“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” she whispered, her face almost green. “But will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
Be at ease, child, the Weaver said, his eyes dropping to the golden mantle on her shoulders. You are the leader of those humans who have sworn themselves to the spirits?
She nodded.
Then you must be here because the world is in panic.
Miranda laughed at that, a dry, humorless sound. “The world’s been in panic for the last two days, sir,” she said, her voice shaking. “We’d just gotten that under reasonable control when… whatever it was that just happened happened.” She lowered her voice again. “Who was the Hunter?”
Our greatest protector, the Weaver answered gravely. My brother, killed by the Shepherdess, our sister.
Miranda went white then, her color fading away until she was as pale as the stone she sat on. Behind her, Gin made a low keening sound.
“The Tower told me our hope had died,” she whispered. “Our wall, he said.”
The Weaver nodded. He was all those things.
Miranda swallowed. “A wall against what?” When the Weaver didn’t answer at once, Miranda lurched forward, her hands slamming into the stone. “Something’s coming, isn’t it?” She demanded, “Something terrible. Tell me what it is.”
The Weaver started to answer, but Eli stepped in front of him, cutting him off. “You remember the thing at Izo’s?”
Miranda nodded.
“Think that,” Eli said. “But larger, and more.”
The Spiritualist began to tremble again. “How many more? More than the League can handle?”
Let me put it this way, the Weaver said, pushing Eli aside. Eli winced when the old man’s hand touched his arm. The painless burn was the same as Benehime’s.
The Lord of Storms and the League were created to answer the challenges of one demon, the Weaver said. Just one. And a buried, bound one at that. In less than an hour, the wall that guards this world will begin to crack, and they will pour in. Even if every spirit in the sphere were a member of the League, it wouldn’t be enough to handle what’s coming.
Miranda stared up at him, utterly still, and then her head dropped. “The Tower was right,” she whispered. “It is the end, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.”
Everyone turned to look at Eli. He put his hands on his hips and glared back. “We’re not dead yet,” he said. “We still have an hour, and I don’t mean to waste any more of it on doomsaying and hand wringing.”
There is a line between hope and self-delusion, the Weaver said, his white brows drawing together in disapproval. If we are to stop the shell from cracking, I must weave and the Hunter must hunt. The Shepherdess has made both of those impossible. How can you still play like we have a chance?
Eli clenched his teeth and fixed the Power with a glare. “First rule of thievery,” he said. “Until the noose snaps your neck, there is always a chance of escape. You just have to find it, and I mean to find ours. I didn’t work this hard just to sit around twiddling my thumbs while I wait for death.”
“The thief is right.”
Eli snapped his head down to look at Miranda. She looked just as surprised as he at the words that had left her mouth, but surprise quickly faded into a much more familiar Miranda expression: determination. Grabbing Gin’s fur, she pulled herself to her feet. “What’s your plan?”
Eli couldn’t stop the grin that was sneaking across his face. “You mean you’re going to put yourself at my mercy? You always said my plans were terrible.”
She arched an eyebrow. “They are. But, as I’ve mentioned before, your terrible plans have an infuriating habit of working, and I think I’d like that luck on my side for once. Besides, I can’t actually see how you could make things worse, for once.”
“How very astute of you,” Eli said, glancing around at the others. “Anyone else feel like taking an active role in their own survival?”
Slorn sighed and raised his hand. Beside him, the Shaper Guildmaster set his jaw stubbornly, but he nodded. Josef was in from the beginning, which left only one. Eli turned to face the Weaver. “Well, old man?”
The Weaver took a tired breath. What did you have in mind?
Eli grinned. Having Miranda burst in might actually make his plan easier. First, though, he had to make sure step one actually worked. He glanced at his swordsman. “Josef?”
Josef stepped forward. “What?”
“You cut the Lord of Storms,” Eli said, pointing at the enormous glowing wall of the blocked veil behind the Weaver. “Think you can cut that?”
Josef lifted the Heart. “I can try.”
The swordsman walked up to the glowing wall and stood there for a second with his head cocked, like he was listening to a voice only he could hear. At his side, the Heart of War began to vibrate like a tuning fork. A low humming sound filled the Shaper Mountain’s white chamber as Josef raised the blade, pulling it up over his shoulder. And then, stepping into the swing, he brought it down with all his strength.
The black blade struck the white wall with a great gong, and blinding light exploded over everything. The vibrations rocked the Shaper Mountain, and Eli had to brace to keep from falling over again. Even within the Shaper Mountain’s own brightness, the white light flooding from the veil blinded him. Eli blinked furiously, rubbing his eyes hard as he tried to get them working again.
The first thing he saw was the Shepherdess’s seal. The mark glowed with phosphorescent fire, shining so bright the other whiteness looked dingy. For several seconds, the mark seemed to float in the air. Then Eli’s eyes recovered enough to see the mark was not, in fact, floating but set in a solid white blade the exact size and shape of the Heart of War.
Eli squinted in amazement. The Heart of War was glowing as white as the Lady herself, shining like the sun in Josef’s hands. This was the Heart’s awakened light at last, Eli realized, the light he’d never seen. But as bright as the Heart was, the mark on its blade shown brighter.
The Shepherdess’s seal burned whiter than anything Eli had ever seen, but as he stared at it, Eli realized that, though the sword was straining in Josef’s hands, the seal itself never moved. It stayed locked in place, holding the blade a hair’s width away from the white wall of the veil. On the other side of the sword, Josef was pushing with all his might, but the sword would not budge.
And then, without warning, the Heart’s light snuffed out.
The sword fell like a stone, blacker than ever as its light vanished. Josef fell with it, landing in a sprawl on the white floor. Eli was at his side before he could think to cry out. The swordsman was gasping for breath, his face pale from effort. He flipped over with Eli’s help and hugged the Heart’s blade to his body, clutching the metal like a wounded limb.
“We could have cut it,” he wheezed. “But she stopped us. Never landed the strike. The Heart—” His voice broke off as he launched into a coughing fit. “The Heart says it can’t. It’s her creation. It can’t attack—”
The words vanished into another coughing fit, and Eli saw with a start how stark Josef’s face was, how heavy the Heart rested against him. They’d been at their limit after the fight with the Lord of Storms, he realized. How hard had they swung just now? He put the thought out of his mind and helped settle Josef back onto the ground.
What now?
The Weaver’s voice made Eli clench his eyes shut in frustration. He left Josef’s side and turned to see them all standing there, staring at him.
I told you. Spirits can’t stand against her, the Weaver said. Though the Heart of War had a good chance. After it gave up its body, Benehime re-formed it with her own hands, just as she made humans. That’s why it has will as you do, but in the end even that wasn’t enough, apparently. So, now what?
“Give me a moment,” Eli muttered, sinking to the floor.
Burying his head in his arms, he tried to make himself think. He’d really thought that would work. The barrier was a product of the Shepherdess’s will just as the Lord of Storms was. If Josef could cut one, he should
