by Will Wight
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.
Chapter 18
They huddled in the shelter of the broken village’s cellar for three days.
Most of the homes here had stockpiled some food, so they were able to feed themselves easily. Water was harder, at least at first, until they ventured outside and realized that one of the blows from the distant battle had torn open a spring. They filled as many jars as they could carry, hauling them back to their cellar while avoiding as many bloodspawn as possible.
After the first day, the sounds of battle had faded to those of a thunderstorm. By the end of the second day, they'd disappeared entirely, and the red haze had vanished from the sun.
Only then did the bloodspawn completely vanish. Most of them had been torn to pieces in the wake of the titanic conflict, but stragglers still formed until the red aura withdrew.
It was for the best, because Lindon couldn't fight. He couldn't even cycle.
Little Blue had worked on him, with every spark improving his shattered spirit, but each of her touches caused him agonizing pain. Each time, it was like setting a broken arm.
She hated that he was in pain, but she still tried her best. But he wasn't her only patient—Yerin and Orthos needed help as badly as he did.
Her power was stretched thin, and the store of pure scales in his pack wasn't endless. Eventually, she paled and had to curl up in her case again, the crack hovering over her like a frozen lightning bolt.
If his madra channels had been in better shape, he could have shared his power with her. As it was, he needed to feed her if he wanted her to help, but she needed to help him before he could heal her.
So they were stuck, waiting.
He was awakened on the third day by someone tearing the door open. He tried to extend his perception, but it was like trying to touch something with a broken finger. He shied back.
Not that it matters, he thought. I know who it is.
There was only one person who could find them. And, for that matter, only one person who would have gone looking for them.
Eithan stuck his head down, hair gleaming in the shaft of sunlight he was letting in. He jerked back, lips twisting in disgust.
"An apocalyptic battle is no excuse not to bathe," he said.
Lindon rose, apologizing, but Mercy laughed, her voice light with relief. Yerin rolled her eyes, and Orthos extended his neck from his shell, snorted, and withdrew it again.
Despite the smell, he hopped down the stairs, examining them with hands on his hips. He addressed Yerin first. "I see you managed to follow my advice after all!"
"No choice," she said. "Bad luck pushed me into a corner."
"You'd be surprised how often people listen to me when they're left with no choice. I'll have to fulfill one of those many rewards I've promised you."
"Cheers and celebration," she muttered.
Then he turned to Lindon. "Why is it that I so often find you locked in a dark place, filthy and exhausted and covered in blood?"
"At least Yerin didn't have to kick me this time."
"Does that happen often?" Mercy asked.
Her comment pulled Eithan's attention to her, and his smile broadened. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure," he said.
Lindon couldn't quite see how, but he got the impression Eithan was lying. Somehow.
Mercy stood and propped her staff on one shoulder, bowing and pressing her fists together. "Akura Mercy. I cannot thank you enough for coming to rescue us."
Eithan didn't mention her family name, though Lindon was sure he knew what it meant. All the clan members among the Skysworn trainees had known, though the lower-class students hadn't. He doubted those Lowgolds would have information that Eithan did not.
"Not at all, young lady, not at all. I was simply retrieving some of mine." He beamed over at Lindon and Yerin. "I have some news that you will enjoy, and some that you will not. Which would you prefer first?"
"I could use some
cheer," Yerin said.
"Bad news first, then! I do not know how the Skysworn will react to your absence. It could be that you are wanted for capture."
Capture. Again.
Lindon had rarely longed so badly for advancement in the sacred arts. The stronger he was, the harder it would be to keep him imprisoned.
He couldn't imagine anyone keeping Mercy's mother in a box.
"Allow me to follow with the good news: I have successfully completed a difficult task for Naru Gwei, and he owes me a favor...although it was not actually difficult for me, but that was not a relevant detail to share with the Empire. They will punish you lightly, just for the sake of appearance, but then they will allow you to continue serving the Skysworn."
Yerin scoffed. "Maybe when the sun cracks and falls. They dropped me from the sky." Lindon had shared that story with her during their time in the cellar.
