Winter

Winter sat in the clearing, listening to the guns. She’d never heard so many at once. And they were all coming from the northeast, the face of Bear Ridge, where the Girls’ Own were stationed. Cyte. Abby. They were likely crouching in a trench, hearing the balls zip overhead or plow into the earth. Or find just the right target, where unyielding metal meets yielding flesh and turns my beautiful, brilliant girl into a mangled ruin—

The urge to get up, to go to them, was almost overpowering. Winter fought it down, tasting bile at the back of her throat. They’ve survived this long without me. But it wasn’t that she thought she could help, not really. It was a primal instinct to share their danger, as she had so often in the past, that tugged at her.

Something stung her eye, and she rubbed at it. Not tears, but flying grit. Sand. The wind rose, swirling into a funnel, and solidified into the masked shape of the Steel Ghost.

Alex jumped to her feet eagerly. Winter guessed the waiting hadn’t been any easier on her. “You’ve found it?”

“I believe so,” the Ghost said. “To the north, behind the enemy camp, there is a ruined castle. I sensed the presence of the Beast’s core, and it did not appear to be moving. A large number of the creature’s bodies waited nearby.”

“That has to be it,” Winter said. “Let’s get started.”

She looked down at Sothe, who was still sleeping peacefully on the pyre. Part of her, she had to admit, had been hoping they’d somehow manage to avoid this. Let Sothe wake up tonight and find out we didn’t need her after all. But they’d never make it to this castle if they had to fight their way through half of Janus’ army.

Slowly, she dug out her matches. Alex watched, silent, and the Ghost’s masked face was as expressionless as always. Winter struck a match, held it for a moment, and looked down at Sothe.

“Thank you,” she said, and touched the flame to the kindling.

The logs, soaked in oil, caught in moments, and the heat built rapidly. Winter had to take a step back, shielding her face, as flames leapt into the air, building into a column of smoke. She caught a whiff of burning flesh, unpleasantly like cooking meat, before it was thankfully buried under a rush of woodsmoke. Blinking, Winter backed away farther.

“How long does it take?” Alex said, eyes fixed on the flames.

“I wasn’t in a position to count precisely last time,” Winter said. “But—”

Deep in the heart of the fire, something went crunch. Logs shattered and split, the pyre breaking apart and spilling glowing sparks across the ground. At the center of the flames, a figure stirred, rising to its feet. Enormous dark shapes hung at her shoulders, the shadows of wings. The Ghost raised a hand, and sand rained down on the pyre, smothering the flames and embers. A moment later, the smoke cleared away.

The guardian resembled Sothe, but streamlined, inessential detail weathered away. Her lithe body was smooth and unlined, with skin the gleaming white of polished marble, shot through with darker veins. Her clothes were gone, though her naked form was as sexless as a mannequin. Her hair was gone, too, and her face was only a shadow of what it had been—​two indentations for eyes, a slight bulge of a nose, and no mouth, as though a sculptor had wanted to give the suggestion of humanity without the substance. Her wings, rising up behind her, were not feathered but perfectly smooth, like a ship’s sail in a strong wind.

“God Almighty,” Alex said. “She’s...”

Beautiful, Winter thought, and monstrous. When she moved, it was with the catlike grace Sothe had always displayed, but there was something deeply unnatural about watching a stone surface flex and bend. And when she was still, she was perfectly still, with no fidgeting or breath to disturb her, so that when she moved again it was like watching a statue spring to life.

“Sothe?” Winter said. Her voice came out in a whisper.

Sothe nodded.

“Are you...?” She shook her head. She’d wanted to say “all right,” but what was the point of that? Winter swallowed hard. “Can you carry me and Alex?”

Sothe flapped her wings once, producing a down rush of air that set sand and ash to swirling. Then she nodded again.

“I will lead the way,” the Ghost said. If the sight of the guardian unnerved him, it was invisible behind his mask. He dissolved into a column of sand, rising in a swirling wind out of the clearing, remaining visible as a smudge overhead.

“How...?” Alex said.

Sothe walked to Winter, bent over, and opened the small pack she’d left on the ground. It contained a number of leather straps, each laden with a complement of knives in various sizes. She put them on, her marble fingers dexterous as ever, buckling them around her stomach, her thighs, and her forearms. Then she gestured for Winter and Alex to come close.

They obliged, shuffling awkwardly together. Sothe walked behind them and slipped one arm around Winter’s waist, then the other around Alex’s. Sothe’s skin was warm, but with the polished feel of stone, like a rock that had spent all day in the sun. Winter wriggled, trying to settle her weight more comfortably, the arm around her staying as steady as an iron bar. Sothe looked down at her and cocked her head.

