Underlord (Cradle Book 6)

by Will Wight

  Lindon's balanced sense of aura trembled, threatening to collapse, the fire aura suddenly much more vibrant than the others. He steadied himself, calming his emotions, holding his perception in place.

  “I fight to save my family,” he said, this time aloud.

  Had the earth aura beneath him shaken? He focused on it, which caused his spiderweb-thin meditative state to crumble. His perception reeled back in, the vital aura a mishmash of disconnected colors again.

  Lindon kicked to his feet, scattering the natural treasures and not bothering to pick them up. He strode over to a table against one wall. He had already arranged tools and boxes here to give himself something to work on. He needed to focus on a problem that was possible to solve.

  Dross spoke in a soothing, even voice. [Take deep, calming breaths. Relax. That's it...relax. Breathe deeply. You have three whole days left! You could do a lot in three days. Like reaching Underlord! Theoretically.]

  Lindon grabbed a yellow-and-black striped binding shaped like a blooming flower and demanded Dross make a Soulsmithing model. He had spent much of the last eight weeks with Fisher Gesha, crafting constructs; if Yerin hadn't been dying, the Fisher would have chained Lindon to her foundry and worked him to death.

  A certain failure rate was inevitable in Soulsmithing, because every sample of madra was unique. Even an experienced Soulsmith like Gesha tried to prepare two samples of her materials when she could, because she'd fail two or three out of every ten times.

  So being able to run the experiment in his mind, as many times as he wanted, was the Soulsmith's dream. It exhausted Dross, and there were still madra interactions Dross was unclear on—if Fisher Gesha's success rate for simple constructs was seventy-five percent, Lindon's was now ninety. Not one hundred percent, but miraculous nonetheless.

  However, there was more to Soulsmithing than simple constructs. Sacred instruments—like weapons or the Skysworn armor—were beyond him. At least for now.

  Once Eithan returned with the Arelius technique library, or Dross had the chance to absorb dream tablets from more Soulsmiths...Lindon couldn’t imagine all the possibilities.

  This time, Lindon was working with a common binding and a type of simple construct he'd made before. He only needed to run it through in his head once before he could pull the ingredients together on his table, Forging them into a shimmering red-and-orange ball.

  He was working inside a protective script, this time. A ninety percent success rate still meant a ten percent rate of failure, and he was making a bomb.

  When he was finished, he placed the bomb into a scripted case with the others.

  He would not return to the Night Wheel Valley unprepared.

  A knock at his door surprised him. Yerin should have been trying to advance, and who else would come visit him?

  He opened the door warily to see Mercy standing there, eyes shining, her hair long enough that she could pull it back into a ponytail again. She wore her smooth purple breastplate over a black-and-white set of sacred artist's robes, so she looked just like when he'd first met her. She leaned again on Suu, the dragon's head at the top hissing at his presence.

  “Hi! Are you meditating? Ooooh, no, you're Soulsmithing! Can I watch?” She stepped forward, and then hesitated. “Ah, can I come in?”

  He ushered her inside politely, but was still unsure. Mercy had never visited him before.

  She ran over to the table, stumbling once but catching herself on the edge of the bed. When she got to his Soulsmithing tools, she picked up the goldsteel-plated tongs for holding tricky pieces of madra and held them up to the light, examining them.

  “I always thought it would be fun to be a Soulsmith,” she said. “But I never had the knack for it. My sense for Forging is good, but shadow madra isn't the most widely compatible, and my tutors said it was better to concentrate on my talents.”

  “My mother was a Soulsmith,” Lindon said. “It's always been an interest of mine. I have to say, I didn't expect to see you here.” He didn't want to be rude, but he did want to steer this conversation toward a quick conclusion. Every minute wasted was a minute Yerin moved closer to the edge.

  She placed the tongs back down and faced him. “How are you?” she asked.

  He almost started to talk about what he was doing, the preparations he was making, but he stopped himself. He knew what she meant.

  “I should be Underlord by now,” he said at last.

  He expected her to say that he shouldn't be upset. Many people went their whole lives without the chance to reach Underlord. Instead, her eyes went wide in sympathy, and she nodded. “It's the most frustrating advancement. Some people go from Truegold to Underlord in an afternoon. I had a cousin who spent five years chasing sillier and sillier truths about herself before finally figuring out that her real revelation was that she practiced sacred arts for no reason. She just enjoyed it. Once she admitted that, her way was clear. It's hard, because you can never figure out when you're on the right track and need to push deeper, and when you're totally wrong.”

  “Yes!” Lindon said. “Until now, advancement has been clear. You make yourself one step stronger every day, keep practicing and cycling aura and strengthening your spirit, and it adds up. Now, all of a sudden, it's different.”

  Mercy pulled out the chair beneath the table, sitting down and leaning her staff against her shoulder. “There are a lot of sayings about it, at least in my family.” She imitated a deeper voice. “'To know the world, you must first know yourself.' 'You must deepen your connection to your own soul if you wish to command the world.' 'Underlord is the end of the path you walked for others, and the beginning of your own path.'“ She waved a hand. “They make it sound like it fits, but they’re all guessing. I did get one practical piece of advice from my tutors, though.”

