Blackflame (Cradle Book 3)

by Will Wight

The dragon advances. That was what the Enforcer tablet had said, and those seemed like the words of the Blackflame madra itself. It wanted to advance like a furious dragon, tearing apart everything before it.

  If only he could.

  The parasite ring weighed down his spirit. He knew that in the long run it would help his training, but every day he almost threw it into the pool.

  The Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel made his breath so heavy and long that it burned his lungs, every cycle of madra so torturously slow that his spirit ached like muscles cramped and trapped. Whenever he caught a normal breath, free of the technique, he almost sobbed with relief.

  His own Blackflame madra ate away at his madra channels, leaving black residue like soot in his spirit. If he didn’t cleanse it, he’d be leaving injuries and blockages in his soul, harming his future development. After using Blackflame too much, he had to spend several hours cycling pure madra to clean out his madra channels. It was hard to sit there all afternoon, cleaning his spirit, and not feel like he was wasting time.

  Real Blackflames probably had a method to deal with that problem, but he had no one to ask. Orthos had kept his distance, circling through the mountain but never intruding on their Trial grounds. Sometimes Lindon felt him in the distance, his spirit burning with madness, and other times he was calm as a dying fire. In both states, he stayed away.

  The Sylvan Riverseed’s appetite had increased since her transformation. She begged him for pure madra even when he was exhausted and could barely push his spirit through a single cycle.

  The Burning Cloak had cost him weeks of training before he could use it naturally. The explosive bursts of strength and speed it provided meant he had to learn to do everything over again: run without hurling himself into a tree, throw a punch without breaking his own elbow, cut food without slicing off his own fingers. Yerin had even set him up with a juggling routine until he could keep three stones in the air without losing the Burning Cloak, dropping a stone, or hurling one of the pebbles out of the valley. Every day they spent perfecting his precision felt like a day lost; a day when he could have been challenging the Trial.

  Even his body betrayed him, leeching his core every time he was wounded, draining him dry and leaving him limp and powerless on the ground. The Bloodforged Iron body was the only reason they could challenge the course as often as they did, but it also crippled him after every failure.

  Over it all, Jai Long loomed like a specter. This Trial was supposed to be the first step to defeating him, but Lindon had tripped and fallen at the first stair.

  …though as painful as each day was, as miserable as he felt in those nights when he wept alone in his damp cave, he couldn’t deny the results.

  After months of work, his Burning Cloak covered him in a thick blaze of red and black. He could keep it active for twenty minutes, so long as nothing cut him and activated his Iron body, and he could drive his fist straight through a Forged soldier.

  His cores felt like a pair of lakes now, where they’d once been buckets. They didn’t look any larger than before, but they felt deeper, like the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel had drilled down to profound depths. He spent more madra in a single Trial attempt now than his entire spirit could have contained only months before.

  The improvement kept him going, got him out of his cave in the morning, kept him from abandoning his breathing technique as a trap, made him pick up the Trial’s activation crystal again and again even though he’d sooner embrace a venomous snake.

  Continuing meant taking another step forward. Giving up meant accepting death at Jai Long’s spear.

  Between them, he and Yerin were now destroying fifteen or sixteen soldiers every run, getting closer and closer to the end of the Trial.

  But they never made it.

  He’d tried every answer he could think of: hurling the crystal, digging to break the script, building a simple construct out of half-formed soldier parts, running straight through the columns without stopping, altering the script that ran the Trial. Nothing worked. It seemed the Soulsmiths who built this course had thought of everything.

  Time blurred and faded away. Only the endless cycle of day and night mattered, because the Trial only worked during the day.

  He stopped hearing the gong. When the soldiers caught him or his Burning Cloak flagged, he simply walked away.

  ***

  It had been four months since Eithan had first opened the temple at the top of the mountain, and Cassias had grown used to his duties.

  Since Yerin and Lindon usually needed two or three days of rest between attempts, he could bring his work with him. He’d moved a table up to this peak, writing letters and reading reports while keeping half of his detection web on the children. After sixteen weeks, this hidden temple looked more like an office than his actual office did.

