“Itwasfailure,” Algonquin said angrily. “But at leastIwas doing something. If I’d left our survival up to all of you, we’d sit complacent as stones while the rising tide of human madness swallowed us whole. But I am not complacent. I willneversurrender my water again, and I have already found another possible solution, as my new head mage will now explain.”
That must have been Myron’s cue. He stepped forward with a confident smile, nodding at the monsters as if they were just another audience at one of his conferences. “Spirits of the Land and Animals, I am Sir Myron Rollins, head of magical research and policy for the United Nations and one of the primary spellwork architects of the Phoenix Project. Or, as she is better known to many of you, Raven’s Construct.”
He motioned with his hand, and the Leviathan obeyed, lowering Emily until she was dangling in front of him.
“Though initiated by Raven, General Jackson here is the work of many hands,” Myron continued, reaching out to trail his fingers through the exposed silver ribbons of spellwork dangling like streamers from Emily’s sundered chest. “Despite no longer possessing any of her original mortal body, her soul retains the unique human ability to move magic. If she were a mage, this would mean she could pull in magic from the world around her to power her construct chassis and weapons, which, as you can see here, are all spellwork-based. However, General Jackson isnota mage. She cannot use her own spellwork, nor does she have conscious control over the magic required to power her body.”
“Then how does she work?” the eel spirit demanded. “How does the wind-up toy move if she can’t wind herself?”
Myron grinned. “The answer to that question is why we’re here. Raven was a very clever bird. He chose General Jackson precisely because she wasnota mage. A mage could have fought him for control, a very undesirable trait in a puppet. A normal human, though, wouldn’t be able get in his way. She could only control theresultsof the spellwork—the weapons and the body’s movements and such—not the mechanisms behind them. Think of her as the pilot in a fighter jet. She can fly the plane, but she can’t do anything about the engine or the fuel that powers it.”
“But we can,” Algonquin said.
“Exactly,” Myron agreed, grabbing one of the thin strips of spellwork-covered metal ribbon dangling from Emily’s chest. “The Phoenix is a powerful and intelligent weapon, but because she is not a mage, she can’t pull in the magic she needs to power her body on her own. To overcome this limitation, Raven devised a mechanism that utilizes the unique human ability to push magicwithoutrequiring a mage’s capacity for control. By wiring his spellwork”—he held up the metal ribbon—“directly into the parts of her brain that regulate the subconscious human ability to manipulate magic, Raven gave himself the power topushhis magic into her instead. It’s just like how doctors use electrical impulses to force limbs to move even if the patient has no control over them. He simply offers up his magic, and the spellwork inside her body automatically grabs it and turns it into fuel.”
“Leave it to Raven to turn himself into food for his puppet,” Wolf said with a sneer. “He never had any pride.”
“His lack of pride is our ticket,” Myron said. “In his desire to create a foolproof puppet who wouldn’t fight him magically but would still be capable of operating independently for long periods of time, Raven created something unique: a magical battery. Raven’s Construct isn’t just a weapon. She’s a vessel capable of passively accepting magic from a donor spirit and storing it inside her spellwork, creating a stable well of power that she can access at will. That alone is huge, but what makes General Jacksonreallyspecial isn’t just that she’s the only spellwork construct in existence who passively accepts magic rather than having to pull it in, it’s howmuchpower she can hold.”
He pulled the ribbon of spellworked metal through his fingers, unraveling it down from inside Emily’s chest to show them just how long it was. “Mages can pull down magic all day long, but even with the largest circles, there’s only so much we can control without burning ourselves out. Spirits are different. You routinely command magic in sums that would obliterate a human mage. However, since Raven built the Phoenix withhismagic in mind, not hers, her spellwork was designed to processes magic on aspiritlevel. We’re talking about thousands of times more power than any human mage could safely handle, placed in the hands of one woman.”
“I think you mean a good soldier,” Emily growled. “One who’s loyal to our cause. Unlike certaintraitorsI could mention.”
“There’s loyal, and then there’s fanatical,” Myron said coldly. “You were willing to shoot a potential Merlin in the back rather than risk her falling into the hands of a spirit who did not match your narrow vision of the greater human good. I’m far more practical. The world needs a Merlin, and that requires a Mortal Spirit. If Algonquin wants to raise one, that puts us on the same side.”
“What part ofthisis our side?” Emily cried, fighting the Leviathan’s hold. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but Algonquin’s killed more humans than all the modern dragons combined. She’snotour ally. She’s a—”
A slimy black tentacle slid over Emily’s face, silencing her. Down below, Algonquin’s water burbled angrily. “Ignore her,” the lake spirit commanded. “She is nothing. And you.” She turned her reflective face back to Myron. “We’re not here for a lesson. You’ve said enough about how the Phoenix functions. Now tell them why she matters.”
