The Spirit Rebellion(128)

“But—”

I did not bind myself to you to stay cooped up in a sheath!

Josef flinched at the anger in the sword’s voice, but he could not deny what it said.

These last few years we’ve been together as two parts, the Heart said, sword and man, without understanding. If you wish to leave this place, if you wish to defeat Sted, this must change. I am not your trump card, not your guaranteed out. I am a sword, your sword. You’ve come this far on your own, but no farther. If you want to survive, Josef Liechten, then we must emerge from this together, as a swordsman, or not at all.

“But I don’t understand,” Josef said. “You want us to work together? How? I hear you only at times like this, when I’m almost dead. Am I going to have to take a mortal wound every time I want to fight, just so we can talk?”

The Heart rumbled. Do you think you’re my first non-wizard wielder? Do you think I would have chosen you to carry me if I thought you were incapable of truly being my swordsman?

Josef shook his head. “I don’t see—”

Do you always need to speak to know why a person fights?

“No,” Josef said. “But—”

Do you need words to understand why a sword cuts?

Josef took a deep breath. “No.”

Good. He could hear the Heart smile. You begin to understand. Listen well, Josef Liechten. If we are to fight together, you must see me for what I am, a part of yourself, another facet of your own power. To do that, you must push aside your thinking mind, the mind that requires words, and understand me with what lies deeper.

Josef clenched his teeth. The Heart was starting to sound like Eli’s wizard talk. “You mean like a wizard?”

No, the Heart said in disgust. I mean like a spirit.

Josef shook his head. “I still don’t understand.”

You will, the Heart promised. Open your eyes.

“What?” They were open, or he thought they were.

This close to death, even you should be able to see. The Heart’s words were an avalanche. Open your eyes!

Josef did. The darkness was gone; the pain was gone. He was floating high in a blue sky filled with clouds, and before him, rising like a great wave from the land, was a mountain like none he had ever seen. It was taller than anything in the world, its edges sharp and straight as a blade. Its snowcapped peak cut the sky, slicing clouds as they passed, while its wide base spread for miles and miles in all directions, its roots deeper than humans could comprehend. It stood perfectly sharp, proud and tall, unmovable, unbreakable, and the moment Josef saw it, he understood.

The mountain vanished, and he felt something in his hand. He looked down and saw he was holding the Heart of War. The black sword looked the same as ever, and yet different. When he looked at the blade, the memory of the mountain flashed across his mind.

You have seen my true nature. The Heart’s voice was deep and warm. Do you still need words, Josef Liechten?

“No,” Josef said, tightening his grip on the sword.

The Heart of War laughed, a deep, rumbling sound, and Josef woke.

He was alone, and in a different place from where he’d fallen. Crates were stacked high around him and his wound had been bound, though the bloodstains told him how useful that would have been if the Heart had not intervened. He looked down at the sword in his hand for a long moment, like he was seeing it for the first time.

The path to true strength is not easily walked. The Heart’s voice was more like a memory than a sound now. Now that we’ve started, there’s no going back. I hope you’re prepared to bet your life on this.

“I always have,” Josef whispered. “Every single time.”

A great feeling of laughter welled up in his head, and the sword’s hilt settled hard in Josef’s hand. He gripped it with a grin and, using the sword as a prop, began the long, painful process of sitting up. When he was about halfway there, he heard a crash. He froze, listening. It was the sound of something hitting the floor, something small and human. He was on his feet at once, creeping up the pile of crates just in time to see Sted panting over something on the floor. It was dark, but he would know that shape anywhere, the slender back, the long, thin arms lying limp on the floor, the pale, pale skin.

Rage filled him to boiling, painting the room in a wash of angry color. Rage at Sted, at himself for letting this happen, at Nico for not running from a fight she couldn’t win. Hadn’t he taught her anything? But the sword weighed heavy in his grip, bringing him down, telling him what must be done.

Even so, Josef wasn’t the kind of man to fall on an opponent from behind with no warning.

“Sted!”

The cry echoed through the warehouse, and the enormous swordsman looked up just in time to see Josef leap, the Heart of War held high over his head. The sword felt heavy in his hands, yet Josef could swing it with ease, even more so than before. The blade answered his every movement like it was part of his hand rather than something clasped inside it, and Josef felt a rush like never before as the Heart’s triumphant cackle rolled through him.