The Spirit Eater (17 page)

Now that it was clear they weren’t going to the Dead Mountain, the Heart let Josef pick it up again. He sat with the black blade in his lap, idly running his fingers across its pitted surface. This close, Nico could smell the bite of cold iron and the fearsome, bloody scent of the sword itself. Even so, it was a comforting, familiar smell, and for the first time since they’d seen the bears, she began to think things might turn out alright.

That was when the sunlight began to fade.

“Powers,” Josef grumbled, looking up at the fast-moving clouds. “A storm. As if we didn’t have enough to deal with.”

He lowered his head and crouched tighter over his sword, but Nico could only stare wide-eyed as the swift, gray clouds were pushed aside by black, angry thunderheads moving against the wind. “Josef,” she whispered. “I don’t think that’s a normal storm.”

He looked at her, and then looked up again. By this point, the storm clouds blotted out every inch of sky. They tumbled overhead, enormous and midnight black, lit up from the inside by flashes of blue lightning. Thunder crashed, drowning out even the howling of the wind outside the pass.

Josef muttered a curse and stood up, the Heart of War in his hand. It was as dark as night in the ravine now, their pathetic little fire the only sputter of light.

All at once the world flashed bright blue as lightning struck, and in the lightning, a tall man appeared before them. His long black hair fell over the shoulders of a long black coat edged with silver. A long sword with a blue-wrapped hilt sat on his hip, and his long, ageless face was transformed by a triumphant smile.

The lightning faded, but the image of the man was burned into Nico’s eyes. In the second before the thunder crashed, a harsh, laughing voice spoke over the howling wind.

“Alone at last.”

Nico went cold as the stone behind her. She knew that voice. It came roaring from the memories she’d locked away, from the place in her mind she could never go. Instinctively, she dropped into a fighting stance, feeling stupid even as she lifted her tiny fists. But she didn’t back down. So long as Josef stood beside her, she could not ever run away.

As her eyes adjusted to the returned darkness, she saw that the man in the black coat was looking at her. His blue-silver eyes flashed like the lightning in the sky, and his victorious smile grew even colder as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t move.”

The command fell on her like an avalanche, slamming Nico to the icy rock. Her breath flew out of her lungs as she crashed into the stone, and she felt a sharp pain as her arm, caught beneath her by the sudden fall, snapped like a twig. Gasping, she tried to roll over, to save her injured arm from her weight, but she could not move. She couldn’t even twitch. It was just like what Sted had done in Gaol, only a thousand times stronger, a million times. That time at least she had been able to shift a little; now it took every ounce of her will just to take another breath.

Not for much longer. The voice filled her mind, louder than even the blood pounding in her ears. You know who this is, Nico. You know how he works. He’s letting you breathe, playing with you, savoring his victory. Soon, when he decides or when the pain becomes too much, you’ll suffocate under the weight of the spirit’s hatred for our kind. But there’s no need to suffer. No need to be weak. After all, you’ve broken his hold before.

Nico took a desperate breath and closed her eyes, but something inside her head reached out and pried them open again, forcing her to look as Josef stepped forward, his mouth moving in words she could not hear over the pain.

Tears running from eyes she could no longer close, Nico watched Josef reach back and draw the Heart of War. A moment later, the horrid man in the black coat drew his own blade. Her breaths were coming in shallow little gasps now as the swordsmen faced each other, and though she would have gladly broken her own neck to do it, she could not look away.

Watch closely. This time the voice was a bare whisper over her mind. Everything that’s about to happen is your fault. The voice grew fainter with every word. When you’re ready to do what’s necessary, when you’re ready to fight again, I’ll be here.

With that, the voice trailed off, leaving Nico to gasp in the sudden, enormous silence of her own head.

Less than five feet from her crumpled body, the two swordsmen lunged.

Out of the corner of his eye Josef saw Nico crumple, but he put it out of his mind before she hit the ground. Nico could take care of herself. She was a survivor, and she’d keep surviving, so long as he protected her chance to fight. To do that, he needed all his attention on his opponent. Across the stone ravine, the man in the coat smiled and drew his sword with a blue-silver flash. The blade shone in the heartbeat of light, long and gently curved, cutting the air with a thin whistle. The man in the coat took a step toward Nico and Josef matched him, sidestepping to block his path, the cold, dull blade of the Heart of War ready in his hands.

