Cradle: Foundation (Cradle Collected Book 1)

by Will Wight

  Lindon scooted away from the water.

  “He said we’d find food and water inside,” Yerin said. “Guess we have. I’ll leave it to you to roast one of them up, when we get hungry.”

  “Then I’ll leave it to you to bring it down, when the time comes,” Lindon responded. He thought he could capture one, but he couldn’t rid himself of a vision of all those dozens of crabs swarming down the cliff at once, crashing into him like a many-legged wave.

  Which made him realize there was no stone to block the cave entrance. He’d have to find a way to keep the giant crabs out while he slept.

  Once they had inspected the camp to their satisfaction, they moved back to the red archway.

  Yerin and Lindon stood side-by-side, looking through. Beyond was a dense forest of smooth pillars, packed close enough together that Lindon could see nothing else between them but shadows. They stretched up to the height of the rocky cliffs above, where they merged with the black stone.

  Just on the other side of the archway, between them and the pillars, there were two other objects.

  One, a rectangular slab standing roughly Yerin’s height, was etched with writing and pictures too distant to read. The second was a waist-high pedestal holding a gray crystal ball.

  Lindon had left his pack back in the cave, and now he slid off his parasite ring and put it into his pocket next to Suriel’s glass marble. His madra immediately moved more easily with the parasite ring gone, the Blackflame power burning merrily within him.

  “This is the first Trial, I’d guess,” Yerin said.

  Lindon nodded to the two characters painted on the archway pillar, above the dragon design: ‘Trial One.’

  “That, or they’re playing a sadistic trick on us.”

  They traded a look and then, together, stepped through the archway. Sure enough, there was a script embedded between the pillars: he could feel it ignite as they stepped forward. Icy power washed over his skin, and then he was through.

  He stood before the stone tablet, which was crammed with diagrams and ancient characters. Lindon examined it for a few long breaths, committing segments to memory and wishing he’d brought paper and ink.

  Yerin cleared her throat. “What’s it saying to you?”

  Lindon scooted over, making room for her at the tablet. He gestured to the outline of a man, filled entirely with intricate loops. “This looks like the madra pattern for their Enforcer technique.” He brushed dust from the four characters comprising the name. “Black…fire…fierce…outer robe?”

  “That has a nice sound to it, doesn’t it? The legendary Black Fire Fierce Outer Robe technique.”

  “Well, what would you call it?”

  With a thumb, she rubbed a scar on her chin. “Couldn’t tell you. Can’t read a word of it.”

  She sounded defiant, as though daring him to make a comment about it, but he was immediately ashamed. “Forgiveness. I was fortunate enough to learn the basic characters of the old language as a child. It’s not so different from our language, though it looks much more complicated. You see—”

  He was about to point out some of those similarities when she interrupted him. “Doesn’t make a lick of difference. Can’t read my own name.”

  Lindon stared at her for too long before realizing how awkward that must be for her, then he shifted his gaze and pretended he’d been examining the stone all along. “That’s…ah, I’m sorry. Did the Sword Sage not…”

  “Not much writing to be done with a sword,” she said, in a deliberately casual tone.

  In the Wei clan, everyone learned to read before they learned their first Foundation technique. But it fell to the individual families to teach their children; he’d never considered what it might be like for someone raised outside a family.

  “Well, ah…this section at the top is a simple sequence. It explains the history of the Blackflames.”

  His fingers brushed the vertical lines of writing, each column separated by pictograms: a dragon flying over a human, then a human standing over a dragon, then a human with a dragon on a leash.

  “When the humans came to this land, the dragons ruled. They burned through all opposition, ignoring all defenses. No one could stand against them. Finally, a...I think this means 'great disaster'...came to this land from the west, bringing the dragons down from the sky.”

  That was interesting; Sacred Valley and the Desolate Wilds lay to the west. There were no pictures illustrating the great disaster, to his disappointment.

