Blackflame (Cradle Book 3)

by Will Wight

  Eithan might know sacred arts up and down. Maybe his advice would be right, for a regular Lowgold with a regular Remnant. But he didn’t know what it felt like to carry somebody else’s soul around with her.

  Unless he wore her skin for a day, he couldn't know.

  “What have you learned today?” Eithan asked.

  “Shouldn’t turn when the enemy gets behind me. Should have sent an Endless Sword over my shoulder to keep the pressure on, but I tripped over my own feet trying to turn.”

  That was the lesson her master was trying to teach her: he’d sent her a message telling her what to do, but she’d been slow to listen.

  “Hmm.” Eithan flipped his scissors into the air and caught them, all while watching her. “You know, sword artists don't tend to be the philosophical types. Some sacred artists can think their way through bottlenecks and roadblocks in their advancements, but those on sword Paths...they tend to prefer fighting through their problems.”

  “That's a truth,” she muttered.

  “Well then, how fortunate for you that you have a teacher who is willing to engage all your preferences and whims.” He glanced up at the sun. “We should be right on time, actually. How would you like to take your frustration out on an endless parade of artificial enemies?”

  “I think you'll have to race me there.”

  He began walking across the sandy courtyard where they'd been practicing, still spinning the scissors, and Yerin followed him.

  “I've taken the liberty of restoring and preparing the three ancient Trials of the Blackflame family. I think you'll find them...invigorating.”

  Yerin didn't ask him any questions—he wouldn't tell her anything he didn't want her to know, and anyway, she'd see about these Trials for herself soon enough. But she was curious.

  Lindon had been gone for three days, learning to cycle this new Path. Eithan’s description had been impressive enough that she wanted to see it with her own eyes, but she had her doubts.

  On the one side, Lindon was finding it hard enough to progress on his own Path. Giving him more to practice was just packing more weight onto an overburdened mule.

  On top of that, she'd never trusted fire artists. They never met a problem without trying to burn their way out, which struck her as...crude, if that was the word. Simple. A sword was precise and controlled, but fire just burned everything.

  There was another side, though: the Blackflame family had been richer than a nest of dragons. Wouldn't surprise her if they'd left something shiny behind.

  They arrived at the base of the black mountain, where a circular hole in the rock was blocked by a copper door and a reddish haze. Golden sand blew against the stone, whipping against her exposed skin.

  “Welcome to Underground Chamber Number Three,” Eithan said. He gestured to the two attendants in Arelius family uniforms, who quickly began opening the door and undoing the script.

  “Hang on there,” Yerin said. “This is where Lindon went.”

  “He’s been acclimating to the aura in one of the side chambers, though he should be finished by now. We have to go…deeper.”

  He wasn't kidding. They walked for an hour, through baking hot tunnels filled with smothering aura, lit only by the occasional red spot smoldering like a bloody ember. Even just sensing the aura would have made her sweat; being down here was like wading through hot mud. Hot mud filled with needles—her skin prickled in the presence of all this destructive aura.

  After the hour, their narrow tunnel began angling upwards. “Let's pick up the pace, shall we?” Eithan suggested, and vanished.

  Yerin almost stumbled over her own legs in her haste to follow. She poured madra into her Enforcer technique, hurling herself through the dim tunnel, and twice she nearly cracked her skull like an egg on an outcropping.

  After a second hour of that, she finally emerged into blinding sunlight. It was enough to stop her like a slap to the face, wincing as her eyes adjusted.

  While she was panting and sweating—as much from the oppressive heat as from exertion—Eithan stood cool as a statue in midwinter, leaning against the side of the cave.

  “I'm sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, and at first Yerin thought he was talking to her.

  “Not at all, not at all,” Lindon said, and for the first time she noticed he was there, looming head and shoulders over her. He had his bulky brown pack on, both straps, and a black iron medallion showing a hammer.

  He stood straight as a spear, staring intently at Eithan.

