by Will Wight
A moment later, the Goldsigns reappeared...
Along with two more.
And two more.
Six arms of sword madra stuck out of her back, stretching farther until the ones on her left side almost stabbed Lindon. He shuffled out of the way, but she was only flexing them as she would her muscles, and had already pulled them back.
Her eyes were still closed in a cycling trance, but there was a gentle, content smile on her face. She looked warmer than she ever did. At peace.
There was another green flash, and Eithan called Mercy's name. Lindon recalled what he was doing and turned to watch Mercy.
...but as she faced down the construct crackling with green lightning, her face crumpled. “I can't,” she said. “I'm sorry.”
Eithan looked down at the flashing orb in front of him. “This is unfortunate timing.”
“I know. I'm sorry. I want to keep up with the rest of you, but...” She looked over to the east, where the massive castle took up the entire horizon. “I can't accept this. I would only have to admit my faults and return to my family, and my mother would shower me with resources like this. I can't take a treasure from you to preserve my pride.”
Eithan took a long look at her, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. Lindon?”
Lindon didn't move. “Apologies, but I'd rather Mercy have it.” That wasn't entirely true—he could find room between his cores for a second elixir easily—but he'd made his choice. “If you don't want to go back to your family, you shouldn't have to. Take it. We won't hold it against you.”
Mercy twisted uncomfortably. “It's a little more complicated than that.”
“I know what it's like to not want to return home.”
Eithan pointed to the glowing orb. “I'd really prefer you take this, and then we can debate the next one. This is losing energy by the second.” He added a couple of drops of Spirit Well water to it, sparking up its power again, but he was running low.
“It will be a waste if I take it,” Mercy said.
“That's all right with me,” Lindon responded.
Eithan watched them for another couple of seconds, then grabbed the construct. It hovered in the middle of his palm. “And the winner is...Lindon!”
He hurled it toward Lindon, who really had no choice but to take the crackling globe of energy himself. He swallowed it down, consoling himself with the knowledge that at least Mercy would have a chance with the last one.
Then he dropped into a cycling trance himself, watching the Heaven's Drop sink down between his cores.
[Now, that has a comforting glow to it,] Dross said. [Beautiful to watch. I'd like to keep one around, liven up the place.]
Lindon couldn't spare much concentration from siphoning the energy of the Drop into his channels, but he asked, Could you use one?
[Better for me if you have it. I'm basically a parasite infesting your soul.]
Lindon shook aside that thought and focused on the Heaven's Drop. If it was anything like using the Spirit Well water directly, it would slowly nourish his cores and channels, refilling them before...
In an instant, his pure core advanced to Truegold.
It was faster, easier, and smoother than his Blackflame advancement had been. Comfortable and effortless.
[Almost disappointing, isn't it? Too easy. It's always more fun when I get to watch you suffer.]
Not only that, but the Heaven's Drop spun faster in his spirit, pumping power to every corner of his soul. His madra was already dense and potent, thanks to long treatment by the Spirit Well, but his channels were washed clean, his cores filled to bursting. His Blackflame core advanced to the very peak of what it could contain, a dark sun hanging on one side of his spirit.
The blue-white core on the other side was now just as bright, shining for the first time as an equal to his Blackflame madra. After only minutes of cycling, it too was pushing at the boundaries of Truegold.
Lindon thought back to what Ziel had told him about pills that could take him to the peak of Truegold in minutes.
He never thought he'd see one.
Now that he had reached full capacity in both his cores, he could sense his spirit far more clearly than ever before. His spiritual sense was intensely powerful, and he could visualize his channels as though they hovered before his eyes.
For the next step, opening his soulspace, he'd already done some research.
From the Underlord dream tablets he'd found in Ghostwater and questions he'd asked Dross, he already had a sense of what was required. Many Truegolds reached this point in their lives; it was a measure of complete control over one's own spirit.
With his newly enhanced awareness, Lindon focused on a space between his channels, in the very center of his spirit.
