Eli walked casually, seemingly oblivious that he was the object of so much attention. As he walked, the spirits made way. The dirt from the flood rolled aside when he came near, so did the fallen stones and the broken glass, making a clear path. Miranda watched in amazement as the room rearranged itself to make Eli’s walk easier. Even the marble trembled as he stepped on it, not with fear, but with anxiousness, as if it wanted more than anything to make a good impression as he walked the last few steps to the crumbled dais.
Mellinor had shrunk to a wavering ball. He floated over the pile of stones flashing between nervous gray and deep blue.
Eli stopped when his boots were almost touching the shattered rock that had been the first step of the dais stairs. He put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the quivering water. “Now”—the word hummed with power—“I need you to get up.”
It was not an enslavement, as Miranda had been bracing for. It was a request. Mellinor shivered, sending tall waves across his surface. “How is it possible?” the water whispered. “How was I allowed to toss you like that when you bore her mark? Had I but known, had you shown me …”
“None of that matters now,” Eli said. “Just get up. You’re ruining what’s left of Henrith’s throne room.”
The remaining loose water leaped back into Mellinor’s sphere, and the floating ball of water churned as the sea spirit tried to make himself smaller. The best he could manage was still twice Eli’s height. He was about to try again when Eli’s voice stopped him.
“That’s good enough,” the thief said. “Now, please understand that we are, in fact, very sorry all of this happened to you. You have every right to be angry at Gregorn and his descendants, but you need to understand our position. This kingdom”—he pointed toward the ruined windows where dawn was just beginning to tint the sky—“it’s not yours any more. You need to move on.”
The sphere of water spun slowly on its axis, its light muted to a deep, cold blue. “Where would I go? My home was here, my seabed and my fish. Without the land, I am nothing. A homeless spirit is no better than a ghost.”
“You’ll go where all water eventually goes,” Eli said gently. “To the ocean.”
“The ocean?” The light at the spirit’s heart fluttered madly. “Not there. I’ll die before I go there. You’ll have to kill me first.”
“Why are you so afraid?” Eli said. “All of your water has been through the ocean thousands of times.”
“But he hasn’t.”
Eli sighed and turned to watch Miranda hobble toward them, clutching her sides. Her face was pale and exhausted, and fresh yellow bruises stood out stark on her pale, waterlogged skin. Her eyes, however, were determined as she dropped to the ground beside the thief, breathing heavily.
“Water spirits flow in and out of each other,” she gasped. “Rain falls and makes creeks that flow to rivers and, eventually, as you say, to the sea, but,” she said and looked up at the slowly turning water, “a sea is more than the water that passes through it. Even the smallest creeks have their own souls separate from the water that fills them. You can’t just blithely send that soul to fend for itself in the ocean.”
“She speaks the truth,” Mellinor rumbled. “The ocean is a hungry mass too large to have a cohesive soul of its own. As soon as I joined the waves, that mob of water spirits would tear me apart. They would split me into smaller and smaller pieces with each tide, and with every split I’d grow weaker and stupider, until I could no longer remember my own name.”
Eli shook his head. “You’d still be alive.”
“To what end?” Mellinor’s light flashed wildly as the water heaved. “I’d be worse than a ghost. At least if I dry up here, I can die as myself, with my soul intact and entirely my own.”
“Is that really what you would prefer?” Eli said.
The sphere bobbed in the approximation of a resolute nod. “If you won’t let me have my land, yes.”
Eli thought a moment, then nodded gravely. “Very well, we’ll do as you ask.”
Miranda looked up at Eli, horrified. “You can’t just kill him.”
“That’s how he wants it!” Eli shouted, spinning to face her. “Were you listening at all? Why do you care, anyway? As I recall, he was trying pretty hard to kill
you
when I interfered.”
“He’s in this position because of us!” Miranda yelled
back. “If it wasn’t for Gregorn, none of this would have happened. We have a duty to make things right!”
