Chapter 18

They huddled in the shelter of the broken village’s cellar for three days.

Most of the homes here had stockpiled some food, so they were able to feed themselves easily. Water was harder, at least at first, until they ventured outside and realized that one of the blows from the distant battle had torn open a spring. They filled as many jars as they could carry, hauling them back to their cellar while avoiding as many bloodspawn as possible.

After the first day, the sounds of battle had faded to those of a thunderstorm. By the end of the second day, they'd disappeared entirely, and the red haze had vanished from the sun.

Only then did the bloodspawn completely vanish. Most of them had been torn to pieces in the wake of the titanic conflict, but stragglers still formed until the red aura withdrew.

It was for the best, because Lindon couldn't fight. He couldn't even cycle.

Little Blue had worked on him, with every spark improving his shattered spirit, but each of her touches caused him agonizing pain. Each time, it was like setting a broken arm.

She hated that he was in pain, but she still tried her best. But he wasn't her only patient—Yerin and Orthos needed help as badly as he did.

Her power was stretched thin, and the store of pure scales in his pack wasn't endless. Eventually, she paled and had to curl up in her case again, the crack hovering over her like a frozen lightning bolt.

If his madra channels had been in better shape, he could have shared his power with her. As it was, he needed to feed her if he wanted her to help, but she needed to help him before he could heal her.

So they were stuck, waiting.

He was awakened on the third day by someone tearing the door open. He tried to extend his perception, but it was like trying to touch something with a broken finger. He shied back.

Not that it matters, he thought. I know who it is.

There was only one person who could find them. And, for that matter, only one person who would have gone looking for them.

Eithan stuck his head down, hair gleaming in the shaft of sunlight he was letting in. He jerked back, lips twisting in disgust.

"An apocalyptic battle is no excuse not to bathe," he said.

Lindon rose, apologizing, but Mercy laughed, her voice light with relief. Yerin rolled her eyes, and Orthos extended his neck from his shell, snorted, and withdrew it again.

Despite the smell, he hopped down the stairs, examining them with hands on his hips. He addressed Yerin first. "I see you managed to follow my advice after all!"

"No choice," she said. "Bad luck pushed me into a corner."

"You'd be surprised how often people listen to me when they're left with no choice. I'll have to fulfill one of those many rewards I've promised you."

"Cheers and celebration," she muttered.

Then he turned to Lindon. "Why is it that I so often find you locked in a dark place, filthy and exhausted and covered in blood?"

"At least Yerin didn't have to kick me this time."

"Does that happen often?" Mercy asked.

Her comment pulled Eithan's attention to her, and his smile broadened. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure," he said.

Lindon couldn't quite see how, but he got the impression Eithan was lying. Somehow.

Mercy stood and propped her staff on one shoulder, bowing and pressing her fists together. "Akura Mercy. I cannot thank you enough for coming to rescue us."

Eithan didn't mention her family name, though Lindon was sure he knew what it meant. All the clan members among the Skysworn trainees had known, though the lower-class students hadn't. He doubted those Lowgolds would have information that Eithan did not.

"Not at all, young lady, not at all. I was simply retrieving some of mine." He beamed over at Lindon and Yerin. "I have some news that you will enjoy, and some that you will not. Which would you prefer first?"

"I could use some cheer," Yerin said.

"Bad news first, then! I do not know how the Skysworn will react to your absence. It could be that you are wanted for capture."

Capture. Again.

Lindon had rarely longed so badly for advancement in the sacred arts. The stronger he was, the harder it would be to keep him imprisoned.

He couldn't imagine anyone keeping Mercy's mother in a box.

"Allow me to follow with the good news: I have successfully completed a difficult task for Naru Gwei, and he owes me a favor...although it was not actually difficult for me, but that was not a relevant detail to share with the Empire. They will punish you lightly, just for the sake of appearance, but then they will allow you to continue serving the Skysworn."

Yerin scoffed. "Maybe when the sun cracks and falls. They dropped me from the sky." Lindon had shared that story with her during their time in the cellar.