Then he flexed his power, as though there were an invisible lung at that point and he was trying to force it to inhale.
It felt like straining to pull a breath of mud, but after a few seconds of straining, the space expanded.
His soulspace was a dark hole the size of a thumbnail at the very center of his spirit, but feeling it filled him with light.
He had opened it himself.
Not only that, but now he could hold simple constructs at the center of his spirit. Well, he would have to continue widening the soulspace before he could hold a real construct. He could at least start holding soulfire.
Soulfire. The real mark of an Underlord.
He opened his eyes to find Eithan grinning at him. “Well, I see we have a tie.”
Lindon wiped sweat from his brow—he hadn't realized he'd been sweating—and turned to Yerin.
A scar at the edge of her lips quirked as she gave him a lopsided smile. “I beat you to it,” she said. “Ten seconds to spare.”
Then he saw that Mercy was gone.
The fourth Heaven’s Drop was still there.
“Can we save it for her?” Lindon asked, and Eithan shook his head.
“We could, but we won't. We have to believe her that it's more complicated than we know.” He upended the last half-bottle of Spirit Well water, shaking it to get every drop into the flashing, sparking Heaven's Drop. “Sometimes, we have to let our friends make decisions that we believe are wrong.”
Lindon was disappointed, but he reached out for the Drop anyway. He could use it to replenish his pure core, or maybe cycle some of it to Little Blue...
Eithan pulled it away. “Yerin,” he said, and she looked as surprised as Lindon was. “If you'd like a quick upgrade to your Blood Shadow, there'll be no opportunity like this one.”
“Step easy,” Yerin warned him. “I've heard everything I intend to hear from you.”
He spread his hands. “No matter which method you pick of shaping your Blood Shadow, this will be nothing but a benefit.”
She watched him and the lightning-flickering Heaven's Drop before finally, with visible reluctance, she summoned her Blood Shadow.
It extended from her spirit, a crimson shade in her general shape. She didn't need to urge it any closer to the Heaven's Drop; it pounced forward like a hungry wolf on raw meat, gulping down the construct. The green light shone from within it as it passed down the Shadow's throat and into where its core should be, hovering there like a masked star.
The Blood Shadow shuddered, and it seemed to look in Lindon's direction for a moment.
Then it collapsed and withdrew back into Yerin's spirit.
Yerin shuddered. “Feels like I'll regret that.”
“Nonsense!” Eithan cried. “But you may want to keep that Shadow under control for now.”
With a last, regretful glance at Lindon, Yerin sank back down into a cycling trance and closed her eyes.
Lindon couldn’t help but be disappointed. He’d been excited about reaching the end of Truegold and opening his soulspace, but now here he was alone in a dark forest with Eithan and a meditating Yerin. He wanted someone to join him in his excitement.
[Wow, Truegold?] Dross exclaimed. [Amazing! Compared to when you d
id it months ago, this was way better. And your soulspace? Incredible. You could probably fit a…maybe a…bean. You could carry around your own bean!]
Lindon actually appreciated that Dross had tried.
“Apologies,” Lindon said aloud, “but where did Orthos go?”
He could sense the turtle’s location—he wasn’t far—but he hadn’t noticed when Orthos had left.
Eithan paused while packing up the sacks of natural treasures and the empty box that had contained the Heaven’s Drops. “Why don’t you go check on him?” Eithan suggested. “We still have to open Yerin’s soulspace and get you both weaving soulfire, but there’s no rush. Now that the Skysworn have caught up to us, they’ll want us working.” He waved a hand. “We have a while off, that’s my point.”
Lindon pressed his fists together. “Thank you, Eithan. I’m eager to continue.” If he needed a few weeks to adjust to his soulspace, he would take them, but the Heaven’s Drop had worked so well and so quickly that he was impatient to move on.
“Go find Orthos.”
Lindon did so, jogging through the shadowed trees. He activated the Soul Cloak to feel his Truegold pure madra, and he marveled at how easy the trip was. For fun, he leaped up and kicked off one tree, flipping over a neighboring branch, then slid down another trunk.
