The Spirit Rebellion (14 page)

“Of course,” Eli said. “I’m a thief. I’ve heard of everything you can put a price on, and the price on a Fenzetti is higher than most. There are, what, five total in the world? All held by collectors who won’t sell them for love or money.”

“There are ten, actually,” Josef said, “including the half-finished piece Fenzetti was working on when he died.” He raised his eyebrows at Eli’s incredulous expression. “What? I’m a swordsman. Fenzetti blades are famous swords. It’s not hard to see the connection. What I want to know,” he said, shifting his gaze to Slorn, “is why does the world’s greatest awakened swordsmith want one? Fenzettis are novelty items, prized for their supposed indestructibility, but they’re hardly great works of sword making. Any swordsman, wizard or not, would gladly trade a Fenzetti for one of Heinricht Slorn’s blades.”

Slorn’s mouth twitched. “It’s not supposed indestructibility. The swords made by Fenzetti are impossible to
break by any known means. Fenzetti was a Shaper wizard, you see. This was hundreds of years ago, far before my time, but he was legendary as one of our most creative craftsmen and guild masters, presiding over an uncommonly experimental and productive period of Shaper history. Now, traditionally, Shapers keep a large stockpile of rare materials for their work, including materials no one else really knows about—things the spirits bring them, oddities, stuff no one else understands. The objects we call Fenzetti blades are made of such a substance. The Shapers named it bone metal, for its off-white color, and for a while it was a subject of great interest among the Shaper crafters. It’s not often you get your hands on an indestructible substance. Unfortunately, this indestructibility also made the bone metal completely unworkable. You can’t melt it or scratch it, can’t crush it or hammer it, and no one has ever successfully woken a bone metal spirit. After a few years of frenzied study, most Shapers wrote bone metal off as an interesting but useless substance. What good is a material that can’t be turned into anything?”

“Fascinating history lesson,” Eli said. “But when does Fenzetti come in?”

“I was getting to that,” Slorn said crossly. “Of all the Shapers, Fenzetti was the only one who ever figured out how to work bone metal. Over a twenty-year span, he made a series of unbreakable swords from the material. Still, even the great Fenzetti could do only crude work with bone metal, and I’ve heard that even the few pieces he considered his masterworks aren’t much to look at. But then”—Slorn grinned—“I’m not exactly looking to hang one on my wall. I want the metal.”

“Well, in that case,” Eli said, “why not just buy bone metal? Why go through the trouble of stealing a Fenzetti?”

“Because bone metal is so rare in nature it might as well not exist,” Slorn said, annoyed. “What bone metal there is, the Shapers keep in their storehouses under their mountain. As I think should be abundantly clear by this point, they’re not just going to sell the stuff to me, and I don’t think you want to try robbing the Shaper mountain again.”

“No,” Eli said, laughing. “Once was enough for me, thanks. I guess Fenzetti blades it is. Do you want any one in particular?”

“A large one would be preferable,” Slorn said thoughtfully. “But I don’t have a particular blade in mind. Whatever you can get quickly will be fine.”

“Quickly may be relative,” Eli said. “But a deal is a deal, and you certainly did come through on your end.”

“Are we settled then?” Slorn said.

“Yes.” Eli grinned and stuck out his hand. “One coat for one bone metal blade, even trade.”

Slorn shook his hand firmly and then shuffled them out of his workroom, Nico still happily swirling her coat. As they filed out into the main room, they found Pele there waiting for them. Her face was pale and anxious, and her hair was windswept and wild, as if she’d been standing in a gale, though the trees outside were perfectly still.

“Slorn,” she said quietly. “The weather’s changing.”

Eli gave her an odd look. Weather talk wasn’t usually something Pele mentioned with that kind of gravity. Slorn, however, stopped midstep and pricked up his round ears, listening.

“You’re right,” he said, at once as serious as she was.
“The pressure is changing.” He looked to Eli. “You’ve got the coat, so you’d best be leaving now. The weather changes quickly here. We need to move the house.”

“If you say so.” Eli felt uncomfortably like he had just missed something very important. “Wasn’t like we had much left to do, anyway.”

