by Will Wight
“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 was 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.
Yerin scratched the side of her neck, and in the dim light, he thought he saw her flush. “I, uh...sorry. Didn't intend to say it like that.” She hesitated for another moment. “When I was Iron, my master didn't press me to fight a Highgold in a year's time. That's a rotten gamble, no matter what training he gives you.”
Yerin knew he couldn’t do it. That he was going to die in a year.
He stared at the dummy across the circle because he didn’t want to see the truth on her face.
“I’m not going to gamble,” he said quietly. “There are other ways to get to him, before the duel. He eats, he sleeps, just like anybody else. He has enemies. He has a family.”
Yerin’s Goldsign arched, as though the blade were trying to get a better look at Lindon’s face. “Dark plans for an Iron,” she said, voice dry. “You want to hold his crippled little sister hostage, do you think? You want to go to his enemies for help instead of Eithan?”
“I don’t know enough about him yet,” Lindon said, embarrassed. “You know, there’s always poison. Ambush.”
“There’s always poison,” she repeated. “Yeah. You could poison his food, then wait until he falls asleep. Put a different poison on your knives, so even if he wakes up, he can’t…”
She trailed off, blinking rapidly.
Her master. That was what the Jades of the Heaven’s Glory School had done to her master.
Lindon fell to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cool wooden floor. “I did not think. I—”
He glanced up and saw that she was holding up a hand for silence. She waited for a few seconds, visibly swallowing a few times, before she spoke. “They were dogs and cowards,” she said at last. “Don’t think like them. You don’t learn to stand against your enemies by crawling in the dirt.”
“As you say. I have no excuse.”
“You’re on the path now, stable and true. In a year, you won’t recognize yourself.”
He certainly couldn’t disagree with her now, not to her face, but he filed his plans away carefully in the back of his mind. Surely Eithan wouldn’t mind if he prepared for contingencies.
Lindon had just risen to his feet when the door slammed open, and Eithan marched in, carrying a lantern caging a burning star. It lit the barn like midday, making Lindon wince and shield his eyes.
Eithan saw them and paused, as though he'd just noticed them. “Oh, I'm sorry, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” Before they could respond, he added, “I was just being polite, I heard it all.”
Lindon was going to find it hard to relax over the next year, if Eithan listened to every word he ever spoke.
The Underlord walked over to the melted candle and kicked it aside, sending a puff of smoke into the air and chunks of wax tumbling across the floor. He set his lantern in its place at the center of the course, then turned to face them with hands on hips.
“I will be truthful with the two of you: I'm facing a bit of a crisis here.”
His demeanor was cheery as ever, but his smile had shrunk to nothing more than tightened lips. Maybe this was his serious face.
“We'll do whatever we can to help you, of course,” Lindon said, knowing that he could never help an Underlord do anything.
“You made a mess out of something,”
Yerin said, her tone absolutely confident.
Eithan pointed to Lindon. “I will take you up on that offer, don't worry.” Lindon's heart sank.
Now Eithan pointed to Yerin. “That's an uncharitable way to put it, but I can’t say you’re wrong. You know, I do wish I could tell the future. There are sacred artists out there who can, to varying degrees. It would make planning so much easier. And I don't expect you to understand this, but seeing everything makes surprises so much worse. You always feel as though you should have seen them coming.”
He sighed, flipping his hair over his shoulder. “That's enough of my problems, so let’s talk about our problems. The Jai clan has all but declared war on our family.”
“All but?” Yerin repeated. “Is it war, or no war?”
“If they declared it openly, the Emperor’s forces would cripple the aggressor in a day. But the Skysworn stay out of the petty squabbles between clans. As long as the Jai pretend that’s what’s happening, the Emperor will stay clear.”
Lindon had seen similar situations back in Sacred Valley, as the Wei clashed along the border with the Li, and the Kazan raided them both. He saw the problem immediately.
“They’ll claim Jai Long.”
Eithan nodded to him. “He and his sister were exiled here so that they could serve the main family without being underfoot and embarrassing. Has to do with his wrapped-up face.” Eithan waved a hand vaguely around his own head. “They still won’t take him back, but once the duel is over, they can pretend he was one of them all along. He wins? They take credit. He dies? We killed a Jai Highgold, and they’ll use it as an excuse for open war.”
He sighed. “And I thought all I’d have to do was write a letter…”
There was an obvious solution here, but Lindon proposed it carefully. “Not to overstep my bounds, but the situation has changed. Couldn't you tell the Jai clan that you changed your mind?”
Eithan braced one foot on the star-filled lantern and leaned forward. “One's word is the currency of the powerful. Reputation and honor are all that prevent us from slaughtering each other, and keep us operating with some degree of civility. What stops an Underlord from killing everyone weaker? Their reputation. What shields their family from reprisals and attacks? Their reputation. Many experts value their good name more than their life.”
A dark pall settled over Lindon. Eithan wouldn’t change his mind about the duel, then. That had been one of Lindon’s final hopes.
“Besides, I still have a use for your victory,” he said. “Jai Long’s defeat will give me leverage, whether the clan claims him or not, so I would still prefer you fight. However, there is another option...” Lindon’s dead hope flickered to life again. “...I can allow you to leave the family. Your actions would not reflect on my word if you weren't a subject of the Arelius.”
Lindon turned to Yerin, who wore a troubled expression but said nothing. Would she come with him, if he left? She might, if he asked her, but would that be fair to her? He didn't know much about the Arelius family, but he knew they represented both a risk and an opportunity. Yerin could grow there, with the support of a well-connected clan.
For his part, anywhere outside of Sacred Valley was a land of limitless opportunity. The Fishers could advance him past Iron. He had other roads he could take.
But he'd be giving up the chance to be trained personally by an Underlord.
