out of the same substance as her staff, as though she had dipped her hands in glossy black liquid. Her Goldsign, perhaps? After a moment of rummaging around, she brightened, withdrawing a smooth white bottle with a cloth tied over its opening. She untied it in one swift motion, popping out a round green-and-gray pill. Lindon could smell it from where he stood, like a rainstorm in a pine forest. "Open up," she called down. When he didn't respond, she propped his head up and shoved the pill into his mouth. He gagged for a moment, his face turning red, but she held his mouth closed and he eventually swallowed. The effect was immediate. Light of green, red, and purple burst from his chest in long strings, and the aura inside of his body was ignited into a storm. He sat up as though someone had pulled him on a string, gasping loudly, pink eyes wide. The fish flying in the air around his head grew excited, bobbing up and down and all around his face. The girl slapped him on the back, smiling proudly. "There we go, good as new! Try not to eat for an hour or two, or you might start vomiting up living creatures. I've done it, it's not pretty." Only a few seconds later, Taien was conscious again, breathing steadily. He glanced once at Lindon and then looked away, turning instead to the young woman who had saved him. "I thank you. The Blackflame attacked me before I was—" At the sight of her eyes, he froze. She waited patiently, seeming to expect what was coming. "…Akura?" he asked, voice hoarse. "Akura Mercy," she said. "I'm honored to meet you." If everyone had taken a step back when they'd seen Lindon crush the other guy's ribs, they fled at the mention of Mercy's family name. Even the other gray-skinned members of the Kotai clan abandoned their fallen cousin, scrambling to get away. There were two types of people who stayed: the ones who looked as confused as Lindon felt, and the ones who were bowing too deeply to run. Not everyone had heard of the Akura name, it seemed. But all of the students from major clans had: none of the Jai, Naru, or Kotai remained. Except for Kotai Taien. His gray face went ashen, and he planted his forehead on the ground. "Forgive me my disrespect," he said. "I am not
worthy of your help." Mercy pushed herself to her feet and swayed for a second as though unused to her own legs. She leaned on her staff for balance, and the dragon's head at the top shone with purple light. Its eyes were glowing purple pinpricks, and Lindon thought he heard it snarl. "No atoning necessary," Mercy said with a smile. "Just don't bow to me anymore, how about that?" Taien jumped up as though the ground had become red-hot, and vanished into the crowd just as quickly. Mercy looked after him for a while, then sighed, and walked into the distance idly twirling her staff. "…what just happened?" Lindon asked Orthos. No response. Lindon looked to the turtle on his left. Orthos had withdrawn his head and all his limbs into his shell. His core seemed small and quiet, though that could have been because of the veil over his spirit. After a moment, his voice echoed from within the shell. "Is she gone?" "She didn't seem so bad to me," Lindon said, watching Mercy's ponytail vanish into the crowd. Every few steps, she tripped over her own feet and had to catch herself on her staff. Orthos peeked out of his shell, confirming that she really was gone, before he finally emerged. "If she's really a descendant of the Akura clan, we're lucky she was in a good mood. Her family owns three-quarters of the continent." "Not the Empire?" "The Blackflame Empire is one of their territories," Orthos said, still staring at where Mercy had vanished. "And not their most valuable. She might receive the Empire as a coming-of-age present." "Then why doesn't the Emperor come from the Akura clan?" Orthos snorted smoke. "The Emperor runs the Empire. They own it. They don't put one of their own on the throne because they don't have to. Naru Huan knows enough to do whatever they want him to." Lindon rested a hand on the turtle's head. Though Orthos would never acknowledge it, Lindon knew he found it comforting. "She must be impressive, to get a dragon to back down." "Even dragons," Orthos said, "know when to bow." ***
Eithan stared up at the fortress of death and wondered how he had gotten in so far over his head. The heart of Akura clan territory was clearly designed to intimidate anyone who laid eyes on it. The wall—which rose high over his head and stretched for miles beyond sight—was made of absolutely black Forged madra and topped with man-sized sword blades. He was fairly certain that the material of the walls had at least some aspect of death-madra to it, from the icy cold dread that pressed against his senses and the cold howls that he heard from deep within. And that was just the outer wall. The Emperor had a gatekey that had transported Eithan over ten thousand miles straight to the entrance, but even such a key couldn't get him in the door. The Akura family Matriarch must have created the gatekey herself, or one of her close disciples, because no one in the Blackflame Empire had such control of space. The guards were even more intimidating than the wall they guarded. The two Remnants were the dark green of murky swamp-water, and they looked like dried lizard-corpses. Only they were fifteen feet tall, and each of them carried a halberd that blazed with black-and-violet flame. A different breed of dragon's fire than Blackflame, but just as deadly. They each rested on piles of bleached human bones that were undoubtedly there for effect. ...not that they were a deception. They had just chosen to leave the bones of those the guards killed as a declaration to future visitors. Remnants they may have been, but they looked down on Eithan with cold intelligence. They had been left by Lords on the same Path and slowly cultivated by the Akura clan until they could match Heralds for power. The signs were there, if you knew what to look for. It was enough to make Eithan painfully aware of his status as an Underlord. Or rather, his lack of status. If the guards were to blast him to vapor, word would never reach the Blackflame Empire. Even if it did, the Emperor would be the one to apologize. Even in mortal danger, Eithan had never been one to give in to intimidation. He smiled brightly, pulling the gatekey from his pocket and holding it forth. It was made of purple-tinted black crystal, and it pulsed like a heart in his hand. "I represent Naru Huan, Emperor of the Blackflame Empire," he declared. "I seek an audience with the highest-ranking member of the Akura
clan available to me." He certainly couldn't request a meeting with their clan leader directly. Disrespecting a Monarch by implying that he was worthy of her time would kill him on the spot, and might even spread to the rest of the Arelius family. The Remnants inspected him with unreadable reptilian gazes. Even his bloodline powers were of no use to him here, as the spirits gave no physical clues for what they were feeling. However intelligent and advanced they were, they were still Remnants. They would act according to their nature unless given reason to do otherwise, and these had clearly been given guard duty. One sent out a spiritual pulse—the heft of which felt like it would push Eithan to the ground—in an obvious signal. Eithan waited. Somewhere behind the wall, the fortress itself spewed fire into the air. He hoped they wouldn't ask him to go inside. It would severely derail his plans if he was captured in an Akura holding cell for a hundred years. Finally, a center section of the wall dissolved into a black puddle. An old man with a long, wispy beard and purple eyes strode out of the gap, hands crossed in front of him. Those hands looked as though they'd been dipped in tar up to the elbow: the Goldsign from the Path of the Chainkeeper. He would be a blood descendant, then, as though the purple eyes weren't enough of a clue. He walked out with stately dignity, but he did not carry himself with arrogance. His black-and-white robes were simple, and he met Eithan's eyes with a placid gaze. Eithan liked him already; a different member of the Akura clan might have made him bow and scrape for an hour before deigning to hear a word. Eithan did not scan him directly, as that would have been an appalling breach of manners, but he did gingerly reach out his spiritual perception to get a sense of the man's advancement. As he suspected, he couldn't tell. The man might as well not have been a sacred artist at all. That meant he was at least an Underlord skilled in veils. Most likely, he was far above that stage. Eithan bowed deeply, pressing his fists together. "As an unworthy servant of the Blackflame Empire, I greet the representative of the honored Akura clan."
The old man dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I am Akura Justice. The clan welcomes you, Eithan Arelius." Eithan was not at all surprised that the Akura clan knew his name, but he was somewhat surprised that Justice had chosen to use it. "I am honored that you have taken such notice of me," he said, without straightening from his bow. "Our Matriarch, eternal and all-knowing, employs the greatest dream artists in the world," Justice said calmly. "They have seen you. It seems there has been a great shift in fate recently. The currents of destiny change rapidly these days, and the dream-readers have seen you in their flowing currents." Eithan began to sweat. Though their talents all varied, the legendary Monarchs could see far. Depending on what they decided about his destiny, he could be killed here. Or worse. "She has left words for you," Justice said, and his voice was awed. He must have been a descendant of his clan's Matriarch, so he was talking about his own mother, grandmother, or great-grandmother, but his tone suggested he was referring to a divinity made flesh. "In other circumstances, we would have a feast for anyone so honored, but time runs short." Eithan fell to his knees, pressing his head to the ground three times in the direction of the fortress. He resisted the urge to grimace while facing downward—Justice might not have been able to see it, but a Monarch would. If she were watching. Better to play it safe. "I am not worthy," Eithan said. And then, far more sincerely, "I will engrave the Monarch's words onto my heart." That, at least, was true. Whatever she had gleaned from the future, it would be invaluable to him. "The following words are not mine, but the Monarch's." Justice drew himself up, words rising in a proclamation. "Once, and once alone, will I defend your empire from the fiend that rises against it. Soon, I will have greater concerns…so you must raise protectors of your own. They will defend us all from the great calamity that follows. I await your success, Underlord." "She left those words for me?" Eithan asked, raising his head.
