Chapter 8

Sky's Mercy was a cloudship maintained by the Arelius family: a large blue cloud with a house in the center, flying through the air. Yerin had seen stranger things before—stranger cloudships, too—but there was something about a floating house that especially knocked her off-kilter.

There used to be a second building on the cloud, and Yerin missed the barn. She had more room. Instead, she and Cassias were inside a single bedroom-sized cultivation room, surrounded by wooden walls that had been reinforced by scripts so they didn't fall apart with every flying Striker technique.

He was showing her what it took to be the second-ranked Highgold in the Empire.

She kicked off from the wall, slashing the air in a Rippling Sword technique: a wave of silver madra that sliced through the air like an extension of her sword.

Cassias stood before her, back straight, one hand on his thin saber. He looked like Eithan's more serious younger brother: his golden hair was curly and short, his blue eyes calm, and he wore no smile.

He sidestepped her technique, raising his weapon to return a strike. But she had counted on that. She'd gathered enough aura around her sword, and she struck that aura with her madra as hard as she could.

Her sword rang like a bell.

A ripple ran through the sword aura in the room, exciting it, causing invisible cuts to appear on her robes...and then the wave of aura reached Cassias.

When it hit his sword, the weapon should have burst into a wave of slicing sword-energy that cut him to pieces, but instead he gathered aura himself as he pulled his saber back. The aura she'd affected with the Endless Sword was drawn in like straw into a cyclone, and it swirled around his sword in a silver cloud visible to her Copper sight.

Then he stabbed forward, carrying all that aura with it.

The thrust stabbed across the room in an instant, piercing the air and passing an inch over Yerin's shoulder. A few strands of her hair fell away, and she shivered as she felt the air disturbed by her ear. His technique landed on the wall, where a script shone and dispersed the aura, leaving only a slight scratch on the paneling.

Cassias sheathed his saber and frowned. “If you haven't recovered from last time, I'd be happy to wait.”

Yerin's ankle was still sore, but nothing that would slow her down in a real fight. “You never woke up with a dull edge? Happens to everyone, sometimes.” Cassias had defeated her in no more than three moves each time today, and normally she could hold him off for six or seven. She was a Highgold now, technically his equal, but he had experience and skill that she couldn't match. Yet.

Cassias nodded, expression softening as though he understood. “Don't worry. Eithan has taken too much interest in Lindon to let him die so easily. And in you too.”

Yerin snorted in disbelief, but she turned her head so as not to meet his eyes. What did he know? Sacred artists risked their lives every day. That wasn't enough to worry her.

Even though people died all the time where they weren't meant to. Her master had died in Sacred Valley, maybe the safest place in the world. It wasn't the trap you saw that killed you.

Without her around, Lindon wouldn't know what to watch for. Would Eithan look out for him?

Cassias pulled an intricately carved wooden device out of his outer robe and checked it, tucking it back inside after a glance. “It's almost time. Before we go, Yerin, would you mind if I asked you a personal question?”

“How personal?”

“No one pushes as hard as you do without a goal. Pardon me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but I’d like to know what destination you have in mind.”

She'd started wondering that herself recently.

“To become a Sage,” she said.

His eyebrows lifted. “I wouldn't have thought you were so ambitious.”

“Most Sages don't take disciples. Not real ones, anyway. They don't want to pass on their Path. My master trusted me, and now he's gone.” She ran her hand over the hilt of her master's sword. “I'm not letting his Path go to waste.”

Cassias moved to the door, gesturing for her to follow. “That's a noble goal, and an impressive one. I met a Sage as a child, back in my family's homeland. It was a humbling experience. But it took him centuries to reach that height. Most people can't handle the pressure of training at that level, day after day, year after year, with no guarantee that they'll ever make it.”

They passed through the door on the second floor of the house, moving to the stairs. Through the tall arched windows, she caught a glimpse of the deep blue Thousand-Mile Cloud that was their foundation, as well as the islands of white that surrounded them.

“Never understood that myself,” Yerin said, vaulting over the railing and landing on the first floor instead of taking the stairs. Cassias took them carefully, one at a time. “Don't know what I'd do if I wasn't practicing the sword. You think I'd rather put down roots, or what?”

“That's not what I meant to imply,” Cassias said, unbuckling his belt and tossing it and his sheathed saber onto a nearby rack designed for the purpose. “Only that it often helps in a fight if you have something to fight for.”

Preserving her own life had always been enough to push Yerin along in fights. Should be enough for anybody.

But that wasn’t always the truth, was it? She wanted more than that.

The Sword Sage had always said the pursuit of perfection in the sacred arts was a lonely pursuit, and anything else was a distraction. She’d come to think that advancing alone wasn't just boring, it was painful.

