by Will Wight
It was time to exchange his iron for jade.
Chapter 11
“Vital aura is the power of the world,” Orthos said, limping up the tunnel. His left foreleg wasn’t visibly injured, but the pain he felt at every step flashed through Lindon’s soul. “Even a hatchling understands this.”
Despite the turtle’s injury, Lindon still had to hurry to catch up. Based on his limited Jade perception, he would say Orthos’ power was comparable to a Truegold, and he had speed to match. “Please excuse my ignorance. I am honored to have a teacher with such power and wisdom.”
Orthos’ head rose slightly, pleased and proud. “I have never lowered myself to teach Coppers before, but you have latched yourself onto my soul. I should at least treat you like a descendant. Hm. Vital aura. It builds in everything, over time, and can grant great power.
“A stone is a piece of the earth, and it builds earth aura. An ordinary stone has only a mouthful of aura, but as the centuries pass, it grows stronger and stronger. It will continue absorbing power from the earth until it transforms. If left undisturbed, an ordinary rock will grow into a nugget of Titan’s Bone: all but unbreakable.”
“Forgiveness, but surely all stone should be unbreakable by now, if this is only a function of time.” Lindon reminded himself to ask Eithan about Titan’s Bone.
“Sacred artists have an endless appetite,” Orthos grumbled, scooping up a mouthful of rocks nearby and crunching them like candy. “A vein of vital aura piling up in the ground is a treasure trove for earth artists. They will stop at nothing to harvest it for their own advancement. A single candle-flame might be enough for you to cycle, but for a true expert, such a weak source is useless. They might as well try eating air.”
Orthos lumbered up the path, his emotions growing distant as he drifted into a memory. “Advancement is an endless hunt for greater and greater sources of power. You start by feeding on the aura in candles and campfires, but sooner than you think, you’ll be hunting for dragon hearts and sunreaver stones and sacred flames. Always climbing…”
Back in Sacred Valley, the Wei clan had cycled aura at dawn, when the light from Samara’s ring and sunlight had intermingled, and when dreams still lingered in their minds. Lindon had never thought of aura as something that could be taken away; light and dreams were not stationary objects that could build up vital aura over time.
The explanation made sense. The Transcendent Ruins had drawn in vital aura from miles around, leaving the surroundings dim and washed-out in his Copper sight. Lindon had thought of that process as something like taking in a breath: the Ruins may have inhaled, but that didn’t mean there was any less air outside. Now, he imagined it more like draining a bucket and waiting for rain to fill it back up.
“We cycle aura to trap a portion in our souls, adding to our power,” Orthos continued, returning to the present. “It changes the nature of our madra, and over time, it teaches your core to generate madra of that aspect.”
That much, Lindon understood. “Is there such thing as pure vital aura? With no aspect?”
Orthos rumbled deep in his throat. “There are more aspects of aura than sparks in a wildfire, but they always take some form. Always. Asking for pure aura is like asking for dry water.”
“And Ruler techniques?”
“Madra controls aura, and aura controls nature. Water artists can walk on the ocean, call rain, and so on. Earth artists open doors in stone. Force artists can make a feather hit with the power of a collapsing boulder.”
Lindon thought he understood. The Path of the White Fox could craft an illusion out of madra, but its Ruler technique affected the mind and eyes directly so that the target believed they saw something.
But he was still testing his Blackflame core, running his awareness over it like a child unwilling to release a new toy.
“What use is there for fire aura? Surely you can set things on fire with madra, rather than bothering with a Ruler technique.”
Orthos was quiet for a full minute, chewing on the occasional stone. Lindon was considering how best to apologize when the turtle finally spoke.
“For some Paths, this is true. For ours…” One red-and-black eye swiveled to meet Lindon’s gaze. “Imagine you have finished a battle. Your breath has driven your enemies before you, and now their corpses lie smoldering on the field. Smoke and flames rise in testament to your power, and courage has left your foes. They flee. You know you cannot catch them all.”
