by Will Wight
Blunt tendrils extended from his sides. “And I have arms! Well, I have little pseudopod tentacle things, but I'll take them!”
Under any other circumstances, Lindon would have been delighted with the possibilities of a construct coming to life. He would have started speculating about what could be accomplished with other constructs, about whether long-term exposure to dream madra was the way to turn a construct into a living spirit, or whether there was something special with Dross' circumstances. If it was so easily replicable, the expert Soulsmiths would have tried it before.
However, Lindon's spirit warned him clearly about that darkness. He turned red-hot eyes on the construct. “Dross. Now.”
“Oh, right.” He spun away, flailing his stubby little arms as he flew. None too soon.
A moment later, Akura Harmony rose from the dark.
He looked as well-fed and comfortable as a man who had spent the night in the palace, his skin clear and smooth, his purple eyes bright. Hair flowed straight down his back, and the black disc of his Goldsign hovered behind his head. His black-and-white sacred artist's robes were spotless and pressed.
He drifted up until Lindon could see the dark purple Thousand-Mile Cloud on which he was standing. Casually, the Akura hopped off and strolled closer.
Lindon cycled madra, preparing to ignite the Burning Cloak.
Harmony didn't even look at him. Every step brought him closer, but he had eyes only for the Life Well. The Akura produced a shallow bowl, and brushed past Lindon to dip it into the pool of shining green water.
Lindon supposed he should be grateful the man wasn't hostile, but his spirit was still warning him. He pressed his fists together and gave a shallow bow. “Greetings, Akura representative. I am—”
Harmony cut him off with a sigh. “Quiet.”
Like a painter raising a brush, he raised two fingers.
Madra gathered within his hand, dark and sharp, and Lindon recognized the technique.
The Burning Cloak sprang into the air around him, and he struck at the Akura's wrist with the explosive speed of Blackflame.
Harmony's left hand intercepted his, pushing his punch aside with apparent ease. Lindon opened his Remnant hand, trying to grab hold of the Akura's body.
Harmony stepped back, still graceful, and lowered his fingers.
A black blade flickered down, slicing a line in the stone floor.
Lindon managed to throw himself to one side, the blade cutting only into his outer robe. He rose to his feet, conjuring dragon's breath, but Harmony was once again looking at something else.
This time, he was looking at the corner of Lindon's robe, which had fallen to the ground. It had included his pocket.
Harmony first drew out a blue-glowing glass ball, which he tossed aside. Lindon almost wished he'd taken it; Suriel's marble would return to him without fail.
Then he withdrew the other blue orb that had been inside Lindon's pocket before it was severed by the shadow-blade. This time, it was the cracked, damaged sapphire that had once housed the Eye of the Deep construct.
Harmony examined it for a moment, then reached into his own pocket and pulled out a sapphire that shimmered with a gradient of other colors.
Another Eye of the Deep.
Lindon launched a bolt of dragon's fire at Harmony, but a black wedge appeared in the air in front of him. The Blackflame madra split along the wedge, one half drilling into the wall on the left and the other half cutting a glass cylinder in two.
Unconcerned, Harmony raised the dead sapphire. “The construct. You removed it.”
“It cracked,” Lindon said, gathering madra again. “The construct dissolved.”
Harmony nodded to the door. “You opened the door not six hours ago.”
Lindon leaped at him, powered by the Burning Cloak. He grabbed for the gem with his Remnant arm.
Harmony stepped away, but that step carried him halfway across the room. “Let's see, then.”
He held up the unlit gem, sending his spirit into it. A blue light flickered deep within, and Lindon's heart fell.
There was a script inside the sapphire, which Harmony had just activated. And Lindon suspected he knew what it did.
Soon enough, he heard Dross' shouts growing closer.
“What's happening? What is this? Something's got me! Help!” As though drawn back by an invisible fishing line, Dross was hauled into the room and straight into his sapphire.