"Alas, they won't let go of you. You are still, officially, Skysworn. Even I cannot pry you loose, now that you have committed to them." He spread his hands. "If it eases your mind, at least know that they won't be trying to kill you so aggressively anymore. Not now that I'm openly in favor."

Mercy heaved a deep breath before saying, "They think we're the enemy. We just have to show them we're all on the same side."

Yerin and Lindon stared at her.

Eithan pointed. "That's the spirit. Another piece of good tidings: the Bleeding Phoenix has retreated for now."

A chill ran down Lindon's spine. "She didn't kill it?"

"Kill it? If anyone could kill a Dreadgod, they would not have survived for so long. No, there's a reason behind the Bleeding Phoenix's name." He paused a moment. "I think you've figured out the Bleeding part, but the Phoenix half is just as important. It disperses its Blood Shadows all over the world, then it builds itself a new body from the power they gather. Unlike most of the other Dreadgods, Monarchs can destroy its body temporarily, but it always forms again.

"Although, in this case, that isn't what happened."

Eithan was milking the moment, Lindon could tell. Unfortunately, he couldn't pretend not to be interested. The Underlord had them on a hook, and he knew it. Even Orthos had poked his head out of his shell.

"The honored Monarch fought for two days and nights, until her armor was cracked and leaking essence. She would surely have had to retreat in only another hour or two, and the Phoenix had sustained no injury. Their battle had spilled into the eastern wasteland, but it would be nothing for the Dreadgod to turn back and return to our lands."

He shrugged. "Then the Phoenix fell apart. I saw it myself. It just...split apart."

Mercy let out a huge sigh of relief, perhaps thinking about her mother, but Yerin looked skeptical. "Gave up and went home, did it?"

"A battle on that scale takes huge quantities of madra," Eithan said. "Even a creature like the Bleeding Phoenix cannot fight forever. I have only a theory, you understand, but I believe it a likely one: it is biding its time."

Lindon sucked in a breath. "So it's still around."

"It always is. But usually it is sleeping, and this time...this time I believe it's still awake. I think it realized it was fighting for no reason, that the objective which had pulled it out of its long slumber was no longer obtainable. So it decided to wait."

"For what?" Mercy asked, eyes wide, clutching her staff.

"For its brothers," Eithan said, and his voice was suddenly grim. As though he'd heard himself, he lightened almost immediately. "I'm sorry. That falls in the category of unpleasant news, doesn't it? This was supposed to be the time for good tidings. Speaking of which, Lindon, I have something of a mixed bag for you."

He faced Lindon, the fingertips of both hands pressed together. "You mentioned that you saw several doors into the great labyrinth in your homeland. Sacred Valley, as you said. Could you describe to me the vision your heavenly messenger shared with you? In more detail than you have shared before, I mean."

Lindon was prepared for this. "I'd be happy to exchange our stories. Perhaps part of your vision will remind me of details I've forgotten."

His encounter with Suriel was the one bargaining chip he had to trade. He wasn't giving it up for free.

Eithan inclined his head, acknowledging the point, before withdrawing the void marble from his sleeve.

"I hereby swear on the heavens, my soul, and the grave of my second cousin that I will share my account with you in return." He flipped the marble up and caught it. "In fact, I was prepared to do so in any case. I received some...reliable advice...that suggested I no longer have as much time as I'd assumed."

Lindon searched that statement for any hint of deception, but it seemed airtight. If Eithan was going to wriggle out of it, he would, but he hadn't left himself any obvious loopholes.

His oath shouldn't hold much real weight unless Lindon closed the circle by returning a promise of his own, but sacred artists as powerful as Underlords were still wary of false promises.

Besides, Yerin and Mercy were both staring at him with interest. Yerin had heard most of this already, but Mercy looked like a child awaiting a bedtime story.

"She showed me my future," Lindon began. He glossed over the personal details, especially the parts with his family. Until he came to his death.

