by Will Wight
Yerin staggered stiffly in the middle of the floor, trying to bend her arms. The green armor sat on her like she’d been encased in stone, and she stomped around as though she had weights tied to each limb, her Goldsigns sticking out from the back. They had worked together to find adjustable panels on the back that could be removed in order to allow her sword-arms the freedom to move.
“It's like locking myself in a box,” Yerin grumbled. She tugged at her collar, but the leather padding of the interior was stiff. “If I have to fight in this, at least I'll be wearing my own coffin.”
Mercy propped one leg up on a bench, doing a few quick stretches in her armor. She actually looked more comfortable in the green plate of the Skysworn than she did in her normal clothes, and she looked pleased while patting her armor. “How do I look?” She straightened up from her stretch, transforming her staff into a bow and striking a pose.
With a sound like tinkling glass, Little Blue applauded. Mercy bowed to the spirit, and Yerin shot her a jealous look.
“This is the only sensible thing I've seen any human wear,” Orthos said. “But it does leave your head unprotected.”
Lindon hadn't put on a single piece of his armor, though he wore the tight-fitting cloth suit that you were supposed to wear beneath it. He was sitting nearby, flipping through the armor's manual.
He tapped a page. “There are defensive constructs in the armor that cover the head. That's the real defense, more than the armor itself. And there are protective scripts circling the neck.”
Orthos snorted. “Too complicated.” He slipped his head into his shell and back out. “You see how simple this is?” His head disappeared and re-appeared again. “The simple solutions are best.”
Lindon flipped the page, running down the list of optional accessories. “Oh, you can order a helmet, you just have to pay for it yourself.”
The armor was interesting. Ever since seeing Renfei die to a single attack from Akura Harmony, he had looked down on Skysworn armor, wondering what it actually did to protect its user.
It could do quite a bit. It came with a dream construct that could transmit messages, a Thousand-Mile Cloud contained in a compartment on the back, a triggered defense in the form of a wind barrier, passive defenses in the form of scripts that weakened hostile madra and spiritual attacks, and a long list of additional options that could be added by the Skysworn Soulsmiths.
However, he could see the limitations easily. For one thing, each of those constructs had to be powered. If it drew on itself for power, it would only last for a few days before needing to be replaced. If the sacred artist fueled the constructs, their madra had to be compatible. Even so, the armor would need near-constant maintenance, and the more options it had, the more expensive it would be to maintain. He suspected most Skysworn would have as few constructs in their armor as possible, and would activate them only rarely.
As for Akura Harmony's attack...
[Harmony used the Shadow’s Edge technique,] Dross said. [It's a Striker technique with shadow and sword aspects, and it cuts on the spiritual level as much as the physical. Harmony could slice a single page out of the middle of a book with it, and if the target has a spirit? That’s even easier. It’s amazing! You should see what it can do to a person. Oh, I guess you have. And if I had been a tenth of a second later, you’d have seen what it did to your spine. Good thing I’m around, isn’t it?]
Lindon shivered and turned back to his armor. He didn't have to worry much about madra compatibility, so long as he only used his pure core to activate the armor's techniques, but pure madra maintenance was only better than nothing. He would need to have Fisher Gesha take a look; he already had some modifications in mind.
For one thing, the communication construct could go. Its range and efficiency were poor, and Dross could do the same thing faster and more clearly.
That left only the passive scripted defenses, the Thousand-Mile Cloud, and the triggered barrier of wind. He had a lot of room to add constructs of his own before they began to interfere with one another.
It would take huge amounts of madra to activate multiple constructs at the same time, but that was to be expected. For one thing, he didn't have to activate all the constructs at the same time.
For another, he had madra to spare.
He was working with the right arm of the armor, trying to see if it would work with his Remnant prosthetic or if the white arm would obstruct the scripts, when Eithan popped open the door.
“No horrific mishaps yet? Good, because the Skysworn require us to take on an assignment soon in order to complete our registration as a squad.”
