Uncrowned (Cradle Book 7)

by Will Wight

  “Is this more of what you had in mind, number sixty-four?” The feminine voice from the cloud of rainbow madra was beginning to sound impatient. He couldn’t blame the spirit. This was his eighty-first revision, and even artificially created spiritual networks could get testy.

  “Perfection!” Eithan declared. His “fortress” was a broad square, stretched to the maximum dimensions, and filled with a series of gardens. It looked more like a plot of farmland.

  “Now, are there any plants in particular that we can provide for you?” The Ninecloud Soul’s exhaustion was beginning to strain its polite words. “Keep in mind, you are only permitted a limited total value.”

  “Nimblethorn root,” Eithan said immediately.

  The rainbow shimmered, confused, but one corner of the floating garden converted to a patch of thorny bushes. “Are you a refiner, number sixty-four?”

  The Nimblethorn root was typically used as a medicinal herb to separate types of madra before spiritual surgery. It wasn’t common, but it wasn’t incredibly valuable either.

  “Not much of one, I’m afraid. Now, how about some ancestral men’hla trees?”

  Rumor said that Emriss Silentborn had been a men’hla tree before her ascension, and as such they were considered sacred in certain circles on the Everwood continent. It had a handful of uses for refiners, but it was especially valuable to Soulsmiths, as each of its leaves actually produced a separate Remnant. For many projects, one men’hla tree could be an endless source of dead matter.

  The red in the Ninecloud Soul grew brighter. “I am afraid we can provide only one century-old men’hla tree.”

  Eithan affected disappointment, but the joke was on the Ninecloud Court. He didn’t actually need this tree at all, he just wanted to extract the maximum value from his prize.

  Of course, since they were willing to give him one, he would use it.

  “Hammershell fruit,” he recited. A prime source of force aura. “A hive of ivory bees. Cloudbell bush. A spring of Whispering Water. Starlotus pond.”

  His list contained nothing that the Ninecloud Court would balk at or flag as unusual. Some were more useful to Soulsmiths, others to refiners, and he mixed in some decoys with the ones he really needed.

  When he stretched the process of designing his first-round prize to over two hours, the Ninecloud Soul said, “Allow me to remind you, number sixty-four, that there is no rush. You cannot bring this prize into the second round, so you can take your time planning.”

  Eithan smiled into the rainbow light. “I assure you, I have taken my time. And not for the second round.”

  ~~~

  “Seize the crown!” the Ninecloud Soul's pleasant voice rang throughout the arena, and instantly a forty-foot image was projected in the center of the air.

  It showed a sacred artist with a blank face approaching a golden crown, which hung suspended in a column of yellow light.

  “There are thirty-two crowns scattered across a beautiful tropical island,” the voice continued. “The crowns can be easily identified, as they send up a beacon of golden light. When you place a crown on your head...”

  The illusory image reached out, snatching the crown and placing it on his head. The beacon intensified, turning white.

  “...then you must keep it on your head for a full minute! If you succeed, you will be instantly returned back here, qualified for the third round!”

  The crowned sacred artist winked, then disappeared.

  Take notes, Lindon ordered Dross.

  [...all right, but are you really not going to remember this without my help?]

  “Be certain you’re ready when you put it on, because once you place the crown on your head, there’s no going back! The crown is only removed if you are killed while wearing it!”

  A weapon speared the sacred artist through the chest—no blood sprayed, but he fell over like a doll—and the crown rolled from his head. It glowed gold again.

  “Not to worry; you are still under the infallible protection of a Monarch! If you die, you will be held for one hour, after which you will be returned to the island!”

  The sacred artist appeared again, good as new.

  Lindon could already see that the odds of moving on to the next round as a full team were low. They would have to gather three crowns before anyone wore one, and then channel them one at a time—but it would be obvious to everyone on the island what they were doing.

  “In just a moment, the competitors will be transported to the island along with their teams! For those of you who lost your teammates in the first round, don't be discouraged: if you're alone, you only have to hold one crown!”

  Though they would also have to defend themselves from all the other teams who would be out for their blood. Dying in the competition might not mean dying for real, but a one-hour delay for a lone sacred artist would virtually guarantee losing the round.

  “Thirty-two crowns mean thirty-two spots for round three!” the Ninecloud Soul called. “Competitors, ready yourselves for glory! Prepare your plans, firm your resolve, and let your spirits—”

  “Begin,” Northstrider commanded.

  The world faded away, and the rainbow light vanished.

