The Spirit Rebellion (41 page)

“Well, hello to you too,” Gin panted. “Ask the old man if we’re still going for the wall.”

Miranda glared at him, but turned and relayed the question to the elder Monpress, who was helping Eli get into place.

“So far as I know,” he said. “I haven’t heard anything from Josef or Nico.”

“You probably won’t,” Eli said, grabbing Gin’s fur with both hands as the dog raced through the night. “Even if he sent a message, we’d never get anything through all this mess. I can barely hear myself think with the town like this.”

He was right, Miranda thought with a grimace. The whole town seemed to be shouting all at once. And not just spirits, but guards and alarm whistles too. Gin had his ears back as he ran, taking a crazy path through the back alleys as he ran north and a little west, toward the wall.

“Wait,” Miranda shouted. “We’re escaping? What about my rings? I can’t leave without my rings!”

“We can’t go back for them now,” Eli shouted over the din. “Not unless you want to fight the entire town.”

“The duke took your rings?” Gin panted, alarmed.

“No, I think Hern did,” Miranda answered. “We have to go back.”

“Well, look at it this way,” Eli said. “Now that you’re out, those rings are the only power this Hern fellow has over you. He’s certainly not going to risk them on something trivial.”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Miranda said, bending low on Gin’s back. But the thief had a point. They couldn’t turn around, not without getting killed. She didn’t like it, but for now she’d get out, maybe try and make contact with the West Wind, get some backup. Maybe she could get word to Banage. Even if it came from an exile, the Spirit Court couldn’t ignore something like this, and then the duke would
really
have something to worry about. Of course, she thought as she ducked under a shop sign that was swinging wildly at her head, they’d have to get out first.

Gin hopped over a low shed, and suddenly they were at the wall, still stretched to an impossible height and bristling with spikes. They ran along it, looking for some sign of Josef and Nico, a bashed-in bit of wall, some knocked-out guards, anything, but there was nothing. Gin slowed, panting, and sniffed the air.

“No good,” he growled. “Neither the swordsman nor the girl has been anywhere near this place for hours.”

“They’ve got to be somewhere,” Eli said, looking around frantically. “It’s not like Josef to be late for anything.”

“Well, something must have happened,” Gin snapped back, “because he’s not here, and we shouldn’t be much longer. This city’s on the verge of tearing itself apart trying to do that man’s bidding. I’d hate to see what it’d do to us.”

“Wait,” Miranda said suddenly, her eyes bright. “Hold on, you just gave me an idea.” She stood up on the dog’s back, looking out over the dark city. The streets glowed, some with lampposts, some with torch light from the pursuing guards, but in the distance, the river glittered
dark and slow, strangely peaceful in the light of the half moon.

“Gin,” she said, “we’re going back to our first plan.”

“What?” he said, then he paused. “Oh, I get you.”

Miranda nodded. “Take us to the river.”

“The river?” Eli cried as Gin launched himself back the way they had come. “Are you mad? The river’s at the center of the mess we’re trying to get out of!”

“You want to solve a problem,” Miranda said, “you start at the top. Now be quiet.” She jerked the chain holding them together. “Prisoners shouldn’t talk this much.”

The elder Monpress laughed at that and tipped his head to Miranda, who smiled back. Eli, seeing he was getting nowhere with these people, folded his arms over his chest and focused on not falling off as Gin wove a crazy path down to the river.

The Duke of Gaol stood on his battlements, shouting orders to his spirits as the lampposts signaled the ghosthound’s position. They had reached the wall already, but were turning back, probably realizing they were trapped.

Good, he thought. Let them scramble. He had other problems at the moment, starting with the one standing directly beside him.

“For the last time, Hern,” Edward said, “go back to your tower.”

Beside him, Hern went pale with anger, gripping the battlements with clenched fingers. “I will not,” he said. “You promised me, Edward! You promised to keep that girl locked up, and then you go and throw her together with Monpress? What were you thinking?”

