Cradle: Foundation (Cradle Collected Book 1)

by Will Wight

  A rush of force slammed into his hand from the spear, flooding his madra channels with white light, and he stumbled in his steps.

  This was only a fraction of the victim's full power, but it was enough to make Jai Long feel like his channels were about to burst. The next Lowgold thrust at him even as a second swept at his legs, and off-balance, there wasn't much Jai Long could do to stop them. A spearhead sliced his shoulder, and a shaft of solid wood hammered his shin.

  He fell onto the grass, pain flaring, but he still gripped his weapon in one hand. Half a breath of hesitation meant death.

  Jai Long flooded his madra into the Serpent's Shadow, sweeping his spear in an arc. He left a burning rainbow of white light between him and his opponents, which came to life as a snake thick as his arm. The living technique slithered to face his opponents, hissing.

  The snake seized a spear in its jaws, shearing the weapon in half. The head tumbled away, wooden shaft smoking. A Jai woman brushed her arm against the body of the Serpent’s Shadow, and she cried out, blood spraying from the cut—the light was sharper than the edge of a razor.

  The other enemies ran to surround him, encircling him and preparing their attacks. They had caught up to him in speed by now, as skilled in the Flowing Starlight technique as he was.

  Four spread out to cover him, his Serpent’s Shadow fading even as it hissed and lunged and tried to protect him. He watched them through watery eyes, his breath uneven, spirit straining to contain the energy he’d swallowed. The glowing lines on his skin pulsed unsteadily, flickering between too much energy and too little.

  Any moment now, the four enemies would coordinate, and he would die. He had to break their cooperation somehow, try to get one of them between him and the other three, to throw off their cooperation. He watched for the slightest opening even as madra thundered through him, burning his thoughts at the edges, distracting him with every breath.

  Then the heavens intervened on his behalf.

  A Sandviper stumbled away from the bats, blood streaming over her face, but there were four acid-green javelins Forging over her head. Before anyone reacted to her presence, she gestured to one of the Jai clan, and her technique blasted forward.

  The Jai fighter saw it, bringing his shining spearhead around, but he was a beat too slow, his attention fixed too fully on Jai Long.

  Four green lances pinned the young man to the ground.

  Jai Long didn't waste the instant the Sandviper had bought him. He swept his spear in a whirlwind around himself, drawing twisting lines of Serpent's Shadow in the air until he was surrounded by a nest of seething white snakes. The effort of Forging such a huge defense would have usually drained his core, but now it just relieved some of the pressure.

  Star Lances cracked on the outside, burning holes in his protection, but none were strong enough to completely break through.

  He focused on controlling the storm of madra inside of him, funneling it into his spear, piling the energy into the pale spearhead until it glowed.

  This was the second Enforcer technique in the Path of the Stellar Spear: the Star’s Edge. It reinforced his weapon rather than his own body. Madra surged according to a rough pattern, fueling the deadly star at the end of his spear. By the time it was so bright he couldn’t look directly at the weapon any longer, he could breathe again.

  Now, his core was merely full.

  Jai Long released his Forger technique, and the cage of white snakes dispersed into essence. Thousands of white pinpricks rose into the sky like a bucketful of glimmering dust falling the wrong way.

  With his Flowing Starlight twisting around his skin and the Star's Edge on his spear, Jai Long glowed like the moon fallen to earth. Two of them were pulling bloody spears out of the Sandviper who had distracted them, and the other two were desperately trying to put some distance between them and Jai Long.

  Finally in control of himself, Jai Long faced four off-balance enemies.

  He finished them all in a second.

  The first woman he stabbed in the chest, to see if he had to strike the core dead-on to absorb its powers. Another rush of madra filled him, though not as fully as the first kill had. The second man he sliced in the arm, and if he gained any madra from that, he didn't feel it. He finished him off with a stab straight through the skull. The third took a spearhead to the throat, and the fourth through the belly.

  All before the first of the four bodies hit the ground.

