Spirit’s End

CHAPTER 18

As Eli stepped through the portal, all he saw was white, and his stomach seized in dread. No, Slorn wouldn’t have taken him back to Benehime. But the portal, the white, white world…

His chest began to heave as a cold sweat broke out all over his body, but before Eli could ramp himself up into a full-blown panic, he noticed that this white world had walls. They were hard to see, but they were definitely there. Benehime’s world had no walls, none he knew of at least. Moreover, Josef and Slorn were still here, fussing over the bone metal box. So was a new man, an older gentleman with a long gray beard wearing the finest robes Eli had ever seen outside—

Eli let out a great breath and looked up, his face breaking into a grin as he traced the tapering curve of the glowing white room. “The heart of the Shaper Mountain,” he said, nearly laughing. “Never thought I’d be here again.”

“You would not be here if the circumstances were less dire, thief.”

The deep, unfamiliar voice made him jump, and he turned in surprise to see the old bearded man staring at him with a murderous glare.

“I’m sorry,” Eli said. “Do I know you?”

“No,” the man said. “But I know you, Eli Monpress. Or rather, I know what you did.”

Eli’s smile turned sheepish. “Could you remind me, then? I’ve done a lot over the years.”

The man crossed his arms, his beautiful silk sleeves rustling like grass in the wind. “Three years ago you stole five of the finest tapestries ever woven by Shaper hands from our private collection.”

“Oh, yes,” Eli said. “One of my first big solo jobs. I still have them, you know.” He clasped his hands over his heart. “The memory of their beauty sustains me every day. I feel truly lucky to have touched such workmanship. I’ve stolen many fine things, but your tapestries are truly the jewel of my collection.”

On the floor beside Nico’s box, Josef rolled his eyes and Slorn made a little huffing sound, almost like he was stifling a laugh. The old man, however, was not amused.

“Be thankful that the only thing Shapers value more than the work of their hands is their duty to the mountain, thief,” the old man said. “Had the Teacher not given you safe passage, I’d be escorting you to one of our cells.”

Eli’s smile grew wicked. “Well, maybe once this is over, we could give that a try. I’d actually love to see your cells. A prison so shoddy that Miranda could break out of it must truly be a wonder of the world.”

The old man went pale with rage, his eyes going wide, but before he could explode, Slorn interrupted. “Father,” he said, “now is not the time. And Eli?”

Eli lifted his head. “Yes?”

Slorn flattened his small, round ears to his flat scalp. “Shut up.”

With a coy little grin, Eli obeyed.

Josef, Slorn, and the man Slorn called father moved Nico’s bone metal box to the middle of the white room. The enormous hall was perfectly circular, and there was some fussing on the part of the two Shapers about getting the box exactly at the center. Once it was there, Slorn raised his hand. A white slit in the air opened in answer, and Eli blinked in surprise. On the other side of the hole was Slorn’s workshop. It looked just as Eli remembered it, everything neatly shelved and labeled. Slorn stepped through the portal, coming back almost immediately with a long length of shining chain looped between his hands.

It must have weighed a ton. The metal was as thick as Eli’s thumb, and the links themselves were as long as his palm, but Slorn moved the chain easily, spreading it out between his arms like common rope. He spoke quietly to the others, and then he, Josef, and the old Shaper lifted Nico’s bone metal box. As soon as it was off the ground, Slorn began wrapping the chain around it.

He wrapped the box ten times, five across the width and another five going lengthwise before attaching the final link to the first. The glittering metal snapped open at his touch with reverent obedience, sealing itself again so perfectly Eli wouldn’t have believed the work had been done without the aid of a forge if he hadn’t just seen it for himself.

“There,” Slorn said, wiping the back of his neck with his hands. “That should do it. Lower her down.”

Eli moved in for a closer look. He loved Slorn’s toys. “What was that?”