"Something marched into Sacred Valley," he said. "My home. It was just a shadow, blotting out the sun, but it waded through the mountains like they were made of sand."

Like the giant in armor he'd seen only a few days before. Mercy's mother.

"That's how I was supposed to die," Lindon said. "Suriel gave me a chance to avoid that. And she showed me some people who could have saved me." He had long since committed the names to memory. "Luminous Queen Sha Miara. Northstrider. The Eight-Man Empire."

Mercy sucked in a breath. Even Yerin gave a low whistle, though Lindon was sure he'd shared this detail with her before. Hadn't he?

Eithan ran a thumb along his chin. His smile was gone, but he didn't look cold or angry. Just thoughtful.

"Those are some of the most powerful people in the world," the Underlord said. "Though you figured that out already. They are practically myths. In fact, I have it on good authority that Northstrider died almost seven years ago, and the reputation of the Eight-Man Empire is supposedly exaggerated. Though if this Suriel rates them so highly, then presumably popular opinion is in error."

He sat thoughtfully for another moment before raising a finger. "Placing that together with those doors in your valley, I have a theory. I believe it is the return of one or more Dreadgods that leads to the destruction of your home. They hunger for whatever is in this maze. On their way to it, they—or perhaps one of the Monarchs doing battle with them—was destined to crush your valley underfoot."

Lindon thought back to the impossibly vast wall of blood and power that was the Bleeding Phoenix.

He had to stop that.

"Thirty years," he said. "That was how long she said I had, and that was the summer before last. Is that enough time."

"Ah...by conventional wisdom, most lifetimes are not enough." Eithan gave a polite cough. "And I believe I mentioned that I no longer had as much time as I expected. Somewhere along the line, fate has been twisted."

Dread filled Lindon's stomach. "What does that mean?"

"No one predicted the rise of the Bleeding Phoenix until a matter of weeks before it happened. An event of that magnitude should have showed up in their premonitions for years. Sometimes generations. All over the world, that is how sacred artists deal with Dreadgod attacks: we predict them, and then we run.

"Something changed this time," Eithan said. "We'll have to consult experts in the subject, but I think it's best to assume you have less time than you thought."

Lindon's heart sunk further.

"...perhaps much less."

They sat in silence for a while. Mercy looked like she was still piecing stories together in her head, Yerin was brooding, Eithan cleaned his nails, and Orthos munched on fragments of pottery.

Lindon was wondering how much he could trust Eithan's guesses. Suriel had descended from the heavens to show him the future. Surely, she was the most reliable source.

But she had emphasized how fate could always be changed...

"Now it's my turn," Eithan said, evidently having grown bored with waiting. "But first, I have to ask. Lindon, has your resolve been shaken?"

Had it? Lindon thought about it for a moment.

If he didn’t really have thirty years, then he should go back to Sacred Valley as soon as possible. Borrowing help from Eithan and Yerin, he could warn everyone to leave. They should do what most people did before a Dreadgod attack and run. He was powerful enough now that even the elders and clan leaders should listen to him.

But...

Assuming he did clear everyone out, would he give up and go home? Would he pack it in, once his goal was achieved?

No. He'd seen too much. There were sacred artists whose steps covered miles, who traded blows with Dreadgods and blotted out the sky.

If he settled for less than that, he was giving up. Suriel had transcended this world entirely; he couldn't forgive himself if he didn't at least try.

He shook his head, and Eithan accepted it, turning to Yerin. "How about you, Yerin?"

Yerin seemed surprised that he addressed her at all. "Is Redmoon Hall still around?"

"Like their master, they remain awake and aware," Eithan said. "They are here, now, in the Empire. Longhook, the gentleman we met before, has been sighted more than once. I fear we will see them again even before the Phoenix returns."

"Then I'll be there too."

Eithan cocked his head curiously. "For that reason alone? What if you were to defeat Redmoon Hall completely? What if they did retreat? Would your spirit fade away, and your resolve crumble to nothing?"