  Leaving him to deal with his own exploding soul.

  White light stormed through his channels, tearing him apart as though he'd swallowed a razor-sharp flame. He tried to vent it from his skin where he could, white light spearing through him and leaving tiny, bleeding cuts with every ray.

  It was like getting stabbed by a dozen nails at once, from the inside. He screamed.

  Through a haze of pain and tears, he saw the Remnant rise.

  Only one. The bodies he'd cut with the Ancestor's Spear remained still and quiet, but the single individual the Sandviper had killed vented its Remnant into the air.

  Even through his mind-numbing agony, Jai Long glared at the spirit. His thoughts were strained, fogged, but he still recognized the classic Stellar Spear Remnant. The Remnant he was supposed to have bonded.

  He could barely see it, half-blind as he was at the moment, but they always looked the same.

  It looked like a constellation. Points of bright light formed joints, hands, eyes, and a heart, like stars floating in the air. Thin, faded lines connected those points until the spirit looked like a bent, hulking skeleton torn from the night sky.

  The Remnant's roar sounded like the rush of a bonfire.

  Jai Long staggered forward, leaving bleeding footprints in the grass behind him. More shards of madra cut through his skin, but he could no longer feel them.

  Gokren yelled something to him, but he was beyond hearing.

  With no technique, no art, he jammed the Ancestor's Spear into the lines of the Remnant's rib cage.

  This power was nothing like what he'd stolen in battle. It flowed into him, still and obedient, a gentle rain instead of a vicious flood. His core drank it up greedily until it strained against its limits, pushing to expand and contain this feast.

  Jai Long dropped to the ground, cycling desperately. If it weren’t for his long hours of cycling every day, he didn’t think he would have made it. His soul moved without his conscious will to guide it, looping in precise patterns as it had done millions of times before.

  Every Path had cycling techniques for different purposes: cycling to absorb and process aura from the atmosphere, cycling to use a technique, cycling to restore lost madra, and cycling to refine and control the power you already had. It was that fourth pattern he used now, revolving his madra along with his breath. Faster and more urgently than he ever had before.

  The stolen light burned him and tore at him, even as the power from the Remnant threatened to drown him.

  He knew nothing but guiding that river, losing himself entirely in the rhythm of the madra spinning within him, processing as much of the power as he could.

  He swallowed everything he was able, making it a part of him, stretching his core to its breaking point, but it was like trying to drink a lake one cup at a time. There was more here than he could have handled in a week, and it threatened to tear his soul apart.

  He shouted again, thrusting his spearhead into the sky.

  A Star Lance thicker than his head rushed out of him, sending a beacon of white light into the clouds.

  The extra madra in his veins dimmed slowly down. When his wounds finally stopped shining, the pain shrunk to manageable levels, and his breath grew too ragged to continue cycling, he let the technique and his weapon drop. He sagged, face-down, into the wet grass.

  At some point, the sun had fallen to the horizon. Golden light died as twilight approached.

  With a twitch of his head, he could see Gokren standing to his right, arms folded. The Truegold was bloody, missing on
e spear and leaning all his weight on his left leg, but he didn’t look worried. He stood within arm’s length of Jai Long, apparently unconcerned about the dangers of standing next to a Highgold blasting uncontrolled madra in every direction. The certainty of an expert.

  Jai Long struggled on the ground, reaching for his spear. His madra was completely fresh and full, but his channels had been seared, and he felt as though one more technique would be one too many. But he'd learned years ago that he couldn't assume anyone else would protect him, not even Chief Gokren. If someone else decided to attack, he had to muster up a defense from somewhere.

  Gokren clapped him on the back of the head, though the wrappings around Jai Long’s hair cushioned the impact. “They’re dead. Not the bats—my hunters wrangled them up. All seven of them, and only two of mine. Not bad for a night of work.”

  He spoke lightly, but there was a steely resolve when he said ‘two of mine.’ He may have been prepared to lose his followers, but he wasn’t happy about it.

