He didn’t wait to discuss it any further. He leapt forward, bounding across the rocks that shifted beneath him. Slicing his sword at spirits that whisked over him, he ducked, dodged, and ran toward the camp where they’d left the people.
He found it besieged: men, women, and children were running through knee-high water, trying to find a safe path out. “To me!” he called. He sheathed his sword and unhooked his bow. Notching an arrow, he aimed it at a fire spirit that was diving toward an older man. He shot it through the forehead, and the arrow incinerated, but not before the fire spirit reared back.
Ven leapt down into the valley, splashing into the icy water. “Come on, this way, follow the rocks up!” He guided the people into a line. A stream of fire shot over them, and he charged forward, firing another arrow into the cometlike core of light.
Above, the water dragon screamed. It clashed with a host of fire spirits that flew at it. Steam billowed from its body, and Ven lost sight of it. The mist rolled across the camp. “Grab hands!” Ven ordered.
His command was repeated by the people, and he hoped they were obeying—those nearest him were clutching one another, at least. “Follow me!” he called, and he hurried to the front of the line. “Toward the cave! Head for the grave!”
He pointed them in the right direction and then hurried down the line, ensuring there were no stragglers. As he did, an earth spirit burst from the rocks beneath him and grabbed his ankle. Other earth spirits, made of rocks and shaped like small men, burst through the rocks, seizing the legs of people, yanking them down. He drove the butt of his bow into the face of one, knocking it back, and then he leapt between people, whacking spirits with his bow as if it were a staff. As soon as he caught his breath, he reached for his sword. As he sliced, he heard the sound of pebbles, and then a louder rumbling.
“Avalanche!” one of the women cried.
And then it got worse.
Water slammed into them, waist-deep, and people screamed. They grabbed the children, who were crying and shrieking, and lifted them out of the water.
He’d never fought so many on such unstable terrain—the air, the earth, the sky, it was all his enemy. But he wasn’t going to fail these people.
Never again.
Naelin felt as if her mind were fracturing. She knew what she had to do: keep a channel clear until Ven returned with the villagers, and then escape, all together, to Aratay. Her spirits could hold off the untamed spirits long enough . . . Couldn’t they?
They’ll die, she thought.
She squashed the thought as quickly as she could.
But she was so closely linked to the spirits that they felt her think it. Despair rippled through them, flowing back to her. Don’t leave us, they whispered back to her. Please, don’t leave us to die.
It disturbed her, hearing their pleas. They were killers. Their kind hunted humans. Hated humans. Wanted everyone dead and gone, so they could have their world back the way it was before the Great Mother of Sprits died, before the humans came too soon. Why should I save them?
Spirits like these had killed her parents while she’d huddled, hidden. She’d lived in fear for so many years—
Through her bond, Naelin felt a spirit torn in half, its limbs ripped apart, by an untamed earth spirit, and her knees buckled. She looked up, and there was no more thought about helping the spirits. Her spirits.
Remembering how she’d practiced with the spirits before she left for Semo, she pushed her mind out, forcing them to work together, guiding the ice spirits to freeze the wings of a water dragon. She sent her fire spirits skittering over the ice crystals of ice spirits. Her wind spirits whipped faster, creating a wall of wind on either side of Ven and the people. They were making their way toward her, step by step. She couldn’t tell if he had them all and couldn’t spare the attention to look. An untamed fire spirit was clinging to one of her tree spirits, and she felt its pain as the flames scaled his barklike skin. She directed a water spirit to douse it, freeing it, and she felt a shiver of gratitude as the wounded tree spirit scuttled away as fast as it could.
There were too many of them, though.
Don’t let us die, the spirits whispered.
But Ven hadn’t reached her yet, and they were all still deep within the untamed lands, backed against the cave. Bayn positioned himself in front of Erian and Llor, protecting them, and she let him guard her children as she focused on the spirits, driving them back but losing ground.
Hurry, Ven.
The circle around them tightened as the untamed spirits advanced, and despite all her strength, her spirits began to die.
It felt like part of her was dying with them.
Chapter 33
Daleina kept screaming at Merecot. “Stop! Merecot, you have to stop!”
Around them she heard the trees creak and crack. Leaves were falling faster, like rain, and coating the grove in a thick blanket of gold. Every breath felt wrong, and the air tasted sour. She couldn’t reach far enough to feel the damage throughout Aratay, but if it was here, it was everywhere—the spirits touched every piece of her land. And Semo.
“You’re killing both our countries!” Daleina shouted. “Stop! It’s not working!”
But Merecot’s eyes were vague, and her lips were curled into a smile. She was elsewhere, deep within the spirits. Why can’t she feel them dying? Even Daleina could sense it—the threads that linked Merecot to them were gray and frayed.
Daleina felt herself shoved aside. She stumbled, and Hamon caught her as she fell into the leaves. Dust billowed up from the too-dry earth beneath the leaves, and the leaves crinkled as they shriveled. Garnah had pushed past her and was kneeling beside Merecot. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a vial and held it up to the light, checking its contents. It was thick and ruby-red, the viscous fluid clinging to the glass of the vial.
Yanking away from Hamon, Daleina lunged forward. “No!”
Garnah shook the vial, mixing the liquid until bubbles formed. “She must be stopped. You have to see that. This is the only way. This is why you asked me to come!”
She’d asked her in case Merecot betrayed her. But this wasn’t betrayal!
“I can’t watch another friend die,” Daleina cried. She’d lost so many. Linna, Mari, Revi, Iondra . . . all of them had died, so many of them here in this very grove. Their bodies were deep in the earth beneath the leaves. She couldn’t add another to their number. “There has to be another way!”
“Daleina.” Hamon’s voice was soft, gentle, a healer’s voice, her lover’s voice. “You have to let her go. With her death, the spirits will be released. Aratay will be saved.”
“And Semo,” Garnah added. “You’re letting two countries die out of sentiment.” She spat into the leaves and unstoppered the vial. “It will be quick, I promise you that.”
The spirits will be released . . .
“Thank you,” she said to Hamon, and she knocked the vial out of Garnah’s hand. Both mother and son watched, startled, as the vial shattered on the ground, and the poison spread into a puddle—Garnah would have more, but Daleina didn’t give her a chance to reach for it. She shoved her mind at the frayed threads connecting Merecot to the spirits.
And she severed them.
Thousands of spirits, unleashed at once.
Merecot hissed out air, and her eyes focused on Daleina. “What have you done?”
Around them, the spirits flew into the grove. They tunneled through the earth. Out of the corner of her eye, Daleina saw Garnah reach into her robe, pull out a new vial, and hurl it at the spirits. It exploded into sparks.
Hamon rushed to Daleina’s side, but was knocked back as an earth spirit burst through the ground in front of him. Daleina reached for the spirit’s mind to stop it, hold it—and Merecot slammed into her.
“You took them!” Merecot screamed, clawing at her.
“I saved you!” Daleina yelled back. She pushed against Merecot.