Spirit Binder (24 page)

Ren laughed. “What do you think Theo? Should we send a mouse to kill a man? What a fitting end for a false prophet.”

They all heard the steel unsheathed, but didn’t manage to identify where the sound was coming from before Theo felt the knife pressed against her throat — still mid-laugh — by Natalie.

Everyone froze.

Natalie shook with fear and rage as she pressed the side of a very sharp dagger across Theo’s neck. “Is it true? Lord Madoc can disguise himself as a mouse?” Natalie asked.

This question seemed to break some sort of a spell, and a series of things happened all at once.

Bryan, who was nearest, leapt up to grab Natalie’s arm, causing the knife to slice deeply enough that Theo began to bleed lightly all over the blade.
 

Hugh lunged for Bryan and managed to get him off Natalie’s arm before she slit Theo’s throat.

Ren pressed the tip of his sword to the back of Natalie’s head.

Natalie began to cry, silently and painfully.

Theo attempted to relax underneath the stinging blade.

“She is shielded, but I can break it.” Rhea spoke almost casually behind Natalie. The girl shuddered in terror.

“It’s a trigger,” Theo murmured, careful to not move against the blade.

“Whether or not your discussion triggered an embedded response, Theodora, she is still threatening your life, and willing to trade it for the Preacher’s. She is a traitor to the state and to Spirit itself!” Rhea’s voice rose as if she was sermonizing.

“I don’t believe in Spirit anymore,” Natalie proclaimed, and despite her tears, she firmed her grip on the knife.

“Do you mean you don’t believe spirit exists in you, Natalie? Because you think you have no magic?” Theo asked.

“Don’t engage, Theodora. This isn’t some game,” her mother snapped.

Theo locked eyes with Ren over Natalie’s shoulder. He was nearest now. Then she glanced over at Hugh, who held the sobbing and intermittently thrashing Bryan. Then she looked at her mother. Finally, she looked back at Natalie. She looked deeply into the girl’s eyes.

“They haven’t killed you yet, Natalie, because they aren’t a hundred percent certain they can without killing me. But they’ve called for Peony, you know who she is?”

“The healer.” Natalie reluctantly answered.

“Yes, and when Peony arrives?”

“They’ll kill me.”

“Yes.”

“I could kill you before then.”

“You can try. I have a feeling I am more difficult to kill than I look to be. But you haven’t yet.”

“I intend to.”

“I hope so, otherwise you’ve risked your life for nothing and that would be a great waste.”

Natalie didn’t respond, but her tears began to dry on her cheeks as she thought hard enough to furrow her brow.

“Shall we trade lives, Natalie? Mine for yours?”

Ren moaned quietly, as if the very thought pained him and he couldn’t keep it in.

“No.” Natalie spoke, so, so softly, that she might have been the only one to hear it. “It wouldn’t be a fair trade.”

“Because you are worthless?” Theo prompted. “Worthless without magic?”

“Yes,” Natalie answered and tightened her grip on the knife.

“What if I told you I could see your magic, your spirit. That I saw it the first day you slept beside me, so that I wouldn’t wake alone, that I see it every time you brush my hair and make it do your bidding.”

“I’d say you’d be lying and … to … stay out of my head!”

“I am already in your head. Just a little. Enough to know how you feel. Enough to know that I could have you drop that blade, which is now coated in my blood. Do you know what that means?”

“That it belongs to you,” Natalie reluctantly answered.

“Almost. I could bend it to my will perhaps, as it is now an extension of me but my point is, why would I lie, when I could just make you drop the knife?”

“I don’t know … because hurting people’s minds is what you do … like, like with the guard, Davin, there!”

“Yes. I agree. That indeed seems like what we do.”

“And you all think you are better than the rest of us, you lord over us, while we bake your bread or brush your hair.”

“That’s just it. I have no ability to brush my own hair or coordinate my own clothing, or understand what shoes go with what dress, but you know.”

“Anyone can learn such simple tasks. They are beneath you to even bother,” Natalie spat.

“But you didn’t learn. You just knew, didn’t you? You knew how to do any hairstyle just by touching hair. You knew which colors and fabrics should go together, and cuts and styles —”

“So what! None of that even matters.”