“If anyone should be angry, it’s me.” He glared at the
Spiritualist. “Helping you almost cost me my thief. If I hadn’t taken precautions by keeping the city secure on multiple levels, both of our quarries would have flown by now. So save your bluster for your Court and kindly get out of my way. In case you haven’t noticed, I have other problems besides Monpress slipping his leash.”

As if on cue, a wind rose up from the south, and he turned to meet it.

“Othril,” he said when he felt the wind on his face. “Report.”

“The south docks are in a full demon panic,” the wind said quickly. “Big one, too, though not as flashy as the treasury. I put up a quarantine as you ordered. Not even a cockroach is going to cross the boundary without your say-so. That should contain the panic somewhat, but you know we can’t keep a lid on these things for long.”

“We won’t need to,” Edward said. “This is a ploy by Monpress, a distraction for his escape. Now that he’s out, it should be calming down.”

Hern shook his head. “What kind of reckless idiot uses a demon panic to cover his escape?”

“When you hunt Monpress, you must be prepared for everything,” Edward said. “Othril, follow Monpress and the Spiritualist girl. Now that they’ve realized the wall is trapped, they might try the river.”

“That would be good for us,” the wind said. “Fellbro’s water will catch them like flies in honey.”

“With Monpress you can only corral, never anticipate,” Edward said. “Watch him and report to me at once if they change direction.”

“And check for the girl as well,” Hern added. “She must be contained.”

Othril stopped midgust, and Hern felt the strange, itchy sensation of a powerful wind spirit staring at him. Edward, however, waved the wind away, and it blew into the night.

“Hern,” Edward said when the wind was gone. “Never presume to give orders to my spirits again.”

“Well,” Hern said, shifting his hands so that his rings glittered menacingly, “you hadn’t mentioned it, and I wanted to be sure you did not forget what you owed me, Edward.”

The duke spun around and grabbed Hern’s hands before the Spiritualist could move, squeezing his fingers until the gemstones dug painfully into Hern’s flesh.

“You forget yourself,” the duke whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “Never forget where you are. You might have sway in Zarin, but
I rule Gaol
. So long as you are on my lands, you obey
me
.”

Hern was gasping in pain, his rings flashing under the duke’s hands, but the duke’s spirit was like a vise across them, and they could not leave. He held the Spiritualist like that until Hern nodded, falling to his knees. Only then did Edward release his grip.

“Do not make me remind you again,” he said quietly, turning back to the battlements.

Hern retreated, grumbling empty threats under his breath as he slunk back to the far wall with as much dignity as he could muster. Edward ignored him. Hern’s lot was firmly entrenched in Gaol. He could alert the Spirit Court to Gaol’s activities, but it would mean the end of his own career as well, and Hern was far too selfish for that. That settled, Edward dismissed the Spiritualist from his mind, focusing instead on the blinking lamps that
marked the ghosthound’s position as it ran a winding path through the back alleys of his city and toward the black line of the river.

Gin burst out of the cover of the narrow alley and onto the dock and turned sharply, leaving the pursuing hail of roofing tiles and weather vanes and other trash to soar out past him, straight into the river. Panting, Gin slowed down a fraction, bringing them right up beside the water, which flowed dark and murky in the flashing lamplight.

“We’re here,” the dog growled. “Now what?”

“Now we do what I should have done this morning,” Miranda said, getting into a crouch on his back. “Put control of the city back where it belongs, with the Great Spirit.” She glanced skeptically at the river as they ran along with it. It didn’t look like an enraged spirit, but maybe the duke had some kind of binding on it. Well, she thought, reaching back to tie her hair tight, she’d know in a second.

“I’ll meet you on the other side,” she said, scratching Gin’s head. “Don’t get caught.”

“Never do,” Gin snorted.

“Wait,” Eli said, tugging on the chain that connected them. “Before you do anything rash, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Not that I can recall,” Miranda said, turning toward the river. She gave Eli one last smile. “Hold your breath.”

