Ghostwater (Cradle Book 5)

by Will Wight

  “Back to the basin!”

  Despite his frustration, Lindon obeyed. “What are we doing?”

  “That is called ghostwater!”

  Lindon saw the shimmering diamond-colored liquid and understood. This was the fourth well.

  “Will this help us beat Harmony?”

  “Eh, well...it will help you fight Harmony, I can guarantee that much.”

  Lindon stopped in front of the basin. Little Blue saw him and cheered like jangling coins, hopping back inside the void storage. Tapping his void key to close the door, Lindon looked down at the shimmering milk.

  “Northstrider's grand work failed because this collective mind he created had no initiative or creativity, you see. It did only what it was told. Not to brag, but as it turns out, all they had to do was let a memory construct soak in the Dream Well for fifty years.”

  Lindon ducked his entire head into the white water.

  “You could take this yourself, if you wanted,” Dross continued. “Your mind would be enhanced far beyond Harmony’s. But if you give it to me, we'll have finished Northstrider's project.”

  As the water rushed through his body, it started to gather at the base of his skull.

  Lindon seized it.

  As tempting as it would be to see what the ultimate product of Ghostwater could do for his advancement, Orthos could only last so long. A Monarch artifact would go a long way here.

  He guzzled down the ghostwater, cycling it all to Dross.

  Orthos crashed into the ground next to him, Burning Cloak dying. He struggled to rise to his feet, but failed. There were new cracks in his shell, smaller but leaking light.

  “I'm at my end,” he said, voice low.

  Lindon couldn't turn enough to see Harmony, but he could feel the Akura behind him, like the shadow of death. Edged darkness gathered, approaching him as the scythe approached the wheat.

  Dross was spinning in his core. The ghostwater started to draw him up, through Lindon's channels, until the spirit rested where his neck met his head.

  Lindon finished the last of the ghostwater, taking a deep breath. “What do I do?” he demanded.

  There was a brief, sharp pain in his spirit, like a pinprick on his neck that cut straight to the soul. And then Dross was part of him, seared into his madra channels like he'd been nailed there.

  Dross' voice echoed in Lindon's mind and soul.

  [One battle plan, coming up.]

  Information requested: combat solution against Akura Harmony.

  Beginning report…

  Now, you’re going to want to get right on this, because there’s a Striker technique about six inches from your spine that will split you like a fish.

  One thin edge of shadow, a line stretching from floor to ceiling, approaches Lindon’s back. As it streaks away from Harmony, it cuts a line in the floor.

  That armor of his is the bloodline legacy of the Akura family. That’s an advantage for us. He didn’t make it with his Path, so he doesn’t have full control of it. He’s not supposed to use the full armor until Underlord, anyway, so his movements will be wide.

  The violet crystal armor encasing Harmony feeds on his madra. Lindon can feel it in his spiritual perception; it’s draining Harmony’s spirit and most of his attention. His core is on the edge of empty, and he has to Enforce himself to even move.

  That axe is an Underlord weapon too. He can’t bring out its power. Silly, isn’t it? He thought of it as an emergency measure, but he would have been better off taking a weapon he could handle. It will still take your head off, though.

  The binding isn’t active. Now, with all this information flowing through him in one surge of images and emotions, Lindon can feel it. He’s shocked he didn’t notice it before.

  The weapon itself is still powerful, but Harmony can’t activate the binding.

  First, get rid of the Striker technique. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.

  Lindon turns, the technique in his white arm activating, and he sweeps the shadow-blade aside. His hand devours the madra, staining slightly dark.

  Distract him. Throw sand at him or something.

  The stolen madra vents into Harmony’s face, confusing his eyes and his perception at once. Unshaped, the madra forms a handful of black needles. The shadow and sword aspects fight one another, so they’re not deadly, but they are a distraction.

  Right, now block his blind strike.

  The red-edged axe swings at him, and Lindon reaches for the haft. He’s not fast enough. The axe cleaves through hand, arm, shoulder, blood spraying into the air. The pain fades quickly as the cold haze of death closes in.

