The Spirit Rebellion (50 page)

That’s when he noticed that Josef wasn’t carrying anything.

“You
do
have the Fenzetti, don’t you?” Eli said. “It’s with Nico, right? Where is she, anyway?”

“I’ve got it,” Josef said flatly. “Nico’s another matter.” He turned around and walked into the shadowed doorway of the citadel, coming back with the Heart strapped across his shoulders and two wrapped bundles. One was sword-shaped and wrapped in cloth, the Fenzetti. The other was small and dark and carefully cradled in Josef’s arms.

“Wait,” Eli said, going very, very pale. “She’s not—”

“No,” Josef said. “But it isn’t exactly good. I’ll tell you on the way. Let’s go if we’re going.”

“Right,” Eli said quietly, putting his smiling face back so fast Josef didn’t even see his expression change. He turned to the elder Monpress, who was still lounging on the dry step. “You’re welcome to piggyback on our
escape, old man. It makes me feel useful to assist the elderly.”

“Your concern is touching,” Monpress said, “but I’ve still a little unfinished business here. Anyway, even your quiet escapes are too flashy for me.”

“Suit yourself,” Eli said. “See you around.”

“Hopefully not,” Monpress answered, but Eli and Josef were already splashing across the soggy square. They vanished down a side street headed toward the north gate, where the panicked crowds of people, who had fled to the city border the first time the city went mad, were now surging through the newly opened doors and over the walls, which had shrunk back to their original size and shape on the duke’s death.

When the thief and his swordsman had vanished completely into the dark, Lelbon and Monpress exchanged a polite farewell and went their separate ways, Lelbon down the road toward the river, and Monpress, very quietly, into the citadel. That was the last Gaol saw of either of the Monpress thieves.

G
in raced through the streets and toward the burning square, Miranda clinging to his back, urging him on. Minutes ago, she’d felt the pressure of the duke’s Enslavement vanish completely. Since then, everything had been in chaos. The spirits of the city were rioting in their new freedom, and the entire town seemed to be moving as it saw fit. Mellinor’s water was everywhere, putting out fires, moving through the streets, but the water’s spirit was too large for her to touch now, and their link felt thin and distant. By contrast, her rings felt closer than ever, the connection woven thick and heavy up and down her arms.

A wind rose as she rode, stiff and cold and smelling of the sea, though they were a hundred miles inland. It grew stronger as they went until Miranda could feel it through her clothes, pressing on her skin like a weight. Unbidden, Gin began to slow down, falling from a run to a trot, then a walk, then nothing, standing still on the broad street that opened into the square at the front of the citadel.

“What’s wrong?” Miranda whispered. “Keep going.”

“I can’t,” Gin growled. “The wind is blocking the way.”

Miranda glanced up, staring at the empty road ahead. The wind was to their back now, buffeting ghosthound and rider from side to side. Then, all at once, the air fell still. High overhead, the clouds peeled back, brushed aside to reveal the moonlit sky, and in the stillness, the air grew lighter. Miranda smelled wet stone, salt, and sea storms, and then, without warning, the West Wind itself was upon them.

Though she couldn’t see it, Miranda didn’t need to. Playing host to Mellinor had made her an expert at feeling the special nature of the Great Spirits. Still, even if she’d never met one before, she would have known the West Wind for what it was. There was simply nothing else the enormous spirit surrounding her could be. It was the essence of a sea wind, endless, wet, salt laden, and powerful, blowing ever upward. It covered the city, missing nothing, and yet Miranda could feel its attention focus on her as an approving ripple, almost like a chuckle, ran through the enormous, invisible river of power.

“A pleasure to meet you at last, Spiritualist,” the West Wind said. “You and Mellinor have undone a great wrong against the spirits of this place. For this, you have our gratitude.”

Miranda nodded, dumbstruck. The wind’s voice was like a gale in her head. The words ricocheted off the buildings, garbled, and yet there was no mistaking them for anything other than what they were. When she did find her own voice at last, however, she asked a question.

