The Spirit War(49)

“I did what I had to,” Mellinor said.

The meadow flickered as the mountain laughed. “As do we all, inland sea, as do we all. I am satisfied. You may return to your human shore.”

The water retreated, and Mellinor flowed back into Miranda, who lowered her arm cautiously. Something odd was going on, besides the obvious. Mellinor was being surprisingly deferential. Her sea spirit wasn’t rude, but he was a Great Spirit and he didn’t tend to let others forget that. This meekness was very out of character. Perhaps it was because the mountain was so much bigger than Mellinor’s diminished form? But he’d shown no such deference to the West Wind.

“Now,” the mountain said. “To business. Why have you come home, Heinricht? Or do I call you Heinricht anymore? You are as much bear as man, now.”

“I am still myself,” Slorn said. “And I came home because I had no more reason to run. Nivel is dead. Her seed has been taken by the League.”

“I am sorry,” the mountain said.

As the stone spoke, the flowering grass began to dance in an unfelt wind. All over the valley, the sunlight faded, and Miranda looked up to see dark clouds rolling in from the south. Within moments, the meadow was covered in a thin, misty rain. But though she could see the rain falling, hear it hitting her shoulders, she was not wet.

“What’s happening?” she whispered.

“The Teacher is grieving,” Slorn answered.

“Of course I grieve,” the mountain said. “Nivel was my student before she was your wife.”

“Then you should know she continued to abide by your teachings,” Slorn said bitterly. “Even after you would have murdered her.”

The soft rain became a downpour as Slorn finished, and the ground shook with the mountain’s anger.

“It was the demon who murdered your wife,” the mountain said. “Not I. Nivel died the moment the spirit eater took her. All you achieved by running was to delay the inevitable, putting all of us at risk in the process.”

Slorn bared his sharp teeth. “The end might have been inevitable, but our work was not in vain. Nivel lived for ten years with that seed inside her, and even then it was not the demon who killed her. She was murdered by a rogue League member who took her seed for his own. Had he not appeared, she would still be alive, doing your work.”

“And what work of mine could a demonseed do?” the mountain said. “Demon-panicked spirits cannot be Shaped.”

“The first affirmation of all Shapers is the collection of knowledge,” Slorn answered. “That’s the pledge you have us make, and Nivel and I never forsook it. We spent those ten years researching demonseeds. Through our work, Nivel lived eight years longer than any seed on record.” He reached into his coat, taking out a small, leather-bound book. “I have here detailed observations,” he said, holding the book up in the phantom rain. “Mine and hers, from the day we left the mountain to the day I surrendered her seed to the League. I believe our research contains more information about the demon than any spirits have ever collected before, including the League, and I am prepared to give all of this knowledge to you. With the Shapers’ help, we could save countless lives, maybe even one day reverse the demon infestation.”

The rain began to slack as he spoke, and the clouds rolled away, leaving the mountain gleaming white in the freshly washed sunshine. Its stone slope had not changed, and yet, somehow, Miranda got the feeling the mountain was sneering at them.

“You would give me knowledge of how to prolong a demonseed’s life?” the Teacher said.

“Yes,” Slorn answered. “I can already make manacles that retard the seed’s growth and cloth that hides the demon’s presence, allowing it to walk among spirits without terrifying them. But these are only crutches, stopgaps. With your help, I hope to find a way to reverse the seed’s conquest of the host, perhaps even remove the seed without—”

“Enough.”

Slorn stiffened. “What do you—”

“You wasted your freedom studying the wrong thing,” the mountain said. “Extending the seed’s life? Hiding it? Why would we want to do that? If you’d found a way to pinpoint seeds before they wake, that I could perhaps condone, but demonseeds are a menace, Heinricht, not something to be coddled and hidden.”

“Menace?” Slorn growled. “A feral dog is a menace. Demonseeds are the greatest disaster we’ve ever known waiting to happen. Each seed has the potential to become a demon every bit as dangerous as the one imprisoned under the Dead Mountain. I don’t know if you were paying attention, but it nearly happened a few weeks ago not far from your own slopes. To ignore such a danger, to refuse to learn as much as we can about its nature, to remain willfully ignorant of the greatest threat to the spirits that form this world, that is the menace, Teacher. And that is why Nivel and my research is so important.