Rachel Aaron - Spirit’s End

“Good positioning,” he said, rubbing his bruised ribs. “You might have just saved me a broken neck.”

“I’ll give you a broken neck!” Miranda roared, but then the fury seemed to drift out of her as her eyes latched on to the glowing pearl in Eli’s hand. “You did it!”

“ ’Course I did it,” Eli said, sticking out his free arm for her to pull him up. “How much time do we have left?”

Miranda’s hand was icy as it grabbed his, and her voice was no less bleak. “See for yourself,” she said, nodding at the sky as she yanked him up.

Bracing himself for the worse, Eli looked up…

… and realized that there is no amount of bracing that can prepare you to see the sky ripped open.

There were three holes in total, and each one was filled with monstrous black hands the size of mountains straining like starving animals as they reached for whatever they could grab. For a long, confused moment, Eli couldn’t understand how the cracked shell was still holding. Then, as his mind worked its way around the crack and the giant hands, he saw the defenders.

Josef stood on the lowest ridge of the Dead Mountain, the Heart of War flying in his grip like the blade was part of him. Every time he swung, one of the grasping hands lost a chunk, even though they were miles away. But even as one demon squealed in rage and yanked its hand back, another would surge forward to take its place, the new hand just as desperate as the last as it fought to reach the screaming spirits below.

But Josef wasn’t the only one holding the invaders back. Flitting between the enormous black hands were two other shadows that, though smaller, were equally unsettling. Just looking at them made Eli’s stomach heave, but he forced himself to study them long enough to see that the two were different.

One was all teeth and predatory malice. It snarled and bit the invading hands, driving them back with territorial fury. The other was softer, quieter, but no less deadly. Her body was shrouded in a shadow, and her back was dominated by four wings that rippled like black water. Her long claws dragged over each demon she passed, and every place she touched crumpled under enormous pressure, making the demons scream in pain. Eli almost smiled then. Leave it to Nico to stay quiet even when she was the monster in the night.

But the demons weren’t the only monsters fighting the things from the other side of the sky. Down below, where the hands would have broken through to dig into the mountains, a wall of black cloud prevented them, driving them back with arcing silver lightning.

The Lord of Storms carpeted the land in all directions, a barrier against whatever Josef, Nico, and the Demon of the Dead Mountain missed. Every time a claw came near, the lightning would rise up in a great thunderhead that opened like the mouth of a wolf, biting the grasping claws with crackling teeth that flashed out before the demon could eat them in retaliation. Each time one vanished, another took its place in an endless series of lightning strikes that drove the ravenous demons back.

The four defenders were such an impressive sight, Eli almost felt hopeful. The worst had come, and they were still holding. But then his eyes went to the sky again, to the network of shining cracks, the split sun, the black claws fighting for purchase on the rims of the broken holes, picking away at the shell’s edge, and his fledgling hope vanished as quickly as it had come.

He looked down at the seed in his hand. Wherever the pearl touched his fingers, his skin was pure white. White as Benehime’s. Power flowed through him, hot with rage, tingling with promise. For a moment, Eli let it fill him, burning away his fear and exhaustion until he was strong enough to make the decision that shouldn’t have been his to make.

He turned to Miranda. “Call the Lord of Storms.”

“What?” she cried over the screaming.

“You’re connected to him, right?” Eli shouted back. “Call him down.”

“Are you paying attention?” Miranda roared. “He’s the only thing keeping—”

“Now,” Eli snapped.

Miranda glared furiously at him, but then she lifted her head. The storm thundered in answer, and then the Lord of Storms appeared in a flash of lightning.

“What do you mean by yanking me—”

Eli didn’t wait for the spirit to finish his tirade. He lunged straight at the Lord of Storms’ chest. The storm was so furious at Miranda’s infraction, he didn’t even notice as Eli’s shoved the Hunter’s glowing seed deep into his stomach.

The second it was inside, the Lord of Storms froze. Overhead, the clouds stopped swirling and the lightning hung midflash. On the ground, the Lord of Storms’ body was still as a statue, his silver eyes wide and unreadable as they watched Eli remove his now-empty hand and step back, drawing Miranda back with him.

She tried to protest, but he forced her down behind Gin with the last of the Hunter’s fading strength. Good thing, too, because not a second after he’d gotten her to shelter, the Lord of Storms’ face broke into an enormous grin and the Hunter’s rage filled the valley with a white flash.

The light was blinding, filling not just the Lord of Storms’ body but the thunderclouds as well, washing out even the lightning flashes in a flood of pale brilliance. It was so bright Eli didn’t even try to watch. Instead, he kept his head down, crouching behind Gin with Miranda huddled against him, her eyes closed tight against the light and her hands clutching her chest like she was trying to staunch a wound.

On and on and on it went until, finally, the light began to fade. Eli was about to peek over Gin’s back to see if his plan had worked when Miranda grabbed his shoulders and whirled him around. “What did you do?” she screamed in his ear.

“I made him the Hunter,” Eli said, wincing.

Miranda’s furious face grew horrified. “That’s it? You just made him the Hunter? Don’t you think you should have asked first?”

“I did!” Eli shouted, prying her fingers off him. “Sort of. Anyway, we had no time and it’s not like he would have said no.” He pushed up and glanced over Gin’s back. “There, see for yourself.”

Miranda shot up, and then nearly fell back again in surprise.

The Lord of Storms was standing exactly as he had before, sword in his hand, his face suffused in an enormous grin, but he was now pure white. His coat, his sword, his skin, his long hair, even his silver eyes were now whiter than moonlit chalk, so white that the snow around him looked ashy by comparison. The light of him filled the valley with harsh, cold radiance, and though the fear was still thick in the air, the spirits around him had stopped screaming. One by one, they bowed down, trembling before the presence of a newborn Power.

The Lord of Storms ignored them completely. He sheathed his sword and strode forward, white eyes locked on Eli. “Where is she?”

The hatred in his voice was like a knife against Eli’s ear, and he didn’t have to ask who the Lord of Storms meant. “She’s fighting the Weaver,” he answered. “And you’d better hurry.”

The Lord of Storms nodded and lifted his arm to make a portal through the veil. This time, though, instead of forming the usual neat, white line, the Lord of Storms took a handful of air and ripped it sideways. The veil tore open with a sound that made Eli wince, but the Lord of Storms paid it no mind. He kept tearing, splitting the veil until he’d made a hole large enough for him to step through.

“Wait!” Miranda cried.

The Lord of Storms froze and turned on the Spiritualist with a look that would have killed anyone else. Miranda just glared back. “What about them?” she snapped, pointing up at the remaining three defenders. “They need you.”