“Extra precaution,” Slorn answered. “It’s an awakened alloy of my own design, stronger than steel and stubborn as stone. It’s not inedible like bone metal, but it’s close. This way, if the bone metal cracks, the containment will hopefully stay shut long enough for us to do something.”

Eli felt the blood drain out of his face. Slorn’s voice was as serious as the grave. “This isn’t like before, is it?” he said quietly.

Slorn closed his eyes. “No.”

Josef’s shoulders went tense. “What do you mean?”

“He means she’s not coming back from this,” Eli said. “It’s finally gone too far.”

“Eli,” Josef growled, but Slorn’s voice stopped him.

“It’s not a matter of going too far,” the Shaper said. “If your fight with the Lord of Storms hadn’t been so close to the Shaper Mountain, the world would be a very different place right now. Possibly not at all.”

Josef bared his teeth. “What do you mean, bear?”

“We watched your fight,” Slorn said, unflinching. “The girl you call Nico has another name here. The Shapers call her Daughter of the Dead Mountain, and if the Lord of Storms hadn’t finished her, they meant to.”

Josef’s face turned murderous, and the old man beside Slorn drew himself up. “It would be our right,” he said. “Almost three years ago, that creature led the demon’s assault on the Shapers. She slaughtered the Teacher’s mountains, eating them like sheep as she carved a path from the Dead Mountain to our very slopes. Had the League of Storms not stopped her, she would have attacked the Shaper Mountain itself. She is our enemy, but worse, she was our child.”

The old man stopped a moment, and when he continued, his voice was softer. “Before the demon took her, the girl was one of our own daughters. A child of the mountain, precious to us and to the Teacher. Killing the monster she became would not just be vengeance for those she killed, but vengeance for the girl she had been, our daughter whose soul was eaten by the demon and replaced with his black seed.”

“Nico’s bounty,” Josef said, his voice dangerously strained. “That was you?”

“It was,” the old man said. “I am Ferdinand Slorn, Guildmaster of the Shapers. I gave the order then just as I would have given it now. Had the Lord of Storms fallen, we would have come forward to kill the demonseed ourselves. But then, things changed.”

“The seed was ripped out,” Slorn said, picking up the story. “But Nico didn’t die.”

“Of course she didn’t die,” Josef snapped. “She’s a survivor.”

“No, swordsman,” Slorn said, shaking his head. “A demonseed’s host dies the moment the seed is removed. Always. That’s why a demonseed is a death sentence. Even if the seed is small, the moment it is implanted, the seed’s life becomes tangled with the host spirit. Removing the seed kills the soul and destroys the host body. This is a universal truth. Or so we thought.”

Josef folded his arms over his chest. “Nico proved you wrong.”

“Nico is no longer a demonseed,” Slorn said. “If she were, she would have died the second the seed left her body. But the seed is gone and her soul still lives. Actually, I’d say she’s more powerful now without the seed than she was when I saw her at Izo’s camp.”

Eli winced, remembering the enormous black monster with its hideous yellow eyes, the black mouth roaring as it devoured the forest. He glanced at the bone metal box on the floor between them. He didn’t want to see something more powerful than that.

Slorn took a long breath. “The truth, swordsman, is that we didn’t decide not to kill Nico out of kindness or respect to you or her. We can’t kill her. It’s my belief that she is no longer a demonseed inside a human host but a fully fledged demon in her own right. She is the very thing we have feared for so long, the thing the Demon of the Dead Mountain has been striving to create since his imprisonment began. And with this demon as with the other, none of us, not the Shapers nor the Teacher nor the League nor the Shepherdess herself, has the power to destroy her. Not without striking so hard we break the world in the process. The best we can hope for now is to contain her as we contained her father.”

“So you’re just going to keep her in that box forever?” Josef shouted. “Not a chance! I won’t allow it.”

“You don’t get a choice,” Slorn said. “This is larger than us now, Josef Liechten. The thing in that box isn’t Nico anymore but a predator capable of devouring everything we call reality. It is by pure good fortune that we had a vessel capable of containing her ready before that happened. Letting her out is simply not possible. We’re lucky we got her in.”