Lindon hoped it wouldn't be too soon. They had only been back in the city for one night, and he wanted to enjoy hot meals and clean beds for a while longer. Besides, he hadn't gotten to talk with Yerin enough on their journey back.
“So how about right now?” Eithan continued. “I happen to have found a terrific opportunity nearby!”
Yerin groaned. Orthos huffed out smoke. Little Blue let out a sad little tinkling noise and slowly climbed out of Lindon's boot. Even Mercy sagged against her staff, giving a sigh.
[A terrific opportunity? I was going to say we should pass up a regular opportunity and take a day off to rest, but a terrific opportunity? How can we say no to that?]
A worm of guilt ran through Lindon's gut. How could he even think of taking it easy? He had a long road to travel, and he couldn't afford to be lazy.
But last night, he had woken up half a dozen times in a sweat, thinking he was in danger. It had been too long since he'd slept in safety. In Ghostwater, he had never felt truly secure, and now he couldn't shake the feeling.
Eithan clearly noticed the mood, because his smile turned sympathetic. “Believe it or not, I do believe rest is valuable. You have worked hard, and any weapon pushed to its limits for too long will break. However, time does not wait, so I'm afraid I must push you one last time.”
Lindon was sure this wouldn't be the last time.
“In return, I am an open book.” Eithan spread his hands. “What would you like to know from me?”
Before Lindon could even digest the opportunity, Yerin answered.
“Underlord,” she said simply.
There were many things Lindon wanted a straight answer about, but that was the most urgent. He agreed without hesitation. “If you could guide us to Underlord, I would be grateful.”
Eithan turned to Mercy and Orthos, as though waiting for an objection, but neither said anything. Mercy looked like she was bracing herself for bad news, but Lindon felt eagerness—though muted and restrained—from Orthos.
“Well, all right then! Underlord it is.”
Eithan stroked his chin as though organizing his thoughts. “There are three steps to reaching Underlord. Mastering yourself, mastering the world around you, and then connecting yourself to the world. It’s the third step that’s the most mysterious.”
What about soulfire? Lindon asked Dross.
[That’s the by-product of connecting to the world around you,] Dross said. [And don’t worry, I know everything about advancing to Underlord. But since my memories are all jumbled up and pieces of them are missing, let’s listen to him first, right? Just to make sure he knows what he’s talking about.]
Eithan continued. “First, you must open your soulspace, which involves reaching the peak of Truegold and controlling your madra completely.”
Lindon had understood that much already. Jai Long had reached that state after absorbing and digesting as much madra as he could.
“Second, you must weave soulfire from aura. Many would-be Lords and Ladies fail at this step, but I have some tricks that you may find useful.”
[Oh, that's not terribly hard for any real sacred artist,] Dross said confidently. Lindon's spirits lifted. [Or so Northstrider said.]
Lindon wasn't sure if that was reassuring or not. On the one hand, a Monarch would surely have great understanding of the sacred arts. On the other hand, the
y might have impossible standards. What was simple as lifting a hand for him might be an incomprehensible riddle for Lindon.
“And for the third and final step,” Eithan went on, “you must call upon your soulfire to re-forge your body. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? It’s not.”
[That’s what Harmony asked me about!] Dross said excitedly. [Not me, but me when I was part of the tree. You remember. He couldn’t complete the third stage and advance to Underlord, so he asked me how.]
What did you say? Lindon asked.
Eithan continued speaking, cutting off Dross. “Many Underlords don’t know the secret to triggering the soulfire transformation, reforging your body and tying you to the world around you. Even though they’ve passed it themselves, they don’t recognize exactly which insight made it possible.”
[Remembering is…hard. There was more of me before. But Harmony…I told him to put his life at risk, and all would become clear.] Dross paused a moment. [Why would I say that? That sounds like terrible advice.]
Well, at least that helped explain why Harmony was so set on fighting Lindon.
“It is a personal revelation,” Eithan said. “A true, deep understanding of yourself that causes the soulfire inside you to resonate with the aura around you, activating your advancement.”