  ~~~

  Lindon found himself standing in the sand, a salty breeze ruffling his outer robe. Waves lapped behind him, reminding him of Ghostwater, and he hurriedly scanned up and down the coast.

  Nothing but ocean, sand, and the thick trees of the island in front of him.

  An instant later, Mercy popped into existence on his left, taking a deep breath and shaking out her hair. “I hate being launched through space without warning,” she said. “It messes with my head.”

  Pride appeared on his right in a combat crouch. He clenched his fists, spinning around, looking for something to fight.

  “Just as we planned.” Lindon had hoped to bring his void key along, but that was against the rules. Any sacred instruments they brought had to be carried in a soulspace, which severely limited his room. But he could afford to carry around a handful of weak, small constructs.

  He pulled a simple circular construct from among those in his soulspace. It was essentially a cluster of Remnant eyes, and he threw it straight up into the air, linking his spiritual perception to it.

  The crude construct brought him far too much information, but Dross helped him sort it so that he could get a general glimpse of his surroundings. The island was vast and largely flat, with a few small hills, all covered in thick trees. He could see almost nothing of the ground beneath. He caught a glimpse of the ocean on the far side before the construct started to fall, but no other competitors.

  ...until a red diamond blasted from the trees, spearing through the construct.

  His perception cut off, and he watched with his own eyes as a wave of Forged knives tore the cluster apart.

  Chunks of madra dissolved all around him as he reported his findings to Mercy and Pride. “No crowns yet, but we're not alone.”

  Pride didn't respond, marching up to the trees. “Come on, Mercy. Let's go hunting.”

  Lindon pushed down his irritation. They had a plan: to stay put and call the other Akura faction teams to them. He was confident that the other factions would be trying to join forces as well; it was the obvious strategy.

  “We don't know where the crowns will be placed,” Lindon said without moving. “We should follow the plan.”

  Pride continued trudging through the sand. “They'll be put deep into the island, to encourage us moving toward one another. Try using your brain before you open your mouth.”

  One hour. If Lindon put a dragon's breath through Pride's back, he wouldn't have to deal with him for an entire hour.

  Mercy let out a breath and jogged backward toward Pride, addressing Lindon as she did. “I know how he can be, but if we let him go alone, he's going to get torn in half by a Striker technique before the crowns show up at all. We should cover for him.”

  “I need you to cover for me,” Pride said
as he entered the trees. “Maybe we could use him for bait.”

  [His mother is definitely watching us,] Dross noted. [We'll have to be very sneaky when we stab him in the back.]

  Lindon pulled out another simple construct, like a throbbing pink heart, and activated it. It began to flash brightly, each flash sending out a unique spiritual pulse. It wouldn’t do anything, but the Frozen Blade and Akura backup teams had corresponding constructs that should be able to detect its signature from anywhere on the island.

  He hadn’t given the Blackflame team anything of the sort. Eithan and Naru Saeya would be able to find him regardless.

  He was supposed to find a safe place and stay there while everyone in the Akura faction gathered together, but now they were walking into the jungle. Which increased the odds of enemies detecting them and made it harder for their allies to find them.

  [I’m no strategy construct, but I wouldn’t call this the best plan.]

  The trees were thickly pressed together, the life aura almost choking in its strength. Without warning, a massive yellow-furred monkey came shrieking down from a tree, carrying wooden spears in both hands and emitting the spiritual pressure of an Underlord.

  Mercy hurled arrows of black madra without hesitation, but the monkey slapped them aside, his weapons a blur. He was going to land straight on Pride, his feet extended like hands. He didn't have time to move, and Lindon held his technique. He wanted to see what Pride could do.