  Er, sorry, I mean dodge it.

  Lindon ducks, and the swipe of the axe passes over his head. He is unharmed, and Harmony is off-balance.

  Disrupt his footing.

  He reaches for Harmony’s armored ankle, heaving with a Burning Cloak-empowered pull. It’s too soon for Harmony to steady himself, and he’s hauled from his feet.

  Take that weapon away.

  Harmony’s spirit surges as his attention shifts from the fight to keeping his armor from fading. His grip weakens.

  Lindon’s hand of flesh closes around the haft of the axe, and he wrenches it away.

  When he hits the ground, he’ll strike out, so be prepared for that.

  His back slams into the stone, and Harmony draws two diagonal lines in front of his chest. An X-shaped cross of shadow blades slashes upward at the place he last felt Lindon.

  But Lindon has already moved. The Burning Cloak carries him beyond so he stands over Harmony’s head.

  You can’t crack the armor, but you can make it too expensive to keep on.

  With both hands, Lindon lifts the axe over his head and plunges it down on the crystal breastplate.

  It strikes sparks without penetrating, but the burden of madra is too much for a Truegold. The armor bursts into essence, purple light retreating back into Harmony’s irises.

  Watch out for your allies.

  Arm-thick dragon’s breath roars from Orthos, and Lindon sidesteps. The madra consumes Harmony’s body.

  And that’s one dead enemy. It’s simple. It’s clean. And there’s only minimal chance for failure and a horrific death.

  Now, go out and do it.

  Report complete.

  Reality returned as though Lindon had moved five seconds back in time.

  He spun, slashing the Striker technique apart with his hand, absorbing its madra and immediately venting it into Harmony’s face. He ignited the Burning Cloak, ducking the blind slash of the axe and wrenching Harmony from his feet.

  He snatched the axe and dashed from Harmony’s feet to his head in one movement. The cross of shadow-blades passed through the space where he had been standing.

  Lindon plunged the axe down on the chest of Harmony’s armor, which burst instantly. Now he only had to stand aside and wait for Orthos’ breath to obliterate the Akura’s body.

  Instead, he kicked Harmony to the side.

  Blackflame carved a trough in the stone, but Harmony tumbled to one side, his Goldsign slicing the stone.

  Orthos tracked Harmony’s movement, turning the dragon’s breath to the side, moving the stream closer.

  Lindon stood in front of him, raising a hand. Orthos slammed his jaws shut, madra spilling from the sides of his mouth.

  Finally, Lindon relaxed. That had been a risk. He could deflect a certain amount of Blackflame madra, but it wasn’t as though he would walk away unharmed.

  “Kill him!” Orthos demanded. “What are you thinking?”

  Lindon’s Burning Cloak faded away, and Lindon tapped his pure core. His madra channels were sore and aching after the fight, and he’d used up quite a bit of his madra.

  He looked down into Harmony’s eyes, and he saw there only anger, humiliation, and exhaustion.

  “We’re leaving,” Lindon said at last. “As a gesture of goodwill to the Akura family, I would be happy to take you with us.”

&nbs
p; Without waiting for a reply, he walked over to the jade arch of the portal. Orthos followed him, speaking as low as he could. “If we bring him back, he will bring word to his family. The Akura family has more Underlords than you can imagine, and they do not suffer disgrace lightly.”

  “Will they see this as shame?” Lindon asked curiously. “I would think they would see it as mercy.

  He held out his left hand, conjuring Dross. The spirit rushed out of him, spinning into existence as a hovering purple head with one giant eye. Their connection did not weaken at all with distance.

  Dross drifted over to the scripted panel next to the portal. [Hm, yes, this will be tricky. It will require all of my skill and enhanced knowledge.]

  “Will it take long?” Lindon asked.

  The script lit up, and suddenly a portal rippled swirling blue and green in the center of the arch.

  [Honestly, that was much easier than I thought it would be.]

  Fractures spread immediately from the portal, crawling away from the frame at visible speed. Clearly, the world wouldn’t last much longer.