  Cassias spent most of his time alone with paperwork or his own training. He found he enjoyed it; letting Eithan handle the bulk of Arelius affairs suited him. He’d needed a break.

  In contrast, the children were having the most stressful experience of their lives.

  He sipped tea as he watched the children cycle in the morning, through the scripted window. He no longer expected they would give up—if they hadn’t done so by this point, they likely never would. They would die in an accident during the Trials before they surrendered.

  Cassias had given himself over to that prospect with weary acceptance. In four months, you could grow used to almost anything.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he still hoped that today would be the day Eithan would grow tired of this project and pull him away. Almost half of the allotted time to Jai Long’s duel had passed, and even a blind Copper could see that Lindon wasn’t ready.

  Certainly, he’d improved during his time in the Trials. Cassias almost couldn’t believe a Jade could improve so fast. Yerin was straining against the limits of Lowgold, perfecting both her skill and her advancement, but Lindon was reaching the point where he could almost—for a brief breath or two, with the Burning Cloak active—match her in a fight.

  That itself was a feat worthy of pride, but he was far from defeating Jai Long. In fact, if Yerin could finally break through that last barrier to Highgold, Cassias would suggest that Eithan pit her against the Jai exile instead. She would still be a stage behind him in advancement, but Cassias wasn’t sure that would matter.

  He could recognize a prodigy when he saw one.

  Still, neither of them had received any instruction in the last months, besides whatever was written on that tablet the Blackflames had left behind.

  Cassias wasn’t sure exactly what date Eithan had in mind for the duel, but Lindon had at most seven months remaining. Even with a teacher, Cassias couldn’t imagine a favorable outcome for them.

  Without one, Lindon would certainly die.

  Cassias gave a heavy sigh and sipped his tea. He would have to appeal to the branch heads, get them to rein in Eithan’s…enthusiasm about this duel. But he doubted they would go against the Underlord for the sake of a Jade. Cassias himself would have thought the same, if he hadn’t spent so much time in the last half a year watching the children struggle. Now, he couldn’t help but wish them success. No matter how unlikely it was.

  When Yerin and Lindon had finished their morning meal and cycling session, Cassias set down his tea and prepared himself. They would be challenging the Trial now.

  But instead of dragging himself through the archway, as he usually did on Trial days, Lindon went back into his cave like he’d forgotten something.

  A few breaths later, he dashed back out, seizing Yerin by the arm and dragging her inside.

  Cassias extended his awareness, reaching in to watch the cave.

  ***

  Lindon pulled Yerin inside and gestured to the Sylvan Riverseed, who scampered around the cave, curiously examining his bedroll and the occasional rock.

  “Did she break out?” Yerin asked uncertainly.

  “No, she’s�
��it’s…watch my soul!” Lindon wouldn’t have understood what happened if he hadn’t seen it for himself. Instead of explaining, he called Blackflame into his channels.

  But instead of guiding it, he let it rampage through his spirit. The result was an uncomfortable spiritual pain, like a red-hot iron pressed against his stomach while a bird screeched next to his ear.

  It was only a little madra, and it burned out quickly, but he hadn’t controlled it at all. His madra channels felt scorched at several points, and a black substance had built up like rubble in a tunnel. This was the effect of Blackflame corrosion, and the reason why he had to cleanse his spirit with pure madra every day.

  When the madra was controlled, the blockage wouldn’t build up so quickly. But if he slipped, it would happen in seconds.

  Yerin glared at him and snatched her arm out of his grip. “Are you cracked? Now I have to burn my time away while you sit there and cycle your spirit clean.”

  Lindon reached his hand out to the Sylvan.

  Grinning like they were playing a game, the Riverseed darted up and slapped her palm against his. A blue presence dripped into his spirit, rolling through his madra channels.

