Rachel Aaron - The Spirit War

So,” Miranda said. “One more time. The demon under the Dead Mountain is sealed, but he can sneak out shards of himself, called seeds, that bury themselves into host bodies, who become demonseeds.”

“Correct,” Slorn said. “Demonseeds are tiny slivers of the demon itself. Each seed has the potential to grow into a new demon, given enough time and food. The stronger the host and the longer the seed is able to incubate, the stronger the resulting demon is at awakening.”

Miranda shuddered, blinking her eyes against the memory that refused to vanish—the hideous black shape standing over the woods outside Izo’s bandit city, its black wings blotting out the sky as it ate the screaming world.

“How do we stop it?” she said quietly. “Stop the seeds from coming out?”

“I don’t know,” Slorn said. “Unawakened demonseeds constantly travel through the shadows in and out of the mountain, bringing their master new vessels. There is a human cult that serves there, presenting wizards to the demon in hopes of becoming demonseeds themselves. The League has cleared out the mountain several times—killing the human followers, setting up a perimeter, but the seeds always get through. All demonseeds can hear the demon’s voice in their heads, and he moves them like pieces on a board that only he can see the whole of. This makes them very hard to block completely, especially as the League can find them only when they cause a panic. Alric gave up trying to blockade the mountain years ago. Staying on the mountain for any length of time is dangerous, even for the Lord of Storms, and the reward wasn’t worth the risk. They now focus on the eradication of seeds that cause problems.”

“Well,” Miranda said with a huff, “it doesn’t seem to be working.”

“It works,” Slorn said, looking at her with his black, calm, bear eyes. “We are still alive.”

Rebuked, Miranda shut her mouth and focused on the path ahead. Seeing that the lesson was at an end, Slorn leaned back on the roof of his walking cart to stare thoughtfully at the wispy clouds flowing like silk across the pale blue sky.

They were high in the mountains, riding north. It was slow going, even for Gin. The constant wind kept the ground clear from snow, but the stone itself was icy and treacherous. The ghosthound kept his eyes on his feet, delicately picking his way across the steep slopes, his dappled silver coat shifting with the wind. Still, they could have gone faster if not for Slorn’s wagon. The wooden cart climbed at a snail’s pace, rattling and scraping as its carved wooden legs scrabbled on the ice despite the metal hooks Slorn had attached. Sometimes they barely made ten miles in a day, but the pace didn’t bother Miranda. She’d learned more from Slorn in the two weeks since they’d left Izo’s camp than from all three years she’d spent training to begin her apprenticeship with the Spiritualists. Gin, however, didn’t seem to be enjoying himself.

“I don’t like him,” the ghosthound growled when they stopped for lunch.

“You don’t like anyone,” Miranda said, smearing a sliver of cold butter across her hard baked bread as best she could. “And keep your voice down.”

“He asks too many questions,” Gin said, loud as ever. “And he looks at the sky too much.”

Miranda glanced at Slorn. He was standing beside his cart, talking to it softly as he checked the wooden legs. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Gin made a harrumphing sound. “He shouldn’t be doing it, is all. Or talking about the Dead Mountain like he does. I’ve never understood you humans and your constant need to know things. You’re the nosiest spirits in creation.”

“And you’re the biggest curmudgeon in creation,” Miranda said, smacking him across the haunches. “You saw that thing at Izo’s the same as all of us. I’m a Spiritualist, but that thing, demon or demonseed or whatever, makes the usual Spirit Court worries look like children’s games. It’s not something I can just ignore, and until I find out what I can do to stop what happened at Izo’s from happening again, even if that turns out to be nothing, I can’t go back to Zarin. Not while still calling myself a Spiritualist.”

Gin flattened his ears. “Not everything’s a crusade, Miranda. The bear man’s leading you places you shouldn’t go, and you’re going to get hurt if you keep following.”

“I’m a big girl,” she said, reaching out to scratch his nose. “I won’t get in over my head.”

Gin moved away from her hand and shook himself, sending dirt and ice everywhere. “Just watch yourself,” he said, trotting away.

Miranda frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Hunting,” Gin growled, stalking off down the frozen path.

Miranda started to remind him that there was dried meat in Slorn’s cart, but the ghosthound had already vanished into the frosty landscape, his shifting fur blending into the white mist rolling down from the peaks.

“I’m starting to understand why they call them ghosthounds.”

Miranda turned with a start. Slorn was standing behind her, smiling in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring but never quite made it, thanks to his sharp teeth.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Gin doesn’t have a lot of tact.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Slorn said, sitting down on the large, flat rock that sheltered their little fire from the wind. “It’s a ghosthound’s nature to be protective and wary of outsiders, and I never fault a spirit for following its nature. Besides, he’s not exactly wrong. Spirits have learned over countless centuries that some things are better left alone.”

Miranda frowned. “You mean the demon?”

Slorn shrugged. “The League, the Dead Mountain, demonseeds, these are all things that spirits, even Great Spirits, have learned to ignore. Must learn to ignore. You can’t have a life worth living when you’re constantly worrying about things you cannot fight or change. All they can do is trust the system that has worked for thousands of years and go on with their lives.”

Miranda’s frown turned into a scowl. “And where does the thing we saw at Izo’s fit into that system?”

“It doesn’t,” Slorn said. “That’s why we’re going to the Shaper Mountain. If the League will not listen, then I must make my case to an outside party. If I can find even one voice to speak for me that the Shepherdess will heed, Nivel’s death won’t have been in vain.”

Miranda bit her tongue. Slorn spoke his wife’s name with such sadness that words felt pointless. But there was so much of what he said that she still didn’t understand and she could not keep quiet.

“The Shepherdess,” she said. “I’ve heard of her, of course, but never in any detail. Most Spiritualists are lucky if they ever get to talk to a Great Spirit.” Mellinor found that amusing, but Miranda ignored his bubbling laughter and pressed on. “She’s the greatest spirit, isn’t she? The one at the top of the spirit world.”

“Assuming she’s a spirit at all,” Slorn said. “Which I don’t think she is. The Shepherdess is the force that guides the world and commands the spirits. She also controls the League and keeps the demon locked beneath the mountain, among other things.”

“How can she not be a spirit?” Miranda said. “Everything has a spirit.”

“I don’t know the answer precisely,” Slorn answered. “But I do know her control is nothing a spirit could manage. No spirit except a human’s can control another, and humans can’t touch the spirits of other humans. But, so far as I understand it, the Shepherdess can command everything. Therefore, she’s not a spirit. Or, at least, not a spirit like we are familiar with.”