“Alex?” Winter said. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Alex said. “But I’m not likely to get any readier.”

“Go ahead,” Winter said to Sothe.

The great wings snapped out, gathering air beneath them, and Sothe rose from the ground. She moved slowly at first, wings beating steadily, hoisting them up to the treetops of the clearing and then beyond. Oddly, Winter felt no fear of falling. There was such a sense of power in Sothe’s arm, in the wide sweep of her wings, that it seemed impossible.

If anyone down there is looking up, they’re going to think they’ve gone mad. Fortunately, the soldiers below had plenty to distract them. From this vantage point, Winter could see Janus’ troops massing to attack on the left flank, battalions marching in column to get into formation, teams of horses pulling cannon. In between friendly and enemy lines, light cavalry skirmished, horsemen riding back and forth and firing at one another with carbines. Each shot reached her as a single distinct sound, like a distant handclap, almost lost in the continuing rumble of gunfire from the north.

Saints and martyrs. What I would give to be able to command battles like this. It was the perspective every general dreamed of, hovering above the world like a god. The land unrolled like a living map, full of toy soldiers and cannon and towns. She glanced up at Sothe, to remind herself of what it had cost to gain this vantage. The guardian’s nearly featureless face was set forward, her eyes on the smear of swirling sand that was the Steel Ghost.

A moment later they were picking up speed, the wind shrieking in Winter’s face. The lines of blue-​uniformed soldiers fell away, and then they were passing over more fields and villages. The twisted loops of the river Marak lay ahead, the ground rising to form a cliff face looking out over the water. Atop that cliff, some long-​ago lord had raised a fortress, a rough half circle of wall that had once enclosed a few buildings. Now the wall was a tumbled ruin, and only fragments of structures remained, hard to identify from on high. But there were tents pitched within the circuit of the old walls. Down at the base of the cliff were many more, of all sizes and colors, arranged in perfect rows as neat as any Vordanai army camp.

Two groups of figures were on the move from the camp, not marching in column but running over the ground, like wolves in a pack. There had to be thousands of them, Winter guessed, a motley mob of uniforms and civilian clothes, with muskets, spears, and swords. One group was headed due south, directly toward Bear Ridge, while the other kept to the bank of the river and moved southwest.

“Red-​eyes!” Winter shouted, struggling to make herself heard above the wind. “They’re headed for the army!”

Alex nodded, her squinting eyes streaming tears.

“We have to warn them!” Winter said. “If we go back—”

“Marcus and Cyte know the red-​eyes are out here,” Alex shouted back. “They’ll be ready. We have our own job to do!”

“And their departure makes that job easier,” the Ghost said, out of thin air. “Only a small force remains to defend the core.”

Winter looked down at the departing red-​eyes, imagined the unstoppable tide of their charge crashing against the trenches the Girls’ Own had dug. Stay safe, Cyte. She squeezed her eyes shut. Please.

“I will descend first,” the Ghost said. “My winds will surround the castle and I will keep those outside from interfering as long as I can. Destroy the core and victory is ours.”

The wind died away as Sothe came to a halt directly over the old walls. Looking down, Winter saw clouds of sand and dust rising, enclosing the ruined castle on all sides. They grew and grew, larger than anything she’d seen the Ghost produce before, becoming a towering sandstorm whose eerie keening was audible even far above. In the center, the air was still clear, and small figures were emerging from their tents and running in all directions.

“Go!” Winter shouted.

Sothe dove, almost straight down. Winter nearly screamed, her throat frozen, all her previous calm ripped away in the terrifying descent. Alex was laughing, a mad cackle that blew away on the renewed wind. Just when Winter was certain nothing could arrest their fall, that they would plow into the earth like a spent cannonball in an explosion of stone and dirt, Sothe’s wings snapped out. They were jerked upward with bruising force, came to a halt, and drifted down the last few yards at the speed of a falling leaf. Sothe’s feet touched the ground gently, and she bent to deposit Alex and Winter on the rocky ground.

“You,” Winter gasped, looking up at Sothe. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

Sothe shrugged, featureless face impassive. Winter had to imagine the slight quirk of the lip.

Alex sat up with a whoop, breathing hard. “Balls of the Beast. And I thought jumping off the cathedral tower was good.”

“You’re both mad.” Winter caught movement out of the corner of her eye. “Here they come.”