“That’s your magic. Your Spirit that you deny exists. And I think you would find it goes deeper than that. I think you just know a lot of things … how things will work or not together, what makes the best pairings or partnerships.”

“A powerful gift indeed,” her mother agreed.

“You see, even my mother would find such a gift valuable.”

Peony appeared on the balcony.

Ren stepped to the side so Peony could step within reach of Theo.

Natalie closed her eyes, as if steadying herself for the events to come.

Theo reached out and touched the girl’s temple, and whispered, ”Shall I show you your own spirit, as I see it? I believe I can do that.”

Natalie nodded without opening her eyes, and so Theo showed her the brightness within. The girl gasped, and her arms fell limp to her sides. The knife dangled momentarily from her fingertips and then dropped to the ground.

Peony pressed a hand to Theo’s shoulder and the seeping wound at her neck instantly healed, not even leaving a pink line behind. The healer then retrieved the knife and wiped the blood from the blade. Theo had always thought that everything in her life revolved around her prophecy, but now she had a feeling that the reading was just an articulation of the power embedded in her blood. Power she’d begun to fear the moment she’d awoken. Power she was now concerned could overtake her. This conflict had to end swiftly and without spilling any more blood.

“Natalie,” Theo prompted, as she pulled her hand away from the girl’s forehead.

“Yes, my lady?”

“I’d like you to escort me to the Preacher.”

“All right, my lady.”

Her mother stiffened. “Theodora, you will not leave the safety of the castle.”

“No matter that it is a brilliant idea to use his spies against him,” Dougal mused.

“We’ll go. To talk, not to kill. Natalie has shown us the way to end this war before it begins.” Theo could feel the rightness of this decision. She thought she was beginning to understand her role in all of this conflict, perhaps even the reason she was born so gifted.

“The Spirit within,” Natalie murmured, still entranced by the vision in her head.

Theo stepped from the castle doors, flanked by Dougal, Hugh and Ren. Her mother and the Chancellor remained with Bryan within the castle, just inside the doors.

Natalie led the way. The warriors gathered in the keep shifted and shuffled around and behind them, clearing a path to the gates. There, Theo paused, in full view of her enemy, and ordered Davin’s body lowered and covered.

It was the first time Theo had seen someone truly dead: no spirit resided within him, though the grass he lay upon sparkled with it. She wondered why he had to die, and why her death had been so important to him. He didn’t have Natalie’s rationalization, for no one became a guard without easily read magic. She covered his face and, when she rose to face her foe, she couldn’t see any evil within them either.

She looked to Hugh, and he turned to speak to the warriors arrayed on his side of the keep. “We five go in alone. We believe in … we believe that every life is sacred, and, with this attempt to alleviate the conflict, we endeavor to preserve all.”

She noted that Hugh’s horse, the Beast, was nowhere to be seen. There was no escape plan this time.

Dougal turned to command his warriors, ”We choose to parley, because our lady requests it, but when we need you, you shall stand ready.”
 

A roar rose up, along with weapons, from the assembled warriors.

She stepped forward and felt the protection wards brush against her skin, and for a moment, she felt that the castle might not let her go. But then, she stood in the field with the castle’s protection behind her, and she knew there was no going back now.

Natalie strode forward as if she herself was a tracking device.

They crossed the field with their army behind them and their foes watching their every step. Those foes didn’t seem to know whether or not to raise their arms and stand in their way, or to let them pass. So, at the final moment, they parted, stumbling awkwardly backward, as Natalie stepped through them.

With Ren, Dougal and Hugh at her back, Theo followed Natalie into the heart of the Preacher’s army.

As she walked calmly and evenly paced, though her heart urged a different rhythm, she held out her hands to the side, palms upward. Natalie pulled ahead.

The Preacher’s people, who were once her mother’s people, slowly reached out to her; hovering their hands over hers as she passed by. Not touching, but brushing against the energy she offered. She did nothing else to exert her influence; in fact, as the crowd closed behind them, Theo had to shield herself heavily so as to not be overwhelmed in the presence of so many spirits. She felt her mother’s presence in her mind as well, but welcomed Rhea’s additional protection, rather than assuming she was trying to control her.