"For you, by name. She has seen your plans, and knows that you have a chance of success." Eithan tried not to shiver. A Monarch's help could make everything infinitely easier...but no one at that stage was selfless. She might take over, and there would be nothing Eithan could do to stop her. However, any information about his fate was invaluable. "I cannot express my gratitude in words. If the time does come where I may defend the Akura clan's territory, I will do so." He was careful not to admit debt. His soul might hold him to such words, especially when he was dealing with a Monarch. Justice nodded, gesturing for Eithan to rise. He did so, trying to ignore the mudstains on his outer robe. "I do not wish to overstep my station," Eithan said, turning up the charm in his smile. "But are there any instructions I should pass to my Emperor?" Justice ran a black-gloved hand down his beard. "We have made our will known to your Empire regarding our fallen daughter, and they have interpreted our instructions in an acceptable manner. It is important only that the daughter is pushed to the brink. Whether she learns to fly or falls to her death, the imperial clan will be rewarded." Eithan was doubly glad that he had researched the Akura clan's "fallen daughter" before coming here. Otherwise, he would have been completely in the dark, and there was little he hated more than ignorance. He bowed once more, extending his gatekey in both hands. "I regret the inconvenience, but if I could beg you for one further favor..." Justice smiled in a grandfatherly way and extended one finger to touch the crystal key. "Good-bye, Underlord. Until we meet again." Eithan vanished.
Chapter 15 The "application process" was a race. It was more of an obstacle course, Lindon had heard, similar to the dummy courses Eithan had used to train him. The course was so wide that it took up three-quarters of the fairground, broad enough that all five hundred and fifty-two Lowgold participants could line up shoulder-to-shoulder to begin. The course itself was shrouded in an orange cloud meant to obscure the obstacles. He supposed they wanted applicants thinking on their feet, and he'd caught a few snatches of conversation as people speculated on what could be inside. Although very few of the Lowgolds were actually on their feet at all. They rode sacred horses, or stood on flying swords, or spread their wings, or were carried in elaborate cages by constructs. He spotted Mercy, who had straddled her staff as though she were riding a horse, leaning forward and bracing herself on the weapon with both hands. It hovered a few feet over the ground, though she wobbled so much he wondered if she would fall off. The dragon's head at the end of the staff snarled, violet lights shining where eyes should be, as though it were eager to proceed. He glanced over at the Highgold course, which was much smaller and swallowed by a white cloud. There were only fifty participants there, and fewer of them were mounted, as though they trusted more in their own speed. He couldn't see Yerin, though he did notice sunlight glinting on steel and wondered if he'd spotted her Goldsign. "Everyone else is riding," Lindon muttered softly. "I won't be able to catch up to them on foot." Orthos' eyes blazed. "Of course. Climb on my shell, and we will destroy any obstacles in our way." Lindon didn't want to question his good fortune, but he was shocked at how quickly the turtle had agreed. "Gratitude, Orthos."
"You sound surprised." "I only thought you might consider carrying me to be, ah...demeaning? Not that I think it is, of course, only that you might see it that way." Orthos looked at him as though looking at a particularly simpleminded child. "When a horse carries a man, which of them is the stronger party? It is only suitable that a dragon should carry lesser creatures." Lindon couldn't argue with that. His shell was hot, spiky, and uncomfortable. Lindon had to cycle and push back against the Blackflame madra rising from Orthos in order to stop from burning a hole in the seat of his pants. Every step the turtle took as he shuffled around at the starting line jostled Lindon so badly that his badge bounced on his chest. It was so uncomfortable as to be almost painful, but before he could get down and take his chances with the Burning Cloak, a Skysworn rose above the crowd. Lindon had never seen her before, but she had a single horn rising from the top of her head and she floated on an emerald Thousand-Mile Cloud. Her armor gleamed, pristine, as she raised one hand. "You are the greatest of all those who desire to serve in the Skysworn," she announced, voice thundering. "The first among you will have the honor of keeping the peace in the name of the Emperor. Fight hard, and let nothing stand in your way." Lindon looked to his fellow competitors, who had either formed into groups or were casting suspicious glances at the others. They had picked up on the same thing he had: nothing prevented them from fighting each other inside the cloud. It was a pure competition, and the judges cared only about who emerged from the other end. What did it say about the Skysworn, that they taught their next generation of protectors to compete with one another first and foremost? The judge high in the sky raised her palm, and a crackling field of yellow and blue formed in her hand. "Prepare yourselves!" she declared. Lindon leaned forward, gripping the edge of Orthos' shell. The field exploded with a crack, and they were off. The orange cloud swallowed him in a second as Orthos dashed forward with blurring speed. It felt warm on his face instead of cool, as he would have expected. On the other side, the first thing he saw was a ball of shining chrome headed straight for his head.
He ignited his Burning Cloak, striking the ball away with an explosive punch. The ball hurtled into the orange distance, and Lindon got a better look at this obstacle. It was a broad field of flying, whirling metal balls. There must have been thousands of them, all circling in seemingly random patterns. It didn't look like they were targeting competitors, but the air was so thick with them that the mass of Lowgolds crashed into them like a wall. They were fighting through, but with only a few exceptions, they were forced to slow themselves and proceed slowly and carefully. He could see Mercy among those who were hurtling through, her ponytail streaming behind her. She was still wobbling as though her staff would fall to the ground at any second, but she always adjusted her balance, narrowly avoiding a chrome ball each time. It looked like chance, but she hadn't slowed at all. And neither had Orthos. Perhaps because he was used to the protection his shell offered, he didn't seem to see any threat in hurtling spheres of metal. He galloped through the cloud in a straight line. Lindon screamed for him to slow down, clinging to the shell. His knuckles ached where he had punched the first chrome ball, so he switched hands, grabbing on with his flesh hand and using his skeletal Remnant arm to defend himself. His new hand was only a day old, and it still wouldn't do as he commanded. ...fortunately, it seemed only too eager to help. It hauled him closer, catching the metal balls in its palm without Lindon's direction. It seemed to draw something out of the spheres, because they dropped to the ground, lifeless, after it caught them. It must have been a property of the madra, because the binding in the arm didn't activate. That was the good news. There was a dark side, though. The arm focused on one ball at a time, preferring to feed than to protect him. One steel ball smashed into his ribs, another crushed his elbow between it and Orthos' shell, and still a third slammed into the heel of his foot. As the pain took his breath away and his Bloodforged Iron body siphoned madra to deal with the injuries, he reflected that the pain in his ribs might be divine justice for Kotai Taien.
