Eli’s eyes flicked from Slorn to the Weaver to Josef and back again.
“Eli,” Josef growled. “Step back.”
At the warning, Slorn grabbed Eli’s shoulder. The gentle weight of the large Shaper’s fingers drove the knife of conflicting loyalties deeper. For one long breath, Eli hung motionless, and then, legs shaking, he stepped out into the open space between them and Josef.
The Weaver’s hiss was as sharp as a knife behind him, but Eli ignored it and stepped forward again. Step by step, he crossed the smooth white stone of the Shaper Mountain’s heart until he was standing directly in front of Josef’s blade.
“I’ve bet it all on Nico three times now,” he said quietly, tilting his head back so he could look Josef in the eyes. “I’m willing to bet it all again if you’re in with me.”
He reached out his hand, fingers trembling slightly in the white light. Josef didn’t even hesitate. His hand shot forward, clasping Eli’s painfully hard. “Always have been,” he said, his face breaking into a wide grin.
Eli grinned back and moved to stand at Josef’s side. On the other side of the room, Slorn buried his bear head in his hands. The Weaver sighed, and the Guildmaster, who had spoken not a word all through this, broke into a righteous sneer. Eli ignored them all, tilting his head toward Josef.
“Stand your ground, thief,” the swordsman said. “It’s going to be a rough few minutes.”
Eli nodded, but as he moved to brace himself, the floor of the Shaper Mountain bucked beneath him, tossing him and Josef off their feet.
Benehime stood motionless at the end of her white world, waiting. In front of her, the clawed hands were scraping, their sharp nails raising long trails on the barrier that marked the edge of her domain. As she watched, the clawing grew faster and more frantic until the curved inside of the shell looked like it was boiling. Just when it seemed like the barrier would burst, a black line fell through the turmoil and the shell split.
All at once, a sucking wind roared up around her, nearly taking her off her feet. The air of her white Between was pouring out through the hole in her wall, vanishing into cold, black, deep, lifeless beyond. As it left, the clawed hands beyond shot out, scrabbling for a touch of the wind’s soul, and as they reached, a horrible sound rose in the dark.
It was a scream. An enormous, keening wail layered over and over as though a million throats were splitting themselves raw to make it. There was rage in it, fury and anger and a hunger so deep it made her ache. The terror hit her next, and it took every ounce of Benehime’s will to stay standing before the sundered wall. But stand she did, holding her ground as a white figure strode out of the dark.
His body was like hers, but larger, pale, and looming as he stepped through the hole in the shell. His white hands carried a white sword, its blade gently curved, like the Lord of Storms’.
That was no accident. She’d shaped the Lord of Storms in the imitation of the man walking toward her. Behind him, she could see the shadow hands grasping, thin as bone, their claws so black they ate the light. The mere sight of them filled her with dread, and she said a prayer to her father as the black hole closed, hiding them from view.
The sucking wind vanished, and Benehime gave herself a moment to drink in the relief before pushing it aside and returning to her purpose. She turned to the man, and her face filled with love as she held out her arms. Welcome home, brother.
The Hunter stepped into her embrace. Sister, he whispered.
She winced at his voice. It was always so deep, so weary.
I cannot stay, he said, hugging her gently. The Weaver requests my presence on some pressing matter.
The Shepherdess ignored the claim and pressed her brother down onto the white seat she had summoned. Let him wait a moment, she said. You must rest.
The Hunter did not fight her. He all but collapsed into the chair, his sword falling to the floor beside him. Coming from the dark he’d seemed white as alabaster, but here, against the true white of her world, her brother looked dirty. His whiteness, once a twin of her own, was marred with black scars. They blasted his skin and the fine armor of his hair that wrapped across his torso, shoulders, and down his legs. He was the youngest of them all, but sitting there with his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped, he looked older than the Weaver.
Brother, she whispered.
It never gets better, the Hunter said softly. They never die, Benehime. No matter how many I strike down, they never die. They’ve eaten nothing since Father created the shell. They have nothing out there, no food, no light. They were supposed to have starved off long ago, but the hunger only seems to make them stronger.
His scarred hands went to his face, hiding his ruined features. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out. After five thousand years, I think we can all admit that the Creator is never coming back. We are alone and growing weaker while our enemies endure and strengthen. I see no future, sister. Nothing but slow and crippling death.
Benehime stroked the hard shell of his hair where it wrapped around his shoulders. Shh, brother, you don’t have to fight. Rest now.
I do, he said. I will fight until I am destroyed. So I was made, just as you were made to love the spirits. I could no more stop fighting than you could stop loving, but I’m so tired, sister.
Relax your hair for me, Benehime whispered, stroking his shoulders. Let me ease you.
The hard shell of his hair relaxed at once, the blackened strands going soft as water under her fingers. Gently, she pushed them aside to reveal the still perfect white skin of his back. There, there, she said softly, running her fingers across his hard muscles until they began to unclench. Rest.
The Hunter relaxed under her touch, his head lolling forward. How many of these reprieves have I taken? he said. One hour out of every hundred years. That’s all I dare take, but I wish I could see you both more. Seeing my siblings reminds me why I fight. I forget, sometimes, alone out there in the dark.
You honor us with your strength, Benehime said, lifting one hand from his back. Father was cruel to give you the most difficult job. We have relied on you too long, borne this endless waiting too long. It is only right that we be tired, you most of all.
How you ease me, the Hunter said, his scarred face breaking into a smile. The expression made Benehime’s heart clench. How beautiful he’d been once, as beautiful as herself. But that beauty was gone now, and the unfairness of the loss, the endless, pointless nature of their existence galvanized her resolve. Slowly, quietly, her hand slipped down to the folds of her hair at the small of her back.
I must go, the Hunter said, moving to stand. My hour is short, and I must see what our brother wants.
Not yet, Benehime said, gently pushing him down again. He can wait one more minute.
The Hunter hesitated, then relaxed again under her stroking hand. Benehime smiled, bringing the long, wicked black length of the Daughter of the Dead Mountain’s seed from the shelter of her hair.
Be at peace, brother, she whispered, brushing one hand across his back as she raised the other high over her head, the seed grasped like a dagger in her fist.
The Hunter nodded and dropped his head, that sad smile still playing over his face, reminding her of all they had lost. She stared at it for one last moment, memorizing the curve of his mouth, the strong line of his brow. When she could picture every bit of him in her mind, she brushed a final kiss against the back of his neck before bringing her other hand up to join the first. Gripping the seed in both fists, she threw back her arms and stabbed the sharp point into the Hunter’s exposed back with all her strength.
The Hunter’s scream filled her white world, striking her spheres, large and small, with a blast that made the seas slosh and the bedrock tremble. One moment, that was all it lasted, but in that moment the world changed, and everything, from the greatest mountain to the smallest blade of grass, knew it.
CHAPTER
19
Eli fell as the Shaper Mountain pitched under his feet. He would have landed on his face had Josef not grabbed him at the last second. Eli grumbled his thanks as the swordsman set him back on his feet, but the return was short-lived. The mountain was bucking like a bull beneath them, forcing Eli to his hands and knees to avoid
