by Will Wight
An instant later, the effects kicked in.
His thoughts sharpened. The mental haze of exhaustion was swept away. The world around him was clear, like his eyes had been cleaned out, and he took a breath of air like it was his first.
Little Blue scurried up his back and onto his head, leaning over to give him a pat on the forehead.
“I told you,” the construct said. “Invigorating power to keep those motivated movers moving and those tired thinkers thinking. That was one of the mottos I was working on for the Dream Well, what do you think?”
“It's like a full night's sleep in a bottle,” Lindon said, staring into the empty vial.
“Oh, that’s a good motto for the well. I’ll use that. The water also helps you focus when you're distracted, approach complex problems with new inspiration, or you can freeze it into little bits of ice and use it to make an ordinary drink glow purple.”
Lindon filled the vial.
“Now, it is incredibly valuable. I'll have to check and see if you have authorization to take a second...oh, you're drinking it. You're already drinking it.”
The second draught didn't seem to have much effect. It was mostly like taking a refreshing drink of ordinary water.
“I didn't get much from that. How long before it will have the same effect again?”
“However long it takes a human to get tired, I guess. When you're already focused and alert, I'm not sure what else it could possibly do for you. That's a thousand high-grade scales per dose, by the way. In case you were wondering.”
There was a whole shelf of similar vials, and Lindon was already filling them. When he looked at the purple rivulets on the floor, it physically pained him to imagine how much of this precious elixir had been wasted down drainage grates over the years.
“Has no one else been down here?” He couldn't imagine that other sacred artists would leave a treasure like this alone.
“I'm not sure, to be honest. No one's been in here since I've woken up, but it's not as though I could see much from inside the well.”
Lindon stoppered a vial and grabbed the rusty ball. “You’re a memory construct, aren’t you?”
“You’re carrying me. What’s happening? This is a rush! But maybe slow it down.”
Lindon took him to a shelf where a half-crushed wooden box waited. “Do you know what sort of construct this was?”
“It stored visual records from the rest of the facility. Most of these did, actually.”
Lindon extended his spiritual perception through the box. It felt like Dross, so this should work. “Do you think you could read these fragments?” When he’d inspected the room before, none of the constructs had been intact enough for him to use. Maybe Dross could get something out of them.
“I’m not, ah…well, you’re putting me on the spot, aren’t you? I could give it a try, but I don’t perform well under pressure.”
There was one intact circle on the remaining half of the wood, and Lindon scratched it with his thumb. Instantly, a ribbon of half-formed images drifted up through the box in a cloud, dissipating into the air.
“Wait, we’re starting? Put me over it, quick! Quick!”
When Lindon held Dross over the smoke-like memories, the construct made a gasping sound. Instead of blowing apart, the images drifted into the cracks in the construct shell.
Lindon pressed his eye against one of the cracks, fascinated. As the images soaked into the purple light that made up Dross, they merged into him. New lines formed in the purple cloud, and new lights sparkled inside the construct.
“Mmmmmm ah, that goes down smooth.”
“Does it feel like you’re eating it?” Many constructs of similar function could merge with one another, but it had never occurred to him to wonder what it might feel like for the construct.
“Didn't have too many memories left in that one, actually, so there was nothing too special about it. It's like when humans share blood.”
“Humans don't share blood.”
“They should. Anyway, I now have access to some facility history records. After Ghostwater was sealed away, some Heralds came and looted the place. They had a few sips from the well, but it didn't matter to them. They're Heralds, aren't they? Probably don't ever sleep anyway. Oh, I see it now! One of them is picking me up! Hello, me!”
He was silent for a moment, then added, “Well, that's a bit disappointing, isn't it? He tossed me into the well. Ouch. Rejection. Never feels good. I wasn't me back then, but even so: painful.”
“When did you wake up?”
“Take me over to the one that looks like a...shelled pinching beast.” Lindon carried Dross over to the crab-shaped construct he'd set aside before, and once again Dross inhaled the remainder of the construct.
Again, Lindon watched Dross' internal mechanisms grow more complex as he breathed in the dream madra.
His mother would have given five years of her life to see this.
“...fifty-six years,” Dross said quietly. “That's how long I've been stuck in that well alone. Wow. Best I can tell, I've only been myself for the last five or so. That's the oldest memory I have.”
Lindon looked over the shelves upon shelves of other memory constructs. “These all have information about Ghostwater?”
“Sure they did, once. This habitat was the headquarters of a project meant to design and improve memory constructs to accomplish the grand work. Never succeeded. Turns out, when they put a memory construct into your head, you just end up with a better memory.”
“I'm going to want to hear more about the 'grand work,' Lindon said, staring up at the shelves. “But first, do you have room for more?”
“I think I could grow to like you,” Dross said. “You know, eventually.”
Half an hour later, as they hiked back up the hallway toward Orthos, Dross sighed. “Well, that was disappointing.”
Lindon carried a full rack of twenty-four filled vials in one hand, and a bucket half-full of glowing purple water in the other. He'd found the bucket in one of the abandoned maintenance closets, and the handle was even scripted so that he could carry it in his Remnant hand without having to focus madra to the fingers.