“She’s not a monster!” Josef roared, grabbing Slorn by his collar. “And she’s still in there. Nico doesn’t lose to anything!”

Slorn didn’t answer, nor did he pull out of Josef’s grasp. He simply stood there, brown bear eyes staring into Josef’s until, at last, the swordsman let go. “I’m not giving up,” Josef said, sitting down on the white stone beside the chain-swaddled box.

Eli, Slorn, and the Guildmaster exchanged a look and stepped back, moving quietly to the far end of the white room, giving Josef his space.

“I want to say he’ll come around,” Eli said, scrubbing his hands through his hair in frustration. “But I don’t think he will. I don’t know that I will. After everything she’s been through, all the fights she won, I can’t believe Nico’s lost now.”

“I don’t know what her future holds,” Slorn said. “Something like this has never happened before. But I do know we cannot afford to take chances, not with things as bad as they are.”

“There at least we agree,” Eli said. “All this aside, though, I’m very glad you appeared, Slorn. I have some news I need to tell someone, and I think you’re the best choice by far, but first”—Eli folded his arms and gave the Shaper a piercing look—“how did you get the ability to cut the veil? Did the Lord of Storms finally convince you to join his club, or does everyone get those now? Because I swear I saw a Spiritualist use one just before everything went south.”

“I don’t know about the Spiritualists,” Slorn said. “But to answer your question, no, I’m not in service of the Shepherdess, League or otherwise. Other than the ability to move through the veil, I am the same as I was last we met. That power was granted me only recently by the Master of the Veil himself in order to make the bitter work we’re about to embark on a little easier.”

“Wait,” Eli said, holding up his hands. “Wait, wait, wait. What work? And Master of the Veil? I know I’ve been out of the loop for a while, but what are you talking about? Who’s the Master of the Veil?”

I am.

Eli jumped a foot in the air. The voice rang through his head just like the Shepherdess’s, but where hers was a woman’s cold soprano, this was a steady tenor. Beside him, Slorn and the old Guildmaster were lowering their heads in reverence. Eli followed their eyes and found himself face to face with an old man.

He was as tall as Josef, but frail with age, his limbs thin and bony. Even so, his shoulders were straight, his hands steady, and his white skin was as luminous and unblemished as Benehime’s. His hair was white, too, as was his beard. They covered him from head to toe just as Benehime’s hair covered her body when she wished it covered. But even without all this, Eli would have known what he was. There was nothing else in the world with those white eyes, the irises outlined in a faint shadow of silver. The man was one of the brothers Benehime had spoken of. Another Power of creation, but which one?

I am the Weaver, the old man said, answering the question before Eli spoke it. I am responsible for the world’s shell and the veil that hides it from the spirits within, who are the Shepherdess’s domain. And you would be my sister’s favorite, are you not?

“Former favorite,” Eli said. “But why are you here?”

It is true I have no place within the sphere, the Weaver said. But I’ve always held a special fondness for Durain’s children, especially his human ones. I consider it vital to my purpose to remember whom my weaving protects, so I have maintained a closeness with the great mountain over the years. Even had I not, though, I would have come now.

“Because Benehime is calling back the stars,” Eli said.

The Weaver’s bright face darkened as his fine brows fell into a scowl. Sadly, that is but the final stroke of her betrayal. The Shepherdess has been negligent in her duties for many years, but after she allowed the Daughter of the Dead Mountain a near total awakening, I knew I could no longer stand aside.

Eli swallowed. The Weaver was talking about that business up at Izo’s. “Well, if you’re here to try and talk the Shepherdess into doing her job, I’ve got some bad news for you. Just before we got here, she took me back to her white place.”

The Between, the Weaver corrected.

“Whatever,” Eli said with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, the floating sphere she’s always looking at, that’s our world, isn’t it?”

It is, the Weaver said.

“Well, she’s made another one,” Eli said. “A smaller sphere filled with the stars she’s been yanking up.”