They’d landed near the ruined wall, which was less dilapidated than it had appeared from the air; it was still almost ten feet high and surrounded by chunks of broken stone. A collapsed gate led into a broad yard, with dusty ground studded with small rocks and tufts of grass. On the other side of it were two slate-​roofed wooden structures. One of these had collapsed entirely, leaving little more than a pile of timber and broken tiles, while the other had lost one wall and most of its roof but still seemed intact on the far side. Beyond them was another yard, where the tents they’d seen from above were pitched. All around, enveloping the curtain wall, was the swirling, shrieking curtain of sand and wind called up by the Ghost.

A half dozen men and women ran into the yard through the gap between the two buildings. Two wore white Murnskai uniforms, stained with sweat and mud, while a third was in Vordanai blue. Another pair were women, in the long skirts Winter had seen north of the border, while the last was a boy of no more than twelve, shirtless and grubby, with long, ragged fingernails.

No matter who they’d been, Winter knew what they were now. Crimson light sprang to life in six sets of eyes, flaring bright for a moment, then dying away. Two of the soldiers still had muskets slung over their backs, but they hadn’t made a move for them.

“Winter Ihernglass,” one of the women said. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re—”

Sothe drew a knife from one of her straps and flicked it at the red-​eye. The assassin’s accuracy had always been impressive, but now she had the inhuman strength of the Guardian as well. The woman’s head disintegrated, a spray of blood and brain painting the rubble behind her as her body toppled.

“—​supposed to be in Murnsk,” the boy picked up without a pause. “What a slippery creature.”

“We’re here to put an end to you,” Winter said.

“I gathered that, yes.” The boy smiled, revealing stained, rotting teeth. “You’re welcome to try.”

The two soldiers went for their muskets. Alex raised a hand, and a lance of darkness speared one of them through the chest, withdrawing just as quickly and leaving him to stagger for a few moments before he collapsed. The other managed to get his weapon up and trained on Winter, but Sothe sidestepped between them as he pulled the trigger. The ball struck her in the shoulder and whined away, leaving only a tiny chip in her stony surface.

The remaining three charged, knives and clubs in their hands. Alex cut down the second woman with another bolt of shadow, and Sothe drew a knife as long as Winter’s forearm and engaged the other two. The red-​eyes were fast and moved with a coordination no human fighters could have matched, but even before her transformation Sothe had been death with a blade. Now she seemed unstoppable, weaving casually out of the way of a blow to crush a man’s face with a punch, then drawing her knife across the boy and opening his guts in a spray of blood and bile.

Saints and martyrs, Winter thought. She hadn’t even had time to reach for her own weapons. Thank God Almighty she’s on our side. She shook her head and pointed to the tents.

“Come on! The Ghost won’t be able to keep this up forever, and there may be a lot more of them outside.”

Sothe nodded and jumped to the top of the pile of rubble in a single leap. Alex ran between the two ruined buildings, Winter following behind. Three large tents had been set up in what had been the castle’s main courtyard, with another, larger pile of broken, rotting wood marking where a building had once stood. Red-​eyes were pouring out of the tents. Soldiers, civilians, men and women, children and grandfathers. We’re all just fodder for the Beast.

“Watch for Jane!” Winter shouted as they charged.

Sothe took the lead, another leap taking her into the middle of the red-​eyes, and she almost absentmindedly flicked a blade out to slash a man’s head from his shoulders. The nearest turned to engage her, but she was already moving, cutting a bloody swath through the press. It was like watching a master swordsman fight children, children made of soft dough who came apart at her slightest touch. Splashes of blood sprayed across Sothe, streaks of red dripping from her polished skin.

Winter drew her own saber as more of the red-​eyes charged. Alex, just behind her, raised her hands and shot them down methodically, sending a single bolt of shadow through the head of each attacker. One woman ducked, avoiding the shot, and came at Winter with a short sword. The red-​eye feinted left, and nearly got around Winter’s parry. There was no time to pull away and riposte.

Instead, Winter let the woman’s momentum carry her onward, and slapped her off hand against the red-​eye’s arm, unleashing Infernivore. The hungry demon surged into her opponent, and Winter felt the crimson thread of the Beast withdraw rather than face it, leaving the red-​eye an empty shell. Winter stepped away and let her collapse just in time to see a young girl coming at her with a long kitchen knife, her blond hair spiky and crusted with blood and dirt. Winter thrust by instinct, and the girl willingly impaled herself, letting the saber sink into her belly as she thrust the knife at Winter’s arm. Winter hastily grabbed her wrist before the blow could land; she once again called on her demon, and the girl’s body slid limply off her sword as the Beast withdrew.

