“Great Spirit,” she started shakily. “I know we have no right to prevent you from reclaiming your land, but if you could just wait a day or two, I’m sure we could move people and some of the spirits out of the way. Then you could reclaim your basin, and we could limit the loss of life.”
She finished hopefully, smiling up at the glowing water. It did not respond. Miranda’s smile faltered, and she began to fidget. “Of course, it might take some convincing to get people to—”
“Are you finished?” the great wave rumbled.
Miranda jumped. “More or less.”
“Then I have heard you out. Your offer is unacceptable. I will not delay my freedom for the convenience of those who have profited from my imprisonment.”
“Now hold on,” Eli said, stepping up to stand beside Miranda. “If you’re a Great Spirit, isn’t it your responsibility to watch over the lesser spirits?”
The wave turned, angling the peak of its foaming crest directly at Eli’s head. “What do you know of that, human?”
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Eli said, staring up at the swirling water with his arms crossed over his chest. “I know your imprisonment was awful, but, enslaved or free, you’re still a Great Spirit. Those animals and trees and all the rest living on what used to be your land, they’re yours to guard just as much as the fish that lived in you when this was all sea. Even if things have changed, you can’t just turn your back on them.”
Without warning, the shallow water at Eli’s feet geysered up, lifting the thief clear off the ground until he was level with the wave’s crest.
“What would a human know of the pain of enslavement?” the spirit roared. “Who are you to lecture me when it was your kind who created this situation? You humans disgust me. You came from nowhere—blind, short lived, half deaf—and yet you were given dominion over the spirit world? Understand this, boy”—the geyser of water surged higher still, pushing Eli almost to the ceiling—“I take no more orders from your kind.”
With a flick of his current, the great spirit sent Eli hurtling across the ruined hall. For a gut-wrenching moment, Eli flew silently through the dark. Then he struck the crumbling wall with a deathly thud and tumbled with a splash to the ground. Miranda held her breath, waiting for him to move, to breathe. But he did not stir. The ripples around him stilled, and Miranda felt her stomach turn to ice. Without thinking, or knowing what she could do if she reached him, she hurled herself forward, slipping and skidding across the wet floor. Before she had gone more than a few steps, a wall of water erupted, blocking her path.
She whirled on the spirit, eyes flashing. “You had no right!” she shouted. “Thief or not, he helped us, helped you.” Her spirit roared open, stronger and brighter than it had ever been and sharp as a spear as she leveled it at the water’s glowing heart.
“Come then, little girl,” the wave rumbled, rising up. “If this is how your kind repays kindness, it’s better I kill you like this than leave you to dirty my waters later.”
“Miranda!” Gin howled, struggling to stand. “He’s a Great Spirit, Miranda! Don’t be an idiot!”
But Miranda’s rage had taken her further than his voice could reach. With a roar, she hurled the sharpened edge of her spirit at the sea’s glowing heart as the water at her feet erupted, covering everything in a great, white wave.
Eli lay on his back where he had landed, trying not to think. He tried not to think about the pain or the freezing water that soaked his lower body. He tried not to think about the waves of spirit power rolling over each other just a few feet away. He especially tried not to think about the frantic, desperate edge on the fiery spirit he had come to recognize as Miranda’s, and what that kind of desperation meant for their odds of survival.
Worried about her? a familiar, silky voice whispered in his ear.
Eli started, sending a new wave of pain through his body. The sultry voice chuckled. Such a pretty little wizardess, and so concerned for your safety, she tsked in his ear. These little dalliances of yours make me less inclined to help you.
“It’s not a dalliance,” he muttered. “And I didn’t ask for your help.”
A thin, white line appeared in the air above him. It hung for a moment, shedding its ghostly white light in a surgical stripe across his chest. Then, with a sound like silk sliding through sand, a white hand reached through the cut in the air to cup his chin. Long, feminine fingers, whiter than moonlit snow, stroked his bleeding cheek, leaving a burning touch behind that was almost painful, yet never enough.