by Will Wight
The Burning Cloak sprung up around Lindon, a flame of black and red surrounding his body, and the dragon advanced.
Lindon rushed forward, slamming his white Remnant fist over Mercy's staff and into Pride. The short Underlord caught the blow on his forearm, but the force still launched him down the entire hall and out the open doors.
He landed on his feet, but Lindon had followed him with another punch.
Shadow burst like smoke where Pride had stood, and he disappeared again, Lindon's fist passing through immaterial darkness. He turned, expecting Pride behind him, but something slammed into his ankles. Pride had gone low, sweeping Lindon's legs out from under him, and Lindon pitched onto his back.
As he hit the ground, the air rushing from his lungs, Lindon hurled a dragon's breath upward. Pride would have followed up with a new attack, ready to hit him while he was down.
Sure enough, Pride had followed him, and a beam of black-and-red madra caught him full in the chest.
Lindon cut off the technique immediately, for fear of drilling a hole in Mercy's brother, but Pride was unharmed. Gray haze covered his skin, and the Blackflame madra had simply washed over him.
He drove his fist down onto Lindon, and an orb of shadow madra exploded from the hit, this time into Lindon's stomach.
Lindon's spirit screamed in pain, and so did he.
His consciousness blurred away for longer than it had before. This time, when he came to, he found Pride glaring contemptuously at him from fifteen feet away.
Mercy stood over him, veil lifted, her staff in the form of a bow.
“...test yourself against me,” Mercy was saying, with more anger in her voice than Lindon had ever heard. “If you're too much of a coward for that, then go cry to Mother.”
Pride looked to the side, past his sister. “Uncle Fury, do you want this representing the Akura family?”
A man walked into Lindon's view, laughing sheepishly, as though he felt guilty about something and was trying to laugh it off. He wore a loose black sacred artist's robe, but only one layer, with a bare chest revealed beneath. He looked to be perhaps thirty-five or forty, with hair made of living shadow. It rose and drifted and shifted like sea-grass in the currents. Unlike the others present, his eyes were bright red.
“Hmmm, I don't know.” Fury’s voice was bright, reminding Lindon more of Mercy than of anyone else he'd met in the family. “He looked pretty weak, but you did attack him before he was ready.”
“Talk to Aunt Charity,” Pride insisted. “He doesn't deserve her nomination.”
Lindon’s hope rose as his Blackflame madra faded away. Akura Fury evidently had the power to decide the competitors for the Uncrowned King team. He could send Lindon home.
“Eeehhhh...I taught Charity myself, when she was a girl. She's always had good eyes.”
Lindon pushed himself to his feet. The ache in his body was dull, but the pain in his spirit was sharp.
With effort, he pushed his fists together to salute the man he suspected was a Herald.
“Forgiveness, but I was not raised with the training of the Akura clan. I do not see how I could be worthy to compete beside Mercy or Pride.”
Pride’s head jerked back as though Lindon had struck him, but Mercy sighed. She knew what he was doing.
Akura Fury turned red eyes to him and gave him a pitying look, hands in his pockets. “I don't see much in him either, but Charity knows him better than I do. But hey, there’s still a slot left! I'll have my selection fights in a few months, and then you can show me what you've got.”
Pride gestured angrily to Lindon. “Haven't I already?”
“I’m afraid I’m not his opponent,” Lindon said, as though it were a painful admission.
[Orthos would have ruined your ruse by now,] Dross said. [‘Grr, a dragon doesn’t pretend to be weak. Throw fire at him!’ It’s a good thing I’m here to help.]
Fury let out another embarrassed laugh, but spread his hands. “Sorry, boys! It's not up to me.”
Pride glared again, mostly at Lindon, but sparing some for Mercy as well. Finally, he bowed to Fury and stomped away.
Lindon searched his mind for a new line of attack. The rest of the young Lords and Ladies were still watching, and if he presented himself as too weak, they might really try to kill him.