“Make things right?” Eli flung out his arms to take in the whole of the ruined throne room. “Miranda, look around! Do you really think the masters of Mellinor are going to be happy if we tell them that everyone in the country has to move? Do you think they’ll even listen? Even if they did, how long would it take to get everyone safely out? A week? A month? What’s Mellinor here going to do while he waits, hang in the air? He’ll evaporate before the masters finish their committee meeting. You know as well as I do that a displaced spirit has two choices: find a home or die. I don’t want the second option any more than you do, but there’s no place for him here, and he won’t take my compromise and go to the sea, so guess where that leaves us.” Eli crossed his arms and glared down at Miranda. “He’s made his choice, so, for once, can you put aside your Spiritualist dogma and just let the spirit be?”
Miranda pushed herself up, her fists shaking with fury. “I won’t let you kill him.”
Eli met her glare head on, and they stood that way for several moments, like children having a staring contest. Finally, when it was clear she wasn’t going to back down, Eli flung up his hands.
“All right,” he said. “If you’re so concerned,
you
deal with him.”
Miranda blinked; she hadn’t expected him to turn this back on her. “I don’t know what to do.”
Eli made a series of frantic “you see?” gestures, which Miranda ignored. Instead, she looked down at her hands. They seemed so bare and fragile with only the one small
ring on her pinky. She blinked hard, then blinked again, and her head shot up. “I could take him as a servant.”
Eli stopped flailing and stared at her blankly.
“He could live with me,” she said, pointing at the small ring. “Then he would have a home but no one would need to be displaced.”
Eli’s eyes flicked skeptically from her to her pinky finger and back again. “It’s an interesting idea, but you can’t keep him in that, you know.”
She looked down at the ring in surprise. “What? Oh, no, not this one. I mean, it’s empty, but there’s no way even a fraction of his spirit would fit. Besides, I’m saving it. Look,” she said and took a deep breath, “forget the ring. I’m not even talking about the ring.” She pointed at her chest. “I could do what you did, with the lava spirit.”
“Karon was an entirely different set of circumstances,” Eli said, glancing up at the hovering water. “He was also much smaller.”
“I’m not saying it would be the best living situation,” Miranda huffed, “but I’m pretty sure it beats the rest of our alternatives.”
Eli stoked his chin, considering. “I can’t lie to you,” he said, “it’s an incredibly stupid, reckless idea that you’ll probably regret. Still, I can’t think of a technical reason it wouldn’t work. Of course, in the end, it’s not really up to us.”
They turned to look at the spirit, who bubbled as he considered the idea. “Servitude to a wizard,” he sloshed thoughtfully. “You’ll forgive me if I’m skeptical about putting myself in a human’s hands again.”
“Well,” Eli said, slapping Miranda hard on the back,
“I can’t vouch for her character, but I’d bet money she beats dying here.”
“True enough, wizard,” the spirit rumbled. “I don’t see as I have much choice in the matter.”
“It must be by choice,” Miranda said, ignoring her aching sides and straightening up to her full height. “I can only take servants who follow me willingly. However, it would be nothing like Gregorn’s bond, I can promise you. As my servant, you would be subject to my command, but, in return for your service, I can offer you the Spiritualist’s vow that I will never force you to act against your will or keep you if you wish to leave. I will never cast you aside for any reason, and, so long as I have breath, I will do my best to keep you from harm. I offer you power for service, strength for obedience, and my own body to act as your shore, but that is all I can give.” Clenching her hands at her sides, she looked up at the churning water. “Is it enough, Mellinor?”
The water spun slowly on its axis, his light shifting softly as he thought. “It is enough, Spiritualist,” the water said at last. “Your pledge is accepted.”
The great sphere of water splashed to the ground. Mellinor rolled forward, forming a wave as he had before, but this time the water that engulfed Miranda was warm and gentle. It flowed up her body and snaked around her shoulders, pausing just a moment in front of her eyes, as though the spirit was weighing what he saw there one last time. Whatever the test, she must have passed, for the water rippled approvingly and, in one smooth motion, slid into her mouth.