  Scuffling from behind told Lindon that Harmony was climbing to his feet. Dross’ mere existence helped him sort through sensory information much more clearly. It didn’t expand Lindon’s senses, like the powers of an Arelius might, but it helped him organize everything neatly with only a moment of focus.

  Yerin would be jealous.

  “The pride of the Akura does not bend,” Harmony said, his voice heated. “The next time we meet, I will be a Lord. And I will raze your home and burn your family, root and branch, until your name is used as a curse.”

  Lindon turned to see Harmony reaching into space, pulling out a lump of chalk that glittered blue.

  The Soul Cloak, which Lindon had already prepared, flared around him so that he shone in a cloud of smooth blue-and-white light.

  Harmony’s core was all but empty, and Lindon sensed nothing Enforcing his limbs. The Burning Cloak lent itself to sudden, violent bursts of movement, but that also meant it was difficult to control.

  The Soul Cloak, on the other hand, helped his body move almost before he thought of it. No sooner had he activated the technique than he stood before Harmony, clasping his wrist in one pale hand.

  “That seems a little extreme,” Lindon said, plucking the gatestone from his hand. He hurled it against the wall, where it burst into blue light and another mess of spatial cracks.

  The room was crawling with hairline fractures now, and they were getting faster and faster.

  Harmony lunged for him, swirling the last of his madra to Enforce himself.

  Lindon slammed an Empty Palm into his core.

  As the Akura dropped, Lindon walked back to the portal. “He has refused our offer of a way home, so we’ll leave him to make his own way back.”

  Dross drifted back into Lindon’s body, and his madra didn’t block the spirit any longer.

  Orthos glanced back, but walked through the portal. They didn’t know where the doorway would take them, but at least it would be somewhere on the outside.

  Lindon followed.

  For one blink, they were buffeted on all sides by textured blue light. Then the air tore around them again, and they were standing inside a shallow cave.

  Moss and bright mushrooms filled the space like grass, and the jade arch was set against the wall. Sunlight spilled through the mouth of the cave, and he could see it shining on an endless field of waves.

  Lindon heaved a deep breath of salty air, feeling as though he had crawled out of a hole for the first time in weeks.

  The portal, which was transparent from this side, showed a steadily cracking image of Harmony scrambling over the pocked and pitted floor left behind after their battle. He crawled for the portal as Ghostwater collapsed around him.

  Lindon watched, locked in a debate. On the one hand, Harmony had made it clear that he wouldn’t cooperate. On the other hand—

  Orthos blew a finger-thin stream of dragon’s breath through the arch, and the portal disappeared.

  Lindon stared at the spot where the portal had been for a long moment.

  “He asked for that,” Orthos said.

  “…I can’t argue with that.” Lindon turned back to the ocean. “Now, Dross: where are we?”

  [Oh, I don’t, ah, I don’t know. Is that the sun?]

  Chapter 18

  The green-armored guards lifted their spears and stepped to the side, allowing Eithan to approach the tall doors to the Emperor’s audience hall. He was expected.

  Fisher Gesha fussed with her hair, bowing to both of the Truegold guards as she walked in Eithan’s wake. She had left her drudge behind today, so the top of her head was barely above Eithan’s waist.

  “This will not go as you expect,” she muttered. “Did you ask me what I wanted? Hm? No. You just drag me along, like luggage. He will not see me. Do you think Highgolds go before the Emperor every day?”

  “Don’t worry,” Eithan said, marching forward. “He’s not as intimidating as you think.” Wind aura swung the door open before he touched them.

  The doors opened onto a long hallway, decorated with enough opulence to shame the halls of heaven. Everything was sheathed in gold: the dragon statues hanging from the ceiling, the pillars lining the hall, even the floor tiles.

  At the end of the hall, the Emperor sat on his throne of gold and jade. Naru Huan, Emperor of the Blackflame Empire, was the picture of a hero: he was powerfully built, with piercing eyes and a short beard that emphasized his square chin. His hair was pinned back by an ornate crown, and his wings spread to either side, flanking him in shining emerald feathers. His Overlord spirit spilled freely through the halls, pushing down on them with the weight of true power.