A dark, twisted root stuck out from the wall. Suddenly Orthos snapped at it, tearing a length of wood the size of Lindon’s arm out of the stone.
He spat it onto the floor, where it burst into smoky, black-streaked flames.
“They trip over the burning bodies of their comrades as they run,” Orthos said, “but there is no flight from your fury.”
He turned to glare at the floor.
And in a great explosion of heat, the root burst into flames. Lindon had to take a step back; the fire reached the ceiling and filled the tunnel for an instant. It was the healthy orange of a natural flame, not the dark stain of Blackflame, though it was spotted with the odd blotch of black or red.
The fire roared for a second, lapping up the walls as though looking for something else to consume, and then died in an instant.
Of the arm-length root, there was nothing left but ash.
“We called it the Void Dragon’s Dance,” Orthos said, crushing the ash beneath his paw. “In one moment, the flames devour everything on the battlefield, leaving only smoke and dust.”
“As long as there’s enough fire around to begin with.” Lindon pointed out the distinction automatically, his mind distant. Half of him was overcome with awe at the raw power Orthos described, and couldn’t help imagining turning that frightening weapon against Jai Long.
The other half was quiet and subdued, afraid of the deadly possibility locked in his own core.
“Hm. And as long as you have enough time,” Orthos added. “Taking control of aura takes time and concentration. You can toss Striker techniques out with every breath, but a widespread Ruler technique takes time to build.”
The tunnel had ended, opening onto a chamber with a yellow skeleton curled at the center. Unlike the bones in the city outside, this set was complete: a long serpent’s body with four clawed limbs and one reptilian head filled with fangs. A delicate matrix of bones draped over the ribs must once have supported wings.
This dragon’s skeleton also wasn’t large enough to house a building. It was twice the length of Orthos’ body, at most.
But it flickered with black fire. The flames crawled along each bone like worms, occasionally sending up a dull red spark that gave off just enough light to see. Lindon’s Jade sense told him the room was filled with power, so he cracked his Copper sight.
He shut the sight again immediately. The dark radiance of destruction and the fiery aura of heat crowded out everything else, so he couldn’t even see the power of earth in the rocks beneath. This was a wellspring of Blackflame energy.
“Sit,” Orthos commanded, and Lindon scrambled to the ground without hesitation. “Cycle as the Underlord has taught you, but this time, reach to the vital aura around you. You have my power; Blackflame aura will come as you call, and will merge easily with your core.” Orthos turned to go, snapping up another rock and swallowing it whole. “Cycle for three days, and then the next stage of your training will begin.”
“Thank you for the instruction. Please, stay with me just a moment, until I get the—”
His contracted partner had already left. Lindon could feel the turtle’s soul moving swiftly down the corridor.
At least he had packed food. But where, in these dark, broiling tunnels, was he supposed to find water?
***
Jai Long waited at the end of a dead-end street in Serpent’s Grave, Shiryu Mountain looming over him like a titanic gravestone. The shop to his left belonged to the fourteenth-ranked tailor in the city, while to his right, a family ran the
ninth-ranked restaurant.
Both buildings were immaculate constructions of newly painted wood, their signs colorful, their lanterns smelling of fresh oil. Even the alley between them was spotless except for a light coating of sand, and he was sure the Arelius family would sweep even that away before dawn. Every stranger who passed the alley’s mouth looked like they were on their way to an imperial feast: the women had their hair pinned up and ornamented, their faces painted, while the men wore so many layers of color that they looked armored.
Even their Goldsigns were ornamental. Jai Long saw silver bracers, golden haloes, polished horns, emerald eyes, gleaming tails, and a single pair of broad green wings that marked a member of the imperial Naru clan.
After so long away, Jai Long had almost forgotten. Appearance and rank were everything in the Blackflame Empire. The more of one you had, the less of the other you needed.
With one hand, he tightened the red bandages wrapping his head. The other hand clutched the case for the Ancestor’s Spear.
