The Spirit Rebellion(70)

Miranda walked up the road until she was out of sight of the inn’s windows, then sprinted up the hill to where Gin was hiding. She’d worried he would be asleep, but the dog was awake and waiting.

“What’s going on?” he asked as soon as she ducked under the shaggy treeline.

“Strange and wonderful things,” she answered, peeling off her shirt. “Mellinor, could I get some water?”

The water spirit complied, and she was sopping wet in an instant. Peeling the soap out of its waxed-paper wrapping, Miranda began to scrub her face and hair. She relayed her conversation with the innkeeper as she washed, occasionally breaking to ask Mellinor for more water, which he gave immediately, for he was listening as well.

“Eli Monpress! Do you believe the luck?” Miranda said again, leaning over to wring out her hair.

“Lucky indeed,” Gin said. “But go back to that bit about the rain. As I’ve heard it, only a Great Spirit can order the rain, and only then if it’s got the cooperation of the local winds. How is a human doing it?”

“Maybe he’s Enslaving the Great Spirit of this area,” Miranda said, wincing as she picked at a knot of tangles rooted at the back of her neck.

“Preposterous,” Mellinor rumbled, giving her a bit more water. “If this place was Enslaved, we would have known miles ago. The whole world would have known. Trust me, a land whose Great Spirit is Enslaved does not look like this.”

The water slung outward, taking in the lovely hills, rolling farmland, and flowering orchards. Miranda was going to point out that Mellinor had looked pretty nice to her when she’d arrived, but then she remembered that spirits probably saw something completely different and she kept her mouth shut, washing the last of the soap out of her hair in silence.

“Well, whatever’s happening, it’s not good,” she said, squeezing her hair dry. “Time to ask the spirits what’s going on.”

She pulled the dress over her head, the thick fabric catching on her wet skin. When the dress was in place, she knelt on the needle-strewn ground and pulled the green stone ring off her little finger.

“Alliana,” she said softly, placing the ring on the ground, “say hello to the grove for us.”

The moment the ring touched the ground, a circle of bright green moss began to spread over the brown needles. It spread to the base of the nearest tree, the moss’s tiny rootlings prodding the bark. But as the moss crept up the fir tree, its quiet, tiny sounds became frustrated.

Finally, almost five minutes later, the moss retreated, and Alliana herself spoke up. “It’s no good, mistress,” the moss said, sounding quite put out. “I can’t get the tree to talk. I couldn’t even talk to the sapling sprouting below it. I don’t understand; green wood is normally very chatty.”

Miranda frowned. “You’re saying they wouldn’t wake up?”

“No, they’re awake,” the moss grumbled. “They just won’t talk. I don’t know what kind of land this is, but its spirits are frightfully rude.”

Miranda bit her lip. This was an unexpected problem. “Try another tree.”

They tried five altogether, but every time it was the same. The trees would not talk. None of the spirits in the little grove would. Finally, Alliana asked to go back to sleep, as this was all too frustrating for her, and Miranda drew her back into the moss agate.

“All right, I give up. What’s going on?” Miranda said, sliding the ring back onto her finger. “Could it be Eli? What did he call it, building goodwill with the countryside?”

“No amount of goodwill does that,” Mellinor said, flicking a spray of water at the reticent trees. “And I doubt even the thief has this kind of reach. Normally, I’d say Enslavement. I never knew anything else that could shut up young trees once a wizard woke them up, but they don’t seem frightened, just worried.” The water made a thoughtful splashing sound. “No, something is wrong in Gaol, and I doubt it’s only here. The West Wind was right to be worried.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” Gin said, tail twitching.

“Start at the top,” Miranda answered. “If anyone can tell us what’s going on, it’s the Great Spirit of Gaol. Since the Fellbro River is by far the largest spirit in this area, I’m going to guess it’s either in charge or knows who is, so we’ll start with it, and for that, we’re going to the capital.”

“The capital?” Gin gave her a look. “The river runs all down the duchy’s eastern side. Why do we need to go to the capital?”