  A shirtless man on one side of the door rang a massive gong as they entered. The air trembled as the deafening tone broke the silence.

  A crier stepped forward before the throne. “You enter the presence of Emperor Naru the Second, Overlord and Patriarch of the Naru clan, Guardian of the West and Protector of the East, master of this land. Prostrate yourself before him, and show him your gratitude.”

  Fisher Gesha threw herself to the ground, and even Eithan lowered himself to his knees. Though he wanted to roll his eyes at the useless ceremony.

  The Emperor raised one finger.

  “Stand!” the crier ordered, and Gesha scrambled to her feet. Eithan followed, brushing off his knees; there was a thin layer of dust on the ground. He would have to speak to the cleaning crew.

  “Gesha, Highgold of the Desolate Wilds, approach the throne.” Trembling, each step a burden, Fisher Gesha pushed forward. She dared not raise her head enough to look directly at the Emperor, and she was clearly torn between obeying quickly and walking with a stately, respectful pace.

  Eithan yawned.

  When she was within a few paces of the bottom step, the crier held out a hand. “Stop! To your knees, and prepare to receive the word of the Emperor. Let all ears and hearts attend to his wisdom.”

  She fell back to the ground, and Naru Huan looked on her.

  “You have pleased us, Fisher Gesha,” he announced. “You have served us with distinction, standing even against an enemy Underlord. For this, we will reward you.”

  One of the servants to the side of the throne stepped forward, carrying an ornate wooden chest. He squared his shoulders and cracked the box open for Fisher Gesha’s inspection.

  Gold and purple light spilled out. The box was filled with rows of high-grade force scales, as well as three pills like shimmering balls of gold.

  “Daughter of the empire, we grant you the path to Truegold,” the Emperor said. “Advance your Path and continue to serve us.”

  Fisher Gesha pressed her forehead to the floor. “Forgive this old woman, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said, and Eithan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to speak. “I am too old for such a gift, you see? My family…they have followed me from the Wilds. They have just arrived, bu
t they are young. Please, grant me permission to share these gifts among them instead. They will serve their people longer than I will, hm?”

  Gesha’s family had joined her only recently. Eithan had found them with Gesha, setting up a Soulsmith’s shop in the floating city of Stormrock.

  A smile flickered on Naru Huan’s face, but it was quickly gone, replaced by the mask of an emperor. “Though your request is admirable, we will not grant it.” On the floor, Gesha flinched. “These rewards are for you alone. You will serve us better as a Truegold.”

  Two more servants, carrying identical boxes, stepped out. “Your concern for your grandchildren does you credit,” the Emperor continued. “We will not forget them.”

  Gesha raised her head, and her wrinkled face was wet with tears. “Heavens grant long life to the Emperor,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Go in peace,” Naru Huan announced. He looked up to Eithan, still standing at the far end of the hall, and his expression hardened. “We must have an audience with our Underlord alone.”

  Gesha bowed her way out, flanked by three servants carrying boxes. As she left, she glanced at Eithan.

  He winked.

  When the doors slammed again, signifying that Gesha had left, the whole room relaxed. The Emperor pulled the crown from his head, withdrew his wings, and let out a breath. The crier knuckled the small of his back, stretching. Some of the servants started chattering among themselves. Even the gong attendant slumped down to the floor, leaning his back against the wall.

  “Last audience for the day,” Naru Huan said, and his voice no longer echoed through the hall. He had been holding it with wind aura, probably all day. “At least you brought some good news. Panic and fear threaten to do more damage than the Phoenix did.”

  “The Overlord still got away,” Eithan reported, strolling up to the throne. “And we saw no sign of their Sage, for which we should be grateful.”

  Naru Huan folded his wings and hopped down from the throne, handing his crown to a servant. “He is currently on an island in the Trackless Sea, where he is matched by the Sage of the Silver Heart. If he were to leave to save his subordinates, she would follow him.”