They were through the field of balls almost too quickly, and he gasped in relief, holding onto the shell with both hands. He was clinging desperately to Orthos, plastered belly-down on the smoldering shell. He was most focused on staying stable and conscious, but keeping his clothes from burning off was a strong secondary concern. The second obstacle was a brick wall. Orthos still didn't slow down. Lindon barely had enough time to form dragon's breath and burn his way through; he almost lost control of the technique, without a second hand to contribute. He finally managed it, sending out a liquid-looking bar of Blackflame madra that sliced through the bricks as though they were made of butter... Carving a line straight down. He might have been able to edge his way through, if he didn't mind red-hot bricks pressing against him, but there was no way he would squeeze through riding on Orthos. He drew madra together desperately, though he knew there was no time for the technique before they hit. Then Orthos opened his mouth and blasted a hole in the center of the wall. They went through with no more damage than a smoldering patch on the back of Lindon's outer robe. He could feel it burning, but he couldn't spare any attention to put it out. So far, he understood the reasoning behind the obstacles. The flying balls tested your awareness and reaction time. The brick wall tested your raw power—it was already re-forming behind Lindon, so the only way to pass through was to tear a hole in it. The third obstacle was a cloud of wasps. He almost cried. What does this have to do with enforcing the law? Devoutly, he swore to himself that he wouldn't go through any more trials without learning more about them ahead of time. He could have cheated his way through here without a problem. Riding Orthos was something like cheating...though far, far less comfortable. The wasps began stinging him, and he both thanked and cursed Eithan for his Bloodforged Iron body. There was nothing it handled better than poison, but without its help, he would have passed out. There were four more obstacles after that. ***
Yerin could have passed the Highgold application in her sleep. The Blackflame Trials had pushed her harder than this, and her training with Cassias and Eithan even harder. She had passed through in first place, earning astonished looks and not a few people trying to snatch her up for their organizations. She ignored them all, strolling over to the end of the Lowgold course. If she had passed the Highgold so easily, Lindon should have blown through the application like a spring breeze. He loved having time to plan for things like this, but it wasn't as though he really needed it. Not in her estimation, anyway. Planning for a fight was important, but he used a plan more like a crutch. That was how the weak did things. The Lowgold course was longer than hers had been, so Yerin arrived in time to see the first person emerge from the orange cloud. To her surprise, it wasn't Lindon. A girl on a flying...broomstick?...blasted out, tumbling onto the grass at the end. She flipped heels-over-head, rolling to a halt and looking around in a daze. Her hair had been tangled from the fall, her ponytail had dead grass in it, and her purple eyes were hazy. She sat up, looking around, and saw no one. Then she put her hands up in victory—they were gloved in black—and collapsed onto her back, breathing hard. Yerin gave her a quiet scan, sneaking a glimpse at her soul. Her madra was rock-stable for a Lowgold, deep and quiet as a winter pond. Yerin couldn't figure why she hadn't advanced to Highgold yet. With power that solid, she should have been able to do it in a snap. The girl seemed to notice something, glancing around until she saw Yerin. Yerin didn't look away—if she had been caught, she'd been caught. No use playing around about it. Rather than looking offended, the girl gave a cheery wave and let her head fall back down against the ground. An instant later, a new batch of students came through the clouds. The first flew on green wings, though one of them was broken and his eye was swollen shut. The next was covered in a cloak from head-to-toe, and flew on a jet of streaming blue sparks. The third was Orthos. She was surprised they'd let Lindon take him. Sure, contracted beasts were normally considered like a weapon or construct, but they didn't
normally have a two-stage difference from their contractors. Sacred beasts didn't advance like sacred artists did, but Orthos still had power on the level of a Truegold. Which surprised her even more, because he had only come in fourth. He trotted out, not seeming to hurry, carrying something in his mouth. It took her a breath or two to see it was Lindon, limp and covered in blood. There were slices in his outer robe, pieces of it were on fire, and his face was covered in lumps like bug bites. But he groaned and moved in Orthos' mouth, so she reasoned he was fine. She walked up to the turtle as the remaining members of the successful fifty made it through. "What rolled him over?" she asked. Orthos spat him onto the ground, where Lindon groaned upon landing. "He needs a shell," Orthos said. *** Three days after the qualification, there was a ceremony to welcome the new generation of Skysworn trainees. In consideration of the red light that was swallowing more and more of the horizon each day, the usual feast and celebration were cut short. Each inductee was handed a green pin marked with a cloud, which would identify them until they graduated their training and received the Skysworn armor. They were then given a brief, personal greeting by the Skysworn Underlord. He had made himself presentable for the occasion, so his hair was washed and clipped back, baring the scar high on his left cheek. He was even out of his armor, wearing instead a crisp layered outfit that had the look of a uniform. For Lindon and Yerin, he practically threw their pin at them and gave them no greeting, but Lindon didn't mind. He was eager to minimize any future contact with the Underlord; that seemed to be the best way to live a long and healthy life. Finally, when all sixty trainees had been given their pins, they sat down for instruction. Twenty full Skysworn, Truegolds all, lined the walls of the room, looking in at the student tables. They stood in pairs, which Lindon took to be partners when he saw Renfei and Bai Rou among them. The Highgold table and the Lowgold tables were separate, with five Lowgolds for every Highgold. More than one of the students at Lindon's
table sent jealous glances at the higher table. Some of the more advanced trainees gave smug looks back. Yerin looked as though she were falling asleep. Her bladed arms sprawled, threatening the people seated on either side of her. Naru Gwei stepped between the tables, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else. Lindon's white arm struggled to escape from the table, but he wrestled it back down. Orthos, seated next to Lindon, fought to stay quiet and still. Lindon could feel the effort in the turtle's soul and in the thickening pillar of smoke that rose from his shell. "You'll be separated into teams," the Captain said at last, nodding to the full Skysworn around the walls. "Every pair of Skysworn gets five Lowgolds and one Highgold. Normally we'd get you started by finding lost pets or delivering messages, something suited for your level of advancement. We don't have the luxury of that this time." It was so quiet that Orthos' breath sounded like a bellows. None of the trainees seemed willing to make a sound. "We always choose the better fighters among the young. We have to, because the bigger your weapon, the less you have to draw it. We've got the biggest hammer in the Empire, and everyone knows it." A halfhearted cheer rose from the Highgold table, but Naru Gwei ignored it, so it died quickly. "If we were at peace, I'd have higher standards for your training. I'd want you to be familiar with imperial policy, and the names of all the political players." He waved that aside. "It's a luxury. We're in a crisis, so we're cutting everything down to the bone. We only need one thing from you: to fight. When and where we tell you. The Empire's scurrying like a kicked anthill, and there are always snakes and rats who want to take advantage of that while we're looking away. We'll need to defend the Empire from those traitors...and from the real enemy to the south." He pulled a long straw out of his chest pocket and started chewing on it. "We're baptizing you in fire. There's plenty of fight to go around. We'll be taking you from battle to battle, and in between, you're expected to spend every second pushing for your next advancement. The Empire has no time for you to waste. "At the end, if we all make it, I'll be looking over all the reports from your mentors. Those of you who follow orders and distinguish yourselves...well, I look forward to calling you Skysworn."
He nodded sharply to one of the green-armored Truegolds in the back and then walked away, hands tucked into his outer robe. The speech actually encouraged Lindon. Going from fight to fight, with nothing but a stop to train in between, was essentially what Eithan had for him every day. If the Skysworn would be pushing him to advance faster, that was all he could wish for. Though it wasn't as though he was eager to rush into battle with Redmoon Hall. At least Yerin would be happy. The first pair of Skysworn read out a series of names, calling up five Lowgolds and a Highgold. The team of eight filed out, leaving all the young sacred artists in the room excitedly waiting their turn. That included Lindon. He wondered if they would pair him with Yerin, given their history of working together, or if they separated those who came from the same sect or family. As the selection process continued, he noticed two things. First, most of the sacred artists in the room were from the three major clans. Kotai and Naru were the most common names, followed in a distant third by Jai. Second, the math didn't add up. There were twenty full Skysworn in the room: ten pairs. They were selecting from a pool of ten Highgolds and fifty Lowgolds, so there should be five Lowgolds, one Highgold, and two Truegolds to each team. But one team took only four Lowgolds. A few picks later, another team skipped a Lowgold. Toward the end, an irritated-looking pair turned down a Highgold. With three teams left to pick, there were fifteen trainees remaining. Including Lindon and Yerin. From the way Yerin was glaring, she'd picked up on it too. Renfei and Bai Rou were the pair at the end, so it was possible they'd been left in order to join the team of Skysworn they knew. But neither of them had made eye contact with Lindon through the whole process, so they weren't doing anything to help Lindon's unease. When it came their turn to pick, Lindon knew something was wrong. There were only three trainees left: Yerin alone at the Highgold table, and he at the Lowgold table together with Akura Mercy. Mercy sighed with a resigned look on her face, as though she'd expected this, and pushed her way up with her staff before Renfei had even said a
word. It wasn't as though anyone had to hear their picks anyway. They had been left with a team half the size of the others. "Something's crooked here," Yerin said. She didn't bother to keep her voice quiet. "You think so?" Naru Gwei asked. He shrugged. "Quit." With that, he turned and walked out of the room. The cloud over Renfei's head seemed especially dark today, as she looked over the three of them. She seemed paler than usual, with shadows under her eyes. "You're not stupid," she said to them, when the Underlord had left. The other teams had filed out when they were chosen, leaving the room empty but for the five of them. "They've singled you out." "What for?" Yerin asked, glaring. Renfei looked from Lindon to Mercy and back to Yerin. "I don't think I need to answer that." Mercy swung her staff up onto her shoulder and walked up to Yerin, though she tripped over nothing and almost fell on her face. When she righted herself, she smiled. "Akura Mercy," she said. "But my clan doesn't entirely approve of my being here." She tapped her chin with a black-clad finger. "I'd guess they either let it be known that they wouldn't avenge anything that happened to me, or offered a reward for placing me in mortal danger." Renfei remained stony-faced, giving nothing away, but Bai Rou glanced to the door before nodding once. "There are more than a few people who would take any opportunity to settle things with an Akura who can't fight back," Mercy said with a sigh. She pointed to Lindon. "Then we have a Blackflame, who the Skysworn don't like very much, and..." She hesitated when she reached Yerin. "Wait! I don't know your names!" "Wei Shi Lindon of the Arelius family," Bai Rou said, before Lindon could speak up. "And Yerin. Emissary of Redmoon Hall." He gave her a yellow glare, and Lindon's spirit screamed with the sudden tension in the air. Orthos was on his feet and cycling Blackflame, and Yerin was ready to draw her sword. Her face had paled during her introduction, and her Goldsigns blazed with silver light. Lindon stepped forward, holding one arm out. The other couldn't be bothered. "Wait! Wait a second, I think there's a misunderstanding here that
we can resolve!" "I'll cut your Truegold tongue out," Yerin said, which didn't help his efforts. Mercy was looking curiously at Lindon. "Wei clan?" she asked. "Not the Blackflame family? You must have an interesting story." She didn't seem to see the fight brewing behind her, though the dragon's head on her staff hissed. "This isn't an execution squad," Renfei said. Her voice was calm, but she kept one hand on her hammer. "Not unless you make that necessary. We are here to keep you under control, and to squeeze as much use out of you as we can." Why tell us? Lindon wondered. Why not put two more trainees in our squad, and pretend everything was normal, then abandon us on a mission? He realized the answer almost immediately: because they didn't need to lie. Part of it could be due to a sense of honor on the part of the Skysworn, but for the most part, the three students were no threat. If they left, they would be deserting their duty and would be hunted down. If they fought, they would lose. They were battling two Truegold Skysworn inside the heart of Skysworn power; reinforcements would arrive almost immediately. And even if they succeeded, they would be executed. And then there was Mercy. Her family had disavowed her, or exiled her, or whatever they wanted to call it, but clearly the Skysworn couldn't kill her flat-out. Yerin and Lindon, too, were backed by the Arelius family. Anything the Skysworn did to them had to at least appear legitimate. Lindon held his hand out steadily. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he said, "but we will be given a chance to do our jobs, won't we?" Bai Rou's yellow eyes blazed, still fixed on Yerin. "We won't put you anywhere you can hurt the Empire," he said. He must have taken Yerin's Blood Shadow personally. Maybe it hurt worse because he hadn't spotted it himself; the Underlord must have told him, or he would have reacted this way the very first time he met Yerin. Renfei answered him directly. "Yes. We are only to supervise you. So long as you follow our instructions and contribute to our cause, we have been instructed to treat you as any other trainees." "Until we give you a shot at our backs," Yerin countered, still holding her sword in both hands.