"Alas, they won't let go of you. You are still, officially, Skysworn. Even I cannot pry you loose, now that you have committed to them." He spread his hands. "If it eases your mind, at least know that they won't be trying to kill you so aggressively anymore. Not now that I'm openly in favor."
Mercy heaved a deep breath before saying, "They think we're the enemy. We just have to show them we're all on the same side."
Yerin and Lindon stared at her.
Eithan pointed. "That's the spirit. Another piece of good tidings: the Bleeding Phoenix has retreated for now."
A chill ran down Lindon's spine. "She didn't kill it?"
"Kill it? If anyone could kill a Dreadgod, they would not have survived for so long. No, there's a reason behind the Bleeding Phoenix's name." He paused a moment. "I think you've figured out the Bleeding part, but the Phoenix half is just as important. It disperses its Blood Shadows all over the world, then it builds itself a new body from the power they gather. Unlike most of the other Dreadgods, Monarchs can destroy its body temporarily, but it always forms again.
"Although, in this case, that isn't what happened."
Eithan was milking the moment, Lindon could tell. Unfortunately, he couldn't pretend not to be interested. The Underlord had them on a hook, and he knew it. Even Orthos had poked his head out of his shell.
"The honored Monarch fought for two days and nights, until her armor was cracked and leaking essence. She would surely have had to retreat in only another hour or two, and the Phoenix had sustained no injury. Their battle had spilled into the eastern wasteland, but it would be nothing for the Dreadgod to turn back and return to our lands."
He shrugged. "Then the Phoenix fell apart. I saw it myself. It just...split apart."
Mercy let out a huge sigh of relief, perhaps thinking about her mother, but Yerin looked skeptical. "Gave up and went home, did it?"
"A battle on that scale takes huge quantities of madra," Eithan said. "Even a creature like the Bleeding Phoenix cannot fight forever. I have only a theory, you understand, but I believe it a likely one: it is biding its time."
Lindon sucked in a breath. "So it's still around."
"It always is. But usually it is sleeping, and this time...this time I believe it's still awake. I think it realized it was fighting for no reason, that the objective which had pulled it out of its long slumber was no longer obtainable. So it decided to wait."
"For what?" Mercy asked, eyes wide, clutching her staff.
"For its brothers," Eithan said, and his voice was suddenly grim. As though he'd heard himself, he lightened almost immediately. "I'm sorry. That falls in the category of unpleasant news, doesn't it? This was supposed to be the time for good tidings. Speaking of which, Lindon, I have something of a mixed bag for you."
He faced Lindon, the fingertips of both hands pressed together. "You mentioned that you saw several doors into the great labyrinth in your homeland. Sacred Valley, as you said. Could you describe to me the vision your heavenly messenger shared with you? In more detail than you have shared before, I mean."
Lindon was prepared for this. "I'd be happy to exchange our stories. Perhaps part of your vision will remind me of details I've forgotten."
His encounter with Suriel was the one bargaining chip he had to trade. He wasn't giving it up for free.
Eithan inclined his head, acknowledging the point, before withdrawing the void marble from his sleeve.
"I hereby swear on the heavens, my soul, and the grave of my second cousin that I will share my account with you in return." He flipped the marble up and caught it. "In fact, I was prepared to do so in any case. I received some...reliable advice...that suggested I no longer have as much time as I'd assumed."
Lindon searched that statement for any hint of deception, but it seemed airtight. If Eithan was going to wriggle out of it, he would, but he hadn't left himself any obvious loopholes.
His oath shouldn't hold much real weight unless Lindon closed the circle by returning a promise of his own, but sacred artists as powerful as Underlords were still wary of false promises.
Besides, Yerin and Mercy were both staring at him with interest. Yerin had heard most of this already, but Mercy looked like a child awaiting a bedtime story.
"She showed me my future," Lindon began. He glossed over the personal details, especially the parts with his family. Until he came to his death.
"Something marched into Sacred Valley," he said. "My home. It was just a shadow, blotting out the sun, but it waded through the mountains like they were made of sand."
Like the giant in armor he'd seen only a few days before. Mercy's mother.
