Slorn heard the wagon hiss, and he put his hand on the wood, sending out a calming tendril of his spirit. The hound yawned again, showing an impressive line of teeth, and then, almost in the same instant, he was asleep, curled in a ball with his long nose buried in his tail.
Slorn waited until he was sure the ghosthound wasn’t bluffing before letting out a long, low sigh. He had no doubt the dog would have killed him if he’d threatened the girl, no questions asked. Slorn shook his head, marveling. Shapers could blend spirits together in ways no other wizard could, but he’d never seen anyone who could match a good Spiritualist for spirit loyalty.
He whispered to the bushes, and they stretched out their branches to cover the dog’s sleeping form. It would be awhile before Sted moved again. There was plenty of time to let his guests sleep a bit before moving on. Meanwhile, he would gather more information.
Slorn turned and walked out of his hidden camp, climbing farther up the slope until he reached the crest. They were high up, higher than his own Turning Wood, and the air was cold and swift. Squinting, Slorn looked up and north, following the line of the cliffs until he spotted his wind riding high and bright over the sleeping mountain spirits. He raised his hands, sending a flash toward the wind. It danced a moment longer and then dropped down, spiraling through the trees until it ruffled the fur on his face, making his eyes water.
“The swordsman has agreed to the fight,” it whispered. “It was very hard to make out, I hope you know. The spirit deaf are so difficult to focus on.”
“I appreciate your efforts,” Slorn said. “What about Sted?”
The wind shivered when he said the name. “In the mountains, I think. He’s even harder to follow than the others. I can’t make out exactly what he is, but I don’t like him at all.”
Slorn wisely stayed silent on that. “Thank you very much for your help. I won’t forget it.”
“Don’t tell me you’re happy. Tell the West Wind,” the spirit said. “Why else do you think I’m doing this?”
“Of course.” Slorn nodded. Even after all these years, spirit politics baffled him, especially winds. “Would you mind going back to the camp?”
“If you like,” the wind sighed. “Staying in one place too long makes me ache.”
“It won’t be for long,” Slorn said. “I’ll join you there this evening. And I’ll be sure to inform the West Wind of the great pains you’ve taken to help us.”
This seemed to please the wind immensely, and it took off with a great whoosh, shaking the thin trees as it flew skyward and turned south, back toward Izo’s camp. Slorn watched it go, staring up at the blue dome of the sky until his wind was long gone and replaced by other winds, all moving like great currents through the sky.
He was about to turn back when a flash of movement caught his eye.
As always, something inside him, inside the deep animalistic instincts he’d inherited when he let the bear into his soul, told him to look away, but the stronger part, the curious, purely human side of him, tilted his head upward. There, above the snowy mountaintops, above the winds, something was moving on the dome of the sky itself. It was a subtle motion, one he couldn’t have seen at all if he hadn’t been looking for it. He’d first noticed it years ago by chance. Now, against his better judgment, he looked whenever he caught a glimpse. High overhead, pressing against the arc of the sky itself like a weight pressed on a taut cloth, was the faint outline of a long, bony, clawed hand. As he watched, the hand scraped slowly downward, running long, sharp grooves in the sky that vanished the moment it passed, only to be replaced by another hand, sometimes smaller, sometimes larger, pressing down again.
Fear like no fear he’d ever felt before began to well up inside him, and a great need stronger than any instinct screamed at him to look away. Even so, he locked his eyes a moment longer, watching the hands scrape across the dome of the sky.
“Slorn?”
He jumped at the voice, whirling around to see the wind waiting, circling him in worried little circles.
“Yes,” he said, struggling to keep his voice normal.
“I just came back to let you know the West Wind told me to tell you to be kind to the Spiritualist girl. Who knows why. Spiritualists are busybodies, but Illir’s word is law.”
“I’ll look after her, don’t worry,” Slorn said, managing a weak smile.
The wind spun again. “Slorn.” Its voice was not nearly so certain this time. “What were you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Slorn lied. “Nothing at all.”