by Will Wight
“We thank you for the honor, Underlord,” Cassias said, turning to the servants. “Dismissed.”
The servants shouted in unison once more: “The Arelius family thanks the Patriarch.” Their voices were surely Enforced, judging by how the shouts made the nearby sand shake. This time, Lindon was prepared for the noise, and he cycled madra to protect his ears.
Though they were dismissed, they stayed on their knees waiting for the Underlord and his entourage to leave. Eithan strode through the rows of prostrate figures, Cassias keeping pace beside him. He beckoned Yerin and Lindon to join them, so Lindon hitched his pack up on his shoulders and followed, his red Thousand-Mile Cloud drifting along behind. Yerin walked with him, and Fisher Gesha scurried behind on her spider legs.
“You conducted yourself with admirable dignity back there,” Cassias said to Eithan, as they passed into the giant rib cage. The ceiling between the ribs was painted in murals of a thousand colors, showing sacred artists locked in battle with dragons. The ribs themselves were etched with delicate scripts, though none of them were lit.
Eithan smoothed back his long hair as he walked. “They didn’t need a friend today, they needed to know I would solve their problems. I had to inspire confidence.”
Cassias looked him up and down. “It’s like I’ve never met you.”
“It was nothing much, but feel free to shower me with praise.”
They continued chatting even as they entered a vast chamber, but Lindon was absorbed by the noise and motion of the Arelius family in action. Workers in blue-and-black scurried here and there—some of them carrying brooms, others buckets. Some wore blood-spattered aprons, others carried sacks over their shoulders. A fireplace big enough to burn wagons took up a chunk of one wall, with a chimney carved into the bone. Servants separated piles of trash and tossed pieces into the flames.
Half of that same wall was taken up by a long desk with six smiling people behind it, all wearing Arelius badges on their chests. Workers lined up in front of them, only to be pointed in a certain direction; it must be where they received their assignments.
A collection of maps were tacked against the opposite wall, some freshly painted, others yellowed with age. Workers with white signs painted on their uniforms—Lindon took them to be leaders of some kind—looked at the maps and compared them to lists in their hands.
It all reminded Lindon of the bustle surrounding the construction of the Seven-Year Festival, but on another scale entirely. Instead of a hundred Wei clan members working on a dozen jobs over a huge arena, here were a thousand employees of the Arelius family packed into a single room while carrying out hundreds of tasks. This was what they did every day.
Yerin was gripping the sheath of her sword, not its hilt, and eyeing every person they passed. “Is it always this...noisy in here?”
Cassias heard her and turned, walking backwards and holding a hand on the hilt of his thin saber. He leaned the weapon to the side, moving the sheath out of the way of a passing servant without looking. “The empire prides itself on its appearance, and we are the ones who keep it beautiful. We must stay organized. This is only the seventh largest city in the empire, so there are only four central facilities like this one. In Blackflame City itself, there are a dozen, all bigger and busier than what you see around you.”
They passed out of the bustling room and into the sun again, which glared at them over the head of a pale stone statue that must have been ninety feet tall. It was rounded and smooth with age, but it depicted a figure with wild hair and torn clothes, eyes furious and teeth bared in a snarl. The statue had a dagger raised as though to strike.
It seemed like an odd likeness to carve outside a janitor's headquarters, but before Lindon could say as much, Eithan pointed to it.
“The family's original Patriarch,” he said. “There are legends about him all over the world. Serpent's Grave was one of the first outposts of the Arelius family on this continent. It isn't the headquarters anymore, even in the Blackflame Empire—they've moved to the capital city, to stay close to power—but everyone gathers here once every ten years.”
Cassias sighed. “Though that tradition may also be lost to time.”
Eithan's smile dimmed. “Yes, well...we'll see in four more years, won't we?”
They walked until they reached the base of the spiraling bone tower Lindon had seen in the distance. Cassias abruptly stopped, polishing the silver bracer on his arm with the corner of his sleeve—it was his Goldsign, but the man cared for it like jewelry. He adjusted his collar, brushed dirt from his pants, checked his sword in its silver sheath, and looked at his reflection in the bracer.