"Until you betray us," Renfei corrected. "We will not give you the safety net we give to the other students. One instance of insubordination, one refusal to fight, and there will be no disciplinary action. We are authorized to execute you on the spot." They had to be holding something back. Lindon was sure of it. With only the strength of two Truegolds, they couldn't be sure of removing Lindon's group quietly. Orthos alone could match one of them, which left the other three to deal with a single opponent. It wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't a sure victory for the Skysworn. Which meant they had a reason for their confidence. Either that armor did more for them than Lindon expected, or they had some weapons in reserve. So fighting wasn't an option, but they had time. And the Skysworn needed something from them. That meant there was a way to win. He was exhausted, and wished he could sleep as long as he wanted without worrying about another life-threatening battle popping up. But there was a small part of him that was focused and excited. They hadn't killed him from behind, so this was a puzzle with a solution. He moved over to Yerin, ready to calm her down. Then the light turned red, and the world was cast into chaos.
Chapter 16 Cassias walked through the barn, waving to the workers. His team of cleaners was preparing it, shoveling manure and dirty hay, sweeping cobwebs, and building temporary pens for the livestock. The Arelius employees would be staying here, for the time being, unless and until they could reclaim their former territory. Their homes had been ravaged by bloodspawn. Cassias passed families where only one parent wore the dark blue outer robe of the Arelius, but the others worked just as hard. He was squeezing forty-two people into this barn, and he might have to find room for even more before this was done. Considering that virtually all of their branches in the south had been closed by the advance of Redmoon Hall and the rise of the Bleeding Phoenix, he was dealing with as many as fifty thousand people either evacuated or displaced. And those were only the ones attached to the Arelius family. The Empire as a whole was in a crisis even if the Phoenix never rose. He moved out of the back of the barn and looked to the south, where blood-colored light hovered like a permanent sunset. It had grown. When he had left Stormrock, only a few days ago, the light wasn't visible from this far away. In the worst-case scenario, he might have to pack everyone up again, and find room for them even farther north. He didn't have a way to transport so many people so far, unless Stormrock agreed to help, and he suspected they would be packed to capacity as well. Well, that wasn't the worst scenario. The Dreadgod might decide to go on a rampage and kill them all, without a Monarch to turn it aside into the eastern wasteland or the uninhabited sea to the west. If it marched straight north, killing everything in its path and spreading bloodspawn, no evacuation would matter. He reached the back of the barn and stood beneath a particular tree.
"We don't have to meet in secret, Eithan," he said without looking up. "These are your employees." Eithan sat with legs dangling over the edge of a branch, staring south. "You don't think this is more exciting? Besides, I don't want to deal with greetings and farewells and all the ceremony." "You never do," Cassias said, stretching his shoulder. Despite the attentions of the Skysworn, his wounds were still sore, especially when he moved around for too long. "Have you come to help with the evacuation?" Eithan laughed as though Cassias had made a joke. "I actually received some new information that deserves prompt action. Suffice it to say that this will not be the only disaster of this scale in the coming years. We may be heading for interesting times ahead, little brother!" "I'm not your brother," Cassias said, his mind racing. First of all, he had to know if Eithan had gotten this information from a reliable source, or if he was relying on his own guesses. Knowing that a disaster was coming could make all the difference. He said as much, and Eithan nodded along. "A wise question," Eithan responded. "I cannot reveal my source, but it is...worthy of trust." "Then we need to suspend normal operations immediately. We should pull back to our strongholds, prepare for sieges...can you convince the Empire that we're in danger, or should we accept censure?" "Instead of that, we're going to send teams south and west." Cassias looked up to stare at his Underlord, horrified and disbelieving all at once. The South was a slaughterhouse, and the West was the home of the crumbling Jai clan. "You want me to send families to die." "Not if you do it right," Eithan responded lightly. "I'm not asking our clansmen to throw their lives away, but these are the places where we are needed. We're equipped to help rescue and repair efforts, as well as to gain information. On Redmoon Hall, the Bleeding Phoenix, and the western labyrinth. That information will soon be very valuable, as will the allies our assistance will earn us." "It's not worth the risk." Cassias gestured behind him, to the barn that was halfway through its transformation into a shelter. "We'll have enough trouble keeping these people alive if we're not walking straight into the Phoenix's nest. You can't ask them to—"
Eithan dropped to the ground, landing as though he weighed nothing. "I am not asking them to do anything. Put the best face on it, and certainly don't feed anyone to the Dreadgod, but I am commanding them to take a riskier path for greater reward to the family." He clapped Cassias on the shoulder. "Make it so, Cassias." Cassias' heart boiled. Personally, he was still grateful to Eithan. But as the one-time heir to the Arelius family, he itched at the Underlord's attitude. He would always do things according to his own whims, and would never listen to anyone else. Now, it fell to Cassias to tell these people that they had to leave their families and head back into danger. After Eithan left Cassias to his simmering thoughts, Naru Jing returned. She was carrying their three-year-old son in one arm and a basket of firewood in the other, eyeing the sky. One of her eyes and one of her wings had been replaced with glowing orange Remnant prosthetics, which meant one of her wings could no longer be fully retracted. It stuck out over her left shoulder, folded up. Both her soft brown eye and her bright false one scanned the sky. "Was Eithan here?" she asked curiously. Cassias dropped to the ground, leaning his back against the tree, and told her everything that had happened. When he'd finished, she'd set the firewood down and was examining him with a steady gaze. "I owe Underlord Eithan the same debt you do," she said at last, "but we can't let gratitude overshadow our duty to the family." Cassias nodded along. He'd let Eithan overwhelm him, causing him to forget his other options. Although...did he really have any? "You have to take this to your father," Jing said, spelling out what he already knew. Sighing, he nodded. The elders of the Arelius family could rein in the Patriarch, if they wanted to. But would they oppose him after he'd brought down the Jai clan, leaving an opening among the great clans that the Arelius could fill? They might, considering that Lindon had lost his duel to Jai Long, which had cost the family some reputation for no reason. Cassias knew his father, though. The former Patriarch of the Arelius family had never approved of all the time and resources Eithan spent on his own whims.