  “Once they fell, the humans began to learn the sacred arts of the dragons. It helped to even the score, but their understanding was incomplete. While they were still studying the arts, the dragons discovered a way to...”

  Lindon hesitated. “It says here they leashed the humans, but it seems to imply that the humans were the ones to benefit. Maybe a deal? A contract.”

  Understanding sparked. The first Blackflames, at least, had bound themselves to the dragons just as he had done with Orthos.

  “Some Paths bind their kids to sacred beasts,” Yerin said. “It’s like gluing a sword to your hand so you don’t drop it, if you ask me.”

  Lindon spent a moment wondering if she was trying to insult him before he realized she didn’t know. He hadn’t seen her since making his contract with Orthos…who was drifting around the mountain as the mood took him. If Lindon wasn’t mistaken, Orthos would probably check on him before he finished the Trials.

  “Not to ask too much of you, but if you happen to see a giant, flaming turtle wandering around out here…please don’t attack it.”

  Yerin stared at him like he’d started babbling nonsense.

  “Well,” Lindon continued, “it seems that the remaining dragons linked themselves to the Blackflame ancestors for some reason. With the power of the dragons...”

  He tapped a picture of a man with a dragon standing over a large crowd of humans, and Yerin nodded. “Yeah, I can figure that one.”

  There was a line of text just beneath the story, separated from everything else. These words were engraved more deeply, so the passage of time had hardly touched them.

  “The dragon advances,” he said aloud.

  “That’s a long stretch better than ‘Fierce Robe Burning Fire,’ true?”

  “It’s not a technique name. It looks like their family words, or maybe the philosophy of the Trial.”

  Yerin looked bored, so he moved down to the next section.

  “Now it's talking about the Trials, and the language gets harder. The Blackflame ancestors placed three Trials here for the three basic techniques of the Path, that much is clear. This one is the...you know, the Fierce Fire Robe. It's their Enforcer technique. Seems like it burns...”

  He trailed off.

  “You'd expect fire madra to burn,” Yerin said.

  “No, that's...ah, it seems to burn away the body of the user.” He searched his mind for another interpretation, but came up with nothing. That would explain why Eithan thought he needed the Bloodforged Iron body to handle the Path, but he wasn't exactly enthusiastic about burning himself from the inside out.

  “That's a gem for you, isn't it?” Yerin asked. “If a technique costs you something, means it must be a good one.”

  Lindon grunted noncommittally and gestured to the smoky crystal ball on the pedestal. “I'm supposed to run the technique through the crystal, and that will activate the Trial. Apologies, but it looks like we can't move on until I’m familiar with it.”

  She folded her arms. “I'll wait.”

  He looked from the madra diagram to her. “This could take me days.”

  “Really?” Yerin tapped a knuckle against the illustration of the madra channels. “This?”

  The diagram seemed to require him to make dozens of small directions and adjustments to his madra flow with every breath. To use it without thought in a fight would take him months.

  “I defer to your experience,” he said, “but I think three or four days is reasonable.”

 
; Yerin slid her sword around on her belt, then plopped down to the ground. She patted the dirt in front of her. “I'll be buried and rotten if I let you take days for something that simple. Have a seat, I'll walk you through it.”

  Lindon took one final glance at the diagram and then sat with his back to the stone, his knees against Yerin's. Once again, he wished he'd brought paper and ink; tracing the madra pattern would have helped commit it to memory.

  “Do what I tell you, when I tell you, you hear me?” When Lindon nodded, Yerin straightened her back. “Close your eyes.”

  He did so.

  “We're keeping this to a crawl, now. Deep breath in, and picture your madra running like tree roots through your whole body. You inhale, and the roots spread.”

  It was the same sort of visualization Eithan had mentioned while teaching him the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel. He followed along, and his madra responded with surprising ease.

  “Exhale, and burn it all up. There's a fire consuming those roots, you're burning them, and that fire is the fuel that drives you.”