Fury scratched the back of his head. “He's pretty mad. Even more than usual.”
Mercy's bow shifted back to a staff, and she leaned on it. “It's my fault. I'll go talk to him.”
“Nah. It's training time!”
Mercy ran to hide behind Lindon, which put him in the awkward position of standing between a Herald and his niece. “Sorry, Uncle Fury, but I have to get Lindon settled in. And I really should speak with Pride. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be ready.”
“Or better yet,” Lindon said hastily, “you could send me home! Wouldn’t that solve everything?”
Red eyes moved to the rest of the crowd, and Fury jabbed a finger at Lindon. “Someone take care of him, okay?” Then he grabbed Mercy around the waist, picking her up with one arm. “Now, training!”
Mercy protested, but Fury had already leaped.
Through the clouds.
Lindon and the others stared up to where they had vanished, but they never came down.
Leaving Lindon weak and lost, surrounded by hostile strangers.
His hopes of leaving came crashing down around him, but he might have won another small consolation. Did you get it? he asked silently.
[That’s a lot of pressure when you put it that way, you know that? If Pride’s Path is the same as Mercy’s, he should only have four techniques available, and he used four. So I have a reasonable model, but not what I’d call a perfect one.]
Lindon looked through the hole in the crowd where Pride had left. That’s good enough to start.
~~~
One of the young Underladies finally agreed to lead Lindon to a guest room where he could recover from his wounds. She said nothing as they leaped over black ponds filled with glowing white fish, trees that scraped at the sky, trying to grab them, and statues with amethysts for eyes. They jumped from one tall, black building to another, and she showed no consideration for his wounds.
Lindon had fought for his life while in worse condition than this, though even the Soul Cloak felt painful running through his strained madra channels. As a Truegold, he would have had to exhaust himself to keep up with her and may have injured his madra channels doing so. But his Underlord body picked up the slack, and he followed her to their destination.
She looked him up and down as they landed as though surprised that he was still on his feet, but she said nothing. In fact, his Bloodforged Iron body had already begun repairing his physical injuries, straining his spirit even further while doing so.
They stood before a three-story home with black tiles on the roof and a smooth gray wall surrounding the property. Trees and bushes poked over the top of the wall, so he assumed a garden surrounded the house. Upon close inspection, Lindon took it for an inn. The Akura clan would have plenty of traffic from the outside; he only had to hope that they would pay for his stay.
A servant in black-and-white layered robes and a cap stood next to the plated iron gates, bowing when she saw the Akura Underlady.
“He's a guest,” the Underlady said, speaking for the first time. “Get him registered.”
“I will see to it at once, Underlady,” the servant said into the ground.
Without another word, the young Akura woman took off again, leaping away.
The servant bowed to him. “Greetings, Underlord. Please allow me to provide you with a key and, if this residence is suitable for you, I will enter your name into the clan registry as a guest at this location.”
She held both her palms out flat, a black card resting on them. A script gleamed in its center like moonlight.
“Gratitude,” Lindon said, taking the card that he assumed was the key. “If you don't mind, would you sho
w me the way to my room?”
He tried to find the place he could touch the card that would cause the gate to open, but as soon as he ran his pure madra through the script, the iron plates rose soundlessly up. They hung overhead, suspended on wind aura, waiting for him to pass beneath.
The servant woman spoke hesitantly. “I apologize for correcting the Underlord, but I was obviously unclear. The house is yours.”
The statement sent equal parts excitement and alarm rushing through him. He didn’t want a house here; he wanted to leave. On the other hand, it was a house.
The Wei clan had spoiled him for space, but all the houses of the Shi family added together would have made up only one story of this building. And there were three stories.
From the inside of the wall, he realized the yard was much bigger than he had imagined; it stretched all the way around the house, and he couldn't see the far end. It was covered by bushes that flowered a glowing blue, and trees with fruits like red glass. The aura was as thick here as anywhere in Moongrave, and somehow the house gave off a calming feel.