Though he felt like he was betraying Eithan, he had to ask his father's approval. For the family's sake, it was the right thing to do. A screech cut off his thoughts. Glass shattered next to him, but he didn't hear it. Instead, he stumbled over to his son, clapping his hands over the boy's ears. Jing had already woven a barrier of wind around them to cut out the deadly sound. A crimson light shone from behind him, and he didn't need the horrified look on his wife's face to understand what had happened. He already knew. *** The floor tilted and Lindon scrambled to grab onto one of the bolteddown tables as Stormrock accelerated as quickly as possible. The whole city shook, the table in Lindon's arms shaking as though in an earthquake. All from the force of a scream that was more than a scream, as though the sound had been given life. It was layered, like a thousand birds shrieking at once, so loudly that he felt a sharp pain in both ears. A moment later, warm liquid trickled down both sides of his face. His Iron body drew madra to his ears, but there was a moment of blissful silence where he couldn't hear…he could only hear the cry in the rest of his body. He didn't even dare to listen to his spirit, which trembled under a force much greater than the sound. The Bleeding Phoenix had awakened. The stench of blood filled the red-tinged air. His heart beat more heavily than usual, as though it were hammering on his ribs, and his veins seemed to boil. He opened his Copper sight—not south, lest he blind himself, but at the room around him—and everything was tinged red. Even the pale green of the wind was tinged with wet red. Mercy was sitting on the ground, both of her palms stuck to the floor as though nailed there. She squinted south, staring into the bright red light. Her ears had been stoppered up with the same black goo that seemed to coat her hands and staff; her madra, Lindon guessed. Renfei stood on dark platforms of solid cloud that she had generated with her madra, face horrified, and Bai Rou was clinging to his emerald Thousand-Mile Cloud like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. Blood ran from their ears as well. Orthos had let himself fall, slamming the side of his shell into the far wall. His sanity had fled before the Dreadgod, his madra raging up, and it was taking all his self-
control to keep from breathing fire in the general direction of the Bleeding Phoenix. However badly off the rest of them were, whatever changes the Phoenix's aura was making in their bodies, Yerin was worse. She lay on the floor, collapsed on her back. The only things keeping her from sliding down the slope were her silver blade-arms, which had been driven into the stone. She shook even worse than the ground around her, her back arching and her eyes rolling up into her head. Blood spilled from her stomach. Despite his total lack of any medical ability, Lindon looked for a way to slide over to her before she bled out. At least he could keep pressure on the wound, even if his pack—which he'd kept in the back of the room during the ceremony—had slid to the opposite wall. Little Blue's case must have cracked in the impact, but he couldn't worry about that now. There were bandages in there. It was only at that point that he realized it wasn't blood. It was a Blood Shadow. Sparks of gray soulfire hissed from the broken seal over her core. The Shadow reached tendrils out, sliding over her body, questing about, looking for something. Bai Rou let out a roar when he saw her. Lindon's ears had just healed enough to hear. The Skysworn struggled onto his cloud, kneeling on it and flying over to Yerin. With one hand, he scooped her up. The Blood Shadow latched onto his arm, but a sheath of liquid yellow madra protected him. With the other hand, he sprayed a geyser of his madra at the window. The glass dissolved as though eaten away by acid, and he soared free, dragging Yerin along with him. For a long, frozen second, Lindon panicked. Where was he taking her? What was he doing? The Dreadgod's scream had quieted, but Stormrock was still rushing away. Why was Bai Rou flying around? One thing was clear: he'd taken Yerin. And Lindon had to follow. He released the table, letting himself slide down the slanted room. He bent his knees as he hit the far wall, his legs Enforced by pure madra, landing between Orthos and his pack.
His right arm betrayed him then, grasping at the air to the south, so he had to open his pack with one hand. "Orthos," he said, as he dug through his belongings. "I don't know if you can hear me right now, but I have to go after Yerin. If I'm not back soon...please don't kill anyone." Nothing in his spirit told him if the turtle heard him or not, but he couldn't spare any further thought. He'd found the scripted box that contained one of his most valuable possessions. His own Thousand-Mile Cloud. He slung the pack on his back even as he spilled out the cloud, hopping onto it immediately. Unlike the Skysworn's, his was a rusty red, made a vibrant ruby by the light. With no more hesitation, he poured his madra into the construct, hurtling out the hole in the window after Bai Rou. Wind tore past him as he flew out of the building, and it took most of his effort to keep up with the flying city. After one frantic look around didn't reveal a huge, armored man on a green cloud, he reluctantly opened his spirit. He was drowning in blood. Life, vibrant and powerful, had been spilled here. The power that anchored his soul to his body was in his blood, and it was overwhelming him, choking him. Strangely, the overpowering sense of the Dreadgod actually made it easier to sense what he was looking for. There was only one spot of power that was hanging in the air instead of cowering in a building, and Lindon headed straight for it. It was to the south. The red light was almost blinding, but within it he could see a shape. A monstrous shape. It was so large as to defy description, swallowing half the sky and stretching into the clouds. Each of its feathers was an oozing, flowing blob, as though it had been made from clumps of crimson gel pushed together. Its beak was curved like a scythe and razor-sharp, and its eyes were shapeless masses of white-hot power. The Bleeding Phoenix spread its wings like a wound stretching from one horizon to another. Then it opened its beak and cried again.
Lindon sent madra to his ears to protect them, but it didn't save him. That stabbing pain returned, blood dribbling down his ears. This time, a pair of bloodspawn formed beneath him in midair. They hadn't sprouted earlier, inside the building, though he wasn't sure if that was due to some scripted protection on the Skysworn fortress or if the influence of the Dreadgod simply hadn't been strong enough yet. These bloodspawn—made of liquid, but clear as red glass—clawed at him as they fell, splattering against the street below and re-forming. Even when he went deaf again, Lindon kept his eyes locked on the distant green speck. It had reached the southern end of the city, the part that was trailing deep emerald clouds and tilted downward. He closed on them as the other cloud began to slow down. Then Bai Rou released Yerin. Her Blood Shadow clawed for him as she fell, but he defended himself with yellow madra. Without waiting to see her fall, he turned and started flying his cloud after the city. Lindon tore after her. She was falling through natural clouds now, and he pushed his Thousand-Mile Cloud harder than he ever had before. She was too far below him. He wouldn't make it. For months, he'd been stretching his core using the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel. He had more madra in his core than he could possibly use at one time. He strained his madra channels, shoving as much out as he could, flooding the construct's core with power. He didn't need the cloud to last beyond today. Just now. Just one last time. She was close now, her tattered robes blowing in the wind, her Blood Shadow flailing. He reached out his right hand, trying to grab a fistful of her robes. His arm betrayed him. The Blood Shadow reached for the white madra of his arm, seeking it, and his arm flinched away. Desperate, he tried to push the Thousand-Mile Cloud even harder, but the cloud was already dissipating beneath him. The script at the core had overloaded and warped, and now he was flooding the cloud madra with his own. It would fall apart any second. Which was only fitting, because they would hit the ground any second.
A searing pain hit him in the shoulder, and he shouted, though even he couldn't hear it. He had only a moment to see what it was: a black arrowhead, sticking out from the front of him. Then, from the tip of the arrow, burst a net. It looked like a spider's web made of tar, blasting out from the arrow and swallowing Yerin. It covered her from neck to hips. The Blood Shadow wrapped around the net immediately, seeping into it, but it remained intact. Yerin's weight pulled at the arrow impaling his shoulder, and he was tugged downward, but he grabbed onto the black web with his left hand and hauled her aboard the cloud. As he swooped below the trees, he managed to level off their flight. Only then did he see what they were falling into: a broken village, with barely a single building left intact. The ground was dotted with fresh corpses. And shambling bloodspawn. The Thousand-Mile Cloud burst apart when they were only five feet from landing, but he'd managed to slow them enough. Yerin slammed into the grass back-first, and Lindon fell onto his hands. He caught a glimpse of the glowing mass of Forged madra at the heart of the cloud construct before it dissipated into essence. His body flooded with relief, though it was likely premature: they were still caught out in the open, surrounded by bloodspawn, still within the Dreadgod's influence. The sheer size of the creature made it hard to estimate, but they might have been over a hundred miles away. It only felt like it was looming right over them. Also, he still had an arrow in his shoulder. He couldn't stand up straight or move away from Yerin, because the weight of her body kept the black string between them taut. His ears healed again in time for him to hear someone land behind him. He turned with horror, part of him expecting to see Bai Rou, but it was Mercy. She was standing on her staff, which drifted down to the ground. She stumbled as she landed, but smiled as if she'd done a trick. "Sorry for shooting you," she said. "It was the only shot I could get." Black madra unraveled from her ears as she spoke. Lindon stared at her. "I don't know how I can repay you. I wasn't going to make it, I..." He shook himself. "I can't believe you followed me at all."