Brows drawn in confusion, Harmony held both gems next to each other. One was blue, though it rippled with other colors, and smoothly glowing. The other was now purple, with Dross inside it, and was begging to know what happened.
After a moment of examination, Harmony simply turned and walked back to the hatch.
Where Lindon was already waiting for him.
Empowered by the Burning Cloak, he lashed out with his Remnant fist. Harmony met the blow with the back of his hand.
It was a casual gesture, as though Harmony were waving him away, but it carried the weight of a hammer. Lindon flew back, turning in midair and cycling madra to his legs. He landed against the wall in a flare of black-and-red madra.
He leaped away, dragon’s fire gathered in his palm. He shoved the half-formed Striker technique into Harmony’s face, but Harmony’s fingers pierced through it, shrouded in darkness. The ball of fire burst in Lindon’s hand, and the momentum of his lunge carried him past Harmony and into the middle of the floor.
The Akura turned, crooking his fingers as though beckoning a dog.
Black swords stabbed up from the ground.
Lindon slid aside, avoiding them, but they kept coming. He started drawing Blackflame into his palm, glancing up to judge his distance from Harmony.
Icy pain flashed through his spirit as a sword shoved through his Remnant arm. He staggered, his technique disappearing, gripping his white arm around the dark blade that emerged from the forearm.
Without another word, Harmony turned and hopped back into the tunnel. Taking Dross with him.
Chapter 15
Lindon wrenched his arm free of the Forged blade, biting back a scream. He rushed over to the hatch, grabbing it one-handed and trying to haul it open with the strength of the Burning Cloak.
Orthos raced in at that moment, skidding to a halt in front of the hatch. He looked around at the burns in the walls, the sliced floor, and the newly damaged glass cases. “Where is the enemy?” he demanded, excited.
Right arm hanging limp, Lindon slapped the hatch with his left hand. “Down there. He took Dross.”
The turtle’s spirit swept over the hatch. “…it was the Akura?”
Lindon nodded.
“Then thank the heavens you are still free,” Orthos said gravely. “The Akura do not kill honorably. They take prisoners.”
Without warning, Lindon gathered power in his left hand. The dragon's fire congealed in seconds, and he drove it at the domed lid of the hatch.
Hidden rings of script shone on the lid and on the ground all around, the runes glowing the orange-white of heated metal. In seconds, they faded to orange and then to red.
“Can't follow him,” Lindon muttered, looking around the room. The refiners had left so much behind; had the Heralds stripped this place decades ago, as they had the other habitats? If not, there could be something he could use.
“If you followed him, what would you do? A dragon does not walk blindly into the devil's lair.”
“I know you see the problem here,” Lindon said, walking over to a cabinet next to the glass tanks. He threw open the doors—empty. “Without Dross, we are stuck here. Locked in a dying world.”
“Keep a calm head, boy,” Orthos said quietly. There had been no heat in Lindon’s words; even Yerin might not have heard any anger. But Orthos had a direct line to his spirit.
Lindon slammed his fist down onto the cabinet.
It stood as high as his chest and wider than his shoulders, but under his blow, it burst. Wood chips flew everywhere as the two ha
lves of the furniture collapsed inward.
“He took Dross from me. From my hand. More easily than taking a bone from a dog.”
Lindon's rage stirred his Blackflame madra, which called fire aura to him from outside; he could feel the red power flowing into him. The shards of the cabinet started to smolder.
“Swallow that anger,” Orthos said. “Use it to fuel the fire in your belly. Dragons sometimes lose, but they learn from their losses and come back stronger.”
“If I accept this loss, there is no coming back!”
“That's not what's setting your tail ablaze. If you had a choice between leaving alive and staying to compete with the Akura, what would you do?”
“Leave,” Lindon said immediately.
Orthos grunted thoughtfully, then heaved himself to his feet. “Give me a moment. Cycle your pure core.”