  When she first met him, that stare was rare. Only when he was really interested. But ever since Eithan locked him in the Transcendent Ruins, his eyes had gotten sharper and sharper, like he thought he might miss the one key detail that would lead him to defeat Jai Long.

  He gave a shallow bow. “It took me all morning to climb up, and I was glad for the rest.”

  Yerin swiped at her forehead with a sleeve and tried to slow her breathing. Losing a race to an Underlord was one thing, but she hated to look like she had lost her breath from a little run.

  Now that Yerin's eyes had adjusted to the surroundings, she took a look around. They were tucked away in a sort of cleft in the black mountain, open to the sky, but dark rock rose like spires all around them. This miniature valley seemed to stretch for miles, though she couldn't see far over the uneven ground.

  Most of it looked blasted and blighted, as though a lightning storm had scrubbed it raw, and the few plants she could see seemed like they’d been dug out of the Blackflame caverns. The grass was black, stringy and tough, and the flowers had dark petals covering dim spots of smoldering red. The bushes were scraggly with glowing red at the edges, as though they had been half-burned and were ready to burst back into flames at any moment.

  When she switched to her spiritual sight to glance at the vital aura, the Blackflame power was so thick it choked out everything else. She could barely get a glimpse of life or wind through the overwhelming miasma of black destruction and red heat.

  At the other end of the valley stood a free-standing red doorway, just a couple of painted logs with a tiled archway over the top. It was wide enough to admit a team of horses, and dragons of black paint coiled up each support.

  Through the doorway, the land was choked with stone columns, so thick they looked like a dense forest. She extended her perception to see if she could sense where the columns ended, but her sense was stopped at the doorway. By some kind of script, she guessed.

  “Are there two courses out here?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Just the one,” Eithan responded. “It's divided into three separate Trials: one for the signature Enforcer technique of the Blackflames, one for their Striker technique, and one for Rulers. Blackflame madra is hard enough to Forge that they never developed an official Forger technique.” He cleared his throat. “But yes, to answer the question on both of your minds, you will be taking it together.”

  She gestured to the red-and-black gate. “We're intended to walk in there together, then?”

  Eithan gathered them up with one hand on Lindon's shoulder and one on hers, ushering them closer to the gateway. “These are the ancient Trial grounds for the first generation of Blackflame sacred artists. For centuries, this was how they passed their Path down to their descendants, preserving their legacy.

  “Once you enter, the script will seal behind you, and you won't be able to leave until you complete the three Trials.” Eithan considered a moment. “Or until you admit defeat, but where's the fun in that? You will find food, water, and shelter here, outside the entrance, and once you’ve defeated a Trial you can retreat freely. No need to take the same test twice, is there?”

  Lindon turned his gaze to the west, and Yerin followed it. In a deep crag, she caught sight of a narrow waterfall. Something scuttled behind it.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how long will we be living out here?”

  “These Trials have been known to take months, or even as long as two years in some cases.” He
gave Lindon's shoulder a squeeze. “I trust you won't spend quite so long. And when you emerge, you'll be considered a Blackflame sacred artist in truth.”

  There was Lindon’s goal, all nice and bright and clear, but what about hers? She wasn’t likely to dig anything of value out of a course that an Iron could run.

  “If you’re looking to teach me another Path, I’m happy with the one I’ve got,” she said, words dry. “Lindon can run this maze on his own.”

  Eithan turned to Lindon. “Orthos was supposed to deliver a package to you.”

  Lindon hurriedly reached into his pack and pulled out a leather-wrapped bundle, which Eithan took from him. He unrolled it on the ground before Yerin.

  Half a dozen fine swords had been strapped to the leather. From the way the aura played over them, they must be sharp as razors—even the Blackflame aura tickling the edges had started to gleam silver.

  They were perhaps too sharp to use as weapons, but to gather sword aura? Perfect. “That’s a sweet enough gift, but I’m still not seeing why I should stay here. Could just carry these down the mountain.”

  He waved a hand. “I tried my best, but predicting people's actions is harder than I make it look. Now, you may be wondering what kind of training ground is designed to work for both a Jade and a Lowgold.”