“You look almost as good as I do,” Eithan said, waving him on. “Go on. I can handle family business at least as well as you can.”
Cassias gave him a doubtful look, but still hurried into the tower.
“His wife and son are in there,” Eithan said, which fired Lindon’s imagination. Cassias had mentioned his wife half a dozen times over the journey here, calling her the strongest Highgold in the empire, but Lindon had taken that as the praise of a husband.
Now that he knew they rated everything, he wondered if maybe she was the strongest Highgold in the Blackflame Empire. And if that were true, where did Cassias rank?
“…so he will be distracted for at least a day or two,” Eithan continued. “That’s enough about the family business, let’s get to what really matters.”
The doors to the tower swung back open, and Cassias stuck his head out. “I heard that.”
Lindon wondered, not for the first time, if there were some way to get the powers of the Arelius bloodline for himself. Cassias had told him no, he had to be born into the family, but Lindon didn’t stop wondering.
Eithan must have heard Cassias, but he didn’t turn back, guiding their group away from the tower and back toward the main building. “Number one-thirteen,” he said, and a man separated himself from the crowd of blue-clad servants around them, going to his knees before the Underlord.
“I want you to prepare Underground Chamber Number Three for entry. Also, take Fisher Gesha to the Soulsmith quarters.” He ushered Gesha forward, and she scuttled up to join the servant. Her coffin-sized wooden chest was strapped to her back, dwarfing her, but she carried it as though it were hollow.
“Fisher Gesha is an honored guest from the Desolate Wilds,” Eithan said, and the servant glanced up in evident surprise. “However,” Eithan continued, “she is to be treated as a guest from anywhere else.”
Servant One-Thirteen bowed without a word, letting the Underlord and the rest sweep past him. Fisher Gesha nodded to Lindon, and he saluted her back, fists pressed together.
Lindon had every reason to believe his Soulsmithing lessons were to continue, but separating from a friendly face in this strange city still made him nervous.
Eithan glanced up at the sky, held a hand in the air for no reason that Lindon could tell, and then reversed direction. He took them back out to the base of the First Patriarch’s statue, putting one hand on Lindon’s shoulder and one hand on Yerin’s.
“Are we posing for a portrait?” Lindon asked, seeing no other reason why they should arrange themselves in front of a statue while Arelius servants streamed by.
“Not for a portrait, no,” Eithan said, and turned his smile on an old man walking through the crowd.
This man stood tall and straight, though he must have been at least eighty, his white hair flowing down his back. His white robes were intricate and flawless, and like every other set of clothes Lindon had seen since stepping off Sky’s Mercy, they seemed to have never encountered a single stain or speck of dust.
His face was clean-shaven, and he held his hands behind his back as he came to a stop in front of them. The wind snatched at his sleeves and the hem of his robe, but it didn’t touch his hair, which led Lindon to take a closer look.
The pale strands gleamed slightly in the light, and each hair seemed somehow thicker than normal, now that
he looked closely. After a second of inspection, he realized what he was seeing: metal wire.
The Goldsign of the Jai clan.
“Jai Daishou!” Eithan said happily. “What brings you down the mountain on this fine autumn morning?”
Jai Daishou kept his gaze fixed on Eithan, never so much as glancing at Lindon or the servants streaming around him. “I was told you would arrive today, and I wanted to offer my greetings in person.”
“How generous of you! Please, allow me to introduce the two newest members of my family. This is Yerin, the top-ranked student of the outer family, and Lindon. The second-ranked.”
A feather-light touch brushed across Lindon’s spirit, and the old man’s wrinkles creased into a frown. “Second.”
“I ranked them myself! Lindon, Yerin, this is Jai Daishou, the seventh Underlord of the Blackflame Empire.”
“And Patriarch of the Jai clan,” Jai Daishou added, his frown deepening.
