“Stop,” she said, turning around. She caught Sparrow’s eye before climbing onto Gin’s back. “Get on. We’ll be walking forever if we wait for you.”
“How kind,” Sparrow said, walking over to the ghosthound.
“Kind nothing,” Miranda said. “Practical. We may owe you our freedom, but that doesn’t mean I want to take a hiking holiday together. I just want to get to Sara and discharge my debt as soon as possible. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that horrible abuse of a tree spirit. I will be making a full report to the Court about that.”
“I’m sure you will,” Sparrow said, pulling himself slowly onto Gin’s back.
Miranda glared, suspicious. “How did you get so injured, anyway?”
“Bit too much excitement for me,” Sparrow answered, finally sliding into place behind her on Gin’s back. “I don’t usually get out this much.”
Gin snorted. “Lies. He’s a born sneak. I saw your crazy ride down the mountain. Mellinor cushioned you, but bird boy was bouncing all over, probably because Mellinor couldn’t see him.”
“See who?” Mellinor said, sloshing in Miranda’s head.
Miranda tightened her grip on Gin’s fur. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. “It makes me dizzy.”
“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the sea grumbled.
“Don’t blame the water,” Gin said. “I can’t see him unless I look with my eyes. He doesn’t even have much of a smell. You can’t trust a man with no smell, but at least he’s not flickering so much anymore.”
“Would you care to explain any of that?” Miranda said, poking Gin in the back.
“I’ve already told you,” Gin said. “Weren’t you listening all those times I said he flickered?”
“You didn’t explain then either!” Miranda cried.
“It’s not something that can be explained to a human,” Gin said, lashing his tail. “Right now, for instance, I can’t see him at all unless I look with my actual eyes. Otherwise, he’s like a nothing, a blank. I would say I’ve never seen anything like it, but I wouldn’t know if I had, so forget it. You’ve thrown our lot in with his already. Just watch yourself.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mellinor said. “Who’s a blank?”
Miranda shook her head with a frustrated sigh. Behind her, she felt Sparrow lean back. “Is everything all right? Your dog is growling more than usual, which I didn’t think was possible.”
For a moment, Miranda considered just asking Sparrow about the flickering, but quickly decided it would be a waste of time. Sparrow wasn’t a wizard. He probably had even less of a clue than she did about whatever it was about him the spirits didn’t like. Even if he did know, this was Sparrow. Getting a trustworthy answer out of his mouth was like a flood in the desert—not impossible, but very unlikely, and cause for alarm if it did actually happen. So Miranda dropped the subject and moved on to questions she might actually be able to get a straight answer for.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “Where to?”
“Zarin, where else?” Sparrow said. “I’ve had all I care to see of mountains.”
“There at least we agree,” Miranda said. “Did you hear that, Gin?”
“No,” Gin growled, more annoyed than ever. “I can’t even hear him unless I concentrate. What is wrong with that man?”
“I don’t know,” Miranda said. “But I’m going to find out. Zarin, fast as you can.”
“Got it,” Gin said, laying his ears back. “Hold on tight.”
Miranda didn’t have time to relay the warning before Gin launched himself down the pass, nearly knocking Sparrow off. By the time Sparrow had regained his seat, they were well away from the Shaper Mountain. Miranda leaned forward over Gin’s neck, getting as far away from Sparrow as she could, which wasn’t very far. She had a lot to think about, but her mind kept drifting back to the mountain looming behind her and the man it still held prisoner somewhere deep beneath its stone. The image of the Shaper Mountain’s memories still stood clear in her mind, and she gripped Gin’s fur even tighter. Lock her up, would it? Well, she would tell everyone. She would tell Banage, she would tell Sara, she would tell anyone who would listen. That was her promise to Slorn, and she made it over and over again as they ran through the icy pass back toward civilization.
At the very, very top of the Shaper Mountain, perched on the crusted snow at the tip of the mountain’s peak, a man stood with his arms crossed. Pure white hair covered his body like a coat except for the white hands stroking the long white beard that covered his front as he watched the three specks of the wizard girl, the ghosthound, and the man who looked like nothing flee down the path through the mountains.
You play a risky game, Durain.
“Nonsense,” the mountain rumbled under his feet. “I am ever a loyal servant to the Shepherdess. And to you, Weaver.”
The white man smiled. I wouldn’t say that too loudly. The Shepherdess doesn’t like to share.
“All the Powers are equal,” the Shaper Mountain said. “Though she seems to have forgotten.”
My sister forgets many things, the Weaver said bitterly. And what she remembers, she ignores. But that is no call for you to risk our plans by openly defying her. Showing your memories to that group of children and then letting all but one free, what were you thinking?
“They saw nothing that was not true,” the mountain said. “I cannot help if I remember the truth. Anyway, I tried to keep her from escaping, but I am an old spirit. Too old to be looking after young idiots and too busy to spend my limited energy catching them when they run away.”
Of course. The Weaver chuckled. Very old. But do be careful, Durain. This is the Shepherdess’s domain. I cannot protect you here. If she suspects, she will not hesitate to act, and we have lost too many irreplaceable spirits to risk another.
“I have not forgotten Gredit,” the mountain said, his great voice heavy with anger. “And I am not the only one. When the Hunter returns, we will be ready. I have already started the process. Heinricht is being briefed by his father as we speak.”
The bear man? The Weaver frowned. You put a great deal of faith in him.
“I must,” the mountain said. “He is the only one who can finish Fenzetti’s work.”
Is that so? The Weaver pursed his lips. How fortuitous that he should appear now.
“Fortune has nothing to do with it,” the mountain rumbled. “The Creator is still with us. We will be free again.”
You still believe that? the Weaver said.
“Yes,” the mountain said. “You forget. We old ones, we were the first. I am older than you or your siblings, Shaped by the Creator’s own hand. I remember the world as it was, as it was meant to be, and I know that world will return. It must return, or why are we still living?”
Why, indeed, the Weaver said, looking up at the sky. I must go. I leave it to you.
“We will not fail,” the mountain said, but the Weaver was already gone, vanishing through a white cut in the thin air as though he had never been. The mountain rumbled at the Power’s sudden absence and shifted its focus away from the outside world and the distant feel of the fleeing figures. Instead, it tilted its attention inward, down toward the long hall at the very heart of its roots. There, two humans, the current Guildmaster and the wizard who shared his spirit with a bear, walked the mountain’s deepest path toward the vault where Durain, the Shaper Mountain, kept its greatest hope, the small, white kernel of a desperate plan many, many years in the making.
CHAPTER
11
Josef woke with a gasp. He froze, hands knotted in the sheets, body braced to kick or leap away, whichever was needed. That was when he realized he was in his old bedroom. He collapsed back into bed with a silent curse and took stock of his situation. He was naked, his knives stacked carefully on the bench against the wall beside him. But he had no memory of removing his knives or his clothes. He had no memory of going to bed.
Josef frowned. To wake that violently, he must have been sleeping very soundly. Even now, his head was still groggy, and that made him nervous. He’d shaken the sound-sleeping habit the first year he’d left home. Maybe being back in his old room had brought back old habits, but Josef didn’t think so. He glanced at the bed. The space