Up ahead, a half dozen red-​eyes had thrown themselves at Sothe, ignoring her knives and trying to bear her to the ground by sheer weight. For a moment she staggered, even as she stabbed one opponent repeatedly. Then her white wings snapped out, throwing two enemies away from her, and she dropped her knife to put her hands around the necks of two more. She hurled them into the rumble with a crunch of rotten wood and shattering tile. She grabbed the last pair and slammed their heads together so hard that both skulls shattered, washing Sothe’s hand in bloody fragments.

Really fucking glad she’s on our side. The two red-​eyes that had been knocked away were climbing to their feet only to be neatly speared by Alex. That left nothing moving in the courtyard aside from themselves, but there was still no sign of Jane.

Winter interrogated her senses, but Infernivore was so agitated by being denied its meals that it was hard to tell if it still felt another demon. “Alex! Can you feel it?”

Alex nodded, breathing hard. “It’s definitely here.” She frowned. “There’s something—”

“The tents,” Winter said. “She must be in there.”

Sothe jumped again, landing in the center of the three tents and scattering the ashes of a dead campfire. She grabbed the fabric of one and pulled, tearing the pegs from the ground. The interior was empty, so she turned to the next.

Something happened to the air in front of the tent, something that hurt Winter’s eyes even to look at. The air twisted, shimmering with iridescence like a raven’s wing. Sothe was picked up and hurled backward with tremendous force, clipping the top of a ruined building in a spray of splinters before impacting with the outer wall. Stone crunched, and a whole section of curtain wall collapsed in a rising cloud of dust that was quickly sucked into the shrieking sandstorm.

The tent was hurled aside, and a black-​clad figure rose slowly to its feet. It was a man, at least seven feet tall and almost skeletally thin. His clothes hung off him like funeral garb from a desiccated corpse, loops and folds of black fabric draped over him like a second skin. His face was invisible behind a dark mask made from tiny chips of obsidian. For a moment he looked in Sothe’s direction; then he turned toward Winter and Alex.

“Penitent!” Alex hissed. She raised her hands, but before she could unleash her power, another weird ripple surrounded her with bands of color. There was the start of a scream, abruptly cut off, and then she was pinwheeling through the air, landing hard on the rocky ground of the courtyard.

“That’s better.” The third tent flap opened, and Jane emerged, followed by two hulking, leather-​armored brutes with glowing red eyes. “As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, Winter, I thought I’d left you in Murnsk. Much against my will, I might add. Jane so wanted your company.” The Beast tapped a finger against the side of its head. “But you had to be obstinate.”

Saints and fucking martyrs. Winter raised her saber, not daring to look and see if Alex was all right. Jane hopped lightly up to a broken beam, spreading her arms for balance. Her hair had grown back, the long, silky red that Winter remembered. Her clothes were rags, her skin grimy, but she moved with such effortless grace that none of it seemed to matter. Even now, like this, Winter felt a twist in her chest at the sight of her.

“You’re probably wondering,” Jane went on, gesturing at the Penitent, “who this fellow is, since I don’t allow interloping demons in my bodies. He’s really a fascinating case. I found him in the dungeons under Elysium.” The tall, skeletal figure in black turned to stare at her, and Jane shot him a smile. “He was locked away for heresy, you see. He’d come to believe that the Beast of Judgment should cleanse the world of humanity, since our sins are so very many. Because he attempted to free me, his fellow Priests of the Black had thrown him in their darkest hole to be tortured. They removed his tongue, lest he spread his blasphemy. Pity he was right and they were wrong!”

“Don’t listen to her,” Winter said in Murnskai. “The Beast isn’t an answer for our sins. It’s a demon. You should be trying to destroy it!”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Jane said. “What he wants more than anything in the world is to be a part of me. And I’ll grant him that, in time. Once you are dead and the Thousand Names are mine, there will be nothing left in this world that can threaten me.”

Winter felt a trickle of sweat run down her cheek. Jane and the Penitent were at least fifteen yards away, too far to cover in a quick dash. And whatever his power is, it’s fast. She looked up at the whirlwind and wondered if the Steel Ghost could see what was happening. I need some kind of distraction. As long as I can get to Jane, it doesn’t matter what happens afterward...

“No need to wait around all day,” Jane said. “Kill her.”

Helplessly, Winter raised her sword. As she moved, space twisted around her, a shimmering distortion forming at each of her wrists. The blade fell from numbed fingers as an unstoppable force lifted her into the air, her shoulders screaming as her feet left the ground.

The Penitent cocked his head curiously. He put Winter in mind of a child pulling the legs off a spider. He held up one hand, fingers spread, and the two twists in space started to drift apart, taking Winter’s arms with them. It was a gentle, unstoppable movement, like the turning of a waterwheel. In a few seconds, Winter was stretched as if pinned to a rack. The force kept pulling, and she started to scream.