Which had made it such a stab to the gut when Eithan told her she couldn't come to watch Lindon fight. Especially when he'd taken Fisher Gesha, of all people.

“She won't be allowed to watch either,” Eithan said. “I'm bringing her for her unique talents. And I can't carry two people.”

That had sounded like an excuse to Yerin.

Cassias stepped up to the wooden console at the front of the room, before a massive wall of paneled glass. He looked out, through the clouds, over a series of strange mountains that rose from the ground like a forest of spears. One of the closer ones had something that looked like a temple on the top.

“I only ask you to consider...expanding your interests,” Cassias said, moving his hands over the script-circles on the wooden panel. They lit up, and Sky's Mercy shuddered in response. “Even your master was a famous refiner, in addition to being an accomplished swordsman. Many experts find that splitting their focus can actually increase their results.”

Yerin folded her arms, considering. She did spend all her time practicing the sacred arts in some way. Made it hard to care about anything else, when that was her world.

Problem was, she didn't know anything about the world outside of her training. It was the only thing the Sword Sage had raised her to do.

She needed a breath or two to think, but the floor shuddered again, and Orthos came stomping in.

The turtle was so tall and wide that he couldn't pass through most of the doors in the house without tearing holes in their frames, so he stayed in the corner of this main room. He'd walk out of the larger outer doors when he needed to relieve himself or vent his madra, standing on the Thousand-Mile Cloud. But he was tender as a newborn chick when it came to heights, so Yerin usually had to guide him out so he could close his eyes.

For a massive, black reptile with a shell that smoldered with dragonfire, he didn't have much of a spine. Even now, he glanced from side to side with his black-and-red eyes wide. “We're not on the ground yet?” he demanded in a deep, rumbling voice. “We were supposed to land. Why haven't we landed?”

Cassias turned around, his hand reaching into his pocket. Beneath his outer robe, he wore a shirt and pants, which still looked strange to Yerin in a fight. Everyone she knew fought in either a sacred artist's robes or armor.

“I apologize, Orthos,” Cassias said. “I should have given you your medicine already.”

Orthos shifted from one leg to another like a wobbly stool, his eyes flicking from one window to another, staring at the clouds. “We're not...it's not...why are we so high? Hm? Why do we have to be all the way up here?”

Cassias held out a violet pill streaked with blue. “Take your medicine, Orthos. It won't be long now. We're on approach. When you wake up, you'll be with Lindon.”

“He was weak,” Orthos mumbled, stretching out his head to snap up the pill in Cassias' hand. “So weak. He's probably dead. I'll be going back to the way...I was...”

In seconds, he drifted off, withdrawing his head and his limbs into his shell. Now there was a great black mound in the center of their living room, smoke drifting up from him as though from a dying fire.

“He's cheerier than a ray of sunshine,” Yerin said. She'd already heard about Lindon's bout of weakness following his duel, but Orthos admitted that he might feel the same way if Lindon had died. He'd never felt a contractor's death before. He thought Lindon's madra had recovered since, but he couldn't be sure—maybe he was just getting used to the sensation.

So she couldn't shake a little worry. Not enough to distract her, of course, but some.

“Well, at least the pills still work,” Cassias said, eyeing Orthos' sleeping form. “They've kept his madra quiet as well, even when he's awake.”

“He hasn't torn the house apart. That's a prize and a half, if you ask me.”

Cassias turned back to the console. “That was our last pill, so we'll have to rely on Eithan and Lindon for the trip back. One breath of dragon’s fire, and we'll hit the ground like a meteor.”

He had angled the house down slightly, so that the cloud was now drifting toward the temple at the top of the mountain. She walked up to stand beside him.

“That it?”

“Eithan's down there,” Cassias confirmed. “I believe I saw some Remnant parts set out in a room as well, so Fisher Gesha must have set up.”

That, or some Remnants died in a cave. And she noticed he didn't say a word about Lindon, one way or another.

She turned to go find a seat—she'd learned it was best to be sitting during a landing. As she did, she felt a surge of power miles away to the south, the opposite direction of the mountain. Only a few miles, and it gave off the familiar feeling of blood madra.

At least it wasn't any closer. A sudden battle between experts could be like an earthquake in a ceramics shop. Maybe that fight would—

Her Blood Shadow unraveled.

That quickly, the knot tied behind her slipped free. The seal her master had left for her was gone. No warning.

Her belt loosened, uncoiling like a serpent.

No time to panic. She dropped to the floor with Orthos' heat behind her, focusing on her spirit. A bloody red light was already stretching deep into her, its roots questing for the silver light of her core. She pushed her madra through its cycles, her breath coming too fast, silver light forcing back the red.

It wanted to slither inside. Infect her.

And her master's protection was gone.