“I mean, I knew I could hold more information, but I have staggered even myself. I feel like I could swallow another whole room full of information. Did you know that a thunder eagle was a bird? Birds fly through the air, not through the water, I don't know if you were aware. This is a fascinating area of study. Why don't you fly?”
Dross' rusted metal ball was tucked into the waist of his robes, while Little Blue sat on his shell. She kept peering down through the cracks, staring at Dross' construct form, though he didn't seem to enjoy it.
“Oh, she's...she's looking in here again. That's embarrassing. Could you...I mean, if you don't mind, could you please stick to yourself? Yes, thank you. No privacy here, I tell you.”
“You were telling me about the grand work,” Lindon prompted, as the ground started to slope upwards.
“The grand work is the whole purpose of Ghostwater, isn't it? Northstrider built this whole pocket world to find a way to enhance his mind. You know, sharpen it up. He had all the power he could handle, so he figured the way forward was to improve his use of that power. Fight smarter, not harder, as they say. There were three branches of research down here. This was where the Soulsmiths tried to develop an advanced memory construct that could take over some of his mental processes. Total failure. Their memory constructs never grew to be anything more.”
“That room was still full of constructs,” Lindon said. He could only imagine what treasures had filled this place before; if only this facility hadn't been looted, it might have been packed to the brim with Soulsmith research materials.
“Yes, well, after the first few Heralds left, they took everything valuable with them. All the advanced memory constructs, as well as the tools and techniques for making them. After that, they decided that this pocket world was still a good place to train their disciples,
so every ten years they send some Truegolds in here for training. I learned all this from those security constructs, by the way. They saw more than I would have believed. And while I was stuck in a well! The world is unfair.”
When he reached Orthos, Lindon knelt and placed everything on the ground next to the wooden chest. Reaching behind him, he pulled out the Eye of the Deep, which was still slowly leaking essence from the crack in the gem.
“Aaaaahhh,” Dross said, “now that's a vessel. Pretty to look at, and only one crack! Luxury. Hey you! You in there! Do you even know what a life you have?”
The Eye, of course, didn't respond.
“This is the key to Ghostwater, but it’s losing cohesion. If you will agree, I could link you to this construct. It should help repair damage to the Eye, give you a better vessel, and expand your capabilities.” Lindon hefted the gem in his hand. “Personally, I’d love to see what a self-aware construct could do with greater powers.”
Dross made a thoughtful humming sound. “That's a taller hurdle than just drinking in more information, you know. I'd need to be bound to the gem just like the original construct. Once I am, though, I don't see why I couldn't show you around. Give you the tour. I'd love to see the whole place myself, to be honest. But you'd need to find a Soulsmith to perform the operation.”
Lindon reached into his wooden chest and pulled out the tightly packed bundle of leather. He untied it, unrolling it on the ground. Soulsmith tools hung in pouches and from loops.
“I am a Soulsmith,” he said.
Apprentice, he added, but only in his head.
“Oh, are you? Brilliant, then! Let's do this!”
Chapter 6
The gates at the front of the black fortress swished open, trailing through sand. Yerin pushed herself to her feet, her empty core making her dizzy.
Bai Rou stomped up to them in his heavy armor. He stayed far enough away that Yerin couldn't reach him. Not that he needed to. She had less fight left in her than a caged rabbit.
Didn't stop her surge of hate and anger at the sight of him. If he hadn't held her back, she wouldn't be out here right now.
Mercy brushed sand from her hair and robes, moving toward the gates. She tripped in the sand, stumbling a few steps forward to the entrance.
An old, balding man in a pressed purple uniform scurried out. When he saw Mercy, he slowed, bowing to her with every step.
“My apologies, Mistress, my apologies.”
Mercy brightened, hurrying up to him. “Old Man Lo! Do you remember me?”
Old Man Lo cringed, dropping to his knees and pressing his forehead to the beach. “I cannot apologize humbly enough, but I am forbidden from answering any of your questions. I can’t be sure what answers might be considered...aiding you.”
The cheer on Mercy's face faded. She looked down. “Oh, that's...that's all right. Don't worry.”
Lo looked like he was about to cry as he stood up. With trembling hands, he brushed himself off, eyes locked on Mercy.
But after a few deep breaths, he'd composed himself and turned to the rest of them. He dismissed Yerin with an up-and-down glance, looking to Bai Rou. “You and your attendant will answer to my mistress. Come.”
Yerin jerked her head to Mercy. “Her?”
Lo acted as though she had not spoken, turning back to the still-open gates.
“Not me,” Mercy said sadly. “We should go in.”
She started walking, but Lo froze. “Ah...please, Mistress, forgive me. Exercise the quality for which your divine mother named you, and have mercy upon me.” He was still facing away from her, which Yerin thought might be considered rude, but he was also trembling. Maybe he was too scared to see her reaction.
“I cannot allow you inside,” he continued. “Giving you shelter, you see.”
Mercy's face contorted for a moment. “I can't even visit?”