Miranda tensed, eyes wide, as the spirit poured down her throat. From the moment she decided to offer her
body as a vessel, she’d tried to ready herself for the feeling, but this was so wildly different from anything she’d ever experienced, all her mental preparations seemed laughable now that she was up against the reality. It wasn’t like her other spirits. Those had felt like gaining a new limb or a close confidant. This was like gaining a new soul.
Mellinor’s power surged through her body as the sea poured into her, filling every hidden nook, every fold of her spirit, even the ones she hadn’t been aware of until that moment. It filled the well of her soul to overflowing, and still the water came. As the spirit’s strength went on and on, she realized at last how small and pathetic her earlier attempts to fight him had been and how much he had been holding back as he tried to batter her into submission. A wave of regret surged through the water, and she instinctively forgave him everything. All that they had done wrong was pooled together now, one great ocean of fears and regrets that threatened to swallow her. Yet Mellinor’s reassurances buoyed her up, and she realized that he was just as much a part of this as she was. They were horse and rider now, servant and master, spirit and human. Unequal, yet the same.
When she opened her eyes at last, she found herself on her back with no memory of how she’d gotten there. Her body ached at every joint, and yet, it all seemed so far away. Time moved in fits and starts. It should have been dawn by now, she was sure, but the throne room was darker than before. She felt a pressure under her shoulders, and she lolled her head back to see Eli crouched over her, his face closed and thoughtful. He had his arms hooked under hers and was dragging her across the floor.
Miranda started to wonder where he was taking her, but then her drifting attention was caught by the wonderful sound that filled the air.
“What is that noise?” she whispered, or thought she whispered. It was hard to be sure. She wasn’t quite clear yet where she ended and Mellinor began, but Eli seemed to understand.
“Rain,” he said, laying her down beside Gin. “Not even your belly could hold all that water, so I sent what was left to putter itself out.”
She nodded languidly. It all seemed very sensible. “Where are you going now?”
“If I told you, it would be no fun at all.” Eli smiled. He reached into his jacket and pulled out something white and square, which he tucked into Miranda’s skirt pocket. “Sleep well, little Spiritualist,” he said, standing up with a wink. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
Miranda nodded peaceably and closed her eyes. Within seconds, everything but the lovely sound of the rain had fallen far away, and she slipped easily into a deep, dreamless sleep.
M
iranda woke slowly, her mind rising like a bubble from her deep sleep. Below her, Mellinor was still sleeping, his currents deep and calm at the bottom of her awareness. She let him be and drifted upward, the dandelion fluff of her thoughts coming and going on their own time. Everything felt wonderful, like she was floating in a warm, lavender-scented cloud while someone played music in the distance. She winced, off-key music. Unbearably off key. Her thoughts began to thicken into consciousness, falling into place while worries filled the cracks between them. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite as comfortable. She hovered for a moment on the edge of sleep, fretting, and finally decided that if she was awake enough to fret about waking she might as well go all the way. At least then she could stop the awful music.
She opened her eyes to find herself buried at the center of a large feather bed. An elderly maid dozed in a chair by the bed’s foot, her soft snores stirring the dust motes that
hung suspended in the honeyed sunlight pouring down from the high windows. The awful music came from behind a large folding screen, which split the already small room in half. Miranda shifted experimentally, and she jumped as something heavy rolled across her chest. With some effort, she freed one of her hands from the tightly tucked sheets and groped clumsily across the comforter. After a few uncertain moments, her fingers closed around a soft leather pouch filled with the heavy, familiar shapes of her rings. An incredible feeling of relief rushed through her, and she sighed contentedly. At the sound, the sleeping maid leaped from her chair.
“Lady,” she clucked, shuffling across the thick carpet to pull the sheets tighter. “Please do not move.”