“Ah, that’s right. He is also the Patriarch of the third-ranked of the three great clans.” Eithan’s smile was sunny.
Jai Daishou examined the other Underlord for a long moment. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but your family’s performance in the city has slipped while you’ve been gone. I can only imagine what it’s like over the rest of the empire, without your personal supervision to guide them.”
Lindon rubbed sweaty palms on the inside of his pocket, keeping his eyes down lest he attract the Jai Patriarch’s attention. Of all the things he had expected to happen when they landed, he had never imagined he would end up between two Underlords in conflict.
He flicked a glance at Yerin, but she was glaring at Jai Daishou openly, arms crossed and Goldsign quivering.
“I’m quite pleased with how the family performed in my absence,” Eithan said.
Jai Daishou’s attention briefly touched on Lindon and Yerin, and he let out a soft noise of disapproval. “An Underlord should have higher standards.”
“Really?” Eithan sounded baffled. “I’ve always thought my standards were too high. Well, let me know if the Arelius family can help you defend your territory in the upcoming days. Jai Long can be quite a threat…unless, of course, you intend to take action yourself.”
That sounded to Lindon like the only genuinely pleasant comment Eithan had made over the whole exchange, but Jai Daishou bristled as though Eithan had insulted his children. “The Highgolds of the Jai clan are more than capable of dealing with an exile.”
“I’m relieved to hear it! I knew you wouldn’t be forced into action by a single Highgold.” The Jai Underlord’s face darkened further, but Eithan laughed harder than Lindon thought was appropriate, eventually tapering off and wiping a tear from his eye. “Ah, it’s refreshing to have such a friendly conversation.”
Jai Daishou had the look of a man about to set a house on fire.
Eithan gave his opposite a shallow bow. “I know it’s been brief, but I appreciate you seeking an audience with me so quickly. When I have more time, I’ll be happy to pay your Jai clan a visit in return.”
He turned, dragging Yerin and Lindon with him, and started walking away before Jai Daishou had a chance to say anything. Lindon couldn’t stop himself from glancing back, to see how the enemy Underlord would take the insult.
The Jai Patriarch folded his hands behind his back again.
Then, suddenly, Lindon’s body weighed five times as much. Air rushed from his lungs as his knees slammed into the stone of the courtyard, his head bowing as though a giant palm pressed on his spine.
He gritted his teeth and spent all of his madra to Enforce his body. Even with his full strength, he only lifted his head a fraction.
It wasn’t just Lindon. Everyone was on the ground; children cried, splayed out on the stone. A wagon had dumped over, spilling garbage onto the street, and most people he could see were gasping for breath.
Yerin’s jaw was set, and she was very deliberately breathing in and out, but she was on her hands and knees just like he was. Even Eithan’s knees were bent, his hands held out for balance, his smile gone. The strain showed on his face.
Lindon couldn’t take a breath. His mouth gaped, but it was as though the air had turned to stone.
“I have done you honor by speaking to you in person,” Jai Daishou said calmly. “Don’t spit in my face, Eleven.”
Eithan raised his hands and pulled against the air, as though he were trying to pry open an invisible door. He strained for a long moment before, finally, something gave.
The pressure vanished. Lindon gulped down a deep breath. Eithan staggered to lean against the statue of the First Patriarch, red-faced and panting.
Jai Daishou’s lip twitched into the first stage of a smile. “You have had a long journey. When you recover, come see me, and I will grant you an audience.”
He departed, striding off through the courtyard at his own speed, paying no heed to the servants who scurried out of his way.
When Lindon had recovered himself, he looked to Eithan. In joining the Arelius family, he’d picked up their enemies and rivals as well, and Eithan might not be capable of protecting an Iron from significant threats. Maybe Lindon would be safer if he stayed further away from the Underlord.
But as soon as Jai Daishou rounded a corner far away, Eithan stopped breathing heavily. He straightened his back, smile returning to its place.