Stellar Spear madra flashed somewhere up the street, and white light bloomed. The crowd he could see through the alley cast disgusted looks backward, speeding along to their destination.
Jai Long flared his madra, cycling it rapidly and signaling Gokren and the Sandvipers that he was about to engage. Then he walked out of the alley.
Some of the passersby sensed the power of a Highgold and gave him curious looks, but they quickly looked away again when they realized he’d covered his face and failed to display any of the hallmarks of a famous faction. Just a nobody.
A few yards down the street, three Lowgolds of the Jai clan were harassing an Arelius street-sweeping crew.
Right on schedule.
The Jai spears were still slung over their backs, so they hadn’t managed to provoke a fight yet. Their metallic black hair gleamed in the light of the dying sun.
The blue-clad servants of the Arelius family were huddled against a wall like trapped deer. One of them clutched a broken broom.
“You struck him,” a young Jai woman said, pointing to her clansman. “Everyone saw you, just admit it. Say it.”
The Arelius family workers scanned the nearby crowd, looking for a way out.
Out of curiosity, Jai Long turned to an old woman standing outside the tailor’s shop, holding a bolt of cloth. “Did you see that?”
She looked him up and down, sneering a bit at his face. “You could do better than that, you know. We could weave you a mask that an Underlord would be proud to wear, even on a…budget.”
The Jai fighter blasted Stellar Spear madra into the sky again, still demanding something from the Arelius servants.
Jai Long nodded to them. “Did you see what happened there?”
The old woman frowned. “It’s as you see. The Arelius family attacked the honorable Jai warrior from behind, breaking a broom over his head.”
With a thought, Jai Long quickened his madra again, doing nothing to hide his power. The force of a Highgold echoed up and down the street, and even the Jai clan cut off mid-sentence to turn and look.
“Ah, I believe I was mistaken,” the old woman said, bowing until she stared straight down at the bricks of the street. “If I think back, yes, I may have seen the Jai clan corner these Arelius servants unprovoked.” She peeked up hesitantly. “Unless…is honorable sir from the Jai clan? I am prepared to swear that the Arelius dogs—”
Jai Long turned and walked toward the Jai clan fighters, slinging his spear case over his shoulder. He wouldn’t need to use the Ancestor’s Spear after all. The three Jai Lowgolds dipped their heads in his direction.
“Good evening to you, Highgold,” the woman said warily. “Are you perhaps from a branch family?”
The white lines of Flowing Starlight began creeping over his skin. The world slowed.
His original plan was to find a team of Jai Lowgolds and kill two of them, capturing their Remnants, and letting the third report him to the Jai clan. As long as no one saw the Ancestor’s Spear, they would only send a single Highgold after him next time. If he couldn’t let one live, he would use the Spear to drain all of them and eliminate all witnesses.
But there were too many witnesses on the street to eliminate, and plenty to bring word back to the Jai clan that a rogue Highgold was hunting their people. So long as he didn’t draw his spear, the clan would hear exactly what he wanted them to.
These Lowgolds might not have been high in the rankings, but they were at least trained. Before the marks of Flowing Starlight were visible, they’d already sensed him, pulling out their spears and assuming aggressive stances.
Too late.
Jai Long thrust both hands out, and a gleaming white snake shot from each palm. A spear would conduct the energy better, but he didn’t require the aura of his weapon. The Stellar Spear had no Ruler techniques suited for battle.
The two enemies at his side shouted and thrust out their weapons, the spearheads gleaming like stars, ready to break his serpents.
He’d already moved, gripping the young woman in the center by the throat. White energy flared, and her head tumbled free. Her hair clinked as it struck the street.
The Lowgolds were finding it harder to disperse his snakes than they’d thought, and now he was standing between them. His hands flashed out again, and two more heads rolled.