And then she jumped, taking Eli with her. For a moment they soared through the air, Miranda tucking gracefully, Eli flailing to keep his head upright, and then they landed with an enormous splash in the dark water. The moment
they hit, Mellinor was there, surrounding them in a clear, bubbling flow, forming a protective pocket of air around them as they sank down into the muddy river. It was deeper than Miranda had expected, going down a dozen feet between the docks. All light from above vanished after the first foot, leaving only Mellinor’s own watery glow to light their way as they sank deeper, coming to rest on the black silt at the bottom.

Miranda stood inside the bubble Mellinor had made. Eli followed more slowly, shaking the water out of his hair.

“Why is it every time we get together, I get drenched?”

Miranda ignored him. They had limited time before their air ran out, and considering the duke certainly knew where they were, she didn’t think things would end well if they had to surface. It was now or never, so she put Monpress out of her mind and, standing very still, opened her spirit.

It was like stepping into another world. She could feel the enormity of the river’s spirit flowing around her, dark and slow and inexorable. Yet even as she marveled at the size of it, she could feel that something was wrong. The flow of the water felt pinched, hobbled, almost like it was being squeezed through something, yet there was nothing there. Stranger still, and more alarming, was the water’s silence. Though she could feel the power of the river, she heard nothing, no threats, no demands for her to state her identity or purpose, nothing but the quiet sound of the water as it crept by.

“Mellinor,” Miranda whispered. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m not sure,” the glowing water answered. “There’s
no Enslavement, but what kind of river doesn’t respond to a wizard with a blazing open spirit standing at its heart?”

“Maybe it’s shy?” Eli offered.

“Or maybe it’s under a binding we can’t feel.” Miranda stepped forward until she was at the very edge of Mellinor’s bubble. She hated doing this. Not only did it feel like a vaguely abusive display, it was unspeakably rude. Still, they were on a strict timetable, and the river certainly wasn’t going to cooperate on its own.

“River Fellbro!” she cried, pouring the weight of her spirit into the words until they buzzed with power. The water around them hitched as her voice struck it, and for a moment, the river was still. Then, as though nothing had happened, the water began flowing again, darker and murkier than ever. Miranda, panting from the power she’d put into her call, looked around in confusion. She’d thought for sure even a Great Spirit wouldn’t ignore something like that.

She was gathering herself for another try when Eli’s hand brushed her shoulder. She looked at him, startled and scowling, but he just pointed at a spot in the water behind where she was standing. There, in the clouds of swirling silt, was a face. It was large, about as wide as Miranda was tall. Its features were murky, shifting in and out as the water flowed, and it did not look pleased.

The dark, silted eyes roved over them as a muddy, brown mouth opened. “Go away.”

Its voice was like a wet slap against their ears, but Miranda reached out with her spirit, catching the river as it tried to fade. “We will not,” she said firmly. “Great Spirit Fellbro, I come before you as a representative
for all the spirits of Gaol currently under the thumb of Edward di Fellbro, Duke of Gaol. It is the Great Spirit’s duty to protect those in its charge, yet your spirits live in fear and slavish obedience because their Great Spirit will not stand up for them. I feel no Enslavement on you, no madness. Why, then, do you ignore your duty?”

The silted face glowered and turned away. “How easy it is for you to talk,” it grumbled, “coming here at the end of things. We’re the ones who have to live with the duke day in and day out.” The river looked at her, and Miranda shuddered as the weight of years pressed against her through his gaze. “There are worse things than being Enslaved.”

“I don’t think you know what that means,” Mellinor growled, his water flashing brilliant blue. But Miranda raised her hand.

“What kind of threat could the duke use,” she said softly, “to make you abandon your duty?”

“All kinds,” the river said. “He is a powerful man with all of humanity’s destructive nature at his aid. He’s threatened to dam me up, pollute my water, reroute my flow to another river, the worst kind of things you can think of. With all that, Enslavement seems kind of superfluous, don’t you think?”