That was unusual. Normally Orthos would tell him to cycle Blackflame. But then, normally Orthos wasn't the one telling him to keep his temper and think through a problem first.
At first, Lindon paced in restless frustration, irritated at having to follow instructions. But eventually he sat down in a cycling position and focused on his pure core.
He soon lost himself in a meditative trance, so he wasn't sure how much time passed before Orthos returned. In his mouth, he carried a fist-sized chunk of what looked like shimmering blue chalk.
The turtle rolled the lump of chalk across the floor so it bumped into Lindon's knee. “This,” he said, “is a gatestone. They come in different shapes and sizes, but crushing one will allow you to instantly return to one place. It is how the others have been escaping Ghostwater.”
Lindon's eyes brightened and his heart cleared. This was the answer to all of his problems. He reached out for it before hesitating. “Where did you find this?”
“In one of the dreadbeast nests. A sacred artist must have died before using it.”
“Why didn't you bring it before?”
“We didn't need a way out before,” Orthos said, holding his gaze steady. “Now, you can decide: use this stone, or not.”
Of course he would. Lindon almost laughed out loud. But something else came out of his mouth.
“...why do you think he took Dross?”
Orthos said nothing, but Lindon's mind started churning. Harmony already had an Eye of the Deep, so he had access to all of Ghostwater. What would he need a second one for? There was the possibility that he wanted Dross specifically, but there would have been no way for him to know that Lindon's Eye was special before he stole it. Not unless he had access to the bloodline ability of the Arelius.
Maybe Harmony could have accessed the same observational security constructs that Dross had, but Lindon had no idea how likely that was. He had to assume that Harmony just needed another Eye.
Or perhaps he was acting to keep Lindon and Orthos locked inside Ghostwater as the world crumbled around him. Maybe he was just that cruel.
Lindon didn't have enough information to speculate. But using the gatestone would leave Dross to whatever Harmony wanted to do with him.
And Lindon recognized that an Akura wouldn't move for a cheap prize. He benefited from this in some way.
Lindon scooped up the stone...and slipped it into his one remaining pocket. Suriel's marble glowed there, though he didn't remember putting it away.
“Whatever he wants, we can't leave Dross to him,” Lindon said at last. And whatever the Akura was after, he wanted a piece of it.
Orthos nodded as though he'd expected nothing different. “Once, you were weak. That boy is long dead, but his Remnant still haunts you.” He turned to drink from the Life Well. “Your weakness, Lindon, is thinking you are weaker than you are.”
Lindon opened his void key, reaching in and pulling out a tiny vial of purple water. He drank it down quickly, feeling his focus sharpen.
“I think I can see a way to break the script on the hatch,” Lindon said after a moment.
Orthos shook his head firmly. “No. We’re too weak.”
“You just said—”
“Prudent caution,” the turtle said. “That is where you should find yourself.”
Lindon spread his one remaining palm. “If we stay here, we’re leaving Dross to his fate.”
“Convince me we can defeat the Akura without him escaping to his family,” Orthos said. “Then I will allow it.”
“I can repair my arm with the hunger bindings inside the dreadbeasts,” Lindon said.
“That arm didn't win you the last fight, did it?”
“We have some fresh Diamondscale meat. It will strengthen us both.”
“Slowly,” Orthos said. “If we're going to wait another two weeks, we might as well use the gatestone at the last moment and be done.”
“There are supposed to be some spirit-fruits in this garden, and I still have water from the Spirit Well. I could reach Truegold, but that will take just as long.”
Orthos shifted in place. He glanced to the side, snapping up another piece of debris and eating it.
“...Orthos.”
“It doesn't have to,” he admitted. “I have the power of a Truegold. I had to share it with you in small doses before, as neither your spirit nor mine could handle the burden.”
A light dawned in Lindon's mind. “But now we can. And whatever madra you expend, you can replace with the Spirit Well water. Let's go!” He sat down in a cycling position immediately, ready to begin.