It took them about five minutes to get everything assembled. The kitchen packed them a bag of sandwiches and fruit that Eli took with such effusive thanks, the counters were nearly quivering with happiness. Josef, meanwhile, packed up his knives suspiciously, keeping his eyes on Slorn and Pele as they went around closing cabinets and shuttering windows. Eli didn’t blame him. It was hard to feel the urgency for a storm when the sky was blue and bright.

But as they trundled down the stairs and out onto the dry stream bed, Eli began to feel it too. The pressure was falling, making his ears ache, and though the air was still and calm, he could smell rain. High overhead, the clouds were moving quickly.

Slorn and Pele saw them to the edge of the woods, but the moment Eli, Nico, and Josef stepped into the shade of the trees, their hosts turned and went back inside the house without looking back, as though they were deliberately trying not to see which way their guests left.

When the door shut behind them, the house shuddered. There was an enormous creak of bending wood, and the house’s foundations began to move. The four spindly legs straightened and stretched their chicken-feet talons, leaning forward, then backward, so that the house rocked like a ship at sea, and Eli felt sure he was going to be sick just watching. Then, when all the legs were stretched, the
house shuddered and took a step forward. The wooden limbs rippled like muscle, and the house was off, walking in long strides down the dry streambed and disappearing into the woods with surprising speed, leaving only a thin line of chimney smoke behind it and no footprints at all.

Josef gave a low whistle as he watched the line of smoke vanish behind the trees. “No wonder the bastard was so hard to find.” He looked over at Eli. “So, you’re his friend; are the storms here that dangerous or was the bear man spinning a story to get rid of us?”

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Eli said quietly, looking south. There, barely visible over the treetops, the black smudge of a storm front was building on the horizon. That much wasn’t so unusual; the weather in the mountains was finicky, but something was off. The clouds around the storm front were drifting south, yet the dark thunderheads were plowing straight north against the wind, and moving fast.

“Come on,” Eli said. “I don’t think we want to be around when that hits.”

Josef nodded and they began to move east, following the streambed, walking as fast as they could go in the loose sand. Behind them, the storm rolled on, veering slightly west in the direction Slorn’s house had gone.

The walking house stopped on a rocky cliff at the edge of the Awakened Wood. It turned twice in a circle and then crouched on the cliff’s edge. As soon as the house stopped swaying, Slorn opened the door and stomped down the rickety steps, his bear face unreadable. Pele was right behind him, and they took their positions in the high, scrubby field that led up to the cliff.

The storm rolled over the forest, lit from within almost constantly by arcs of blue-white lightning. The treetops tossed sideways where it passed, yet no rain fell. Slorn and Pele hunched against the wind as it came, howling and heavy with the ear-splitting pressure of the storm. The clouds flew overhead, blotting out the afternoon sun, and the cliff went as dark as rainy midnight. Slorn could feel Pele shivering next to him, and he put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her as they waited in the dark.

Lightning flashed all around them, jumping between the clouds in spidering arcs. Then, with a crack that split all hearing, a single tree-sized bolt struck the ground in front of Slorn, blinding what little night vision he had gained. But no light could blind the world Slorn saw through his spirit sight, and as the clap of thunder followed on the lightning’s heels, he saw it appear. A primordial storm, such as had not been seen in the world since creation, stood before them, an epic war of air and water spirits and the lightning spirits they birthed, embroiled in an endless conflict hundreds of miles across. Yet all of this was bound into the shape of a tall man in a black coat carrying a long sword, crushed together by the white mark Slorn dared not look at. The flash of the lightning faded, and Slorn let his normal eyes, the bear’s soft-focusing, near-sighted vision, take over. It was best not to look at the Lord of Storms as he truly was for too long.

For a long, awkward moment, no one spoke. Finally, Slorn took the initiative, lowering himself in a small bow. “Welcome, as always, my lord. What can we do for you?”

“Spare me the gracious-host routine,” the Lord of Storms said. His voice was impatient, and he was looking
around, his flashing eyes seeing through everything. “I’m just here to get our new recruit his sword.”