"I'm not the only one," she said, turning and pointing to the north. A smoldering red-and-black meteor plunged to earth. It was a few miles away, but Lindon knew exactly what it was. Or rather, who it was. He had no idea if Orthos' shell could withstand such an impact, but the turtle would know better than anyone. Lindon tapped the arrow on his shoulder as some of the bloodspawn oozed closer. "Could you remove this, please? We need to go." Mercy reached out and touched the arrow, whereupon it melted, along with the web over Yerin. Her Blood Shadow surged up, an excited mass of tendrils seeking food. They leaned toward Lindon's right arm, which flinched back. Lindon had expected more pain when the arrow vanished, but all discomfort vanished with the arrow. His skin was untouched. He found that fascinating, but he held back his curiosity about her madra until later. "He's your contracted beast, isn't he?" Mercy asked. She spun her staff idly in both hands, eyeing the approaching bloodspawn. They were acting sluggish, perhaps blinded by the Phoenix's influence, but all of them focused on the living humans. "It might be better if we let him come to us." "I'm not certain he can," Lindon said, feeling the rolling rage in Orthos' core. He was heading quickly for Lindon, but there was no telling how long he could hang on. "When I'm not around, he doesn't always stay...himself." Mercy's eyes grew sad. "If he loses himself, I will help you find him and bring him back. But I'm afraid none of us will make it if we're out in the open when the fight begins." Lindon tapped his Blackflame core, feeling the warmth in his eyes and in his spirit, the low-level sizzling pain as his body strained to contain the destructive power. It seemed even wilder today, more difficult to control, as though it fed on the blood aura. His Burning Cloak ignited as he faced down the first of the bloodspawn. "I've fought these before," he said. "We can't let them bog us down, but we can force our way through." Mercy shot a black web from her fingertips, binding three bloodspawn together, then she drove her staff through one of their heads. The headless creature still grasped at her, and she danced backwards, tying up another. "I don't mean this fight," she said. She nodded south, and her voice grew heavy. "I mean that one."
Lindon wanted to follow her gaze, but he couldn't bear to look upon the Dreadgod again. It was too bright, and reminded him too much of carnage and slaughter. Although letting it hover over him like a weight about to fall may have been worse. "What is it going to fight? Us?" Lindon couldn't imagine that being much of a contest. "Not us," Mercy said. "We should get inside." Carrying Yerin ended up being the hard part, with Mercy dragging her along in a case of webbing, wrapping up the Blood Shadow whenever it struggled free. Lindon was forced to face most of the Bloodspawn himself, and with every one he killed, he regretted his lack of a weapon. The bloodspawn burned on contact with his fist, and he could only use Striker techniques every few seconds. He took several cuts and some burns just because of how close he had to get, and came very close to death as one of the creatures had burst into thorns when he got close. Mercy managed to haul him out at the last second. Fortunately, his Remnant arm was only too happy to devour these bloodspawn. It seized any of the spirits that came too close, gripping them by the throat as though they were made of flesh. The bloodspawn froze when the white claw took them. They trembled, flashed with power, and eventually dissolved into dark, dried flakes. The arm always glowed brighter when it did so, and the sense of hunger radiating from it grew stronger. It was taking something from the spirits, but he couldn't figure out what. The arm wasn't turning red, and there was no hint of blood madra in his channels. It was either taking something other than madra, or it was processing the power so efficiently that Lindon couldn't sense any waste. He would question it later. For now, he was simply glad of it. Without its help, he would have been overwhelmed in an instant. He had to get too close to his opponents, and these enemies could burst into suicide attacks. Mercy couldn't always cover him, and his dragon's breath took too long to muster. Yerin would tell him his training was lacking. He needed a way to deal with a mass of opponents, when he couldn't approach to arm's length. A reliable Striker technique and a weapon would go a long way. In his opinion, it was preparation he lacked. He needed to stop plunging headfirst into situations where he had no reliable information.
Although, in this case, it wasn't as though he had another choice. They fought their way to a building that may have been an inn. Its windows were broken out, but Mercy found a door to the cellar. They pushed inside, and she webbed up the edges of the door. Lindon pulled out a knife from his pouch and scratched a quick Remnant-repelling script into the door's wooden surface. He didn't think bloodspawn were exactly Remnants, but they were composed of madra, and that should be similar enough. He hoped. When they finally came to a stop in the cellar, surrounded by sealed jars and sacks, his breath came so fast that he had almost released his cycling technique. Sweat drenched him, and he heaved in air. Mercy was in the same state, leaning on her staff as though it were the only thing keeping her upright. At last, Lindon had a moment to check on Yerin. He didn't need to be a healer to tell she wasn't doing well. Beneath the layers of black web covering her, she still bucked, limbs thrashing. He slipped a mass of folded-up bandages between her teeth to stop her from biting her tongue, but he wasn't sure that he would be in time. The Blood Shadow wrapped her like a second robe. He didn't know anything about it, but that couldn't be good. He pulled Little Blue out of his pack—her container had indeed cracked, but only slightly, and not enough to spill any of the water within. She saw the Blood Shadow and flinched, letting out a piping scream. Then she ran from Yerin, tucking herself back inside his backpack. He hadn't expected her to help anyway. Her power washed madra channels clean, she didn't expel parasites, otherwise Eithan could have used Little Blue to free Yerin from the Blood Shadow months ago. Bloodspawn slammed against the door, and the circle flared. It wouldn't hold against them for long. Every time the circle expended power, it would push against the material of the door, until eventually the wood broke and snapped, the circle deforming. Scripts engraved in metal or stone lasted longer, but they weren't appropriate for all aspects of madra. Also, they often took more power to operate. He switched to his pure core, reluctant to touch the parasite, but he had to try. Gathering power, he slammed an Empty Palm into Yerin's core. He felt the pure madra penetrate, disrupting the flow of power through Yerin's
body. She bucked again, but the Blood Shadow didn't seem to mind. It wasn't anchored in Yerin's core, but around it. He could feel that now, though the haze of the Bleeding Phoenix still hung in the aura around him. He couldn't shake it loose. His Sylvan Riverseed couldn't cleanse it. There was one more thing he could try. The closer he got, the more the Shadow reached for his arm. His skeletal white hand, which had fed on the bloodspawn, was too frightened of this parasite to get close. Lindon wished he had a drudge. It could help detect and measure the interactions of madra, so he wouldn't have to rely on feelings and guesswork. Instead, he had to rely on blind experimentation. There was some relationship between the Blood Shadow and the material of his arm. It almost made sense: the Bleeding Phoenix was awakened by the power hidden in the same labyrinth where he'd found the Ancestor's Spear and the binding of hunger madra. It seemed as though this piece of the Phoenix's power wanted to feed on his arm, rather than the other way around. But the binding in his arm was supposed to devour madra. It was possible that he could tear it free. There were risks. First, he didn't know what the Shadow wanted with his arm. It was possible that he was feeding it exactly what it needed to grow strong enough to consume Yerin completely. Second, he had used the arm for less than a week. It still wasn't bound to him completely. He couldn't even control its motion all the time, and he was supposed to wait for three to five more weeks before he activated the binding. Third, there was the danger to him. He didn't want to pull a mass of selfaware blood madra into his core...but at least he had one to spare. It was better than leaving it free to control Yerin. But that was if it went into his core at all. It wasn't in Yerin's. If it attached itself to his spirit, or embedded itself inside his arm, he wouldn't be any better off than Yerin was. Less so, considering her years of experience. Another bloodspawn slammed on the door, and the circle flared again. Mercy stood below the door, staff in both hands, ready to protect them. It was time for Lindon to do his part. He placed his palm on the bloody surface of the parasite, then triggered the binding.