When he saw Lindon’s concern, he winked. “People here are all so concerned with high rankings. I’ve always felt that you get more done when you’re not in the spotlight, don’t you think?”
Yerin rolled her shoulder in its socket. “It’s too late to save face. You were hauling like a plow-horse.”
Eithan laughed. “I was, wasn’t I? Well, maybe I have provoked too strong of an opponent this time.” He didn’t sound too concerned about the possibility. Reaching into his pocket, he flipped Yerin something that looked like a wooden coin. “Yerin, have one of the servants direct you to the refinery. Show them that token, and ask them for a Purple Feather Elixir.”
She brightened immediately. “This will smooth my path to Highgold?”
“Your path to Highgold is very smooth, if only you would listen to me, but this will help you advance your madra base without tapping into your Remnant. Cycle as much as you can over the next three or four days, until the pill wears off.”
Yerin gripped the token in her fist and ran off without another word.
“What about me?” Lindon asked hopefully. He had received a dozen Four Corners Rotation Pills over the course of the journey, though their effects had begun to fade during the last week or two. But if Eithan had something more powerful in reserve, Lindon wanted a taste of it.
Eithan rubbed his hands together in apparent anticipation. “You and I, Lindon, are headed for my personal favorite room in the entire city: the Arelius family library.”
***
Jai Long hopped down from the back of his bat, sliding down its bristly gray-white fur to the ground. His boots crunched on sand.
All around him, the Sandvipers landed their own mounts. Gokren rode a bat just like his, which had been generously donated by the Jai clan, but the others traveled on Thousand-Mile Clouds of various colors, or flying constructs, or various treasures. Most of their equipment had followed them in a levitating cauldron big enough to stew five men, but it was lagging a day behind.
He ignored the rest of the group, heading straight to a white Thousand-Mile Cloud with a tent erected on it.
Inside, Jai Chen was struggling to sit upright. “Are we…stopping…already?” she asked, her voice soft but threaded with effort.
Jai Long grabbed her by the shoulder, helping her sit up. He wanted to unravel the red bandages around his head and speak to his sister face-to-face, but he needed Sandviper loyalty enough that he didn’t want to scare them off.
“We’re here,” he said, and she lit up. He scooped her out of the tent, pretending not to hear her protests that her hair wasn’t straight.
This was her first glance of Serpent’s Grave in almost ten years, and she covered her mouth and teared up at the sight. Their parents lived in the city somewhere, as did their brothers and sisters.
She smiled at him, wide and open and tinged with grief. Jai Long knew she was glad to be home, despite everything, even if the sight of her birthplace pierced her like a sword.
Behind his mask of bandages, he smiled too.
For very different reasons.
Chapter 9
Lindon had spent much of the past five years working in the Wei clan archives. He was confident he knew what a library was supposed to look like.
But this room, located behind and beneath the bone tower that housed Cassias' family, was just a twenty-foot by twenty-foot square box. It had only one door, and all the walls were pale, yellowed bone. On the ceiling, a few scripted circles glowed with runelight, illuminating every corner.
A small altar of bone rose from the center of the room like an arm, with a claw cupping a ball the size of Lindon's fist. The ball was made of copper plates, and he thought he saw whirring flashes of color between the plates.
All in all, it was nothing like a library.
Eithan waited with hands on hips, clearly anticipating Lindon's reaction.
“Are the books...in the walls?” Lindon finally asked.
The Underlord clicked his tongue. “What are books but a mechanism to store knowledge? If we have something much more efficient available,” –Eithan picked up the copper ball— “then why would we need books?”
Lindon peered at the ball. It was a construct of some kind, obviously, but beyond that he couldn't guess. Maybe it would project words onto the wall—some of his mother's White Fox constructs could do as much, crafting images from illusions.
“This is the single most valuable object the entire Arelius family owns,” he said, spinning it on the tip of one finger. “Most of us aren’t aware of that, but it's true. We primarily use the powers of our bloodline to find areas that need cleaning or maintenance, but as an...unintentional side effect...we also tend to collect other information.”