  She leaned forward, looking deep into his eyes. “Follow your fear. It's a trick that sometimes helps to figure out your revelation. A lot of people push themselves into deadly situations, to figure out what they care about enough to die for, but you've done plenty of that. Obviously that isn't it for you. So...follow your fear.”

  “I'm afraid of a lot of things,” Lindon said. Especially at the moment. Losing Yerin, failing to advance and being left behind, failing his family. He was afraid he had left home for nothing and was wasting his time out here playing at being a sacred artist. He was afraid Eithan would see his effort on Lindon as a waste, afraid that Orthos would never return, afraid that Dross would somehow grow out of control and consume his mind, afraid that Blackflame madra would one day scorch his soul with damage he couldn't heal...

  “Too many things,” he added.

  Mercy thumped the carpet with the end of her staff. “Let’s try it now! We don’t have much time left, so it’s worth a try, right? Cycling position!”

  It was somewhat embarrassing to start meditating on command in front of someone like this, but it wasn't as though she hadn't seen him cycling before. He climbed back down, sitting and closing his eyes.

  “Now, follow your fear. Trace it back to the beginning. What are you really afraid of, underneath it all?”

  Feeling self-conscious, Lindon traced it back. He was afraid of losing Yerin.

  [Ah, but is that what you're afraid of?] Dross asked. [Maybe you're really afraid that she might not be around to protect you anymore.]

  Lindon searched his soul.

  No, that's not it, he said.

  [Well then, I'm out of ideas.]

  It connected, at least as far as he understood it, to his attempted revelation earlier. He wanted to protect the people around him. He had left Sacred Valley because he was afraid of losing his family.

  “I'm afraid of losing people I care about,” he said aloud, “but isn't everybody? That can't be unique to me.”

  “Your motivation doesn’t have to be rare, just personal. Hm. Was your fear of loss what drove you to practice the sacred arts?” She sounded like she was imitating a wise old elder asking probing questions. />
  “I left home because I was afraid of losing my family.” That was at the center of his motivations. It was what had made him want to pursue the sacred arts enough to leave.

  Mercy made a curious noise. “If that was all you wanted, then wouldn't you have stayed home? To be closer to them, to protect them?”

  I would have if I could, he thought, but he quickly realized that wasn't true. Protecting his family was his goal, it wasn't his motivation. It was what he walked toward, not what pushed him from behind.

  He'd left because, back in Sacred Valley, he was the least. The weakest.

  He had wanted to escape.

  So what was he afraid of now? What was his fear telling him about his family, about Yerin, about Eithan and Orthos?

  That he was still weak. Powerless. That he was still the same useless Unsouled who could change nothing.

  Lindon reached out with his spiritual sense, connecting to the aura around him. It was easier this time.

  I fight so I won't be worthless anymore, he thought. It felt the same as the hundreds of other declarations he’d made over the last two months, spoken and unspoken, calmly or desperately or burning with quiet hope. He still wasn’t sure if his answer was correct.

  But this time, the soulfire in his spirit quivered, and the aura around him shook with it. He would have never noticed if he hadn't been paying attention. At that moment, he had enough of a connection to the vital aura that all he had to do was pull...

  Something slammed into him, knocking him to his back, breaking him from the trance and pushing him down. His eyes snapped open.

  Mercy lay on top of him, her breastplate pressed against his chest, her nose an inch from his. “Stop!” she yelled into his face.

  Lindon withdrew his spiritual perception, looking into her panicked face. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

  She gave a relieved sigh, leaning both black-gloved hands on his chest and pushing herself up. She wobbled as she got to her feet, but then moved back to her chair. “If you trigger the advancement now, in this weak aura with only these few natural treasures, the transformation will occur slowly over two or three weeks. And once you start, there's no ending it early. Sure, that's better than nothing, but you know what your revelation is now, don’t you?”

  He nodded, both excited and embarrassed. He was on the brink of Underlord, but he couldn't help but feel that his motivation was...pathetic.

  “Then you should wait until you’re in the Night Wheel Valley. If you’re planning to go back, then advancement can happen like that.” She tried to snap, but the Goldsign on her fingers was too slick. Giving up, she clapped her hands together instead. “Like that. Sometimes. It could take longer, but still faster than here.”

  As he thought, his embarrassment retreated and his excitement grew. He was there. He had reached the final step.

  He looked at her with new respect. “I should have trained with you from the beginning.”

  “If I had known I could have helped, I would have said something the first day!” She waved a hand. “I didn’t think it would work. There’s no trick that works for everyone.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “You've helped me. How can I help you?”

  Mercy shifted in her seat. “No, no, don't waste anything on me. My family used to give me the best resources and instruction, so I'm passing along what I can.”

  He stood up, meeting her eyes directly, though now that he was standing, he loomed over her. She shifted her gaze. “Do you have any of those resources left?” he asked.

  “...no.”

  “And you would have to return home to get more?”

  “...yes.”

  “But you don't want to do that. And you don't want to take ours because you feel like you're stealing from us.”

  “Not stealing, exactly.”