“The divine command was...difficult to interpret. We cannot give you assistance, but how could my mere judgment be enough to decide what she would consider assistance? Please spare me and wait out here.”
Mercy slumped, bracing herself with her staff.
Yerin was starting to see a bigger piece of the picture. Mercy's mother, the Monarch who had fought with the Dreadgod, had kicked her out. Without the help of her family.
Seemed cruel. She'd have expected a Monarch to kill a rebellious daughter straight and true, which would be the end of it.
Bai Rou still had not moved, but finally he spoke. “Do you speak for the Akura family?”
Old Man Lo turned to give him a withering stare that plainly said he thought the Skysworn didn't have the brains to rub two sticks together. “The mistress of this castle is Akura Charity, Sage of the Silver Heart. She speaks for the Akura family, your empire of children, and humanity itself. Your hesitation in following her commands will be noted.”
Bai Rou fell to one knee. “I apologize and hurry to obey,” he rumbled.
Lo continued through the gate without a response, but as he did, a gold light grew like a second sunrise. Yerin had already drawn her sword at the feeling of a flame passing overhead, though exhausted as she was, there was little she could do.
The giant golden Thousand-Mile Cloud blocked out the sun, but glowed brightly enough that they didn't see much of a difference. A woman's voice billowed out from its surface.
“We all have questions for the intruders,” the voice said. “Show some respect for our master and let us ask questions together.”
Old Man Lo was so short she could see the top of his balding head, but he looked up at the cloud as though at a noisy bird bothering his meal. He spoke in a normal voice, so he was putting a lot of trust in the other person's ears. “My mistress will disclose all answers after the questioning, as she sees fit.”
He continued walking and Bai Rou followed him.
“You give no consideration for the King of the Sands?” The woman sounded angry now.
“Be content with your scraps, dragon,” Old Man Lo snapped, spitting the last word. “You can thank your grandfather that my mistress hasn't torn you from the sky already.”
There was a series of roars from the cloud that were even louder than the woman’s voice, and she spoke through a mouthful of anger. “I will remember this.”
Lo snorted and released the veil around his spirit. For an instant, an overwhelming pressure pushed down on the spirits of all around him before he veiled himself again.
Yerin caught her breath when the pressure vanished. He was an Overlord.
The dragons clearly felt the same as she did, because the Thousand-Mile Cloud vanished more quickly than it had arrived.
Old Man Lo brushed his sleeves out and led the way into the fortress at last.
It was like the whole place was designed to give strangers a case of the shivers. The only light came from dancing blue flames caged on the walls, and the hallway leading in from the gate was drowning in shadows. Spikes hung from the ceiling, and in the darkness, it was hard to tell how far overhead they were.
She tried to extend her perception, but she might as well not have bothered. Darkness covered the halls, blinding more than just her eyes.
They wound around the fortress until Yerin lost track of the way they'd come, which she imagined was the point. After a winding journey, Lo pressed his hand to a heavy metal door that barred their way. It dispersed to fog, and he strode through.
Bai Rou and Yerin followed, staying as far away from each other as the width of the room let them. The fog carried a chill with it, and Yerin shivered.
When they were through, the door reappeared, solid as ever.
The room inside was lit by globes of frosted glass all over the walls, floor, and the ceiling many yards overhead. They cast everything in shades of gray, but it was clear that they weren't meant to be helpful to visitors.
The lights were there to show off the statues.
Stone statues the size of buildings towered over them, lined up in rows on the sides of the
room. The one closest to Yerin was an ape with feet braced on the ground and arms held wide, mouth open in a vicious roar. She could have used its toe as a table.
The statue across from it showed a figure in full armor, sword in one hand and shield in the other. The sword was pitted, the shield cracked, the armor dented, and the figure's knees were bent in the process of rising. But still it raised its weapons to meet the ape.
It was a theme among all the statues in the room. Along one wall, giant sacred beasts leaping to battle. Along the other, battered human figures met them.
There were nine figures in the room. Eight complete statues and one block of stone in the sacred beast row. It stood opposite an empty pedestal.
A woman sat in front of the stone, her hair tied up and gathered in a rag, her sacred artist's robes covered in a smock. She held a chisel in one hand, sitting in a cycling position, eyes closed.
Yerin couldn't feel the force of her power, but she could see the aura around her. All the vital aura stilled like a held breath. The Sage's spiritual perception overwhelmed the block of stone, submerging it and buffeting it like the ocean's waves.
Lo held up a hand. “You will wait,” he said quietly. “You will die on your feet, patiently waiting, if she requires it.”
“I don't require it,” said the Sage of Silver Heart, slowly coming out of her trance.
Her eyes were a deeper purple than Mercy's, and they carried a depth and an insight that reminded Yerin of her master.
But her master had looked like a man in his thirties. This woman looked like she might not be twenty yet.
She rose, gesturing to the block of stone. “What do you think this should be?”
“We would not dare to guess,” Old Man Lo said.
Bai Rou dipped his head down, silent.
“A dragon,” Yerin responded. “It’s the one you’d expect.”
Akura Charity nodded, as though she had expected as much. “Would that not be too obvious?”