“What of the duke?” she said. “Did Eli succeed?”

“He did,” the wind said, “and disappeared shortly thereafter. I am sorry, Spiritualist.”

Miranda felt like the wind had punched her in the stomach. She slumped over, letting the crippling feeling of defeat work its way through her. There went her reputation, her ticket back into the Spirit Court. There went her career.
Why
had she let Eli go off on his own?

“Don’t look that way,” the wind said. “I had Lelbon promise you great rewards for your assistance here, and I keep my word. Already I have sent winds to the Spirit Court Tower in Zarin to speak with the Rector Spiritualis. Banage and I have met before, and I am sure he will listen with an open mind. I have also sent winds to each tower to inform the Keepers of your deeds today, and the great debt I owe you.” Miranda felt something in the wind slide, and she could almost imagine that the West Wind was smiling. “Surely, such words of praise will smooth over any remaining rough politics.”

Miranda could only nod stupidly. Most Spiritualists had only heard of the West Wind in stories. To actually be directly contacted by such an enormous and powerful spirit would be the experience of a lifetime. They’d forgive just about anything for a chance to curry its good favor.

Seeing her expression, the wind chuckled. “Is it enough, Spiritualist?”

“I suppose,” Miranda said, still dumbstruck. “What happens now?”

“Now, I must leave,” the wind said. “Winds are not meant to be lords over land. I have received a special dispensation from those who care for this sort of thing to allow Mellinor to remain as temporary Great Spirit for
the next few weeks until the river Fellbro’s soul can be cleansed and reinstated.”

“Fellbro is still here?” Miranda asked. “You mean he’s not—”

“What?” the wind said. “Dead? Of course not. It takes more than losing some water to kill a river. Mellinor only pushed it aside for a while. Right now Fellboro’s slinking in the mud and sulking. Too long spent living in fear has made his water bitter, but we’ll soon have him to rights. In the meanwhile, Mellinor will put the land back in order. Once a Great Spirit, always a Great Spirit. You should stay here as well. I imagine the human side of Gaol also needs fixing.”

Miranda looked around at the empty town. “That it does, but I’m not exactly a lady of the manor.”

The wind laughed, rippling over her. “I’m sure you’ll manage. I’m leaving Lelbon here to help. Try not to be too hard on the little river spirit when it comes back. And Miranda?”

This last bit was whispered, a bare breeze in her ear. “Good luck and thank you. I won’t be forgetting your usefulness.”

That struck Miranda as an odd way of putting it, but the wind was already blowing past her, rising in a gale and blowing west, clearing the clouds out of the way as the sun began to peek over the horizon.

“Well,” Gin said. “Now what?”

“I’m not sure,” Miranda said. She was feeling a bit deflated, but happy. If anyone could get her back into the Spirit Court without Eli, it would be a spirit like the West Wind. Still, first things first. “Erol,” she said clutching the pearl pendant at her neck. “Go and tell Durn to bring
Hern to the citadel so we can lock him up somewhere more comfortable.”

The wind tittered at this and left, blowing out in a whistling gust. When it was gone, she nudged Gin forward. He trotted off toward the citadel, tongue hanging out.

“We need to find the second-in-command,” Miranda said, running her hands through her hair as her brain scrambled. “Send a runner to the Council and to the King of Argo to find out who’s supposed to be taking over, and to explain what happened. I’m not looking forward to that. Plus, there’s cleanup, getting the people back in line and back into their homes, rebuilding, so much to do.”

“You’ll manage,” Gin said. “First, let’s get some breakfast. I don’t think anyone would begrudge me a pig after all that running.”

Miranda laughed, and together they picked up the pace, loping past the burned-out buildings and into the great, empty citadel of Gaol.