  Wherever that deep blue light ran, the corrosion of Blackflame vanished. Even his madra channels felt refreshed, as though they’d never been scorched by out-of-control power.

  The spirit paled to the color of a summer sky, leaning against Lindon’s shin to stay balanced. With one hand, she pointed to her gaping mouth, and he fed her a fistful of pure scales that he’d prepared for that purpose.

  After using her power, she grew pallid and weary on her own, and then demanded even more scales. She would sap all the power in his pure core and then beg for more before she was back to her usual state.

  In seconds, Yerin went from irritated to speechless, which gave Lindon more than a little satisfaction. He had almost collapsed when the Sylvan had reached up and grabbed his fingertip while he fed her, scrubbing his spirit clean.

  Somehow, it felt better not to be the only one surprised.

  Yerin darted over to the Riverseed, scooping her up in her bare hands.

  The spirit squirmed out of her grip, scuttling over to hide behind Lindon’s leg. She bared her teeth at Yerin in a threatening grimace.

  Yerin’s face fell. “She doesn’t like me?”

  Lindon was as surprised as she was. The Sylvan had never interacted with anyone but him, as far as he’d seen, but she’d always seemed active and curious. Whenever she saw Yerin through the glass of her case, she had pointed and waved.

  He extended his perception to the Sylvan. A sacred artist would feel a scan as a light brush, but it usually seemed to comfort her. She was weaker after expending her power, but she had enough madra for a second attempt.

  “Go to Yerin,” he said, gesturing. “Go on. Do to her what you did to me.”

  The Riverseed shuffled a few steps forward, but turned over her shoulder to give Lindon a doubtful look.

  “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

  The Sylvan dragged herself over to Yerin, keeping her eyes on the stone floor. When Yerin stuck out a hand, the spirit slapped her finger once and then scampered back to Lindon, climbing up to sit on his shoulder. She had lightened some more, and she swayed as though dizzy.

  “It’s only been a few days since she would come out of her case,” he said apologetically. “Did it work?”

  “I feel like I should be more than a little hurt right now,” Yerin said, eyeing the Sylvan. “Worked, though, true and stable.”

  Yerin had built up a slight blockage in her own soul—one of the hazards of cycling within such an ocean of Blackflame aura. It was nothing compared to Lindon’s, but she took longer to get rid of it.

  Lindon patted the Sylvan on the head with a finger. He wouldn’t have to control his Blackflame madra so carefully during the Trial, and he could dive right back into another attempt without cycling pure madra to cleanse his channels.

  Originally, he hadn’t even had enough madra to support one attempt, much less two. But after months of cycling the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel, he had the madra for two, maybe three attempts if he stretched it. The major bottleneck now was how much time it took for his madra channels to recover after being strained and scorched by Blackflame.

  Which, now that they had the Sylvan Riverseed, was no time at all.

  “If we don’t get hurt too badly…” he began, but Yerin cut him off.

  “If I don’t hurt myself, that’s what you’re saying. It’s true. Long as I’m not cut too deep, I’ll be ready for a second try two breaths after the first one. If we don’t have to wait for you to coddle your spirit anymore, we can get some real work done.”

  She was grinning by the end, but Lindon braced himself. Two attempts in a row.

  Together, they walked through the archway.

  ***

  Cassias fixed most of his attention on Yerin. She slaughtered the formation’s soldier projections, tearing them apart with her white blade, her Goldsign, her mastery of the sword aura. Any soldier he empowered with his own madra was only destroyed faster; their weapon gathered sword aura more efficiently, so Yerin’s Endless Sword tore them up.

  Without the ability to empower the soldiers, he could only guide them. At the moment, his most efficient tactic was simply to throw projections at Yerin, hoping to bog her down.

  When Lindon barreled through the middle, diving through the forest of pillars, Cassias was caught off guard. But only for a moment.

  If he could bring down Yerin early today, he could take care of Lindon without much care. So he diverted two soldiers to slow Lindon down.