  Before Jai Long could muster up the strength for a single word, Gokren pulled out his one remaining short spear and tapped the Ancestor’s Spear lying on the grass.

  “That would work for me, wouldn't it? If I could find some Sandvipers who weren't worth as much as their madra.” He bent down, running a finger along the body of the weapon. “It's white, but it isn't Stellar Spear madra, is it...no, it's something else.”

  Jai Long struggled over to the spear, grabbing it with weak hands and cradling it to his chest. Gokren straightened up and folded his arms again. “Don't go shy on me now, boy. I could take that from you if you were at full strength, and you're not. You think I’m going to turn on you now, after I pulled arms on the Jai clan for you?”

  Jai Long felt guilty for a moment, but he didn’t loosen his grip on the spear. He’d seen people do worse things out of greed.

  Gokren shook his head, but turned away and raised his weapon in one fist. “A good hunt!” he roared.

  The other Sandvipers cheered. They had gathered without Jai Long noticing, staring at the white spear. It was unlimited power, in their eyes. They could gain weeks of power in minutes.

  It was all there for the stealing.

  They circled him in a wall of fur-clad bodies, crowding him. He hugged the spear tighter, but despite the fresh madra filling his core and eager to be used, he didn’t think he could fight if the heavens descended and ordered him to. His body and spirit felt like twisted-out rags.

  Gokren saw him and let out a heavy breath. With one motion, he seized the Ancestor’s Spear and wrenched it away.

  Jai Long sagged, weak and helpless. This was how it ended. He’d finally begun his revenge against the clan that had rejected him, and now…

  Gokren picked up the case, slid the spear inside, buckled it closed, and tossed it to the ground in front of Jai Long.

  “Get some sleep,” the sect chief said. “We’ve got a long journey ahead.”

  Chapter 5

  Lindon hit the rough board that served as the dummy's right arm, then its torso, then the head. The circle was unpowered, the target lifeless. If he fueled the training course, it would knock him over instantly, so he practiced on the dead version first. Once he got the routine down, he could try the real course.

  The targets flickered with color when he struck them, as his madra passed through the correct spot. They would have stayed lit had the main circle been powered.

  He stepped back, rubbing his knuckles. They didn't hurt, but they would have before his Iron body. It was a strange sensation, knowing that his hands should be scraped raw by the rough wood.

  From further away, he examined the dummy again, as though watching it could help him somehow.

  He just needed to be faster.

  Each dummy had a different pattern of strikes and blocks, but he'd gone through all eighteen already, committing them to memory. His mind could keep up, and his body should be fast enough. But he still couldn't quite do it. Only an hour ago, he'd powered the circle again, and the dummy had still knocked him on his face.

  The sun had long set, the barn lit by a single flickering candle that was starting to burn down. He could have used a scripted light, but it would have lasted for less time than a candle before needing to be powered again, and he wanted to conserve his madra.

  It left the dummies bathed in shadow, lending them a sinister aspect. Only the brief flicker of a scripted light at each of his strikes dispelled the darkness.

  Lindon moved forward, running through the three strikes again. He sped up this time, pushing his Iron body to the limit, and missed the third hit. The first two sent light rippling through their tiny runes, and the third remained dark.

  He forced himself to slow down, breathe deep, and keep the power cycling steadily through his madra channels.

  Cool air rushed in, and a door shut.

  Yerin walked inside, only the silver blade over her shoulder and the red belt around her middle standing out against the shadows. “Training hard, or you have a grudge against wood people?”

  Lindon hurriedly straightened himself, squaring his shoulders and smoothing his clothes. She'd seen him in worse states, but he didn't want to look like he’d exhausted himself against a bunch of wooden statues.

  “Only working out a few things,” he said, leaning closer to one of the dummies as though trying to figure out its script.

  She eyed him for a moment and then walked inside the circle, plopping down onto the ground. She leaned up against a dummy's support pole and sighed. “I'm the last one to tell you to stop working. Heaven's truth, I just got done with three hours of meditation cycling and two hours of technique practice. But even my master would say you need an easy day every once in a while.”