Chapter 17 Deep in a trance, Yerin fought for her soul. And for the lives of the people around her. She didn't even know where she was. Her body had been moving, she knew, but she couldn't tell where she was or what was happening. She might be all clear to stop struggling. To let go. That thought whispered to her, and it was too sweet. Too sweet to trust. Out of sheer stubbornness, she clung to her uninvited guest. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd been fighting to keep it from taking over her body. From draining her dry and wearing her like a suit. Now, she fought to keep it from leaving. The Blood Shadow wanted nothing more than to tear itself away from her. It strained for freedom, pulling away from her spirit, but she poured the whole force of her spirit and mind on keeping it trapped within. Why? That was a puzzle and a half. Maybe the Dreadgod was spraying so much power everywhere that the Blood Shadow was getting thirsty. Maybe she was about to beat it, and it was trying to run. Maybe it was finally leaving her alone. But she didn't need to know why. The Blood Shadow wanted it, so she was going to stop it. She almost lost her grip on it when something drove a hole in her madra, but lucky for her, the Shadow itself took the brunt of that hit. It was stunned just as much as she was, so she kept hold. In fact, for a moment, she had the upper hand. Then something started pulling. *** Arms of blood madra wrapped around Lindon's pale right arm. They stuck as though they were covered in suckers, and the madra burned where it made contact. Being a Remnant arm, it felt more like burning his spirit than his body, but that was an ache all its own.
His madra channels, already strained by what he'd done with the Thousand-Mile Cloud, felt like tendons on the brink of tearing. The arm was already a burden on his spirit, and activating the binding was worse. But it was working. The technique embedded in his arm had fastened itself to the heart of the Blood Shadow, and he was pulling it away from Yerin. It peeled back, inch by inch, as he stretched his spirit to its limit. The binding had released a vortex of white light, which was meant to devour the Shadow, but the parasite fought to feed on the arm instead. They were stuck together as though nailed, but Lindon couldn't pull the Shadow the last few inches. There was still a short tether connecting the Blood Shadow to her core. A crash came from the door as a bloodspawn exploded through and into the room. The rest of its brood followed, only to meet Mercy's vast black web. Lindon was out of time. With one last, wrenching effort, he pulled the Blood Shadow free. Yerin's body shuddered and shrunk back to the ground, limp. Her chest was heaving, which led him to let out a sigh of relief. His one other concern had been that pulling the parasite free would somehow kill her. Now, he stopped powering the binding, but the Shadow was still attached to his arm. It was a huge mass, easily half the size of Yerin's body, and most of it was a bulbous shape stuck to Lindon's palm. The rest was wrapped around his arm like the roots of a tree, and he could feel it trying to burrow inside. It hadn't succeeded yet, but he only had a moment. Focusing the pure madra of his core, he squeezed a little more out of his exhausted spirit. His core was still half-full, but his madra channels were as ragged as old clothes. In a focused wave, as though striking with an Empty Palm, he thrust as much pure madra as he could out of his right arm. The Blood Shadow blasted away, losing its grip on him, and Lindon thought he could hear it hiss. An instant later, he realized it wasn't his imagination at all. The spiritual parasite was hissing, and snarling, and burbling like a boiling cauldron. All at the same time. It was also contorting into a roughly humanoid shape. It's becoming a bloodspawn, he thought, but he almost immediately realized that was wrong.
Or at least incomplete. This was darker, thicker, and more real than a bloodspawn. It stood on two feet, not two oozing shapes meant to resemble legs. It had two arms and two hands, not the vague outlines of arms. It still had no face, but it looked as though it had hair. Hair cut straight across the back of her neck. He was starting to have a bad feeling about this. Its body inflated to twice its original size, so that now it was more Yerin's size. In fact... Exactly Yerin's size. His stomach dropped when a pair of blood-red, razor-sharp blades sprouted from behind its shoulders. Lindon's spirit was tender as an open wound, and though he tapped into his Blackflame core, he felt as though five more minutes of combat might actually kill him. "Mercy," he called, without taking his eyes from Yerin's Blood Shadow. "Can you spare a little help?" "I'm...doing...the best I can...over here," she said, her words punctuated by crashes. Blood madra sprayed close to him, but it missed him. As the Shadow examined its hands, Yerin's eyes snapped open. "...what did you do?" she whispered. That struck Lindon like a kick, but he'd already ignited his Burning Cloak. Yerin's sword was lying nearby—they had taken it from her for fear that she would hurt herself with it, and he pulled it out of its sheath. He had no idea how to use a sword, but he'd learned his lesson from the bloodspawn. Any weapon was better than none. He wasn't about to fight this blood-clone of Yerin with his bare hands. Lindon lunged, the motion powered by the explosive movements of Blackflame. He slashed through the Shadow...or tried to, as one of its bladearms caught his white sword with the sound of steel on steel. "We're dead and buried," Yerin said, struggling to her feet. "It's free." "We can kill it," Lindon said, with more confidence than he actually felt. Mercy pinned a bloodspawn to the wall, where it exploded, but neither the Blood Shadow nor the other two gave it any notice. "This is its favorite dance. It drains what it needs, then brings that whole mess back to its mother." Yerin stood frozen, staring at it. "It's how the Dreadgod feeds." The Blood Shadow finally looked around, though it didn't seem to have eyes. It walked over to the splatters left by one of the bloodspawn and stood
in the puddle before the madra dissolved. An instant later, the puddle vanished, and a light slipped up the Shadow's legs. "It usually kills its host, doesn't it?" Lindon said, keeping his sword trained on it. He was determined to keep his focus on any ray of hope he could find, because the alternative was to sit down and wait for death. "Kills you or wears you like a mask," she responded dully. The Blood Shadow's head tilted toward his arm. Mercy cried out, and something sounded like the beating of a drum. There came a great splatter like a dropped bucket of paint. He glanced back to see her panting and exhausted, seated on the floor, her dragon-headed staff resting on her shoulder. The entire front half of the room was covered in sticky black madra, but there were no more bloodspawn. "There's one more outcome," Lindon said, still trying to scrape together a hope. "How do the emissaries—" The parasite moved, and his Burning Cloak ignited once again. It felt like tearing his soul in half. *** She knew about the emissaries of Redmoon Hall, or people like them. They had gone by different names in different countries, but she'd never met one who had survived the Sword Sage. Eithan had made it clear as glass that he saw the Blood Shadow as an opportunity for her. A step forward. But all of those sacred artists had hunted down their parasites with purpose. They had prepared scripts, treasures, and traps. And the least of them she'd ever met was Truegold. She couldn't do it. This was the demon that had haunted her from the inside for most of her life; she hated it with a burning passion. And it was the one thing that frightened her. Under the Burning Cloak, Lindon moved in bursts of speed. The Blood Shadow's motions stopped and stuttered, like it was getting used to its new shape, but it was faster than Lindon. Easily faster. And Lindon used a sword like he'd never seen one before. She had to fight with him. Together, they might be able to drive the Blood Shadow away. But her spirit was as exhausted as his was. She'd strained every ounce of her soul trying to keep the Shadow from taking over. In the Dreadgod's
light, the parasite was stronger than it had ever been. Fighting would kill them both. This wasn't her first hopeless fight. She could go down swinging. Maybe the heavens would send them a miracle. But she could sense bloodspawn overhead, more and more every second. Whatever the new girl had done—Mercy, Yerin thought her name was—it had kept them out for a breath or two. Wouldn't hold for long. Orthos should be on his way, but she couldn't feel him yet. The Phoenix was choking out her perception, so maybe he was closer than she thought. That was her only hope. That, or... If she could control the Shadow, that was one enemy down. One less thing to worry about. And it might make her strong enough that she could keep fighting. That, or I could be giving them another enemy to worry about, she thought. The Blood Shadow rushed forward, grabbing Lindon's collar and slamming him into the far wall. The blades on its back knocked the sword from his hand, and grabbed him by the shoulder. It lifted him by the right shoulder as though he weighed no more than a child. His pale arm thrashed like a trapped snake, but the Blood Shadow stared it down. Mercy stood up. A bloodspawn exploded at the top of the stairs, its power eating through the black web that protected them, but she didn't look to the sound. The purple in her eyes spread out until it stained the whole eye. Looked like she had gems stuck in her face. She was about to do something, Yerin reasoned. Too bad she was late. Yerin's anger and fear had finally come to blows, and she realized which one had always been stronger. The rage. She kicked off and dove for the mass of blood that had stolen her shape. It turned, slashing out at her with the blade over her left shoulder. Yerin had one of those herself. The two Goldsigns met with a clash, sending up red-and-silver sparks of essence. She grabbed the Blood Shadow, tearing it away from Lindon. It had taken enough from her. Whatever it wanted, she was going to take.