“I am...grateful,” Lindon said, “so pardon me for my ignorance. This house is mine? No other guests will stay here?”
The servant looked offended. “No, sir! My staff and I will maintain the house and grounds and provide meals upon request, unless you require isolation for your training. There is a sound-proof, spiritually contained basement for meditation, and the garden is at your disposal. If you require anything for your training or daily needs at any time, please let me or any of the servants know.”
Seeing that he was still skeptical, she continued. “For as long as you are a guest of the Akura family, you will be considered the owner of this house, whether you leave tonight or stay here the rest of your life.” Her voice echoed with pride, as though she took personal responsibility for the quality of her service.
Lindon couldn’t help admiring the Akura clan. They hadn't made the best impression on him, but they certainly weren’t cheap.
While he was here, he would squeeze out all the benefits he could.
“In that case, could I trouble you for some clothes?” He had been transported here without warning, and he only kept one change of clothes in his void key. “And please let me know if this is too much, but I could use some mental enhancement elixirs, madra restoration pills, and—if you can spare one—a parasite ring.”
He searched her face for reluctance as he tested the boundaries of the family’s generosity. She didn't bat an eye, giving a precise bow. “Of course, Underlord. Will there be anything else?”
Lindon didn't hold back. “Yes, as long as it isn't a problem. I'd like as many high-quality pure madra scales as you can find, some firewood, a hot meal whenever is convenient for you, sealed water jugs, preserved travel rations...”
She listened attentively, bowing when he was finished. “Your requirements will be fulfilled in haste, Underlord.”
Not only did the servant not balk at any of his requests, but everything was delivered within the hour.
Most of it he set aside for his training or daily use, but some items went into his void key—the restoration pills, some firewood, three water jugs, ten travel rations, a steel knife, and a sturdy travel blanket. Now, no matter when they sent him home, he had already made a profit.
The thought cheered him immensely.
When he finished his preparations, he locked himself into the basement: a vast, bare room the size of the entire floor above. He inspected the scripts himself, checking that he was truly isolated, and then released Dross and Little Blue.
The Sylvan Riverseed couldn’t wait to scurry out of his void key, chattering her frustrations at him like an irritated mouse. She was upset that he had left her alone in there for so long, glaring at him with a face the color of the deep ocean, hair flowing behind her like waves. She slapped his shin with one blue hand, leaving a spark of cool energy.
[You’re right to complain,] Dross said. [It’s actually wonderful out here. Beautiful sights, fresh air…oh, it’s amazing. And I can leave whenever I want to. Watch!]
Dross spun into Lindon’s spirit and back out, projecting his body of pebbly purple flesh, with one eye taking up most of his body. His mouth moved as he spoke, revealing sharp teeth, and he waved his two stubby tentacle-arms in the air as though demonstrating his freedom.
Little Blue folded her arms, sulking.
“Dross, do you think you’re helping?”
[Not helping you.]
Lindon tried scooping up Little Blue in his hand of flesh, but she scurried away from him. He had to chase after her, begging her to stop while Dross egged her on.
After ten minutes of running after her all over the basement—and trying not to step on her by accident—he finally caught her. She stopped in place, allowing him to get a hand around her, and he gently lifted her into the air.
She refused to look at him.
Lindon held up one of the pure scales that the Akura servant had brought. It was high-grade, roughly what would be produced by a Truegold. Since no one reached Truegold without harvesting aura, the Akura must have purified other aspects of madra to get this scale.
“I'm sorry. Peace?”
Little Blue turned up her nose at the blue-white coin.
“I have more, if this isn't enough.”
She squeaked. Sometimes he had to ask Dross to translate for her, but this time he thought he caught her meaning.
“Mine? You want me to make one?”
She nodded.
“We get these for free. As many as we want. I’ll make them for you myself when we get home, but while we’re here...”