He followed Orthos in the most acrobatic way he could, spinning around, over, and through trees. He fell more than once, but always caught himself and sprung back up.
Little Blue joined him, leaping out of his pocket and scampering over the leaf-strewn forest floor. She laughed like tinkling bells as she danced after him, holding her arms out to the side while she ran. He paused to wait for her whenever she fell behind, and the creatures hiding in the shadows melted back from the feel of his Truegold spirit.
By the time he reached Orthos, he and Little Blue were both tired and laughing.
Orthos, however, was a somber presence in Lindon’s soul. The broad, black turtle stood out as a smoldering red presence against the dark of the Night Wheel Valley. He stood on a hill with the Blackflame Empire camp spread out behind him, looking up into the clouds.
He stared at the swirling purple center of the Night Wheel, and Lindon couldn’t tell if he was watching something or simply lost in thought.
Little Blue cooed out her concern, and Lindon scooped her up to carry her closer to Orthos.
“Apologies if we’re disturbing you,” Lindon said, drawing alongside the turtle.
Black-and-red eyes studied the clouds. “Only a few short years, and you have reached further than many sacred artists ever dream. The heavens have blessed you, Lindon.”
Lindon stood next to Orthos, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the glass marble with the blue candle-flame burning steadily at the center.
“I am grateful,” he said. He owed Suriel his life…and a much better life than he would have had otherwise. “Not just to the heavens and their messenger. Without Eithan, or Yerin, or Dross, or you, I would be…”
Dead in Sacred Valley. Dead in the Desolate Wilds. Dead in Serpent’s Grave. Dead in Ghostwater.
“…buried somewhere, most likely,” he finished.
Orthos gave a deep rumble, and Lindon couldn’t tell if it was agreement or correction. “And now, you move on. If at least one of you doesn’t end up selected for this tournament, I’ll give up my shell.”
“We’re not Underlords yet,” Lindon protested, though privately he felt the same way. Underlord felt closer now than it ever had, and which young Truegolds in the Blackflame Empire had the advantages that he and Yerin did?
“You will be,” Orthos said. “Don’t pretend you don’t know it. Even if you wouldn’t fight and claw for Underlord, by now Eithan would drag you there whether you liked it or not. Once you’ve started to ride the tiger, it’s harder to stop.”
Lindon didn’t like Orthos’ tone or the melancholy feel of his spirit. “Why are we talking about me? You’re right there with us.”
Dross suddenly slipped out of Lindon’s soul, hovering on his shoulder. But contrary to Lindon’s expectation, he didn’t say anything. He only watched Orthos with his one wide eye.
Little Blue chirped, so Lindon held her close enough that she could pat the wall of black, leathery skin next to her.
Orthos blew a long cloud of smoke into the air, watching it drift up. “Sacred beasts advance differently than humans,” he said.
Lindon’s discomfort advanced to full-blown alarm. “Why don’t we head back to camp? I’m not sure what happened to Mercy, and Yerin is probably finishing up cycling by now.”
“Humans have to discover what drives their souls to action,” Orthos continued. “It’s the spark that starts their transformation. Sacred beasts do not have to discover who we are. We have to choose.”
“Can you choose to become a dragon? That would make it easy.”
Lindon had intended to lighten the mood, but he failed.
“Mmmm. Or a turtle. Or even a man. Traditionally, this involves a journey alongside others making the same choice. But I am the only one.” He turned to Lindon. “Until only days ago, I convinced myself I could make the journey alongside you. But you move so quickly, and I am, after all…a turtle.”
He gave a smile, but Lindon couldn’t return it.
“There’s time until the tournament,” Lindon said desperately. “Months until anyone is chosen. It might not be me! And the tournament isn’t for a year anyway.”
[Good-bye, Orthos,] Dross said.
In Lindon’s palm, Little Blue sobbed with a sound like pattering rain. She leaped from his hand, landing sprawled on Orthos’ head, crying.
