.

The Heart of War radiated its approval, and he felt its strength flowing back into him, clearing his vision, dimming his pain. This was it, the final blow, and they would make it together. But as he stepped into the ready position, a piercing cry stopped him cold. It was high and keening, and it came from behind him. Even the Lord of Storms looked startled, and they both turned to find the source of the sound. What Josef saw next turned his blood to ice water.

“Powers,” he whispered. “Not now.”