"That's how I was supposed to die," Lindon said. "Suriel gave me a chance to avoid that. And she showed me some people who could have saved me." He had long since committed the names to memory. "Luminous Queen Sha Miara. Northstrider. The Eight-Man Empire."
Mercy sucked in a breath. Even Yerin gave a low whistle, though Lindon was sure he'd shared this detail with her before. Hadn't he?
Eithan ran a thumb along his chin. His smile was gone, but he didn't look cold or angry. Just thoughtful.
"Those are some of the most powerful people in the world," the Underlord said. "Though you figured that out already. They are practically myths. In fact, I have it on good authority that Northstrider died almost seven years ago, and the reputation of the Eight-Man Empire is supposedly exaggerated. Though if this Suriel rates them so highly, then presumably popular opinion is in error."
He sat thoughtfully for another moment before raising a finger. "Placing that together with those doors in your valley, I have a theory. I believe it is the return of one or more Dreadgods that leads to the destruction of your home. They hunger for whatever is in this maze. On their way to it, they—or perhaps one of the Monarchs doing battle with them—was destined to crush your valley underfoot."
Lindon thought back to the impossibly vast wall of blood and power that was the Bleeding Phoenix.
He had to stop that.
"Thirty years," he said. "That was how long she said I had, and that was the summer before last. Is that enough time."
"Ah...by conventional wisdom, most lifetimes are not enough." Eithan gave a polite cough. "And I believe I mentioned that I no longer had as much time as I expected. Somewhere along the line, fate has been twisted."
Dread filled Lindon's stomach. "What does that mean?"
"No one predicted the rise of the Bleeding Phoenix until a matter of weeks before it happened. An event of that magnitude should have showed up in their premonitions for years. Sometimes generations. All over the world, that is how sacred artists deal with Dreadgod attacks: we predict them, and then we run.
"Something changed this time," Eithan said. "We'll have to consult experts in the subject, but I think it's best to assume you have less time than you thought."
Lindon's heart sunk further.
"...perhaps much less."
They sat in silence for a while. Mercy looked like she was still piecing stories together in her head, Yerin was brooding, Eithan cleaned his nails, and Orthos munched on fragments of
pottery.
Lindon was wondering how much he could trust Eithan's guesses. Suriel had descended from the heavens to show him the future. Surely, she was the most reliable source.
But she had emphasized how fate could always be changed...
"Now it's my turn," Eithan said, evidently having grown bored with waiting. "But first, I have to ask. Lindon, has your resolve been shaken?"
Had it? Lindon thought about it for a moment.
If he didn’t really have thirty years, then he should go back to Sacred Valley as soon as possible. Borrowing help from Eithan and Yerin, he could warn everyone to leave. They should do what most people did before a Dreadgod attack and run. He was powerful enough now that even the elders and clan leaders should listen to him.
But...
Assuming he did clear everyone out, would he give up and go home? Would he pack it in, once his goal was achieved?
No. He'd seen too much. There were sacred artists whose steps covered miles, who traded blows with Dreadgods and blotted out the sky.
If he settled for less than that, he was giving up. Suriel had transcended this world entirely; he couldn't forgive himself if he didn't at least try.
He shook his head, and Eithan accepted it, turning to Yerin. "How about you, Yerin?"
Yerin seemed surprised that he addressed her at all. "Is Redmoon Hall still around?"
"Like their master, they remain awake and aware," Eithan said. "They are here, now, in the Empire. Longhook, the gentleman we met before, has been sighted more than once. I fear we will see them again even before the Phoenix returns."
"Then I'll be there too."
Eithan cocked his head curiously. "For that reason alone? What if you were to defeat Redmoon Hall completely? What if they did retreat? Would your spirit fade away, and your resolve crumble to nothing?"
Yerin sat and thought, rather than delivering a snap answer, as Lindon had somewhat expected. Slowly, a light grew in her eyes, until a smile slid onto her scarred lips. "I've got a lot of road left to travel, but...even my master couldn't keep up with a Dreadgod. Sure would be fun to go sword-to-sword with one."