The Lord of Storms stepped aside to reveal another man standing behind him. Slorn’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t even seen the man until now, though that was due to the Lord of Storm’s control over his thunderheads. There certainly was no other way Slorn could have missed the monster of the man who stepped forward. He was taller even than the Lord of Storms, and nearly twice as wide. His head was clean shaven and crisscrossed with pale, puckered scars. His black coat, which was too small, he wore open and fluttering in the wind, the sleeves ripped off to make room for his bulky, overmuscled arms. His face had the strange, smashed look of a brawler’s, the bones broken too often to ever sit right again. Yet what made Slorn look away in disgust wasn’t his crooked fingers or his sharp-toothed, murderous sneer, but the sash he wore across his bare chest.

It was a strip of crimson fabric tied over one shoulder of his ripped coat. The cloth had several long, telling splatters streaked across it that left little to Slorn’s imagination, but even more disturbing was what was sewn into the sash. All across the red cloth, sewn in with surprising care, was a collection of what Slorn could only guess were trophies. There were broken sword hilts, some of them with their spirits still whimpering in pain, bits of jewelry still splattered with lines of dark, dried blood, and other things Slorn didn’t look at too closely.

“This must be the one you told me about,” Slorn said carefully. “Your new, nonwizard recruit.” It had to be. There was no way a wizard could wear what the man was wearing and not go mad.

“Yes,” the Lord of Storms said. “Spirit deafness is a bit of a hindrance, but you don’t have to hear to kill demons. Sted here has proven he can get the job done, so I’ve decided to make him a full member of the League.” He smiled at Slorn, a terrifying sight. “The sword’s the last bit he needs. I presume it’s ready?”

“Yes,” Slorn said. “Pele, take Mr. Sted here to his new sword.”

To her credit, Pele didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and motioned for the enormous man to follow her. As they disappeared into the house, Slorn took the opportunity to broach the subject hanging over their heads.

“So,” he said, looking at the Lord of Storms. “It’s not often you escort a new recruit to pick up a sword yourself. Is Sted that good?”

“Hardly,” the Lord of Storms said. “Sted’s a brawler. He was born a brawler and he’ll die the same. I only hope we can squeeze a few dead demons out of him before it happens.” He turned to face Slorn, and his expression grew murderous, a sure sign that the time for small talk was past. “You need to consider the company you keep more carefully, Slorn.”

Slorn crossed his arms. “So long as I fulfill my contract to provide the League of Storms with awakened blades, I am free to pursue whatever other side projects I desire. This is our agreement.”

The Lord of Storms sneered. “I allow your little dalliances with that thing you keep up in the mountains only because the Weaver managed to convince my lady you would be the one to find a cure for the demon infestation. That generosity does not extend to Monpress’s pet monster. I may be forbidden from interfering in the
thief’s actions, but that doesn’t mean I have to stand by and watch while you sell him tools to hide the demon from us.”

So the Lord of Storms had been warned off Eli by the Shepherdess. Slorn had suspected something of the sort. It wasn’t like the League to let something like Nico run free. He tucked that bit of information away for future use.

“All I gave Eli was a coat to replace the girl’s ruined one,” he said. “Surely you don’t want the demon terrifying the countryside and causing panics.”

“Spare me,” the Lord of Storms snarled. “Know this, Shaper: This is not the way of things for much longer. Do you think that boy’s my lady’s first favorite? Or her last? The time is coming, very soon, when the Shepherdess will grow tired of Monpress’s antics. I suggest you think long and hard about where your loyalties fall when that day comes.”

“When that day comes,” Slorn said slowly, “I know exactly what I will do.”

“Good,” the Lord of Storms said. “The League of Storms has existed since the world began, and in all that time you’re one of the best swordsmiths we’ve ever had. It would be a great shame to lose you.” He paused, and gave Slorn a long, hard look. “Great, but not unbearable. Do I make myself clear?”

Slorn smiled. “Immensely.”

Inside the house, Pele lit the lamps with a wave of her hand as she led the way to her father’s study. The man behind her, Sted, was talking in a loud, brash voice, as he’d been since she’d closed the front door behind him.