Eithan met his eyes, speaking earnestly. “I'll be as clear as I can: the Arelius family employs hundreds of thousands of people, and their livelihoods will be impacted by the results of this duel. If you stay, I will do whatever I have to so that you win. Even if it kills you.”
Lindon leaned against a wooden dummy for support. “Killing me…to win. I see. How likely is that to happen, exactly?”
Eithan's smile broadened. “It's my last resort. I have every confidence that I can raise you to victory without destroying your future. I can't say you will enjoy the process, though. And I will catch you every time you try and run away.”
Yerin still hadn't said anything since Eithan entered the room. She stood with one hand on her sword and one on the blood-red rope around her waist, as though considering her options.
“If you don't mind,” Lindon said, “I'd like some time to consider.”
Eithan straightened, brushing wrinkles out of his turquoise robe. “Perfectly understandable, but I'm afraid we're running short of time as it is. We're leaving at dawn. If you would like to join us, look around the Fisher territory for a tall building with blue clouds surrounding the foundation and Arelius banners hanging from the walls. That is our vehicle out of here, so if it's still there, so are we.”
He executed a small, shallow bow in Lindon's direction and then started to walk off. Over his shoulder, he called, “I don't like to make decisions for others, Lindon...but I hope to see you in the morning.”
The door swung shut behind him, but it fell into Yerin's hand. She hitched up her red belt as though to distract herself.
She still looked troubled, even as she spoke. “In the sacred arts, you don’t want the clear path. You want the rocky one. The strongest aren't the ones who climb the highest mountains, but the ones who choose to do it one-handed and blindfolded.”
She hesitated as though to add something else before shaking her head. “But it’s a short distance between ‘rocky’ and ‘looking for suicide.’ I don't know what you should do. I...I don't know.”
Then she left too.
***
Lindon blinked sleep from bleary eyes, sitting up on the barn floor. The touch of sunlight streaming through the wooden slats warmed him, bright and cheery. He started to cycle his sluggish madra, prodding his body into waking and his mind into thought.
Last night, he'd stayed up after Eithan left, trying to clear his mind and make the right decision. He'd known what the best answer was: to stick with the Arelius family. But that didn’t make the decision easier.
If he stayed, the Fishers could take him to Truegold.
Truegold. Would that really be his limit?
When he had walked among the Eight-Man Empire, Suriel had said that even ten thousand Gold sacred artists couldn't scratch their armor. How far above Truegold were they?
How far above them was Suriel?
He’d pulled Suriel’s marble out of his pocket, and the sight of the steady blue candle-flame inside the glass orb had made up his mind. He'd activated the course, matching his newfound determination against the eighteen animated wooden dummies.
When he joined Eithan and the Arelius family at dawn, he wanted to do it after squeezing out every second of practice he could. Maybe he could produce a miracle, defeat the course, and join Eithan and Yerin with pride.
The dummies had knocked him flat, but he'd gotten up again and again. Eventually he'd stopped to cycle, but meditation had turned to sleep...
Sunlight streamed in through the walls.
He jumped to his feet, the unfamiliar power of his Iron body launching him two feet in the air before he landed.
He was late.
He'd missed them.
Lindon stormed through the door, hoping against hope that they'd decided to wait a few hours for him.
The instant he opened a crack, air blasted him in the face, shoving the door all the way open and slamming it against the frame. The wind was almost strong enough to push him off his feet, Iron body or no, and the light was blinding.
He had to throw up his arm against the all-present light, which surrounded him as though he’d been tossed into the sun.
When his eyes finally adjusted and the gusts slowed for a moment, he squinted into the brightness and saw...not the dusty yard outside the barn. Not the collection of ramshackle buildings making up the Five Factions Alliance.
An endless ocean of sunlit clouds, stretching out beneath him.
Lindon shouted and fell backwards, kicking the door shut, trying to catch his breath. The barn was in the sky. In the heavens, maybe? Had Suriel grabbed th
is whole building and lifted it from the earth?
He grabbed the warm glass marble from his pocket and rubbed it between his hands to comfort himself. As his breath and mind settled, he started to notice details he hadn't before: the floor dipped and sagged beneath him, like he was lying on a boat drifting over a lake. Wind whistled through and around the barn.
Lindon leaned on a wooden dummy to prop himself up, catching his breath and staring at the door as though it might open and drag him out into open air.
Wood creaked, and he turned to see the back door swinging open. Eithan stuck his head in, smiling.
“A good morning to you!” he said cheerily. “Come join us for breakfast.”
Lindon took a deep breath before answering. “You didn’t leave me.” He closed his eyes and took another breath. “This one thanks you, honored Underlord.”
“I kept an eye on you after I left. I could tell you'd made up your mind, so when you didn't make it on time, I decided to drag you along.”
Following the Underlord, Lindon pushed open the back door of the flying barn. It swung open into bright lights and furious wind, but there was another door only a foot or two away. This door was painted dark blue, with a black crescent at eye level, and the frame was all white. The colors of the Arelius family.
Between him and the door was a stretch of dense blue cloud. To the left and right, he saw nothing but endless sky and white fluff. Beneath him, a soft blue carpet.
Lindon hesitated, but Eithan didn't. He was already striding across the cloud with full confidence, his steps pressing down as though he walked across a mattress.
It's a Thousand-Mile Cloud, Lindon reassured himself, just...bigger. Big enough to carry two buildings.
If he'd needed an illustration of the Arelius family’s wealth and power, this would do.
Eithan held the door for him as Lindon fought the wind to enter.
He stepped into a cozy sitting room, all decorated in Arelius colors. Dark blue chairs and couches were arranged into a half-circle around a fireplace of black metal. A spiral staircase led up to a second story, and a pair of tall, arched windows spilled sunlight into the whole space.