Yerin sat and thought, rather than delivering a snap answer, as Lindon had somewhat expected. Slowly, a light grew in her eyes, until a smile slid onto her scarred lips. "I've got a lot of road left to travel, but...even my master couldn't keep up with a Dreadgod. Sure would be fun to go sword-to-sword with one."

"It is my intention," Eithan said, "to do exactly that."

Mercy frowned up at him. “But you’re so weak,” she said.

Yerin snorted a laugh, and Orthos gave a deep chuckle.

Eithan winked at her. “I have a secret weapon. A great expert has peered into my future and determined that I have at least a chance of success. I traveled all the way to your home, where Akura Malice gave me her blessing. She told me she was counting on me.”

Mercy scooted back a few feet and looked up at the ceiling.

A few breaths passed.

“I swear on my—”

“You’re telling the truth!” Mercy said in a mixture of disbelief and awe.

“How do you know?” Lindon asked. If there was a way to catch Eithan in a lie or an evasion, he wanted to know.

“Because he’s still alive,” she said simply.

Lindon shivered. Monarchs could do that?

Eithan seemed a little shaken himself, from the glance he shot upward, but he continued on. “No matter where you are, the strong write the rules. But even if you’re the most powerful in the world, there are limits to what you can do alone.” He clenched his fist. “They say the sacred arts are lonely. The higher you climb, the more alone you become. That is the first rule I’d like to rewrite.”

Mercy tapped her staff against her shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Let’s say you do make it to my mother’s level,” she said, and Eithan didn’t so much as twitch at the word ‘mother.’ So he had been pretending not to recognize Mercy. “There are a lot of things you could do with all that power.”

“I think of myself as a fairly shrewd judge of character,” Eithan said. “I have chosen very carefully who I want to take with me on this journey. They are people who, I believe, have the potential to make the world a better place.” He gave a wry smile. “You’ll notice I’ve only found two. And they have years to grow. Their choices will determine whether I was right or wrong.”

Mercy looked sheepish, but she didn’t give in. “Everyone thinks they’re making the world a better place,” she said quietly.

“Then we have come full circle,” Eithan said, flipping out his marble again. The void pulsed in the center, a hole of endless darkness. “Now I will fulfill my promise.”

He tossed the glass ball to Lindon, who clapped his hands around it.

The world vanished as a vision consumed him.

***

A man stood against a background of endless, textured blue. He wore black armor of rounded, eggshell-smooth plates that looked almost like a liquid. His skin was pale, his face long and angular…but his features were perfect, without a blemish or wrinkle anywhere. His eyes were pure blue, and his hair a long, streaming white.

He seemed familiar for a moment before Lindon, with a shock, recognized him. He looked like Eithan.

Not exactly alike. His chin was a little sharper than Eithan’s, his hairline a little further back, his nose a little thinner. But if someone had told him this was Eithan’s brother, or perhaps a younger version of Eithan’s father, Lindon would have believed them.

It was somewhat disconcerting going straight from sitting in a cellar to floating in a sapphire void, but Lindon’s experience with Suriel had somewhat prepared him. It was comforting, in a way: this was independent confirmation, if he’d needed any, that Suriel’s visit was more than just a hallucination.

“I am called Ozriel,” the man said, turning to fix Lindon with his stare. “If you have found this, that means you are one of the descendants I’ve left behind. Lucky you.” His voice was far more animated than Lindon would have expected—in his black armor, with his pale hair, he looked like he should speak in grave whispers.

“I left behind this message in case one of you, any of you, inherits some spark of my desire. I determined that there must be more beyond the world I could see. And I was not content to stay trapped, like a fish in a pond.”

He waved his hand, and the blue fabric tore. He stepped out into the sky over a city Lindon had never seen before: a landscape of towering spires in all the colors of the rainbow, as though each had been hewn from gemstone. Amethyst and sapphire and emerald shone in the sun, with glittering crystal bridges crossing from one to the other.

Sacred artists traveled through the sky, standing on Thousand-Mile Clouds, riding sacred birds, or pulled by Remnants.