  When Lindon focused on the fire, it was as though the Blackflame madra leaped forward like a hungry beast. It spread from his spirit and sunk into his body, but the sensation was painless, just a hot and disturbing tingle as though his muscles were slowly fizzing away to nothing.

  He opened his eyes. “As expected of the Sword Sage’s disciple,” he said, saluting her with fists pressed together. “I almost felt it work. A few more tries, and I think…what?”

  She was wearing a smug smile. “Almost?” The silver blade over her shoulder inched forward, leaving a polished steel surface in front of his face. “Do it with your eyes open this time.”

  It was harder to picture his madra flow with his eyes open, so this attempt took him longer. But this time he was watching when his madra flared and the tingling sensation washed through his veins.

  The reflection of his face was suddenly blurred by a haze of red-and-black fire.

  Lindon almost fell backwards.

  Yerin gestured to him. “That covers you all over, like burning smoke. It's got a menacing look to it, I'll tell you true. Jai Long will have to bring a diaper to the fight.”

  He rose to his feet. “How? So quickly?”

  She drew her sword so that she could reach the stone tablet with its tip, pointing to little symbols next to the madra pattern. Lindon had taken them for reading directions in the ancient script.

  “Can't read a word, but you'd see these pictures on most old Path manuals. I had more talks about cycling theory with my master than we had hot meals.” She shrugged. “You're just moving your own spirit around, aren't you? The feeling does you more good than remembering some directions.”

  She'd left her Goldsign in place as a mirror, so Lindon flared the technique again. This time, he got a clearer look: a thin aura of black and red rose around him in a haze of power. He would be shrouded in Blackflame madra when he used this technique.

  “What does it do?”

  “Ask your...stone book, there.” She scratched her nose, then added, “But I could take a guess. Looks to me like a basic full-body Enforcement. Works different depending on your madra, but basically every Path has something like it. Your body's protected and powered by madra while you use it, until you run out of madra or have to drop it.”

  He studied the stone, which seemed to agree with her. As far as he could tell. “If it's so simple, then why did they record it here?”

  “You're asking me, but who am I supposed to ask? Not every Path has complicated techniques—sometimes they're stone simple, and it's all about how you use them. Or maybe this was the Trial they gave to Copper kids.”

  From the tone of the tablet, Lindon doubted this was something so frivolous as a playground for children. And Eithan would never have sent him somewhere easy, he was sure of that.

  Lindon flared the aura again, trying to see how long the sensation of painless, corrosive heat would last. He couldn't hold it longer than a blink before the technique fell apart; he'd need to work on keeping his madra control steady and predictable. “It protects me, you say?”

  “It Enforces you—figure you know what that means by now. But every Path’s madra does something different. You'll have to play around with it.” She hopped up, brushing her knees clean. “Hit me.”

  He looked at her sword.

  “Got to try out your shiny new technique, don't you? Hit me.”

  Not for a moment did Lindon think he'd hurt her. Quite the opposite, in fact: he was worried her counterattack would slice off his arm. “I will do as you say, then. Excuse me.”

  The technique flared, and as soon as he felt the heat and saw the black-and-red haze around his body, he kicked off from the dirt. He'd been used to Enforcing himself with pure madra, and he had a sense of how strong his Iron body could be.

  When he kicked off, it sent a pain flaring in his knees. The ground exploded behind him and wind rushed by his ears as he launched into the air.

  Lindon had an instant to scream before he slammed face-first into the packed dirt a dozen feet behind Yerin.

  Dirt ground into his eyes, into his lips, between his teeth. His body slapped down to the earth a second behind his head, and a brief moment passed before he could lift his face enough to spit out a mouthful of dirt.

  He groaned as he rose to his knees. It hadn't hurt as much as he'd expected, as though he'd taken a hit on a suit of armor instead of to his flesh.

  Worse was the internal strain. His knees ached and the bottom of his feet felt bruised.

  Yerin gave a low whistle. “Well, isn't that a kick in the pants? You always have to get used to a new Enforcer technique, but…bleed me like a pig, it looked like you strapped a couple of lightning bolts to your legs.”