The thought made her breath come even faster, but she calmed herself before she lost control over her madra, pushing back, forcing the Blood Shadow to retreat. She was a Highgold now, and it hadn't quite caught up yet. She was still ahead of it. She could still keep herself under control.

Something shifted on her waist, and she snapped her eyes open.

The Shadow reached for Cassias.

It stretched out from her like a questing limb, the end of its blood-covered length splitting into fingers. A hand. It was actually reaching for Cassias now, its fingers grasping for the back of his head. Its fingertips were sharp as knives—shaped by her sword madra.

She croaked out some kind of warning, but it was hard to talk while every part of her was straining to hold back her uninvited guest. She even seized it with both hands, trying to pull it back, but it dragged her seated body a few inches across the floor.

The parasite's knife-edged hand closed on Cassias' golden curls.

And without turning around, he slid away.

With one punch, he drove a spike of silver madra from his fist and into the center of the crimson palm. Blood madra spattered on the ceiling and then dissolved into essence with a hiss.

Yerin was still trying to push out her warning, sweat streaming down her face, but she finally closed her mouth. An Arelius might as well have eyes in the back of his head.

The Shadow moved again, a blur of red, and Cassias stood his ground. Both of his hands struck, blasting pieces away from the Blood Shadow.

But when the exchange ended, there was a scratch on his arm. It oozed a single drop of blood.

“Get away,” she managed to grunt out, hauling on her uninvited guest. “Blood!”

Cassias looked from her to the parasite and dashed back without asking questions, but the drop had already fallen to the ground.

The Blood Shadow fell on it like a hawk taking a fish, slapping its palm down on the droplet on the floor. Blood aura and madra flared, twisting with one another into a horrible and complex technique, even as the parasite relaxed. It retreated, allowing her to haul it back a few feet.

She knew why. She had seen this technique before.

It had destroyed her home.

As though that single drop of blood had been a seed, a creature sprouted in seconds. It was a doll of pure crimson, formed as though from solid blood, shaped like a man but only half the height. It had no features on its head, but it turned to Cassias like a hunting dog. It loped toward him, using its arms for balance, like an ape.

Her master had called them bloodspawn, and they were the stuff of her nightmares.

She shouted a warning to him, still hauling on her Shadow. Cassias kicked off, away from the console, a flash of silver driving a hole in the floorboards. His Silver Step technique brought him forward with such speed that he vanished, reappearing behind his opponent. He slashed his hand back, trailing silver light, passing through the bloodspawn's head.

Its head was blasted apart, but it was made of ooze. It latched onto him, grabbing him by both shoulders and across the chest.

Each bloodspawn was different, but this one had been grown by a Shadow that fed on her madra. She knew what would happen next, but it still caught her off-guard with its speed.

It sharpened into a forest of blades, like it had sprouted razors.

Cassias let out a sound like a grunt, soaked in his own blood in an instant. The bloodspawn dissolved, having poured its own power into the technique, but the wounds remained. His shirt was shredded, and a stain slowly spread over his chest. He staggered, even as a sheet of blood fell from his wounded scalp and covered his eyes like a waterfall.

He looked up to the window, where the mountain temple had grown huge in his sights. He stumbled to the controls, leaving a bloody handprint on them, starting to level off their flight.

Guilt squeezed Yerin's gut. This was her fault.

But no, she had to focus. If she let the Blood Shadow take over her spirit, things would only get worse.

She tightened her grip on the parasite, both physically and spiritually. But it seemed to sense Cassias' wounds...or perhaps the blood aura.

It surged toward him, transforming into a razor-edged mace that smashed down at his back. She managed to shout a warning this time.

He turned with both his hands raised, filled with silver light, driving forward with spikes of sword madra. The technique blasted into the Blood Shadow, splattering power onto the walls, and turning its course aside. He was able to take one unsteady step to the side, avoiding its strike.

But it smashed straight into the console, blasting it to splinters.

The parasite had lost much of its strength in confronting Cassias, so Yerin was able to level herself to her feet...but all she could see was the mountain in the window. Growing closer and closer.

The Blood Shadow drew itself back in, like a pet falling asleep, twisting itself around not only her waist, but her shoulders and hips as though it would never let go.

She shuddered, but at least she was in control over herself now. She dashed forward, seizing the wounded Cassias. He struggled against her for a moment, but he was too weak.

Yerin ran out the door, dashing onto the deep blue cloud as wind tore past them. She cast a glance back at Orthos, but he was withdrawn into his shell—she hoped it would be enough to protect him from the crash. Whether it was or not, there was nothing she could do.

She leaned over the edge of the Thousand-Mile Cloud and forced herself to wait. Her every instinct told her to jump out now, abandoning the doomed house, though it would splatter her like a...well, like anything dropped from this height.