Yerin looked thoughtful, crossing green-plated arms awkwardly, her Goldsigns hovering over her head. Mercy looked surprisingly grim, though Lindon couldn't see why, and wistfulness drifted over from Orthos' soul, as though he'd heard a story about something he wanted but could never have.
Little Blue peeped and ran back into Lindon’s pocket, curling up for a nap.
Lindon committed the process to memory, though he was sure he'd write it down later. What else do you know about reaching Underlord? he asked Dross silently.
The construct's voice was filled with longing. [Everything…or at least I did. It was like being a piece of all knowledge in the universe, all of it at once, and then it was like getting rudely torn away and tossed into some human's head. Which is, you know…great.]
Forgiveness. I did not intend to hurt you. Even the smallest fragment of what you remember could be helpful.
[...you're too serious, I know I’ve told you that before. I was only complaining.] Dross sighed. [Listen, you won't have any trouble with the first step. Not once you get your pure core up to standard. It's scrawny right now, a little wimpy, so you’re going to want to beef that up. Put some meat on those bones. Second step...well, not to brag, but I can handle that one. No problem. You have to sense the unity of aura, which is a lot easier with a mind-spirit in your head.]
This time, Lindon wished he could take notes, but he still didn't want to expose his void key to Mercy. Or to Eithan, for that matter.
He wanted to surprise Eithan when he would get a better reaction.
[The third step is the weird one. You’ll want to discover your reason for practicing the sacred arts.]
That’s it? How does my motivation change anything? He had experienced dream tablets left behind by Lords, and he could still imagine the feeling of channeling soulfire. He was sure that the secret to advancement was a soulfire cycling technique.
What did his knowledge of himself have to do with advancement? It almost didn’t feel like sacred arts at all.
[If my memories of Northstrider have taught me anything,] Dross said, [it’s that the sacred arts only get weirder.]
Eithan clapped his hands, staring off into space. “As it turns out, we're even more limited on time than I expected, so now that we're all armored up, I'm going to give you a choice.”
Lindon started hurriedly pulling his armor on. He would have to keep his right arm under control until he could script some longer-term safety measures into the suit.
Eithan tilted his head to the left. “We can go on some secret missions I've discovered that would be of great benefit to the Empire, or...” He tilted his head the other way. “...we can embark on the most efficient way I know to train you to Underlord. It's entirely up to you.”
“The missions!” Mercy said, raising her staff.
“Underlord,” Lindon and Yerin said at the same time.
Eithan gasped. “This is an amazing coincidence, because the most efficient way I have to train you requires us to earn a great deal of money. And the most profitable prospect available to us—” He held up a stack of papers. “—is to complete missions for the Skysworn!”
Orthos chuckled. Yerin gave Eithan a flat stare. Mercy looked excited. Little Blue let out a little whistling snore and curled up tighter in Lindon’s pocket.
Lindon asked, “What about the Arelius family?”
He knew that Eithan was restricted by what the family would allow him to spend, but surely the greatest source of funding available quickly would be from the Arelius family.
Eithan cleared his throat. “We're having a temporary disagreement of sorts. Suffice it to say that I do not have the same access to family funds that I used to.”
Lindon didn’t want to pry further, but his heart fell. Without the resources of the Arelius family, advancing would become that much more difficult.
“I’ve come across some good fortune in Ghostwater,” he admitted, though it speared him through the gut to be volunteering his spoils of war. “Works of art I…recovered…from a gold dragon. They aren’t any help in the sacred arts, but Orthos suggested we could sell them.”
He hated to give up money he could use, but if Eithan really knew of a way to advance them all together, then Lindon would contribute.
Eithan clapped him on the back. “Generosity! Truly, the disciple takes after his master. Now, we have to get going! Those sewer spirits won't blow themselves up.”
~~~
Yerin had worked for the Arelius family before, and she'd never say out loud that she missed it. Working for the Skysworn was much the same.