  At the last instant, the short Underlord leaped and drove a punch into the monkey’s gut.

  Black and gray madra flashed from the point of impact, accompanied by a sound like a great flag snapping in the breeze. The monkey blasted backward, crashing into a tree hard enough that he left a crater that sent splinters flying.

  By the time Pride landed, Lindon finally decided to release his Striker technique. Black-and-red madra struck the creature…

  Several people locked their perception onto Lindon, and his spirit shivered. Their location construct was difficult to detect except by someone with the corresponding detection construct…but his dragon’s breath was not so subtle.

  “We have to move,” he said, and even Pride didn’t argue. The three of them darted into the underbrush.

  ~~~

  The crocodile-creature had some hardy skin. It withstood Yerin's first strike.

  Just not the next seven.

  She left it in bloody pieces on the jungle floor. Naru Saeya lowered herself from the treetops, cradling a wounded left arm; she hadn't even cleared the trees, trying to get a look around, before a monkey had sliced her arm with a sharpened branch.

  It hadn't penetrated the flesh far, but it was enough that the Emperor's sister had to use some healing salve. She winced as her flesh knitted together.

  “Got to assume everything's out to kill you,” Yerin said casually, wiping the crocodile's blood on the surrounding leaves. At least these monsters didn't leave Remnants, which meant they weren't sacred beasts. Not real ones, anyway. Maybe they were dreadbeasts.

  Saeya ground her teeth against the pain as she flexed her arm. “My fault. I was careless.”

  Yerin had been expecting a nice verbal fight. Not getting one left her wrong-footed; it was like trying to insult Lindon and having him apologize. “...could happen to anyone. Just keep an eye up.”

  Saeya only nodded, taking no offense, extending her spiritual perception out into the distance.

  “Liked her better when she had a temper,” Yerin muttered. Saeya had a warrior’s soul, and she had been placed in the sixties after the first round. Now, she was all business, determined to distinguish herself in the second round.

  Eithan dropped from the branch where he had been hiding during the fight. Not a single speck of dirt or blood tarnished his fine white-and-gold robes. “She only has a temper to her enemies! To her allies, she is the gentlest—”

  The tip of Saeya’s rainbow sword found its way between his teeth.

  Saeya wasn't even looking at him. The peacock-feather fan over her ear caught the air as she turned from one direction to the other, scanning the distance still holding her weapon in Eithan's mouth.

  “Someone's using water madra nearby,” she said. “I think the Tidewalker sect is in a battle. We have to pass through to make it to Lindon, so I say we pick off the winner on our way.”

  Saeya looked to Yerin, and the two traded nods. Saeya pulled her sword away from Eithan's lips and set off with Yerin.

  Behind them, Eithan made a spitting noise. “Disgusting. It tastes like dust and flower petals.”

  They crept through the trees, getting closer until even Yerin could feel the water madra. Two water artists stood apart from three that used sword madra and...something else. Something strange. Dreams, she guessed, or shadow. Perhaps both.

  She ducked and started to crawl forward, but two hands caught her by the sword-arms, holding her back.

  Eithan looked uncharacteristically serious, which sobered her up in an instant. Saeya matched him, her eyes flicking into the distance as though she watched something Yerin couldn't see.

  “Something's wrong,” Saeya whispered. “They're not fighting. They're—”

  She ducked in an emerald blur, and a serpentine dragon of water punched through the leaves behind her. A pulse of pure madra from Eithan dispersed the Ruler technique, leaving natural water to spray onto the ground.

  In an instant, all three of them dropped veils and cycled their madra.

  “It seems they were waiting,” Eithan said at normal volume.

  Through the jungle, the pair of water artists flanked them. From the glimpses Yerin caught, they had leathery blue-gray skin, gills working at the sides of their necks, and shark teeth; sacred beasts advanced enough to take on human form. Some kind of fish. If that wasn’t the Tidewalker Sect, she’d eat her shoes.

  The three others, two men and a woman, were the strange sword artists she'd already sensed. They wore gray robes and painted their faces with streaks of black. Each of them wore a crude one-handed saber strapped to their back and a greenish spirit that floated around their head. Their Goldsign.

  “Tidewalkers and Ghost-Blades,” Naru Saeya observed, hefting her colored glass sword. She showed no uncertainty, only determination and a little anger. Yerin liked her more with every passing second. “You're not even from the same corner of the world. What are you doing together?”

  One of the fish-men hissed out a laugh. “Sink to the depths with your questions unanswered, little bird.”

  Eithan held a hand to his temple as though receiving a voice transmission. “They were…bribed to work against us. My mysterious, mystical senses tell me that…the gold dragons were responsible.”

  A ghostly sword bigger than a horse sheared through the trees around him. The Forger technique turned from gray to green as it passed through the plants, and each of them withered and died at its touch.

  Naru Saeya dodged high, Yerin went low, and Eithan stood still. The technique moved over Yerin's head, below Saeya's feet, and shattered on the layer of pure madra coating Eithan's skin.

  Eithan gave them all a friendly smile. “I'm afraid I've struck a nerve.”

  All five enemies attacked at once.