Right now, it wanted freedom. The spirit let itself become fluid again, and her hands sunk in to the wrists. The blood madra started to break down her skin, which she felt as burning. Blood madra was good at that; it controlled the body, usually tearing it apart. That was okay. She could work better from inside. With her will as much as her spirit, she pulled. The Blood Shadow resisted, but it was actually easier to haul it back inside than it had been to keep it inside in the first place. It felt like the Dreadgod's aura was helping her, like it was pushing the parasite to take a new body. It flailed, its blades slashing at her, but she stopped it with her own. With his flesh arm, Lindon seized one of its Goldsigns, wrestling it back. Yerin gritted her teeth, still pulling. Half of the Shadow had vanished, merging inside her, sinking into her like a statue into a lake. But the top half still fought, reaching for Lindon's arm or stabbing at Yerin's face as though berserk. Lindon pulled his arm back, and—looking like he was tearing his own skin off—he slammed an Empty Palm into its face. Stunned, the Shadow slipped into her spirit easy as a sword into a sheath. Lindon fell back, relaxing, though a troupe of bloodspawn were marching down the stairs. Yerin's spirit was in tatters, but she had succeeded. Almost. "Get out," she said, her voice little above a whisper. Mercy looked at her, frowning in confusion, but Lindon seemed to have heard. He just didn't move. A rope of red madra burst from her core, stretching for Lindon's arm. She barely caught it with both hands, the force dragging her across the floor. "Why?" she hissed. "Why aren't you running?" Lindon ignored the Blood Shadow and moved to pick up her sword, walking like a crippled old man. "I'm waiting for you." He glanced up to the creatures on the stairs, then added, "...hurry, though." She stared after him. "If the emissaries of Redmoon Hall already did it, you can," he said reasonably.
With that, he ran to support Mercy on the stairs. When you put it like that, it didn't sound so bad. Instead of trying to push it back into place with her unsteady and failing madra, Yerin reached out to the Blood Shadow like it was her madra. Her spirit. Part of her. It resisted her, of course. But this didn't have to do with advancement level. It was pure grit. As far as that went, she wouldn't lose to anybody. *** Lindon knew Mercy didn't really need his help. Not as long as her madra lasted, anyway, though based on her heavy breathing and the fading sense of her spirit, that wouldn't be much longer. She held the stairway with webs, keeping the bloodspawn back. She didn't actually destroy any of them, but she locked them up. When they destroyed themselves unleashing their power, they'd break through, but she put up more barriers. It was good that he didn't have to do much. Yerin's sword felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Mercy wiped sweat from her forehead, shooting a brief glance back at Yerin. She had been standing in one place, spirit and body still, for...too long. "Is there anything we can do for her?" Mercy asked, sounding worried. "We won't need to," he said. Oddly, he was confident. Eithan had implied he thought Yerin could control the Blood Shadow, and others had managed it. Yerin could do it. And if she didn't...well, then the parasite in her body would kill him, so he wouldn't know any differently. A bloodspawn compressed itself to slither through a gap in the web— none of them had done that before, and he wondered why. He drove his sword through it, and it froze, then shattered. That was...strange. The Blood Shadow hadn't done that. Maybe it was a property of the madra that had gone into making the sword's blade; it had always given him the impression of icy cold. Whatever the reason, he was glad he had a weapon that could oppose the bloodspawn without using his own madra. Because Mercy was running out. The spirits seemed endless, and as far as he knew, maybe they were. More and more slipped through, and he had to use the sword.
It wasn't long before he could barely hold up the sword, and Mercy was breathing so long she could hardly speak. "I...have...one more trick," she said, panting. "Hoping...to save it...sorry." Lindon couldn't imagine what she was apologizing for, but before she could do anything, the bloodspawn froze. They didn't turn to ice, like they did at the touch of the Sword Sage's blade. Instead, they simply...stopped. Like constructs that had run out of power. Relieved, he turned. Yerin stood with hand held out, trembling. And a red shadow stood behind her. The Blood Shadow wasn't as distinct this time—it looked more like an actual shadow cast by the Dreadgod's bloody light. But it was very clearly standing an inch behind her, mimicking her every move. "It's about time I gutted that fish," Yerin said, and though she swayed on her feet, her smile was radiant. "Stone simple. Who's in control now, huh?" Lindon sagged down, sitting on the lid of a nearby jar. His right arm was limp, like it was made out of nothing more than wood and string, and he thought he might have actually torn open a wound in his spirit. "Knew you'd do it," he said, using what seemed like a great effort to push a smile onto his lips. "Knew you would..." Finally, a warm presence approached, crashing through the web on the doorway with a roar. Mercy stood abruptly, but he flopped his hand in the air to wave her down. Orthos stomped through the bloodspawn, splattering them on the stairs, snarling. Two of them burst into dark flames, but the others were just destroyed. "On time like a rising sun, you are," Yerin said, releasing her Blood Shadow. Orthos growled, but shook his head to show he couldn't speak. He chomped into a nearby jar, crunching mouthfuls of the uncooked rice within. Finger on her chin, Mercy looked at Yerin. "Does that let you command the bloodspawn?" "Just cut them off from the mother," Yerin said, then winced. "...the Dreadgod." She brightened. "And I can do this."
The Blood Shadow formed fully this time, as though it were going to attack, and Lindon couldn't help but flinch. It stood next to Yerin...but this time, a red line stretched between their feet. The Shadow jumped up and down, waving its arms. "It's a new weapon," Yerin said, re-absorbing the spirit. "I'll need practice." "That's amazing," Mercy said in awe. "Can you—" She cut off, her head whirling to one side. "Oh no..." Lindon didn't need another "oh no" in his life. Mercy threw herself onto the ground. "She's here!" she shouted. "Get down!" A new presence stabbed into his spirit like a light seared into his eyes. He let himself fall to the ground. And the house above them was torn away. It was as though a shovel the size of a mountain had scooped out the ground in a second. Between one instant and the next, the view above Lindon transformed from a dirt ceiling to a red-stained sky. He had seen nothing but a wave of dark purple. Felt nothing but overwhelming, crushing power. Mercy was pulling on his left arm, urging him to get up, to run. He stumbled after her, though Orthos was actually leading the way. He had bolted up the stairs like a spooked rabbit. "Can't stay here," Mercy shouted over the rushing wind. "We need to find another—" Whatever she was going to say was obliterated by an unimaginable crash. The sun went dark. A wall of purple-edged darkness covered everything to the west. An enormous tower of crystalline amethyst rose from one end of the wall. And there was something above even that, something that blacked out the sky... Mercy pulled on him again, and Yerin lurched out in front, so he followed. An instant later, the wall vanished. Wind actually pulled him off his feet, sending him tumbling down the street, so he lost himself for a moment. When he looked up again, the tower was gone. No...it had moved.
The Dreadgod had taken to the sky, farther away now, but still incomprehensibly vast. It's sickle-like beak opened, and though its screech still pained his ears, it was nothing like before. Now, it was focused on its opponent. A giant stood beneath it, holding a spear. A giant covered from head to toe in armor of dark purple crystal. From the smooth facets of its face, a pair of violet pinpricks shone with light. It was many miles away—how many, Lindon couldn't begin to guess— and he could still see it clearly. How large was it? There was a mountain by its knees, and when it adjusted its stance, half of the mountain crumbled away. His brain finally snapped the pieces into place, and his jaw slackened. What he had taken as a wall covering everything to the west was just one of its boots. The tower had been its leg. There came a flash of color and power as the two monsters exchanged blows, but he couldn't even catch a glimpse. A wall of heat and pressure pushed against Lindon's face. The skin of his scalp pressed back against him, and his eyes spiked with pain. He fell back, but raised two fingers to his eye. Blood ran like tears. As his Iron body pulled the last of his madra to heal his eyes, he saw bloodspawn rise from the ground…until Yerin reached out a hand and dispersed them to nothing. First his ears, then his eyes. Though his Bloodforged Iron body had healed him so far, that still couldn't be good for him. A black web snagged him and dragged him along the dirt road. Mercy and Yerin hauled him in, stuffing him down into a cellar door. He fought them, though none of them had much strength at the moment. "Please," he begged them, "please, I have to see." This was real power. These were the sacred arts that could stand over the entire world. In this case, literally. Mercy pushed him deeper, casting fearful glances behind her. "If we don't get down, we will die. Trust me." He still struggled. "I beg you! I have to see this." She halted for a second, though the wind grabbed her ponytail and tossed it around. "She'll be fighting for days."
Lindon stared at Mercy. Yerin, who had most of her body down the stairs already, looked up and peeked out. "How do you figure that?" she asked. The armor covered the figure completely, and there was nothing to say if it was a man or a woman. "I think she knows who it is," Lindon said, watching Mercy's expression. "I should," she responded. "That's my mother." A blazing crimson light crashed into a shining amethyst blur, and Mercy shoved Lindon the rest of the way inside. The last he saw was a wall of dust and debris headed their way before the door shut it all out.