The man stopped and stared, his pale face almost amused. “Do not try me, human,” he said. “Step aside. This is none of your concern.”

“Nico and I are comrades,” Josef said simply. “Her concerns are my concerns.”

“Is that so?” The man arched a thin eyebrow. “Are you so eager to die, then, comrade of a demon?”

“Death comes when it comes,” Josef said. “I won’t step aside for it.”

The tall man’s eyes narrowed. “Have it your way, Josef Liechten, Master of the Heart of War.”

“That’s unfair,” Josef said. “You know our names, but we don’t know yours.”

The tall man swung his sword up, resting the flat against his shoulder. “I am called the Lord of Storms. So I was named when I was pulled from the sky and given my purpose, the eradication of the creature who stands behind you and all others of her kind. I cannot be killed and I do not give up.

Now do you understand the position you are in?”

“More than before,” Josef said, tightening his grip on the Heart. From the moment he saw the clouds overhead, the Heart had been almost vibrating in anticipation. He could feel its excitement even now, and it made his own pulse quicken. The only thing that roused the sword was the possibility of a good fight. Josef smiled, remembering that night in Gaol. From the way the Lord of Storms was talking, a fight seemed inevitable, and this time, Josef was determined to honor his sword. This time, he wouldn’t hold back.

“I’ve found that men of purpose are the best fighters,” Josef said, looking the taller man straight in the eye. “Tell me, Lord of Storms”—Josef’s face broke into a wide smile—“are you a good swordsman?”

“What does it matter?” The Lord of Storms gave him a bored look. “I told you, I can’t be killed. No matter what you do, the end will be the same. I will kill the demon. You can either die with it, or step aside.”

Josef didn’t move. “It may be you can’t be killed,” he said. “But never did you say you couldn’t be defeated.” He reached up and undid the buckle on the belt of knives across his chest. The heavy belt of blades fell to the ground with a thud, followed by the swords at his waist. Piece by piece, Josef shed his weapons. When he dropped the last knife from his boot, he stepped toward the Lord of Storms, completely unencumbered. “I’ll ask you again. Are you a good swordsman?”

“I am the first swordsman,” the Lord of Storms answered. “And the best.”

“Then I will not move,” Josef said, pointing the Heart’s dull, dark blade at the Lord of Storms’ chest. “I am Josef Liechten, and I will become the greatest swordsman in the world. So come and fight me, Lord of Storms. Give me a challenge worth dying for.”

The Lord of Storms looked at him for a long time. “I won’t spare you once I begin,” he said. “If you step down this path, there’s no turning back.”

Josef braced his feet on the icy rock, the Heart sure and heavy in his hands. “I’ve never needed a path I could turn back from.”

The Lord of Storms laughed. “You are bold to the point of stupidity,” he said, swinging his sword so that it matched tip to tip with the Heart. “I find that refreshing. Very well, Josef Liechten, your life has bought you a lesson in the difference in power between you and me. It will be quick, so learn it well.”

Josef’s answer was to lunge, swinging the Heart of War with both hands. The black blade whistled through the air, carrying the weight of a mountain as it swung under the Lord of Storms’ sword and up toward his unprotected chest. What happened next happened too fast for Josef to see. One second the Lord of Storms’ guard was broken, the next, the long, blue-white sword was in front of him, poised to meet the Heart’s charge. The two swords met in a blinding clash, and the Heart stopped cold.

Josef grunted as the breath slammed out of his lungs. Hitting the Lord of Storms’ parry was like running into a stone wall at full speed. He bore down with a roar, pushing with all his strength. The Lord of Storms stood before him, a bored look on his sharp face, holding the blue-silver sword against the Heart of War’s straining blade with one, bored hand. The will of the Heart pounded through Josef’s muscles, clearing his vision and sharpening his senses to a level he’d reached only once before, and it was only thanks to that painful clarity that he perceived what was about to happen.

He caught the gleam in the taller man’s eyes just in time before the blue-white blade swung, cutting through the air where Josef’s head had been a split second earlier. Josef danced back, panting, bringing the Heart up again. But the Lord of Storms lowered his blade, looking at Josef as though he were seeing him for the first time.

“If you’re good enough to dodge my attack, then you’re too good to die like a dog here,” the Lord of Storms said calmly. “The Heart chooses its wielders with great care. It must see great potential in you. Don’t waste its time on a battle you can never win.”