  Surprised, Yerin's eyes flicked back to Lindon, and she opened her spiritual senses at the same time. Sure enough, he felt like a Jade: his spirit had a weight to it, a gravity, that no Iron could fake. He could actually sense what he was doing now, where before he'd been working blind. On top of that, his core was packed with burning, dangerous madra. More than he could have possibly harvested from aura in just a handful of days.

  Elixirs. Eithan must have stuffed him full of the good stuff.

  He saw her notice, and a little bit of a proud smile touched his lips. Well, he was right to be proud—wasn't long since he'd been happy enough to reach Copper.

  Her chest tightened. She was glad for him, but…her unwelcome guest was tickling the back of her spirit. If she didn’t advance soon, she wouldn’t keep ahead of it.

  And here Lindon was, hopping from Copper to Jade in three months like nothing. Sure, breaking from Lowgold to Highgold was like smashing through a thick stone wall compared to the rickety wooden gate blocking Iron from Jade, but even so. Why was she the one standing still?

  “That's call for cheers and celebration!” Yerin said, forcing a smile. His shoulders straightened, and he brightened until you'd have thought she'd given him a crown.

  Eithan beamed along. “Yes, one step closer to survival! Hooray!”

  Lindon’s smile withered.

  “Now then,” Eithan continued. “The Blackflames had attendants and even family members on many different Paths, but they all trained together. This course was meant to be passed as a team. I have no doubt that you'll both learn many—”

  A dark blue Thousand-Mile Cloud passed over the cliff towering over them, moving with a speed that left it a blur in the air.

  Eithan sighed. “If I had my way, everything would go according to plan, and no one would ever surprise me.” That sounded like a pretty rotten future to Yerin.

  Cassias knelt on the surface of the blue cloud as it came to rest on the earth, with his right hand pressed against the cloud and his left resting on his sword. The silver bracer on his arm gleamed in the sun, and his curly hair reflected gold.

  He faced his Underlord with determination. “Do the branch heads know you’ve opened this course, Eithan? Does the Naru clan? I thought we’d agreed—”

  “Obviously I did not agree,” Eithan said, steepling his fingers together. “Now, I’d like you to leave before you ruin any of the surprises for our new recruits here.”

  Lindon was focused like an arrow again, but Yerin was the one to speak. “Let’s hear some more about those surprises.”

  Cassias turned to her, but then Eithan’s power flared. He appeared in front of Cassias in a flap of his blue robe, his hand clapped over the other man’s mouth.

  “That would be cheating, wouldn’t it?” he said, shaking his head at Yerin.

  Cassias’ eyes went flat, and something dangerous stirred in his spirit. He reached for his sword, straining to get enough leverage to draw on Eithan.

  It was the first time Yerin had seen a real scrap of steel in him. That was the attitude a sword artist should have: if spirits stand in your way, cut them down. If an Underlord stands in your way, well, you do your best to cut him too. Her master would have approved.

  Suddenly, Cassias’ body shook. All strength leaked from him, and he went limp, sagging to the ground.

  Eithan pulled a cloth from his pocket, wiping the hand he’d held against Cassias’ mouth. “Now then—”

  “Whoa, let’s back up a step or two,” Yerin said. “He had a message for us. You just want to sweep that away?”

  “As I’ve said before, I’m very good with a broom.” He overrode Yerin’s objections by raising his voice and simply talking over her. “As I was saying, I have no doubt that you’ll both benefit in many ways from this experience. You should acclimate yourself to your new home before attempting the course.” He gestured to the wall next to the waterfall, where there were a handful of room-sized holes in the stone wall.

  “You can leave whenever you’d like, but if you leave the way you came in, I’ll take that as an admission of defeat.”

  Eithan turned to meet both of their gazes as he said that. Yerin didn’t know what Lindon was thinking, but she wouldn’t be backing out. Even leaving them a way to escape was soft work, by her thinking. The Sage of the Endless Sword would have backed her into a corner and made her fight her way out.