“Listen, boy. You're only a few weeks from Truegold on your own. Don't rely on me for this last step.” He hesitated. “And nothing good comes from opposing the Akura family.”
Lindon rested a hand on the turtle's head. “Dross has traveled with us for four weeks now. Would a dragon abandon an ally in time of need?”
Orthos grumbled.
Then he opened his spirit.
~~~
Harmony knelt before the jeweled tree, calming his madra, stilling his mind.
The two Eyes of the Deep sat in his pockets, one silently, the other one chattering. He ignored them both equally.
The Akura family had known more than the others all along; they ensured that their disciples got the real prize in this pocket world. Of the other factions who had joined them to periodically plunder Ghostwater, only the Ninecloud Court had the knowledge they did. But the Ninecloud delegate hadn't made it inside this time, so Harmony would be the final recipient of Ghostwater's treasure.
The tree that loomed over him was made of scripted metal, spiraling from the floor up to the ceiling. Instead of leaves, its branches held metal cages, and inside each cage: a sapphire.
Only about a third of the cages were filled, but the chamber still sparkled with light from the Eyes of the Deep.
Harmony withdrew the silent jewel from his pocket. There was a ritual necessary to prepare the construct before coming here; he had to carry the gem around the outside world, then give it a thorough tour of the state of Ghostwater.
For the previous month, he had carried the Eye around with him as he cycled and trained, letting it absorb information about the world. About him. It would add its knowledge to the collective in the tree.
In return for his efforts, he would be rewarded.
He knelt before the tree, holding the shimmering jewel before him like a supplicant. “Harmony of the Akura clan returns the Eye of the Deep to the place of its birth.”
Without his power activating it, script flared to life all over the tree. One branch bent down toward Harmony, its cage creaking open.
Carefully, Harmony placed the gem within. His family wasn't sure to what degree the tree was aware of his behavior, but it had been known to punish rudeness. When the cage carried away the Eye of the Deep, Harmony bowed.
The jewel was restored to its state among the others, and a whispering voice echoed through the chamber.
“Ask...”
“What is the fastest path that I may use to reach Underlord?” Harmony asked. He had struggled with this question for w
eeks, regretting that he didn't have a second chance to ask another question.
Then he had sensed the delegation from the Blackflame Empire next to the Life Well. It meant they had an Eye of the Deep of their own.
The heavens, it seemed, were looking out for him.
The tree trembled for a moment, its script shining and its jewels shaking, as it contemplated the question.
Then a sparkling wave of blue-and-purple light washed over him, and he knew.
The shock of the sudden knowledge left him panicking and disoriented, as though he'd woken up from a dream and not recognized the room around him. When he regained control of himself, he pressed his fists together and bowed to the tree.
“Akura Harmony is grateful for your wisdom,” he said, his voice still rough.
Then he waited.
In front of him, at the base of the tree, was a scripted basin like a birdbath. He stared at the basin hungrily.
The answer was only half the prize.
A few breaths later, a clear tube slid out from the tree and hovered over the basin. A twinkling white pearl rolled through the tube, splashing into the center of the basin.
A drop of ghostwater: the substance for which this world had been named.
Abandoning dignity, Harmony leaned over the basin and lapped the droplet up with his tongue. Lords and Ladies would kill for this.
A moment of cycling later, and he realized why.
The droplet of ghostwater traveled through his madra channels to his head, where it fused with his channels and nested at the base of his skull. It shone there like a distant star, a tiny pinprick compared to the full moon of his core.
He tapped it, and it was as though his mind was refreshed. He stood, Forging his Nine Blades of the Underworld technique. Ordinarily, the technique struck nine times at a target, and it took his full concentration to control it otherwise.
Now, he caused the blades of dark madra to rise in a perfect circle. Once again, and they appeared one at a time on the same spot, delayed by a perfect second each time.