  ~~~

  A brown-skinned man with short-cropped hair faced Lindon, holding an intricate orb that looked like it had been forged from copper. Brass, copper, and steel piping wrapped his chest, connecting to a metal tank on his back. It whistled loudly and gave off spiritual pressure like he had an entire Underlord Remnant trapped inside.

  Lindon and Pride stood shoulder-to-shoulder, neither moving. Mercy was above and behind them somewhere, covering them, but they were not anxious to start a fight. Not only had none of the crowns appeared yet, but there were far more enemies than this one close by. A fight would draw them like flies.

  [He's from Dreadnought City,] Dross said, for some reason whispering as though his mental voice might be enough to break the stalemate. [Everwood continent, fighting f
or Emriss Silentborn. They do strange things with Remnants over there.]

  The man said something with an accent so heavy Lindon couldn't understand it. Though perhaps it was another language—he had heard of other languages, he had just never heard one spoken.

  His brown eyes glanced from one of them to the other. Sweat ran down his face—he was as nervous as they were. When he saw no comprehension in their faces, he tried again, speaking slowly.

  “Do not fight,” he said in words Lindon could understand, just above a whisper. “Back away.”

  Lindon nodded, and together he and the man from Dreadnought City took slow steps back.

  Pride darted forward.

  The stranger's reactions befit an Underlord. A bright blue flame erupted from the tank on his back, and a hand bigger than his body reached out and caught Pride's approach. A Remnant hand.

  There really was a Remnant in there.

  The force of Pride's attack tore the hand apart, and Lindon felt the man's power shake, but then the orb in his hands flared to life. A bolt of blue light lanced from the center, spearing toward Pride's chest.

  A gray light covered Pride, and the Striker technique glanced off, slicing branches from the canopy as it cut into the sky. His fist caught the Dreadnought citizen in the forehead, and with a black flash, the man's skull crunched.

  Before he collapsed, the stranger dissolved to white light and vanished to wherever the dead waited for an hour.

  He hadn't fully disappeared before a roar sounded from behind them.

  [And there's his partner,] Dross said with a sigh.

  A young woman with the same brown skin, eyes, and hair as the first Dreadnought City artist barreled through the jungle behind them. A silver Remnant's limbs surrounded her own; claws of madra covered her hands, paws her feet, and a snarling silver tiger head sat over hers. Both she and the spirit covering her had a look of fury in their eyes.

  Lindon had no choice. The Soul Cloak sprung up around him, and he readied his Empty Palm.

  The three of them took her on together.

  Mercy fired an arrow at the woman’s feet, and while she altered her stride to avoid the Striker techniques, Pride sent a devastating punch into her side. She twisted to catch the blow on her Remnant’s arm, but Lindon was already driving an Empty Palm into her stomach. The blue-white madra covered her torso with a Forged handprint, and the energy cut through her madra channels and severed her connection to the tank on her back.