“I won’t be gone forever,” Orthos said. “A few years. But by that time, I expect you’ll have left me far behind.”
When Lindon spoke again, his voice was thick. “Where will you go?”
“There are many places that could use a dragon.”
Lindon swept at his eyes, drawing pure madra, trying to keep his emotions under control. Orthos extended his head, resting his forehead against Lindon’s.
“A dragon is not ashamed of tears,” Orthos said.
And Lindon lost control. He threw his arms around Orthos’ neck and wept with Little Blue, as Dross drifted silently overhead.
After a while, a familiar feeling in his spirit drew his attention to the side. Yerin stood there, looking horrified, six Goldsign arms gleaming in the dim light. She was out of breath, her tattered robes in disarray, and dead leaves in her hair.
“Bleed me, but it looks like you’re trying to sneak off without me,” she said, and her voice quivered.
Orthos shook his head. “I would not dare.”
Lindon released the turtle’s neck only for Yerin to replace him an instant later. She didn’t cry, she just shook, and he murmured something to her that Lindon couldn’t hear.
Only a minute later, Orthos drew back, and Yerin stepped away, rubbing her own eyes.
“A dragon does not wait around,” he said, red eyes passing over them all. “Protect yourselves. I expect you to stay alive until I see you again.”
“What about Eithan?” Lindon asked. “Where is he?”
Orthos snorted. “I’d bet he knew I was leaving before I did. Of all of you, I worry about him the least.” He raised one leg, gently sliding Little Blue off his head and to the ground.
“Farewell, little ones,” he said, and then he turned, walking slowly into the shadows. Lindon watched until the red light faded into darkness. Then he held Blackflame as he felt Orthos’ spirit passing into the distance.
Eventually, Orthos passed through the portal back to the Empire, and was gone.
Chapter 8
Seishen Kiro’s father, King Dakata, had erected a castle in the Night Wheel Valley. Made of raw stone called up from the earth by Ruler techniques, the castle stood in front of their portal, projecting the majesty of the Seishen Kingdom. Or such was the intention. Next to the awe-inspiring mountain-sized fortress of the Akura
clan, it looked like a child’s toy.
In the heart of that castle, Kiro faced his proud father in horror.
“My King, we cannot attack.”
His father laughed uproariously, slapping the crude map of the Night Wheel Valley he’d spread across his table. “Why not? We have the chance to drive the Empire out entirely. All the sacred grounds of the Valley would be ours.”
Kiro looked over the markers the King had placed on the map. It was a simple plan: a sudden attack, ramming through the Blackflame defenses and shoving them back through the portal. It would work, so long as the Blackflames didn’t defend the territory with their lives. If they started retreating to protect the more vulnerable civilians at the heart of their formation, they would have to continue the retreat.
“Of course it will work,” Kiro said. “They don’t expect us to attack. But they don’t expect it for a good reason. Even if we avoid wholesale slaughter, this attack will not be bloodless. What if the Sage decides we have pushed too far?”
Daji, Kiro’s little brother, lunged hungrily at the map. He had a wolf’s smile on his face. “Don’t be a coward! The Sage needs to see our overwhelming strength.”
King Dakata waved a hand at his second son. “Quiet. This is a matter for Lords.”
Daji’s face fell. “I have no—”
“Quiet!” The King shouted, and Daji wilted back. “Your brother managed to advance where the aura wasn’t a tenth as strong as it is here. Can you not handle even this much?”
Daji’s dark eyes flared. It looked like he was trying to stab Kiro through the chest with his glare. Kiro’s heart ached, but before he could say anything, Daji had already stormed out the door.
“…he’s trying his hardest,” Kiro protested, once his brother had left.
Dakata grunted, returning to the map. “You were worried about the Sage. In my grandfather’s day, Akura Charity pitted our kingdom against the Winter’s Blade sect. While blood was spilled, she only intervened when they started to kill our children. She accepts a measure of bloodshed as the cost of competition, but we can’t weaken the Blackflame Empire too much. That, she would see as an affront to the Akura clan’s authority.”