The Weaver frowned. Why would she do that?

“Because she’s going to join them,” Eli said. “She told me she was tired of being Shepherdess and that she was quitting to go live in this new paradise she’s made.”

“Quitting?” Slorn said, horrified. “You don’t just quit being one of the three Powers of Creation.”

“That’s what I said,” Eli replied. “But she’s completely serious. That was why she snatched me up. She wanted me to go to paradise with her.”

“But you’re still here,” Slorn said.

“Of course,” Eli said. “Living with Benehime forever in a world full of spirits who worship at her feet? That’s not paradise. That’s torture.”

The Weaver chuckled. I suppose that explains the “former” part of your status as favorite.

“She was the one who decided I was her favorite,” Eli said, crossing his arms. “I got away from that as soon as I could.”

The Weaver’s chuckle grew into a full laugh. I was prepared to hate you, thief. I blamed you for my sister’s distraction, but now I think I have gained a greater understanding. As for the news she means to leave this world for another of her own making, we already suspected she had a plan of that sort.

Eli blinked. “You did?”

“There was nothing else she could be doing with the stars,” Slorn said. “And you don’t ruin one world without having somewhere else you’re planning to go.”

“Well, if you know that, why are you still here?” Eli snapped. “She’s got just about every star now.”

All but one, the Weaver said, his white eyes drifting up. Durain, Teacher of the Shapers, Lord of all Mountains. He is her oldest star, and the last to answer her call. He’s been resisting her pull for days now to buy us time.

“Buy time for what?” Eli said.

For my brother to arrive.

The Weaver said this with such reluctance that Eli realized he’d been thinking about this all wrong. “Wait,” he said. “You’re not just going to go lecture her, are you?”

No, the Weaver answered, his eyes sad. My sister has chosen to abandon the world our father left her in charge of. That is a path that cannot be ignored or forgiven. I would stop her myself if I could, but I cannot. The Creator in his wisdom made his children to live in peace, and to that end, he made us equals. My power is as great as the Shepherdess’s and not a hair greater. Any struggle between us would end in stalemate and likely destroy that which we were created to protect in the process.

“But you’re not alone,” Eli said. “There are many spirits, powerful spirits, who would be more than willing to rise against the Shepherdess.”

That may be, the Weaver said. And that would be useful were the Shepherdess’s realm any other than what it is. But the Shepherdess commands the sphere and the spirits it contains. No soul in this world can raise a hand to harm her, no matter how justified. Even if I had every spirit behind me, they could not act against their Lady.

“So what are you going to do, then?” Eli asked. Because this was all starting to look pretty hopeless.

I told you, the Weaver said. We are waiting for my brother, the Hunter. The Shepherdess rules over the spirits who live within the sphere. I, the Weaver, maintain the boundaries, constantly rebuilding the world’s shell as it is torn down. The Hunter lives outside the world, defending the shell from those who would break it.

“Outside the world?” Eli said, his voice trembling.

The Weaver sighed. You would call it the other side of the sky. This world, all that you know, is but the last, tiny outpost of what was once a vast creation. The shell is the boundary between this world and what lies beyond, a wall against the dark created for your protection, you and all spirits. The Hunter is the one who protects the wall.

Eli was starting to feel wobbly. “So,” he said, “if the Hunter’s job is to protect, what’s he protecting against? What does the Hunter hunt?”

Such things are not to be discussed and have no bearing on our current predicament, the Weaver said coldly. The important thing is that the Hunter is returning to our world very soon. His rests are sacred and seldom, but this situation is serious enough to warrant interrupting him. I’ve already woven a message into the sphere itself for him to come to me as soon as he is inside. When that happens, we shall be two against one, and the Shepherdess will be completely overpowered.

“And what happens after?” Eli said, staring at the Weaver with growing horror. He hated Benehime, hated her for everything she had done, but he couldn’t think of her being killed.