Natalie stopped.

The crowd parted, fanning out behind and beside them, beyond the reach of a sword, but within easy listening distance.

A line of soldiers stood between them and the tents they had seen and identified from the balcony.

“We request a parley,” Dougal boomed, and the crowd muttered their surprise at this.

“The likes of you don’t talk first. You’re here to kill us, so why don’t you just get to that,” the soldier directly across from Natalie spoke. His tanned skin placed him from the far south, as did his accent. He had the look of someone who’d failed at guard training, and become a mercenary instead. Theo was surprised that the Preacher’s influence had spread so far in what seemed like a short period of time. People had been restless for a long time, she guessed, and they’d only needed a catalyst.

“We haven’t raised arms against you. We left our army in the castle. We seek a peaceful resolution.”

“We’ve had over thirty years of your peace. We’re tired of it not applying to us. The book tells us we were here first, and it is you all who are unnatural. And she,” the Mercenary stabbed a finger in Theo’s direction, “she’s the root of it all.”

“So the Preacher has written,” Natalie’s voice was clear and light, almost as if she was about to break into song. “The Preacher says that they are unnatural, that their magic is a corruption, but I have seen, I have seen the spirit within me.”

The murmurs of the surrounding crowd rose, and people began to shift and turn to question their neighbors.

“Mind tricks!” a voice thundered out from behind the soldiers. “Who told you such, child? The whore, with her hair an evil beacon, standing behind you?” A man, just a slightly grey, slightly tall, man, stepped through the line of mercenaries, and he wasn’t powerful at all. Though the object he held in his hand was the most powerful inanimate object she’d ever felt.

A blood-red sword.

Forged with her own blood.

She wasn’t sure what material it was encased with, and she had a dreadful feeling that it didn’t matter. It felt indestructible. It felt somehow alive. Theo could feel the circulatory movement of the seemingly still liquid blood shift to keep pace with the blood pumping through her veins. Her thoughts tripped over the consequences of such a weapon. In her mind, she felt her mother’s extreme reaction as well, and actually had to shut her out to continue to focus on the Preacher.

“If you are so powerful, why do you stand before me sheltered by a Lacking girl and backed by three men?”

“I have magic! I have spirit!” Natalie insisted. “We all do.”

“I know, Natalie. Thank you for escorting us.” Theo spoke softly, and the girl dutifully stepped to the side and then back behind Dougal.

The Preacher laughed, and this laugh, full of twisted logic and knowledge and edged in chaos, caused Theo to shiver.

“He’s crazy,” Hugh whispered.

“He’d have to be,” Ren agreed.

It was the blood sword, and the power emanating from it, that bothered her more than his words or his laugh, but then, as she reached out with her mind to look, she understood his gift, and the simplicity of it that had wrought all this mess.

“You claim, Preacher, to not believe in magic, to not believe that Spirit created all the world, but you use magic to rise against us?”

“I fight fire with fire. An eye for an eye, the book says. Thou shalt not set anyone above me, the book says. We will not worship an idol. A pretender to the throne. An abomination!”

She didn’t completely understand the words or what specific book they came from, but guessed they were from one of the religions that had reigned before the Rising. She did, however, understand his control over the crowd; that they’d sought answers and he’d supplied them.

“You take my power, bits of my spirit, and you make things. For that is your gift. This is a power I have never even heard of, but even you, their maker, don’t completely understand the items you transform: a tracking device, a shield, and a blood sword. You strive to kill me, to kill my friends and family, with the power you so despise.”

The crowd shifted their focus, as this new thought, this new question of the Preacher, rippled back through the gathered.

“My gift, you call it! It’s my curse!” the Preacher fiercely countered. “But if this is the trial and tribulation I must bear to remake the world as it was intended, for our children, then I gladly take the burden.”

“I think it doesn’t need to be this way: us against you. I think you fit into my understanding of Spirit and the very beauty of life. Even if you do not hold my beliefs, it doesn’t mean we cannot stand and live side by side.”