getting thrown again.
He shifted his weight with the stone, cursing his own stupidity. Of course the Shaper Mountain would join the fight. It was the Heart of War’s brother. But as he looked to see what Slorn and Weaver’s attack would be, he saw something that confused him utterly.
Slorn, his father, and the Weaver were all on the ground the same as he was, and all three of them were staring up at the white ceiling as though the mountain had gone mad. It would have been comical if their faces hadn’t been so terrified. Eli had no clue what was going on, but whatever it was, they hadn’t expected it, either. He frowned. Surprises were rarely good in this sort of situation, but before he could figure out how to turn this to his favor, a scream shot through him with the force of a battering ram.
Josef couldn’t catch him this time. Eli tumbled forward, his whole body tightening as the sound punched through him. He was dimly aware of Josef going down beside him, the Heart falling with an iron cry. The Shaper Mountain was wailing as well, a deep vibration that shook through the undulating stone, but all Eli could hear was the unknown man’s scream.
The voice was deeper than any Eli had heard before and filled with shock. Shock, pain, and a betrayal so deep it brought tears to Eli’s eyes. But that was only the beginning. The scream cut off seconds after it had begun, and as it vanished, the hole it left was filled with a loss deeper than Eli had realized he could feel, and he knew, knew in his bones that something vital had died.
No, his breathing hitched, not died. It had been killed. A pillar of the world he never knew existed had been knocked down, and they were all about to go tumbling after it.
Eli was powerless against such a death. He clung to the bucking ground, letting the loss and the anger flow through him. He could have stayed that way forever, but a flash of white caught his eye. He looked up instinctively to see the Weaver standing between the crippled forms of Slorn and the Guildmaster. The Power stood straight and tall despite the mountain’s shaking, but his white face was contorted with despair even more powerful than the wave Eli was trapped in. Despair, and a fierce, white-hot rage.
The old man thrust out his hand, and the air tore itself apart. A great rent opened in the world as the veil split before its master. The gateway hung as white as snow at noon in the air, but the Weaver did not step through.
He started to, but stopped right at the portal’s edge. For a moment he just stood there, his white hands pressed against the hole in the world, and then the air itself began to vibrate as the Weaver crashed his fists against the white wall of the portal, his fury a crushing weight on top of the loss that had already sent the world to its knees.
Brother! he cried. What has she done to you?
Slowly, crawling on his hands and knees, Eli pulled himself across the still-moving floor to the Weaver. When he reached the Power’s bare feet, he flopped over and stared up in amazement. The enormous hole in the veil hung above him, dazzling and solid white. The Weaver’s hands were flush against it, beating against the brilliant light like a wall. Eli blinked in confusion. That was not supposed to happen. Then again, he was fairly sure none of this was supposed to happen.
“Why does the veil not open?”
It was Slorn’s deep voice that spoke. Eli turned to see the bear-headed Shaper pushing himself up as well. “What has happened, Weaver?”
My brother is dead, the Weaver said, his voice breaking as he pressed his white forehead against the glowing wall. The Hunter has been killed, and it seems Benehime has taken his seed for herself.
The Weaver closed his eyes in pain. I am now the odd man out, he said gravely. My sister controls the power of the Shepherdess as well as what remains of the Hunter, and she has locked the Between against me.
He lifted his head from the solid wall of light and looked over his shoulder. If it were just her, I could still break through. The veil is my domain, the product of my own hands. But she has the remnants of our brother’s power now as well as her own, leaving me outnumbered, though I suppose it matters little now.
Eli gawked at the old Power. “Matters little?” he cried. “She just killed your brother!”
That she did, the Weaver said, sinking down to the stone floor. The Hunter is dead and we are unguarded. Don’t you see, human? All is lost. Even if she had not locked the Between against me, I can’t weave the shell faster than our enemies rip it down. Without the Hunter’s protection, the wall will fall. His voice crumbled into a sob as he lowered his head into his hands. Oh, Benehime…
No one said a word. The Power’s weeping echoed through the now-still mountain, the only sound in the world. It was Slorn who finally broke the silence, his gruff voice hard and echoing. “How soon?”
An hour, the Weaver whispered. Maybe less.
“Wait,” Eli said. The agony of the Hunter’s loss was fading now, and he pushed himself to his feet. “What happens in an hour?”
When no one answered, Eli clenched his fists and raised his voice. “What is on the other side of the shell?”
The question echoed through the cavern. Eli let it hang, glaring at the Weaver until the old man sighed.
Our shadows, he said. Before the beginning of time, the Creator formed creation. To every piece he gave a spirit so that the world might know itself as he knew it. But the moment he brought forth the world, a shadow was cast, and a second world was created. If creation is concave, they are convex; they are the opposite world. Where the Creator brought forth life from nothing, they return it to nothing. They are the devourers, the eaters of worlds. His white eyes narrowed. My sister named them demons.
Eli blew out a breath. “You mean there are more of the thing under the Dead Mountain out there? More like Nico?”
The Weaver looked away, but just as Eli stepped forward to demand an answer, the ground shook under his feet. “Innumerably more,” the Shaper Mountain said.
Durain, the Weaver said, his voice harsh.
“What point is there in secrecy now?” the mountain rumbled. “Weaker spirits may take comfort in their ability to forget and sleep, but I never will. Anyway, he’ll see it for himself in a few minutes.”
The Weaver sighed, but the mountain turned its attention to Eli. “Listen, thief, if you would know the truth. My brother and I were created at the birthing of the world, wrought by the Creator’s own hands, two small bumps in the spine of a world so large you could not begin to comprehend it. Back then, there were no humans, all spirits were awake, the large cared for the small, and we held our own against the devourers, the demons. The Creator walked the land, creating the world even as it was eaten. There were seasons, then. Time moved forward and stars shone in the sky. We were part of the world, all of us, the spirits and those who preyed on us. For thousands of years we lived in balance, if not harmony, but then something changed.”
The mountain wavered and fell silent. It was his brother who continued the story, the Heart of War’s deep, iron voice filling the cavern.
“The demons began to overrun us,” the sword said. “Small losses at first, but it grew quickly out of control. Creation was being devoured faster than it could be made. If something hadn’t been done, the world would have been eaten entirely.”
“Out of love of his creation, the Creator devised a last, desperate gambit,” the Shaper Mountain said, picking up the story again. “He created a shell around what was left of the world he’d made, a wall that could keep the demons out. But nothing created can stand against uncreation forever, so he took three pieces of his own body and fashioned them into the three Powers. Each was given a portion of the Creator’s own power and a job. The Hunter guards the shell from the outside, cutting the demons from the walls. The Weaver weaves the shell, repairing the damage caused by those blows that slip by his brother. It takes both the Hunter’s protection and the Weaver’s repairs to keep the shell that shields the world from cracking, but it was the third child who held the Creator’s most treasured power.”
Our sister was fashioned from our father’s heart, the Weaver said, his voice trembling. The Creator loved his creation above all else. He created the Shepherdess to watch over the spirits when he could not. She was made to love the world and guide it in his stead.
“Three Powers and a shell,” the Shaper Mountain rumbled. “This is what the Creator gave us, and then he closed the circle, locking himself outside. As he left, he promised he would return and let us out when it was safe.”