“That’s what I was for,” Slorn said, his voice low and growling. “I was sentenced to life imprisonment for disobeying the mountain and fleeing with my wife after she became a demonseed. The Teacher offered to rescind that punishment if I helped the Weaver construct a prison capable of holding the Shepherdess.”

“Prison?” Eli said, astonished. “You’re going to put her in prison?”

We must, the Weaver said. We are Powers, created from the body of the Creator himself. Even if I wanted to kill my sister, I could not. We can restrain her, overpower her, but nothing in creation can kill a Power.

“So, what, you’re going to lock her up for a few thousand years and see if she won’t come around?” Eli said. “What are you even going to put her in?”

The Weaver’s eyes fell to the bone metal box, and Eli stiffened. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”

“I am the only thing in this world that can Shape bone metal,” Slorn said. “The Weaver cannot change spirits, so the lot fell to me.”

The substance you call bone metal is not actually metal at all, the Weaver said. At the beginning of this world, as the Creator fought to make the sphere, his hand was torn off. It fell to the ground. His bones are all that is left, and just like the Powers or the black cores of the demons, they cannot be destroyed. This bone is the only substance that the Shepherdess cannot shatter.

“Hold on,” Eli said. “If Slorn can Shape it, why can’t Benehime?”

Slorn looked at his hands. “All wizardry comes from the Shepherdess, even Shaping. But to Shape bone metal requires more than will and power. It requires sympathy. Sympathy, and a deep understanding of the spirit’s true nature. That’s why it is the perfect prison for the Shepherdess. If she was capable of the kind of sympathy needed to bend bone metal, we wouldn’t need a prison in the first place.”

Eli glanced at the bone metal coffin with an enormous sigh. “That’s all well and good,” he said. “But aren’t you overlooking the part where your box is a little occupied at the moment? Unless you have a second one hidden away somewhere, we’re in a tight spot.”

Slorn shook his head. “It took all the bone metal known in the world to make that one.”

Eli cursed under his breath. He didn’t like where this was going.

This is why we told you the truth, Eli Monpress, the Weaver said gently. You now understand the desperation of what we are about to attempt and how vital it is that we succeed. It was a lucky stroke that we had the box ready when your demon was born, but we cannot keep her there. Once my brother and I overpower our sister, we will have to move the demon to a new cell.

Eli brightened. “You have a new cell?”

Slorn and Weaver frowned in unison. We have a vessel that will suffice, the Weaver said. But you must understand. When the first demon was discovered within the shell, it took all three Powers to seal it away with the Shepherdess taking the lead. This time, however, our sister will almost certainly not help. As such, down a third of our power, it will be a very delicate operation. There will be absolutely no room for outside forces, especially those who would seek to aid the demon.

At that, the Weaver’s eyes moved pointedly to Josef.

“You must control your swordsman when the time comes, Monpress,” Slorn said, laying a large, heavy hand on Eli’s shoulder. “Nico must be bound, but with only two Powers to seal the prison, one swing from the Heart would be enough to tip the balance. I wish we could give him more time to come to terms with his loss, but the Hunter is coming very soon. We must move now.”

The timing is both fortunate and unfortunate, the Weaver said. The Hunter is allowed to leave his duties for only one hour of rest every hundred years. That hour falls today. Had Benehime decided to turn traitor at any other point, we couldn’t have dealt with it. But my sister and the Hunter were always the closest of us three. I can only guess she still loves her brother enough that she could not abandon him without saying good-bye. That sentimentality may be the only thing that saves us.

That explanation didn’t sit well with Eli, but the Weaver didn’t give him a chance to comment. The Power leaned forward, his white presence overwhelming Eli.

That is why we must move now, he said, his deep voice thrumming in the air. If we miss this chance, the timing won’t line up again for another hundred years, and the Shepherdess will be free to make her escape. Even if we could somehow get her back, the world cannot live so long without its Shepherdess or the stars she’s taken with her.

