Rachel Aaron - The Spirit Thief

“Good-natured rope,” the thief cooed, holding the coils up. “It’s always such a pleasure to work with.”

He left the king gaping in the dirt and went over to a corner where a small pile of leather packs leaned against the wall, well away from the fire. He tucked the rope carefully into the pack on the top and began to dig through the others, looking for something.

Henrith sat up gingerly, squeezing his hands to get the feeling back and trying not to think too hard about what had just happened. By the time he got the blood flowing in his fingers again, Eli was back, this time shoving a pen nib, ink pot, and a sheaf of slightly dirty paper into the king’s hands.

“All right, Your Majesty,” he said, grinning. “If you would write a letter detailing what we talked about, I’ll make sure it gets sent to whoever deals with this sort of thing. Be sure to stipulate that you will not be returned until I see my new wanted poster-that part is key. With any luck, this will all be over in a few days and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

He clapped the king on the shoulder one last time and stood up. “Nico,” he said. “I’m going to find someone who wants to carry a letter. Would you mind watching our guest? I want to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas that might come to a sad conclusion.”

The girl nodded absently, never looking up from the fire. Eli gave the king a final wink before opening the cabin door and walking out into the sunlight. The swordsman, who had long finished skinning his rabbits, picked up his iron sword and followed, leaving the king alone in the small, dark hut with the girl.

Her back was to him, and King Henrith flexed his newly freed hands again. The door was only a few feet away.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

The sudden edge in her voice nearly made him jump backward. He froze as she turned to look at him. When her brown eyes locked with his, the feeling of oblivion came roaring back. Suddenly, it was very hard to breathe.

“Write your letter,” she said, and turned back to the fire.

He took a shuddering breath and spread the paper out on his knee. With one last look at the girl’s back, he leaned over and began to write his ransom note.

“That was stupid,” Josef said, closing the rickety door behind him.

“Why do you say that?” Eli asked, scanning the treetops. They were standing in the small clearing outside of the forester’s hut that Eli had “repurposed” for this operation. High overhead, sunlight streamed through the treetops while hidden birds called to one another from their branches. Eli whistled back.

Josef scowled, leaning against the small trees that shielded their hut from view. “Why did you put that part in about seeing the poster? This job has dragged on long enough already. We’ll be here forever if we have to wait on Council politics.”

“You’d be surprised how sprightly they can be when there’s a lot of money involved,” Eli said, and whistled again. “The Council gets a percent fee on capture for every bounty posted, and fifty-five thousand is a lot of money, even for them.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if there was something to do,” Josef said, stabbing his iron sword into the patchy grass at their feet. The battered black blade slid easily into the dirt, as though the hard, rocky ground were loose sand. “There’s no challenge in this country. The city guards were a joke. The palace had no swordsmen, no wizards. I don’t understand why we even bothered to sneak in.”

“A job finally goes smoothly,” Eli said, “and you’re complaining? All we have to do is lounge around for a few days, collect the money, get my new bounty, and we can be on our way.”

“Smooth jobs are boring,” the swordsman grumbled, “and you’re the only one who enjoys lounging.”

“You might like if you tried it,” Eli said.

Josef shook his head and Eli turned back to the leafy canopy, whistling a third time. This time something whistled in answer, and a small falcon swooped down to land on the moss beside him.

“You needed a break anyway,” Eli said, kneeling down. “You’re too tense these days.”

“I’m not tense,” Josef said, pushing himself off the trees with a grunt. “Just bored.”

He yanked his sword out of the ground and walked off into the forest, tossing the enormous blade between his hands as though it were made of paper. Eli watched him leave with a mixed expression, and then, shrugging, he turned back to the falcon and began talking it into taking a message to the castle.

Miranda stood at the center of the empty prison cell, her bare feet resting on a springy bed of new moss that spread out from the moss agate ring lying in the middle of the floor. The heavy door to the cell was open, though it would have been useless even if closed, owing to the gaping hole in the middle where the wooden boards should have been. The boards themselves lay in disgrace a few feet away, piled against the far wall of the cell.

She could feel the moss humming under her toes as it crept across the stone, feeling for slight changes in the dust. “He’s very light-footed; I’ll give him that,” the moss said. “It feels like he spent most of his time by the door, but”-Miranda got the strange sensation that the moss was frowning-“every spirit here is dead asleep, mistress. If he used any spirits, he was uncommonly quiet about it.”

Miranda nodded thoughtfully. “What about the door?”

“That’s the strangest bit.” The moss crept over the pile of boards, poking them with thousands of tiny rootlings. “The door is sleeping soundest of all.”

“Thief nothing,” Miranda said, rubbing her palms against her temples. “That man is a ghost.”

The cell was only the latest in a long line of failures as night turned to morning. “Well,” she said, “Eli’s not a Spiritualist. Maybe he used something else.”

“Enslavement, you mean?” The moss wiggled with displeasure. “Impossible, mistress. Enslavements happen when the wizard’s will completely dominates the spirit’s until it has no choice but to obey. It’s not a subtle thing. Why, even a momentary enslavement just to open the door would spook every spirit within earshot. They’d be moaning about it forever. But this room is so relaxed even I’m feeling sleepy. If you hadn’t told me otherwise, I would have guessed these idiots hadn’t so much as smelled a wizard in a hundred years.”

“Why do you say that?” Miranda sat down on her heels. “If he didn’t do anything flashy or dangerous, like enslavement, I doubt these rocks would notice a wizard standing right on top of them. Most spirits won’t even wake up enough to talk to a wizard unless we stand around making a racket for a few hours. Remember how long it took me to get your attention, Alliana?”

Alliana ruffled her green fuzz. “Spirits might not always respond, but we always notice a wizard. You’re very distracting.”

“You mean we’re loud and obnoxious,” Miranda said. “But then why did no one notice Eli?”

“Sometimes, spirits choose not to notice,” the moss said wistfully. “There are some wizards it’s better not to look at.”

“What do you mean?” Miranda leaned closer to the moss’s fluffy green surface. “Is Eli one of those?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Alliana said with a huff. “I’ve never seen him.”

“Then what-”

“It’s no use asking any more questions, mistress,” the moss said. “I can’t say it any clearer. It really is too bad you humans are spirit blind. It’s so hard to explain things like this when you can’t see what I’m talking about.”

Miranda blew the hair out of her face with an exasperated huff. Spirits were eternally complaining about the human inability to the see the spirit world, as if humans chose to be blind out of sheer stubbornness. As always, she tried to remind herself that it was very hard on spirits. All humans had the innate ability to control the spirits around them, though only born wizards could actually hear the spirits’ voices, and thus actually use their power. But this power came with a price, for, wizard or not, no human could see as the spirits saw. It was as if the whole race lacked a vital sense, and this lack was a source of endless frustration for both sides. It wasn’t that Miranda didn’t appreciate the difficulty. She did, really. For Alliana to explain how a wizard was distracting would be like Miranda trying to describe the color red to a blind person. Even so, it was impossibly frustrating when, every time she got a little closer to finally understanding, the spirit would pull the whole “Well, you can’t see, so I can’t explain” cop-out. Her spirits might serve her willingly, but sometimes she got the feeling she didn’t really understand them at all.