It was nice to have a mission and a purpose that was simple enough to complete. Sewer spirits formed out of corruptive, toxic aura, and grew until they could squeeze their way up into homes, eating pets and weak Remnants. Just had to track them down and dice them up, then track them back to their source. The Arelius family would have to clean up the mess at the center of it all, but the Skysworn existed to keep the peace in the sacred arts world. Dealing with spirits that got too strong was their job.
A few days after that, they chased down a circle of renegade Soulsmiths selling faulty healing constructs. They had hired a pack of Truegold sacred beasts as muscle, so that one ended up getting a little heated.
For ten more days, they recovered stolen weapons, hunted Remnants to replenish their Soulsmith supply, and guarded a farm from a group that the Soulsmith called bandits. They ended up being hungry locals, driven from their homes after the Dreadgod attack, who agreed to stop making trouble in exchange for a crate full of food.
In between everything else, they had to supervise the Emperor's latest decree. He had called every sect, school, and clan that mattered a notch to Blackflame City, and even Stormrock was drifting in that direction. They passed over caravans, cloudships, and processions of sacred artists heading to the capital, and of course a few holds and sects that didn't want to listen.
Intimidating stubborn Truegolds into following orders was a bright spot in her day. Wasn't too long ago that they could have swept the floor with her, and now they had to straighten up their spines as soon as she walked in the door.
Besides, now that Lindon had a proper spirit in him, he had a natural gift for sharp looks. It made her heart warm to see him make a white-haired elder choke using nothing but a black-eyed stare. The baby squirrel had finally left the nest and grown into a...well, squirrels never turned into anything scary. Call it an ancient sacred squirrel.
They had taken their first steps toward becoming a real team, too. Mercy had no problem taking care of Remnants or feeding the hungry, but she couldn't scare so much as a baby kitten. Orthos had no interest in anything complicated; he just wanted to know w
hat to knock over. A turtle after her own heart.
Little Blue...still wouldn't touch Yerin.
That didn't bother Yerin. Why should it? The spirit looked so happy riding around on Lindon's shoulder, pointing out the scenery they passed, scampering up on his head to get a better look.
...maybe she should get a Sylvan of her own.
Everyone was working as a merry team except one. On his own, Eithan could have done as much as the rest of the squad, but he seemed happier to sit back and watch them. He didn't talk to the citizens, he didn't fight, he only pointed them in the right direction and watched.
Lindon didn't say anything, but Yerin could tell it was pushing him to the edge of a cliff. He tried every night to get Eithan to train him in pure madra techniques, but Eithan always said Lindon wasn’t ready.
Yerin couldn't imagine what he was waiting for, but he was starting to get on the wrong side of her, too. What right did he have to treat Lindon like that?
Though she had to admit that part of her was relieved. With Eithan's personal instruction, Lindon might beat her to Underlord.
What if he made it, and she never did?
They flew back to Starsweep Tower, landing and withdrawing their Thousand-Mile Clouds. Yerin still hated the armor, but having a cloud you could summon and dismiss at a thought was pleasing.
“Where's dinner?” Yerin asked, as soon as they hit the pavement.
Lindon carried the papers proving that they had completed their day's assignment—tracking down a pack of sacred bats and 'persuading' them to stop attacking the cloudships that came and went from Stormrock. He would turn the missions in for payment, then join the rest of them.
“Fisher Gesha is cooking for her family,” Lindon responded, flipping through the papers one last time. “She invited us over.”
“What has she got cooking?” Yerin asked. She wouldn't put it past the old woman to boil up a pot full of spiders.
“Apologies, I'm not sure. Crab, I think?”
Crabs. The spiders of the sea.
Yerin looked to Mercy and Orthos, hoping they would have other plans, but Orthos was still shivering on the ground, relieved to get out of the sky. Eithan's Thousand-Mile Cloud was the largest, so he had to haul the turtle every time, and Orthos still hated flying. Mercy gingerly patted the turtle's head, speaking in a soothing voice.