All in all it took two weeks for the King of Argo to declare the Duke of Gaol’s successor. Edward of Gaol had no wife or children, and though his nephew was the obvious choice to inherit, the nature of the duke’s death prevented a smooth transition. He’d been murdered, that was certain. Still, the King of Argo couldn’t levy charges against a shop sign, roofing tiles, and an iron door. So, after much deliberation, the duke’s death was written down as an accident. Once that was out of the way, the nephew showed up almost immediately and proceeded at once to instigate a full inventory of Gaol’s wealth and property, a task that left him exceedingly unhappy.

“This is intolerable!” he cried, shoving the account books under Miranda’s nose for the fifth time that hour. “Not even counting the water damage done to my priceless treasures, which we’re still dredging out of the river, the old goat spent almost forty thousand gold standards on his ridiculous Eli Monpress obsession, ten thousand of which was spent making that brick of a citadel look impressive from the outside! Honestly, it’s not even a citadel, just a garrison with overly thick walls and an absurd little mansion stuck on its head.”

“Well,” Miranda said, “look at it this way: at least Gaol’s not in the hole, which is more than I can say for most kingdoms. So why don’t you count yourself lucky? You are, after all, one duchy richer than you were last week.”

“That’s hardly the point!” the nephew cried. “Look here! Here’s a check written out to one Phillipe di Monte for ‘consultation and advice involving the actions of Eli Monpress.’ Written out
the day my uncle died
, no less! It’s scandalous!”

“Phillipe di Monte,” Miranda said thoughtfully. “Isn’t he the villain from Pacso’s
The Piteous Fall of Dulain
?”

“I don’t care if it was Punchi the puppet!” the nephew shouted back. “I just want to know why
he’s
getting almost twenty thousand standards of
my
money when his advice obviously didn’t work!”

Miranda didn’t have an answer for that. Fortunately, Lelbon appeared at that moment to tell her that Fellbro was almost ready to take his river back.

As it turned out, by the time the duke’s nephew contacted Gaol’s money changer in Zarin, the gold had already been paid to the mysterious Phillipe di Monte. This sent the poor boy into a rage, and convinced it was
Eli himself making a fool of him, the new duke then sent off a letter pledging another twenty thousand to Monpress’s bounty, just on general principle.

“That will show the no-good thief!” he said, sealing the letter to the Council Bounty office.

Miranda wisely kept her comments to herself.

Just when she was sure she could take no more, an envoy from the Spirit Court arrived to fetch Hern and Miranda and take them back to Zarin. The wind’s words must have had a better effect than even Miranda had anticipated, for the Spiritualists treated her as if she was the Rector Spiritualis himself. This infuriated Hern to no end, which put Miranda in very high spirits as she rode down to the river.

She’d spoken to her sea spirit very little while Mellinor had inhabited the river. He’d simply been too large and too busy to talk with. Now the blue water was gone and the river was back to its usual cloudy green. As Miranda walked out on the dock, Mellinor rose in a pillar of water to greet her, his water cloudy with fatigue.

“I was almost afraid you wouldn’t come back,” Miranda said. “Not after you’d gotten a taste for being a Great Spirit again.”

“Of course I came back,” the water said. “I’m a sea, not a river. All this flowing and silt was driving me mad. Besides”—his voice grew wistful—“no river could replace my own seabed. But I’m already resigned to that, and anyway, you’re my shore now, Miranda.”

She smiled at that, and held out her hands. “Ready to come home, then?”

“More than you know,” he said and sighed, sliding back into her with a relieved, sinking feeling.

He sank to the bottom of her spirit and fell asleep almost instantly. When he was completely settled, Miranda turned around and walked back to Gin, who was waiting on the road.

“Come on.” She grinned, sliding onto his back. “Let’s go home.”

“I thought we’d never leave,” Gin sighed, loping back toward the citadel where the other Spiritualist waited with Hern, now ringless and bound in chains, to journey with them back to Zarin where, Miranda had the feeling, she’d get a much warmer welcome this time around.