He trailed off as she squirmed in his hand, turning her back on him.
Finally, he sighed and gave in, beginning the process of gathering his madra together to produce a scale. It didn't take long, but the quality and stability required to Forge a perfect scale put a strain on his madra channels. Which, in his condition, caused him real pain.
When he finished, holding a perfect translucent blue scale between his fingers, she turned back around. The scale was bigger than her head, but her mouth enlarged in an instant, and she gulped it down.
She flashed sapphire, giving a whistling breath of satisfaction and patting her stomach.
“I do apologize,” he repeated. “Friends?”
She chirped brightly and dashed up his arm, coming to rest on his shoulder opposite Dross.
[Good for you, holding strong in your negotiations while his spirit is wounded. You can't let him pressure you into helping.]
Two cold spots pressed against him as Little Blue suddenly grabbed the side of his neck. He felt an odd tickling as she sent her awareness into his spirit.
Since when had she been able to do that?
When she discovered the injury to his madra channels, she gave a high-pitched wail, flooding his spirit with her cleansing power.
Her madra helped, but it was a bit like throwing a bucket of cold water on a sunburn. He hissed and gritted his teeth, his spine straightening. Spiritual pain wasn't necessarily any worse than physical pain, but it was much harder to ignore.
The sharp spike of discomfort began to ebb almost immediately, and he could feel his spirit recovering already. Little Blue burbled apologies, leaning against the side of his face.
“I'm perfectly fine, see?” He turned to smile at her.
On his other shoulder, Dross gasped. [What is that? Do you feel that?]
Lindon hadn't before Dross pointed it out, but when he focused on his perception, he felt a dark hole in the center of the basement that he swore hadn't been there before. The basement was well-lit by scripts drawing their power from a madra furnace upstairs, but he could feel a black spot in the middle. Now that he noticed, he was starting to see it, like a puddle of smoke gathering on the floor.
Dross drifted closer, peering with his giant eye. [I don't ever...oh, it's her!]
Lindon recognized the madra shortly after Dross did, but by
then it was too late. Akura Charity materialized from darkness in the center of the basement. Lindon immediately pulled Dross back into his madra channels.
Or he tried. His madra channels were blocked. He focused his spirit, pulling at Dross. The spirit remained where he was, peering curiously into the Heart Sage's eyes.
“Well,” Charity said, “this explains a few things.”
Chapter 3
Lindon stood still, quiet panic growing in his mind, as Akura Charity examined Dross. The spirit was the creation of Northstrider's Ghostwater, and as far as Lindon knew, was completely unique. Lindon could easily imagine someone as strong as a Sage murdering him in order to pry Dross from his Remnant.
But Eithan had sensed Dross' presence without understanding his nature. Lindon had to hope that others wouldn't be able to tell how valuable he was either.
[You're the Sage of the Silver Heart!] Dross exclaimed. [I didn't know much about you before the last few months, but when you blanked those minds, just bam! and they're out, I was impressed. And jealous. I mean, not jealous! Well, yes, I was...I was a bit jealous.]
“You bonded with a mind-spirit,” Charity said, still examining Dross. “And a surprisingly advanced one, considering how stable its manifestation is. Now I understand how you did so well on your mental tests.”
[Not to take credit, but that was entirely me.]
“And you have taken a drop of ghostwater as well,” she went on. “Between the two, it's no wonder that you have such an impressive mental foundation.”
That wasn't totally accurate, but Lindon took the way out that she'd offered. “I could never hide anything from a Sage. I was blessed to stumble on good fortune inside the Ghostwater facility.”
“Not just there,” Charity focused on Little Blue, who ducked shyly behind a lock of Lindon's hair. “It would seem that you have been blessed by the heavens on more than just one occasion.”
Lindon thought of the glass ball burning quietly in his pocket. “I humbly agree.”
“And yet you were beaten today.”