  “I've stopped to cycle two or three times,” he said, but then he wondered if that were true. “Maybe it was four times. Or...six?” How long had he been here?

  He glanced at the candle, which was a half-melted lump of wax in the middle of the circle. The woman who'd sold it to him had sworn it would burn all night. Perhaps it had.

  A break couldn’t hurt, so he sat beneath the dummy next to her.

  Without a word, she passed him a rag. He nodded his thanks, then began wiping the sweat from his head and neck.

  “Trick to an Iron body,” Yerin said, “is to recognize when you're tired and when you're not. Gets harder to tell the difference. You'll pick it up after a while, but until you do, you're more than likely to run your feet down to the nubs.”

  Lindon's eyelids did feel heavy, his arms ached, and his hands were cramped...but those sensations faded almost as quickly as they came. Madra trickled steadily from his core, called by his Bloodforged Iron body to heal his fatigue.

  “Is that so?” He looked at his hands, feeling the tight ache in his knuckles drain away with his madra. “Incredible. I really can’t tell.”

  “That’s how you run into more trouble than you can handle. If you ask me, you’ve got…” Something shivered through Lindon’s spirit, and he recognized the touch of her spiritual sense. “…well, that’s a puzzle and a half.”

  He’d seen Yerin walk into battle with a smile on her face. Now, after scanning him, she was frowning and mumbling to herself, staring at his stomach.

  Though he had just toweled off, sweat broke out over his skin again.

  Lindon dove into his own soul, almost in a cycling trance, clutching at his core with both hands. “What’s wrong? What have I done? Did I cycle too much? Am I dying?”

  “You’re about a thousand miles from dying,” she muttered. “As expected of an Underlord, I guess.”

  “Eithan? Did Eithan do something to me?”

  “He handed you that Iron body, true?” Lindon didn’t remember Eithan handing him anything, but he guessed it was true enough. “Unless I’m wide of the mark, it looks like it’s keeping you fresh. You could work your body until your core’s dry.”

  Lindon had felt the same thing already, but he had assumed it w
as a function of the Iron body. “ my ignorance, but isn’t that normal?”

  “It’s normal for the Undying Lizards of the Bluefire Desert. I hear it’s normal for some plants.” She jabbed him lightly in the stomach. “People get tired sometimes.”

  New possibilities bloomed in Lindon’s imagination, and he had to resist the urge to start taking notes. “As long as I restore my madra, I could keep training? How often should I stop and cycle, do you think?”

  “Whoa there, rein it in. If you could work all day and night, you’d be fighting Eithan in a year, not one little Jai Long. The spirit needs rest just like your body does. You don’t want to strain your madra channels, I’ll tell you that one for free.”

  She clasped her hands together and stretched them over her head. “You're an Iron, not a Remnant; you still need sleep. Food. Your spirit’s a weapon, and you've got to keep it clean and polished. But you don’t have to worry about pulling a muscle, or collapsing in a heap. I’d kill you for that, if I thought I could take it off your Remnant.”

  Lindon chuckled uneasily, wiping his face with the towel again. So he could work for longer than most people, but not too long. What was the limit? How could he tell? It was easy to know when he was running out of madra, but what did strained madra channels feel like? How much more time was his Iron body buying him, exactly?

  Lost in thought, he almost handed the sweaty rag back, but he caught himself at the last minute and tucked it inside his outer robe. He could wash it in the lake in the morning.

  Lindon dipped his head in thanks and spoke carefully. “Gratitude. You’ve given me a lot to think about. But if you’ll allow me another question: what are my chances? With Jai Long? Do I have enough time?”

  “You’ve got no time at all,” Yerin said immediately. “Sleep or no sleep, if Eithan doesn't have something planned for you, then you're dry leaves to the fire.”

  The truth of that settled onto him, and Lindon couldn't think of anything to say.