  Cassias was so consumed by his task that he forgot his original goal. He had grown up a genius of the Arelius family, its heir, and he had won virtually every competition he’d ever entered. Even giving up his position in the family to Eithan hadn’t felt like a loss so much as a trade.

  But he wasn’t used to losing. After four months, even the idea of letting the children win on purpose had entirely faded away.

  He needed to make them give up.

  ***

  The two soldiers pincered Lindon, each driving a silver-gleaming sword at him from a different direction. On a previous run, they had pierced through his hand, and it had taken his Bloodforged Iron body a week to restore the damage.

  But this time, Lindon wasn’t trying to reach the goal.

  Any formation like this one had to draw power from the local aura, which meant it took time to recharge. The more energy he could draw out of it this time, the weaker the Trial would be for their second attempt.

  Well, the weaker it should be. The theory was sound, but they’d never been able to challenge it twice in the same day before.

  He smashed the seal down on a soldier’s head, Burning Cloak flaring around him. The projection burst apart, leaving a Forged sword to dissolve on the ground.

  A sword pricked him over the shoulder blade, but with Blackflame madra roaring through him, he barely felt it. He turned with such speed that it wrenched something in his back, seizing that soldier’s face in his palm.

  Lindon hadn’t learned any Striker techniques on the Path of Black Flame yet, but he’d worked with the power enough over the last few months that he’d grasped a few basic tricks. He could kindle a black fire, though it was loose and uncontrolled, only spraying a few inches from his hand.

  In this case, that was enough. He gripped the soldier and sent Blackflame madra flooding into it.

  This was the most primitive Striker technique possible; it was more like an Empty Palm than a hurled fireball, but red-and-black power surged into the soldier, dissolving it, burning it to gray essence in seconds.

  Without hesitating, Lindon advanced. Between his Iron body and the Burning Cloak, his spirit was burning down quickly, and he had to make sure the course spent more energy than he did.

  ***

  Cassias couldn't project new enemies fast enough to deal with Yerin. Sh
e had given up any idea of moving forward, pouring everything she had into shredding her opponents. Even some of the stone pillars had been shattered, collapsing in a pile of boulders.

  There were some earth-aspect Ruler constructs built into the course that could rebuild those columns, but they would take even more of the course’s stored power. Even if Cassias provided madra of his own, rebuilding the battlefield wouldn’t be cheap.

  But the Trial had built up enough momentum. Yerin was on the defensive, Lindon was forced back, and they were surrounded by gray soldiers.

  Once again, it was his victory. They wouldn’t surrender the Trial after this, but they were one step closer.

  As Lindon dropped the activation crystal and held up his hands, Cassias leaned back in his chair. They’d given up especially quickly today, despite causing more damage to the course than average. Maybe they really were getting frustrated.

  He found himself a little disappointed. They had learned and grown as sacred artists over the last four months, and it really would be for the best if they quit and trained normally from now on…but part of him had been hoping they would succeed.

  Cassias sighed and triggered the course’s repair function. The stored energy would dip unusually low, but two days of drawing on the mountain’s powerful aura would restore it. Even if they tried again tomorrow, he would be able to funnel some of his own madra into the course to make up the difference.

  Once it was done, he slid the chair over to his desk and began his paperwork. He’d have the rest of the day to himself, and there were work orders to be filled.

  ***

  After about an hour of cycling, Yerin walked over to Lindon’s cave. He was sitting with legs crossed into a cycling position, breathing evenly. His little pet Sylvan sat on his head, mimicking his posture and playing with his hair.

  The spirit grimaced when she saw Yerin, giving her a suspicious look.

  That was more than a little unfair, in Yerin’s view. She’d never drawn swords on the spirit, nor even said a harsh word. Maybe Yerin should feed her, like a skittish dog.

  Lindon hadn’t reacted to Yerin’s presence yet, his breaths still steady and measured. In her spiritual perception, he gave off the warm impression of a cycling fire artist, with the added air of danger that came from Blackflame. His jade badge hung from a shimmering silk ribbon and rested against his chest.