“The demon has already pushed our timetable to its limits,” Slorn said. “Once the Hunter enters the sphere, we’ll have one hour to work. We must move the girl the moment he arrives so the box will be empty in time for the Shepherdess’s imprisonment.”

“I understand that,” Eli said. “But—”

Your swordsman is now a true master of the sword he carries, the Weaver said right over him. The Heart of War is very particular about its loyalties. An outburst from them could ruin everything. You must restrain your swordsman when the time comes.

“Why are you so worried about me going crazy?”

Everyone jumped, even the Weaver. Across the room, Josef was sitting beside the coffin, glaring daggers at them. “I have pretty good ears, you know.”

So it seems, the Weaver said.

Josef stood up, settling the Heart on his back as he walked with a dangerous grace that made even Eli uncomfortable. When he reached them, he crossed his arms, glaring at each of the men in turn. “How bad is it going to be?”

The Weaver answered truthfully. If you care about the demon at all, it will be unbearable. She will fight tooth and nail every step of the way, and we will have to crush her. If she is anything like her master, it will be very painful indeed.

“Nico has no master but herself,” Josef snapped. “She’ll take any prison you put her in and come out on top, just like always.”

“She won’t be coming out of this one,” Slorn said, his voice gentle and sad. “This isn’t a holding cell like Nivel lived in. Nico will be bound as the first demon was, crushed beneath the Weaver’s seal as well as the Hunter’s, and she will never rise again.”

Josef hissed, backing away, but Eli raised his hand. “Wait,” he said. “The first demon was bound under the corpse of the greatest mountain in the world whose soul went on to become the Heart of War. With all the stars gone, do you even have a spirit large enough to do that sort of thing?”

Slorn and the Weaver looked helplessly at each other. Behind them, the Shaper Guildmaster lowered his head in pain. When the silence had stretched on long enough, Eli scowled and opened his mouth to ask again, but before he could get the words out, a great rumble cut him off.

“There is one.”

Eli shrank back in surprise. The deep, rumbling voice came from everywhere, echoing off the walls and vibrating through the stone under his feet.

“I will be the prison,” the Shaper Mountain said, his words as proud and solid as the stone they came from. “I have lived a half-life in this twilight world long enough. It is my honor to give my body to save those spirits whose stars have abandoned them for the Shepherdess’s paradise.”

The Guildmaster of the Shapers bit back a sob as the mountain spoke. Slorn’s head was bowed as well, his eyes hidden behind his hand. Even the Weaver looked stricken, but it wasn’t any of them who spoke next. The Shaper Mountain’s rumbling words had barely faded when another voice filled the room. It was a voice Eli had heard only once before, but had never forgotten. You did not forget the iron fury of the Heart of War.

“No, brother!” the sword shouted. It fell from Josef’s back, landing on the white floor with a deafening crash. “I gave my stone so that you could live. Would you throw my sacrifice away?”

“We always knew it would come to this, brother,” the Shaper Mountain answered, its deep vibrations resigned.

“This is different!” the sword roared. “The Shepherdess will not be here to save your essence as she saved mine. You were always the Teacher, the one who did good for the world, the one who spoke the truth. You are the one who must go on. I will not allow you to do this. I will not let you die.”

“This is what must be done,” the Shaper Mountain said. “And you cannot stop it. The favorite and my children will restrain your swordsman, and he will restrain you. We are all bound by the inevitable, my brother. Fate has dealt us two horrors that must be contained and only one prison. As a spirit and a star, I cannot hold the Shepherdess, but I can hold the demon just as you did. This is my choice to make, and I will make it no matter how much you rage. This isn’t a battle you can win.”

The Heart of War shook against the stone, and then, in a voice so low Eli felt the words more than he heard them, it said, “Take my hilt, Josef Liechten. We cannot allow this to happen.”

Eli almost laughed then. Was the sword so angry it had forgotten Josef was spirit deaf? But the laughter died in his throat as Josef’s arm shot out, his hand wrapping around the Heart’s leather-bound hilt.