  That felt about right. His Bloodforged Iron body had already come to life, draining Blackflame madra to heal his strained knees.

  In fact...he hadn't noticed it before, but madra was trickling into every corner of his body for healing. His black-and-red core was already guttering like a spent candle.

  Had he really spent his madra so quickly?

  After a moment of thought, he realized the reason: the Enforcer technique strained his joints and burned away at his muscles, and his body responded by drawing on madra to heal him. He'd drain himself dry in five breaths.

  “What's got your tongue?” Yerin asked, walking over to him. “Didn't bite it, did you?”

  “This Fierce Burning Outer Robe costs me more than I thought.”

  “First thing, we're not calling it that.” She chewed on her lip as she thought. “Burning Cloak,” she said at last.

  He cast a glance at the stone. “The 'fierce' character is core to the reading of the name, and there's a different symbol for a rain cloak than for a sacred artist's outer robe—”

  “Burning Cloak,” she said, more firmly. “That's a real technique name. You want to call it Fierce Burning Clothes on Fire in your own head, that's on your account, but I'll cut you every time you say it out loud.”

  “It will be an honor to use the Burning Cloak technique,” Lindon said with a little bow.

  “True enough, it will.” She jumped, casually clearing fifteen feet and landing next to the stone. “Now, fire up that crystal ball and let's test the edge of this Trial.”

  If Lindon spent any more madra, he would be crawling in the dirt instead of fighting. “Lend me a moment to cycle, if you don’t mind.”

  She gave him a wry look, but her scars lent it a sinister, threatening cast. “I'm not throwing you into a tiger's den, I just want a look at the enemy. We don't like what we see, we back up.”

  She had a point. The arch hadn't closed when they passed through it, and there was nothing preventing them from heading back to their caves at the first sign of danger.

  Besides, he was curious himself. There might be prizes to this Trial beyond simple knowledge.

  He walked over to the crystal ball, cycling the Heaven and
Earth Purification Wheel to replenish his madra. It strained his spirit and his lungs, and he couldn’t tell if it restored anything at all—sure enough, the technique was trash for refilling a core.

  Lindon rested his hand on the warm, smoky ball that sat on the pedestal. Now that he was close enough, he could see threads of red running through the gray, like the crystals he'd seen in Orthos’ chamber.

  “The tablet says nothing about what we'll face when I start the Trial,” he warned, but Yerin gave a heavy sigh.

  “Jabber jabber jabber, we’re burning time. Light that candle.”

  One breath in, one out, and a black-and-red nimbus flared around Lindon's entire body.

  When the crystal touched that light, it flared red.

  Beneath the ground, a script kindled to life.

  Though Lindon saw nothing, he could feel it, like a circle of fire ten feet beneath his shoes. He was aware of it in the same way he was aware of his own limbs.

  Yerin drew her white blade. “Eyes up.”

  ***

  Cassias followed Eithan, because he had no other choice. The Underlord had seized his Thousand-Mile Cloud, and it was either climb on behind him or be left behind in the tunnel.

  As soon as Cassias set foot on the cloud, Eithan took off, sending the construct straight up and out of the valley. Sheer black walls passed them on either side, but with an Underlord’s madra propelling them, they reached the peak in seconds.

  This was really a secondary peak of Shiryu Mountain. The Jai clan main complex occupied the highest peak with the living quarters for the head family and their subordinates. Cassias could see glimpses of their palaces high above and almost a mile away.

  Serpent’s Grave proper spread out far beneath them, a mound of bones in an ocean of yellow sand. But Eithan didn’t take them down; instead, he flew them around this peak, overlooking the valley where the two children would live for the next few weeks.

  There was a temple carved into this peak. Not sitting on top, where it would be visible from miles around, but carved as though to seem part of the stone. Only from the back could you see the stairs leading up, the braziers resting to either side of the entrance, the polished archway leading into shadows deeper within. From any other angle, this place would be invisible.