Ozriel looked out over the city, and his voice turned sad. “Everything you know, everything you have ever known, is but one world. One island in a vast ocean.”

He made no gesture, but he began to rise, and Lindon felt once again that sickening lurch that came when his eyes told him he was moving, but his body told him he was standing still. They rose into the sky, until the city was but a dot beneath them…and they kept rising.

Into the stars.

Lindon’s eyes couldn’t widen enough to take it all in. The land curved away from him…endlessly. He couldn’t even see the city below him anymore. He could barely make out what he thought was the country.

The world spread out in front of him, blue and green and yellow. There were so many clouds! And so much ocean…how much of the world was covered in water?

He almost didn’t notice the curve. The world was…bent?

They continued to drift into the stars until Lindon could see the whole thing. It was a ball. He’d read his natural history before, and more than one natural philosopher claimed that the world was a ball, but it had never caught his thoughts before.

How did the people on the bottom stay on?

“It’s an overwhelming sight,” Ozriel said softly. “This is the central planet of the world we call Cradle. Iteration 110. It is larger than average for an inhabited planet, with vital aura making it both harder and easier for humanity to spread. At the moment of this recording, over six hundred billion souls call this place home.”

He spread his hands. “And this planet is but the central fragment of the world called Cradle. Your moon, your sun, each of the stars…they exist only here.

“There are thousands of realities just like yours,” Ozriel said, tearing open another rift in reality. An instant later, they had popped into another Iteration. This planet was also blue and green, but the shapes of the land were all different. It didn’t seem much smaller than Cradle had, but Lindon’s mind was still twisting to try and comprehend the scale involved.

“Each of them with their own population,” Ozriel said, popping into another. This world was a series of jagged chunks floating in darkness, as though the planet had been torn to pieces and left to drift. But Lindon could see city lights on each of them. Even some in the ground beneath the surface, as though humans had made those islands into their own personal molehills.

The world went blue again. “I belong to an organization called the Abidan,” he said, and now new figures appeared in the blue. Rank upon rank of white-armored figures, drifting in color. Arranged in regiments, some of them had symbols on their armor, and still others carried strange tools.

Eagerly, Lindon watched for Suriel. He didn’t see her, but it was hard to pick any individual out from the crowd.

The Abidan were formed into seven distinct ranks. Above each of them now hovered a single individual.

This time, Lindon finally saw Suriel.

She stood over the sixth division, purple eyes staring forward, her hair drifting emerald as though underwater.

Tears welled up as he saw her, though he couldn’t quite explain why. He swept them away as though Ozriel might see him and laugh.

The sole black-armored Abidan stared out over the ranks of thousands of Abidan, and Lindon thought he seemed…lost. Though who could read the expression of immortals?

“We draw our power from the Way,” he said. “This is what you see all around you now. It is the power of order that runs through all Iterations. With that power, we defend you all. Without us, all would fall to chaos.”

Suddenly, without Ozriel making a gesture or tearing open another gateway, the scene changed.

The Abidan were gone. The blue light of the Way had vanished, and now Lindon stood on a vast, dusty plain.

All around him, people were dying.

They had once been an army, with armor and swords and shields, but now they were on the ground, writhing and choking. Their bodies grayed and dried by the second, as though they were aging decades before his eyes.

Every time one of them died, he could pick them out, though he couldn’t tell how. It pierced him through the heart, as though each was a friend.

Tears streamed down his face now, and he averted his eyes, but there was no escaping from the pain.

“Like all power, ours has rules,” Ozriel said sadly. “This is a necessary truth. One of those rules restricts our interference. For centuries, I have watched worlds die…and the pain you now feel, I feel with each death. Over and over again, in worlds without end.”

Now they were in another world, as people were run down by monsters. Another, where the air had become too toxic to breathe. Another, where men and women starved or died of thirst. A world where great rocks fell from the sky and devastated cities. A world where great beasts rampaged. A world on fire.