“There we agree,” the swordsman said. “I’m through listening to this nonsense. Nico will be leaving that box, but she’s not going under any mountain. She’s coming with me, and we will stop anyone who says otherwise.”

The Heart of War hummed in agreement, its hilt fitting into Josef’s palm as though it had grown there.

Eli slapped his hand over his face. Even his imagination couldn’t come up with a way this situation could possibly get worse. But as he was searching frantically for the magical combination of flattery and reason that might be enough to calm Josef down, the Weaver and Slorn stepped into line in front of him.

We must restrain them quickly, the Weaver said. The Hunter arrives any minute.

“I’m not joking around,” Josef said, taking up position in front of Nico’s coffin, the Heart steady in his hands. “Stand down before you get hurt, Eli.”

“You must stand with us, Monpress,” Slorn whispered. “We cannot risk the whole world on a mountain’s love for his brother and a swordsman’s love for a demonseed.”

Eli didn’t move.

Favorite? the Weaver said, staring at him with those white eyes. We have no time. Are you with us?

Eli’s eyes flicked from Slorn to the Weaver to Josef and back again.

“Eli,” Josef growled. “Step back.”

At the warning, Slorn grabbed Eli’s shoulder. The gentle weight of the large Shaper’s fingers drove the knife of conflicting loyalties deeper. For one long breath, Eli hung motionless, and then, legs shaking, he stepped out into the open space between them and Josef.

The Weaver’s hiss was as sharp as a knife behind him, but Eli ignored it and stepped forward again. Step by step, he crossed the smooth white stone of the Shaper Mountain’s heart until he was standing directly in front of Josef’s blade.

“I’ve bet it all on Nico three times now,” he said quietly, tilting his head back so he could look Josef in the eyes. “I’m willing to bet it all again if you’re in with me.”

He reached out his hand, fingers trembling slightly in the white light. Josef didn’t even hesitate. His hand shot forward, clasping Eli’s painfully hard. “Always have been,” he said, his face breaking into a wide grin.

Eli grinned back and moved to stand at Josef’s side. On the other side of the room, Slorn buried his bear head in his hands. The Weaver sighed, and the Guildmaster, who had spoken not a word all through this, broke into a righteous sneer. Eli ignored them all, tilting his head toward Josef.

“Stand your ground, thief,” the swordsman said. “It’s going to be a rough few minutes.”

Eli nodded, but as he moved to brace himself, the floor of the Shaper Mountain bucked beneath him, tossing him and Josef off their feet.

Benehime stood motionless at the end of her white world, waiting. In front of her, the clawed hands were scraping, their sharp nails raising long trails on the barrier that marked the edge of her domain. As she watched, the clawing grew faster and more frantic until the curved inside of the shell looked like it was boiling. Just when it seemed like the barrier would burst, a black line fell through the turmoil and the shell split.

All at once, a sucking wind roared up around her, nearly taking her off her feet. The air of her white Between was pouring out through the hole in her wall, vanishing into cold, black, deep, lifeless beyond. As it left, the clawed hands beyond shot out, scrabbling for a touch of the wind’s soul, and as they reached, a horrible sound rose in the dark.

It was a scream. An enormous, keening wail layered over and over as though a million throats were splitting themselves raw to make it. There was rage in it, fury and anger and a hunger so deep it made her ache. The terror hit her next, and it took every ounce of Benehime’s will to stay standing before the sundered wall. But stand she did, holding her ground as a white figure strode out of the dark.

His body was like hers, but larger, pale, and looming as he stepped through the hole in the shell. His white hands carried a white sword, its blade gently curved, like the Lord of Storms’.

That was no accident. She’d shaped the Lord of Storms in the imitation of the man walking toward her. Behind him, she could see the shadow hands grasping, thin as bone, their claws so black they ate the light. The mere sight of them filled her with dread, and she said a prayer to her father as the black hole closed, hiding them from view.