  “Very good, then!” He waved them over. “Away you go! And you’ll be spending quite a bit of time in there together, but do keep your hands off one another. I need you focused, not distracted. I will be watching to ensure your…compliance.”

  Yerin couldn’t look at Lindon after that, but she glared at Eithan. “Sacred artists are disciplined. If I got distracted, I’d have been dead and buried years ago.”

  “You’re…sixteen years old, I’d say, give or take a year.” He pointed to his own eyes, and then to them. “I’m always watching. Now, in!”

  Lindon bowed to the Underlord. “I’m grateful for the opportunity. In the interest of training as quickly as possible, did you happen to bring any pills? Elixirs?”

  Eithan grimaced. “We’ll be light on elixirs for the next few months, I’m afraid, but I’ll come deliver you whatever we can spare. The Jai clan seized our last refinery in Serpent’s Grave.”

  Yerin wasn’t about to let that pass. “Hope you don’t forget me, once you’ve got something to spare.”

  “As I believe I mentioned before, I have something special in stock for you. You’ll simply have to wait and see.”

  On the ground, Cassias stirred, his glassy eyes taking on a spark of awareness. He mumbled something through thick lips, trying to speak.

  While Lindon and Yerin were both distracted by the fallen man, Eithan vanished again. Yerin jerked her eyes up, sweeping her spiritual sense out to catch the Underlord, but he was gone.

  Eithan and Cassias had both vanished.

  Lindon hitched his pack up onto his shoulders. “Does it worry you that he just left before explaining how this course works?”

  “Not a special worry, no,” Yerin responded. She’d have been pleased with a few straight answers, but she was used to working without them. Her master treated explanations like they were made of wintersteel and crusted with diamonds.

  “You get pushed into more than a few impossible challenges, and you start getting used to it,” she said. “What itches at me is that he’s keeping secrets.”

  Lindon rubbed the back of his neck. “He can’t tell us everything, though, can he?”

  She checked the leather-wrapped roll of swords under her arm and marched over to check out one of the caves. No sense wasting time. “When my maste
r told me to do something cracked in the head, I marched in step because I knew he could be trusted. Eithan, though? I don’t even know what he wants us for. Won’t be much help in cleaning up the city, will we?”

  Lindon followed her to the caves, frowning as he pondered. He looked so grim and serious when he was thinking.

  The five caves were dug into the back of a little alcove in the shadow of the black cliff. Nearby, the waterfall streamed down into a crystalline pool, and a cluster of scraggly black bushes held berries nearby.

  “I’ll take what I can get,” Lindon said at last. “If he’s willing to sponsor me on my Path, the rewards are worth the risk. I just have to hope he’s not looking for anything too terrible.”

  “I’ve never liked betting on hope,” she muttered, but that wasn’t entirely true. When you got swept up in the nets of someone powerful, you didn’t have much left to your name but hope.

  Hope that they were looking out for you, and not just using you as grain in a mill.

  ***

  Cassias’ body had deserted him, and by the time he could move again, Eithan had snatched him away from Lindon and Yerin. They were deep in the caverns now, and Eithan wouldn’t let him crawl back.

  But his bloodline powers were still working. He’d heard everything.

  Eithan still stood there in his fine outer robe, hands tucked behind his back, smiling in self-satisfaction as he waited for Cassias to stir. It was black as tar in the tunnel, but he could still see well enough through his detection web. The Underlord, he was sure, could see perfectly.

  “How did they offend you, for you to make them suffer so?” Cassias asked, his voice weak.

  Eithan raised one eyebrow. “Offended me? Quite the opposite; they have impressed me again and again. I might actually have placed a winning bet this time.”

  Cassias had heard Eithan talk about a bet before—one that had gone wrong. Which had resulted in the destruction of the Arelius family main branch, over six years ago.

  “They won’t win anything in there,” Cassias said, struggling to his feet. “I can’t say why you directed Lindon to this Path at all, but there are safer ways to teach him.”