  Lindon held out a hand to her. “Now I owe you. Next time, you won’t have to worry about taking anything from me, because I’ll be repaying your favor.” She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. “…two favors, actually. I’d like to ask you for one more.”

  ~~~

  Yerin knew her advancement would take longer if she triggered it here, but that didn't matter anymore. If she only started the transformation, her soulfire would begin rebuilding her lifeline. She could afford to take a month to become an Underlady, because the advancement itself would extend her lifespan.

  But that was only if she could do it.

  She was surrounded by eight natural treasures, the most powerful she and Lindon could gather that would stay relatively balanced. Her perception was absolutely focused on feeling the unity of aura.

  It was useless.

  The aura back in the Blackflame Empire felt even weaker after staying in the Night Wheel Valley for so long. Here, she wasn't sure she'd feel the advancement even if she did trigger it.

  She focused on her desire for freedom, to become so powerful that she could do whatever she wanted, go wherever she wanted, with no one to tell her no.

  She meditated on the joy she felt in a fight, the satisfaction of seeing her skills grow and her strength improve.

  She concentrated on the contentment of traveling with her master, and the old and faded love of a real family. The pain of losing them. The desire to protect the people in her life now.

  All around her, the aura didn't change.

  None of those were her revelation, unless maybe they were, and she hadn't pushed them hard enough yet. Or maybe the response from the soulfire had been too subtle and she'd missed her opportunity.

  She trembled with the effort of holding her perception in place without losing the hazy sense of aura merging into one. Sweat rolled down her face.

  Then, down the hall, she sensed Lindon.

  His spirit had swelled for an instant, then ebbed. Had he done it? No, he hadn't broken through, or she would sense his power as an Underlord. What had happened?

  She took a moment to unravel herself from the nearby aura; losing the sense of aura all at once could be disorienting. Then she rose to her feet and left. Maybe distracting herself was the answer. She could still afford to lose a minute or two, right?

  As soon as she looked toward Lindon's room, she saw Mercy rushing toward her.

  The Akura girl held her staff over one shoulder, apologizing to the other Skysworn she brushed past. When she saw Yerin, she waved eagerly, coming to a stop carefully to avoid pitching over on her face.

  Lindon ran up behind her, and she could read his excitement. But he hadn't broken through.

  Had he figured it out?

  “Follow your fear!” Mercy shouted, pushing Yerin back into her room. “I didn't think it would work, but it did!”

  Lindon followed, carefully shutting the door behind him. “It did. I felt it.”

  Yerin's fist tightened. “Don’t ease me along. What happened?”

  He looked suddenly hesitant, glancing at Mercy and then down at the floor. “I...don't...want to be useless. I move forward to prove that I am...worth something, I guess.”

  Mercy visibly softened, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder.

  His words pierced Yerin. That was stupid. He wouldn't be useless, even if he stayed at the same level he was forever.

  But hadn't she treated him the same way?

  She'd been afraid he couldn't keep up with her. Afraid she would have to leave him behind, or that he would leave her behind. Even in her own mind, she'd thought of their advancement as the most important thing about them both.

  She wanted to tell him that wasn't true, and even to apologize, but she couldn't put words to the feeling. Then Mercy was in her face, gripping her arms.

  “Now you try!” The Akura girl said. “Cycling position!”

  With one last look at Lindon, Yerin sat on the floor. She would have plenty of time to untangle her words later, once she didn't have to worry about the threat of death hanging over her head.

  “Trace the aura,” Mercy said, not that Yerin needed
any instruction. She had already settled into sensing the unity of aura, her perception bleeding into the world around her.

  “She's so much faster than I am,” Lindon said.

  Dross' voice echoed in all their heads. [And I’ve been speeding you up. There's no substitute for good training. Or practice. Or talent, can't forget about that.]

  A smile threatened to break Yerin's concentration.

  “Now,” Mercy said, “what are you afraid of?”

  She drilled down into herself. Her desire to protect people probably stemmed from a fear of loss, and her desire for freedom maybe sprang from the fear of losing that freedom to the Blood Shadow. Though the Shadow had been mostly docile, ever since she started training with it regularly, it was still there. Lurking in the back of her spirit. Waiting to take even her body from her.

  But in the end, one fear outshone all the others.

  Sensing the vital aura around her, she was too aware of the line of green life aura running down her spine. The dim, crooked, flickering line of light that could go out at any second.

  Trying to think about other fears while her life hung by a frayed thread was like trying to see the stars with the sun in the sky.

  Maybe that meant it was her revelation. Was survival the desire that drove her to the sacred arts?

  That rang false. She wasn't fighting to live forever, or she wouldn't be so reckless with her life.

  Mercy continued talking to her in a low, soothing voice, but Yerin grew increasingly frustrated. Her touch on the aura shook, the sense of unity growing thin.

  This wasn't working.

  When her meditation was interrupted by a flare of wind and dream madra and an alarm echoed through the room, she was relieved at the excuse to drop her trance.

  Mercy looked disappointed, but Lindon was watching the echoing bell-shaped construct on the ceiling.

  “Yerin,” Naru Gwei's voice said, “come see me. And if the Blackflame boy and the Akura girl are with you, bring them. They're not in their rooms.”