The sucking wind vanished, and Benehime gave herself a moment to drink in the relief before pushing it aside and returning to her purpose. She turned to the man, and her face filled with love as she held out her arms. Welcome home, brother.

The Hunter stepped into her embrace. Sister, he whispered.

She winced at his voice. It was always so deep, so weary.

I cannot stay, he said, hugging her gently. The Weaver requests my presence on some pressing matter.

The Shepherdess ignored the claim and pressed her brother down onto the white seat she had summoned. Let him wait a moment, she said. You must rest.

The Hunter did not fight her. He all but collapsed into the chair, his sword falling to the floor beside him. Coming from the dark he’d seemed white as alabaster, but here, against the true white of her world, her brother looked dirty. His whiteness, once a twin of her own, was marred with black scars. They blasted his skin and the fine armor of his hair that wrapped across his torso, shoulders, and down his legs. He was the youngest of them all, but sitting there with his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped, he looked older than the Weaver.

Brother, she whispered.

It never gets better, the Hunter said softly. They never die, Benehime. No matter how many I strike down, they never die. They’ve eaten nothing since Father created the shell. They have nothing out there, no food, no light. They were supposed to have starved off long ago, but the hunger only seems to make them stronger.

His scarred hands went to his face, hiding his ruined features. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out. After five thousand years, I think we can all admit that the Creator is never coming back. We are alone and growing weaker while our enemies endure and strengthen. I see no future, sister. Nothing but slow and crippling death.

Benehime stroked the hard shell of his hair where it wrapped around his shoulders. Shh, brother, you don’t have to fight. Rest now.

I do, he said. I will fight until I am destroyed. So I was made, just as you were made to love the spirits. I could no more stop fighting than you could stop loving, but I’m so tired, sister.

Relax your hair for me, Benehime whispered, stroking his shoulders. Let me ease you.

The hard shell of his hair relaxed at once, the blackened strands going soft as water under her fingers. Gently, she pushed them aside to reveal the still perfect white skin of his back. There, there, she said softly, running her fingers across his hard muscles until they began to unclench. Rest.

The Hunter relaxed under her touch, his head lolling forward. How many of these reprieves have I taken? he said. One hour out of every hundred years. That’s all I dare take, but I wish I could see you both more. Seeing my siblings reminds me why I fight. I forget, sometimes, alone out there in the dark.

You honor us with your strength, Benehime said, lifting one hand from his back. Father was cruel to give you the most difficult job. We have relied on you too long, borne this endless waiting too long. It is only right that we be tired, you most of all.

How you ease me, the Hunter said, his scarred face breaking into a smile. The expression made Benehime’s heart clench. How beautiful he’d been once, as beautiful as herself. But that beauty was gone now, and the unfairness of the loss, the endless, pointless nature of their existence galvanized her resolve. Slowly, quietly, her hand slipped down to the folds of her hair at the small of her back.

I must go, the Hunter said, moving to stand. My hour is short, and I must see what our brother wants.

Not yet, Benehime said, gently pushing him down again. He can wait one more minute.

The Hunter hesitated, then relaxed again under her stroking hand. Benehime smiled, bringing the long, wicked black length of the Daughter of the Dead Mountain’s seed from the shelter of her hair.

Be at peace, brother, she whispered, brushing one hand across his back as she raised the other high over her head, the seed grasped like a dagger in her fist.

The Hunter nodded and dropped his head, that sad smile still playing over his face, reminding her of all they had lost. She stared at it for one last moment, memorizing the curve of his mouth, the strong line of his brow. When she could picture every bit of him in her mind, she brushed a final kiss against the back of his neck before bringing her other hand up to join the first. Gripping the seed in both fists, she threw back her arms and stabbed the sharp point into the Hunter’s exposed back with all her strength.

The Hunter’s scream filled her white world, striking her spheres, large and small, with a blast that made the seas slosh and the bedrock tremble. One moment, that was all it lasted, but in that moment the world changed, and everything, from the greatest mountain to the smallest blade of grass, knew it.