Only a second had passed, and Jai Long stood in a pool of blood, bodies, and dissipating white madra. One woman lifted her skirts as she passed, though she was well clear of the blood, and gave him a disapproving look. A worker in the restaurant shouted at him for the smell. The old woman outside the tailor’s shouted, “And no more than they deserved, sir!”
Traffic didn’t stop.
The Arelius workers gave relieved sighs and rose to their feet, but they looked as though he’d saved them from a loudly barking dog.
“Will you be dealing with the Remnants, honored Highgold?” one of the Arelius street-sweepers asked. “Or should we have a crew dispose of them?”
Jai Long pulled some scripted paper seals from his pocket, which he’d prepared for exactly this occasion. He hardly had to stretch out his perception to feel the sources of toxic madra moving toward him: the Sandvipers, here to help him capture the Remnants for later consumption.
“I have men coming,” he said, and the servants bowed as they backed up a few steps. One of them had produced scrub-brushes and a bucket; they were already planning to clean the street as soon as he left.
Someone shouted something about the Skysworn, but the white Stellar Spear Remnants had already begun to rise. They each looked different, but they were all thin and bony and looked as though they were sketched on the world in vivid starlight.
He slapped seals on them before they had entirely left their bodies, and by this time, the fur-clad Sandvipers had found their way to the street. They bound the Remnants in scripts and carried them off, taking them three streets over to a wagon they had prepared for exactly this purpose.
As soon as they started walking, the Arelius family closed back in to clean up the mess.
Fate was strange. In ambushing the Jai clan tonight, Jai Long might have done Eithan Arelius a favor.
He started to laugh—the serpentine Remnant had left him with a disturbing laugh, cold and high, like crashing metal.
Around him, the Sandvipers carrying the script-bound Remnants shuddered, but he pretended not to notice.
***
Yerin dodged the black scissors racing for her face, cycling madra to her limbs to Enforce her speed as much as she could. She still almost took a slash across the cheek, but avoided it, feeling the sharp aura gathered around the blade as it slid past her.
Eithan had overextended for the thrust, leaning onto his right foot to drive the scissors at her. His left arm was tucked behind the small of his back, into the dark blue outer robe that fluttered in the breeze behind him, and he still wore that small, smug smile.
She returned a thrust of her own, punishing his extensi
on, driving the blade at his ribs.
He flared with power as his madra surged, and he vanished. She cut nothing but air. She spun to face him behind her; he hadn’t veiled his presence, so she could feel him just as she would feel a bonfire. Simple trick to spin and keep the pressure on.
A thought that wasn’t her own floated out from her core: she was making a mistake.
She shouldn’t turn and waste that critical instant moving her body; instead, she should channel the Endless Sword through her Goldsign and whip it behind her, covering her movement and giving her enough time to turn.
Without waiting for her permission, her Goldsign obeyed the voice.
The steel-silver arm dangling over her shoulder whipped backwards on its own instinct, against her instructions. It strained to reach Eithan, stealing some of her madra to slash at the air, but she had already begun to turn. Her motion pulled the blade out of line even as it tugged her off-balance.
When she righted herself, she stared down the tip of black scissors.
“It's hard enough to quiet one mind,” Eithan noted, spinning his scissors around one finger. “All but impossible if you have to work with two.”
She ground her teeth, slamming her sword back into its sheath with too much force. Her unwelcome guest squirmed in her core, probing her self-control, looking to use her anger as a crack. It was getting stronger these days; if she didn’t advance soon enough, she’d be the voice in the back of its head.
“Two would be sugar and peaches. I'm juggling three.”
Eithan flipped his hair over one shoulder. “That’s two more than you have to. Your Remnant is not your counselor, it is your resource. You should strip it down and use it for parts.”
He didn't understand. He couldn't, even if he knew what this parasite around her waist really was. It made sure she understood what it wanted, though it didn’t use words. It wanted to be used.
Better than anybody else, Yerin could tell when something in her head was trying to talk to her.
And her master’s Remnant, sealed away in her core, felt the same. He had something to say, so it was on her to listen.