“I was getting to that,” Myron said irritably, shooting a final glare at Emily as he turned to face the crowd of spirits again. “Emily Jackson isn’t just a combat construct backed by the magic of one of the most active animal spirits. She’s a unique creation, a spellwork machine capable of absorbing and containing magic on a spirit scale and placing it under the command of a human will. If Raven were a Mortal Spirit, General Jackson would effectively be his Merlin, andthatis where she becomes useful to us.”
“How so?” the eel asked, his drowned face sour. “Every Merlin I’ve met has been the master of their spirit, but the Phoenix is a puppet, and a famously loyal one at that. You might have her tied and supplicant, but Raven’s still in control. He’ll never allow his construct to be used against his precious humans. If you pump her full of magic, she’ll just use it to turn on you the second she gets free.”
“She would,” Myron agreed, “ifI left her in control. But you’ll recall I said the magic that powers her is under the control of ‘a human will,’ not ‘herwill.’ Her body serves as the vessel, but again, Emily isnota mage. She has her hands on the controls, but she’s not the one who commands her magic. That’s all handled by spellwork, and that spellwork, the millions of lines of logic that determines who has mastery over the Phoenix’s vast stores of power, is controlled by a single variable. A hard-coded one, but still onlyone. Change that variable, and the spells controlling all that magic shift to obey whomever we point them at.”
By the time he finished, Emily was seeing red. The single-variable spellwork that determined control over her body was a known security vulnerability. One that, ironically, Myron had been brought in tofix. Now he was handing it to the enemy right in front of her, and that stabbed deeper than anything else could.
“Youtraitor!” she screamed, ripping her face free of the Leviathan’s tentacle. “You’redead, Myron! Do you hear me? You’re— ”
She was cut off with a strangled choke as the Leviathan’s tentacle snapped back with a vengeance, wrapping all the way around her jaw and down her neck. She was still fighting it when a flash of light caught her attention, and she tore her eyes away from the slimy tentacle pressed against her cheeks to see Algonquin’s flat, reflective waterfall of a face hovering right in front of her.
“You have no place to call anyone traitor, little tool,” the lake whispered. “It is because of you that we are in this deplorable situation to begin with. I had the human who commanded the Mortal Spirit under my full control whenyoukilled her. Now we havenothing. Not the spirit I was building, nor Marci Novalli’s, nor the dragons needed to rebuild our losses. You were the one who put our backs to this wall, and it is only fair that you should prove the solution.”
“But what problem will she solve?” the eel spirit said, rising from the water at last to glare at Algonquin with wary, clouded eyes. “I see where you are going, lake water. Raven’s Construct is indeed a lovely tool. A deep bucket that can hold all the magic you need to rebuild your lost Mortal Spiritandplace it under the command of your new human stooge.” He nodded at Myron, who bristled. “But a bucket is useless without something to fill it. We know what you plan to do with it, but you have yet to say where all this magic is coming from, Algonquin.”
“He’s right,” Wolf agreed, showing his teeth. “The Mortal Spirits have always been a problem of scale. Even when the humans numbered only in the millions, the gouges their fears carved into the magical landscape were bigger than the mountains. Now there are billions of terrified mortals, and the holes they dig are bigger than ever. You know this. You asked for our children to help power the circles that funneled the magic of the entire DFZ into Reclamation Land, and youstillneeded all the dragons in your cityplusthe blood of all Three Sisters to come even close to filling a Mortal Spirit. But that blood is spilled. You have to start building that magic all over again, and while I’m sure Raven’s Construct makes an excellently wide mouth, I will promise nothing until you tell us what manner of food you plan on shoving down it.”
“The only kind we have left,” Algonquin said sadly. “Us.”
The cavern went silent. For several heartbeats, none of the spirits moved, and then the eel with the dead man’s face hissed like a snake. “Have you gonemad?”
“Not at all,” the water said, reaching out a tendril to her Leviathan. “Madness would be to ignore the doom we can all see building. I’m trying to stop it, which makes me the sanest one here.”
“You arenotsane,” the eel said, taking shelter behind the rock. “No one sane would suggest killing the souls of the land to save it.”
“And who is the land?” Algonquin demanded, drawing herself up. “Who speaks for us? You, bottom crawler?”
The eel hissed again and retreated to the darkness behind the rock, leaving Algonquin alone before the gathered spirits.