The Heart of War quivered in Josef’s hands, rejecting the idea, and the Lord of Storms looked surprised.

“You always did love lost causes,” he said, shaking his head. “But facing me with a deaf boy for a wielder is foolish even for you. The Lady will not be happy when she hears how you’re using the freedom she gave you.”

The Heart burned against Josef’s hands, and a surge of strength flowed up his arms, urging him forward. Josef didn’t need to be told twice. He charged, but this time he was watching for the Lord of Storms’ lightning-fast block. Sure enough, it moved into position with a silver flash, but with the Heart’s rage singing through him, Josef moved even faster. He dropped and rolled under the Lord of Storms’ sword, coming up inside the taller man’s guard with a triumphant cry as the Heart of War’s black blade bit into the Lord of Storms’ unprotected ribs.

The Heart slid into the Lord of Storms’ side, cutting flesh for a split second before a flash of lightning blinded Josef, and the Lord of Storms vanished. Josef reeled as the resistance disappeared, flying through the air on the force of his blow, which was now lodged in thin air. He was still trying to make sense of what had happened when something hard and impossibly sharp struck his back directly between his shoulder blades.

Josef slammed into the ground, gasping and choking on the blood that was suddenly everywhere. The Heart of War clattered from his hand, but Josef couldn’t see where it had landed. Flashing spots danced across his eyes, but as he struggled to push himself up, something cold and dull slammed into his ribs, flipping him over onto his back.

The Lord of Storms towered over him, taller and darker than before, his long black hair dancing in a wind that blew only for him. His lightning-colored sword was dark with blood, but what caught Josef’s eye was the man’s left side, where the Heart of War had stuck. There, where the wound should have been, black clouds were bill owing. There was no blood, no bone, just black thunderheads swirling in and out of the gap in the Lord of Storms’ black coat. Josef blinked in disbelief as lightning arced across the wound, and the hole in the man’s side began to shrink. The clouds pulled together until there was only the smooth fabric of the Lord of Storms’ coat, leaving no sign that he had been breached at all.

Josef’s horror must have been plain, for the Lord of Storms’ face broke into a wide grin.

“Ah,” he said and chuckled. “The arrogant boy begins to understand his situation.” He held out his sword, pressing the flat against Josef’s cheek.

“And I was so impressed. To think, someone as spirit deaf as you was able to feel the Heart’s will. I haven’t seen such a thing in centuries, yet here you are, on your back like all the others, not even realizing you’re dead.”

Josef tried to answer, but his retort turned into a hacking cough. He spat out the hot blood in his mouth and tried to focus, but his back was burning against the freezing stone, and he could feel the slick, hot blood melting the ice below him. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. Above him, the Lord of Storms was blurring, becoming just another shape in the red dark, and Josef realized with a start that he was dying. Truly dying, from a single blow.

The Lord of Storms watched sadly as Josef struggled to breathe, and then he turned in a swift motion.

“I am not without honor,” he said, walking to the far end of the narrow pass. “You fought well for what you are, so I shall give you a warrior’s death.”

He turned again when he reached his destination, sword held delicately in his long hands. “Stand up,” he called, fixing his eyes on Josef’s. “Stand and die as the swordsman of the Heart of War should.”

The pass fell silent. Even the endless winds outside ceased their blowing, leaving the narrow space between the cliffs dark and still, save for Josef’s ragged breathing. With a low groan, Josef’s hand reached out from his chest and began to feel for his sword. He found it at once, the rough-wrapped hilt jumping into his grip. He expected the Heart to say something. He was certainly gone enough to hear it, but the black blade stayed silent.

A great, clear sound rang out between the mountains as Josef plunged the Heart of War into the stone. He took a long, shuddering breath and, using the Heart as a crutch, pulled himself up. The moment he was no longer horizontal, blood began to rush down his back. The pain between his shoulders grew so intense he had to stop a moment, halfway between sitting and standing, just to bear it. But a second later he was moving again, uncurling inch by inch until he was standing straight, facing the Lord of Storms with his sword clasped in both hands. He would not die. He would not fail Nico. He would not fail Eli. He would not fail his sword. He hadn’t thrown everything away to die like this. He would stand and meet the monster, the man whose body was made of storms, and he would not go down.