Over and over again, time blurring in Lindon’s head. Each death speared him as though he had personally caused it.

Finally, when Lindon was on his knees, they returned to the calm of the Way. Ozriel met his eyes. “This is one part of my plan,” he said softly. “Only one seed planted of many, in the hopes that some might one day bear fruit. I need you to join me.”

He raised black-armored fingers to his head, and Lindon could see endless weariness written there. “Not as Abidan. I want to raise you outside their rules. I want you to go where we can’t: into dying worlds, to save those we have abandoned.”

Now a mantle of darkness billowed from the back of Ozriel’s armor. Suddenly, he loomed like the end of all things. “You are one of my children,” he said. “You have inherited my sight. To you, the world is open.

“You can step out of the Cradle. You can grow up.

“And join me.”

***

Eithan had touched Yerin with the marble as well. It would be awkward for Mercy, sitting around watching the other two sit motionless and stare into space, but she would adapt.

If he accepted her early, he would seem too eager. Best to reel her in.

He knew what Lindon and Yerin were seeing—the message’s contents never changed—and he could imagine how overwhelmed they felt. He had felt the same way, once.

Speaking of messages…

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an envelope that had been sealed with wax. It was a foreign way of sending messages, from the Arelius homeland. And indeed, this wax was marked with the Arelius family’s crescent symbol, alongside two ancient characters indicating power.

The mark of the head family. Cassias’ father had appropriated it without cause. How would he feel if he knew Eithan had a marble containing a vision from their family’s First Patriarch?

Although, if the real head family had been wiped out, Gaien Arelius had as much claim to the seal as anyone. Eithan would have to wait another three years to find out.

Eithan, Cassias had written.

The family elders are not pleased with the way you have handled recent matters. Lindon’s lost duel, they meant, although they had seen the benefits of that. And the orders he’d given Cassias before the Bleeding Phoenix rose, though Cassias had never had a chance to carry those out.

In reality, they just didn’t like his way of doing things. They wanted him to consult them before every single decision. He understood. This stemmed from his own, old failing: he kept too much control. It made him difficult to work with.

But the sun would burn cold before he let himself be ordered about by men like this.

It personally gives me great pain to deliver you this message with my own hand, but the family elders would like you to temporarily step down as Patriarch. You will still hold all the rights and privileges of a family elder, and of course our only Underlord.

I am here with my father, who provides his stamp at the bottom. He concurs, and we have received imperial approval. If you are unsatisfied, I urge you to appeal to the elders. I believe you are the one to lead this family into the future, when you settle down and put the family’s needs above your own.

In pain and regret,

Naru Cassias Arelius

The paper was stamped with characters for both Cassias’ name and his father’s. Eithan flipped over the envelope, looking at the wax seal that he’d left intact.

The symbol of his family.

They had rejected him.

A gust of wind picked up, and he let it take the letter away.

***

Information requested: current status of the Dreadgods.

Beginning report…

The Bleeding Phoenix, its consciousness scattered over thousands of pieces, settles in to wait. Many of its fragments go dormant, but many others go looking for hosts. To hunt, and to build up their mother’s power. It is biding its time, for the moment when it senses its lost brother again.

The Silent King stirs in its dreams as it senses the Phoenix in battle. For hundreds of miles, spirits and Remnants feel its influence. Though they do not know the source, they are disturbed.

The Weeping Dragon sleeps in the upper atmosphere, on a miles-long bed of clouds. It has not been long since it last woke, and it is still weary. Though the power of the Phoenix prickled its spirit, it will take more enticing bait to rouse the Dragon from its slumber.

In a chasm on the ocean’s floor, the Wandering Titan rolls its stone joints. They have stiffened from long disuse. It wakes slowly, but steadily.

Soon, it will rise.

Suggested topic: Makiel’s full influence on the fate of Cradle. Continue?

Denied, report complete.

THE END

Cradle: Volume Four

Skysworn

Lindon’s story continues in…

GHOSTWATER

Cradle: Volume Five

Available soon!

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