The temple loomed closer, and she refused to blink, staring straight into the wind as they approached.

When the edge of the mountain was finally beneath her, she jumped.

With Cassias over her left shoulder, she drew her master's sword, slashing at the air in the only Forger technique she knew. She Forged a blade beneath them—it would be thin enough to see through if viewed edge-on, but of course she didn't want to fall on the edge of the blade. They fell onto the flat side.

Her master had used a variation of this technique to fly. She only hoped she could do half as well now.

She couldn't. The sword shattered like glass and they tumbled down toward the rock, barely slowed at all.

She tried again, crashing through it once more, and then she drew her sword back to try a third time.

They hit the stone.

She couldn't feel her limbs. A disturbing sense of cold passed through her, and darkness pressed into the edges of her vision. A roar sounded nearby, and some part of her guessed that had to be the house crashing.

Before she lost consciousness, she realized there was one thing she could still feel: the power rising from behind her, like a blood-red sun. It was getting closer.

Something was coming, and it had given her Blood Shadow its strength.

***

Pai Ren had joined the Skysworn to see the world look up to him.

Not only was the green armor of the Skysworn among the most respected uniforms you could wear in the Blackflame Empire, you also got the chance to fly. People watched him from below as he flew over, and they looked up at him in jealousy. Until today, he had considered it the best decision of his life so far.

Now, he thought it might be the worst—and last—decision he ever made.

Death had come to Lastleaf Fortress, where he had been stationed. He was only investigating the Empire's southern border. It was a standard inspection, and the sacred artists in Lastleaf had welcomed him like an honored guest. He had spent the last three weeks feasting on the products of the southern jungle, which he had been honored to visit.

Now, somehow, the sun had been stained red. He stood on his personal Thousand-Mile Cloud, looking out over the rest of the fort below him, horrified. Blood aura choked the air, so that he had to close his Copper sight and withdraw his spiritual sense, lest he lose his lunch.

The fortress was a vast complex, wider than it was tall, spread out beneath him in layers like the rings of a tree. Each ring was walled, and the strongest sacred artists lived in the heart of the fort.

The sacred arts of this School, the Path of the Last Leaf, turned trees into deadly weapons. Vines and trees had been planted within the fortress for the purposes of cycling aura, dotting each layer. The innermost layer was almost a forest.

Ordinarily, there was a natural flow of students and experts flowing throughout the fortress, passing between walls and going on a thousand different tasks. It had been soothing to watch.

Today, it was a horrifying scene of carnage.

Beneath him, the artists of the Lastleaf School tried to stand in desperate pockets against an army of...not Remnants, exactly, nor sacred beasts. Were they constructs? He couldn't be sure.

He'd call them monsters.

Creatures of blood, born of blood. Every wound created another one—a faceless, shambling creature that sacrificed itself in order to kill another sacred artist. They would latch on to a Lastleaf artist, split into a thousand crimson vines, and then strangle the man or woman to death.

It looked disturbingly similar to a technique from the Path of the Last Leaf, as though these blood-creatures used the sacred arts of those they killed. Or perhaps they took the sacred arts from the blood when they were born.

Ren's mind tried to unravel the puzzle even as his body stood, frozen and horrified, stuck to his Thousand-Mile Cloud. He was a Truegold, stronger than most in the Empire, but he couldn't imagine himself doing anything about the tragedy he saw unfolding beneath him.

A trio of women stood with weapons in hand, standing against a tide of crimson creatures. One slashed a green sword, and leaves were Forged from nowhere, slashing against them. Another raised a construct device, which flashed green, to no apparent effect he could see. A third swung a hammer, smashing a single monster to a splatter. A wave of creatures overwhelmed them in seconds.

He could probably have heard their screams, if they didn't blend into everyone else's.

A couple pulled their child between them, running from a line of red monsters. They wouldn't make it.

An elder directed a tree to raise its branches in a fist, smashing down on the blood-creatures and reducing them to paste. A group of disciples huddled behind him, frightened, but there seemed to be a new batch of enemies born from every human death. There was no end to them, and the elder's madra could only last so long.

Similar stories played out all over the fortress, such that he found it harder and harder to focus on any individual detail. It was just a mass of horror, like a nightmare spread out beneath him.

He could descend on that elder who was holding out. Perhaps save a disciple or two on his cloud.

But...

He glanced behind him, where the red light had condensed into a shaft of what looked like a beam of crimson sunlight. He had withdrawn his perception already, but he still felt something from back there: dread. Horror. Overwhelming power.

There was something only a mile or two south of this fortress, something ancient and powerful. It had caused this, he was sure.

And if he died here, the Skysworn would never know about it.

There was a sealed box on his thigh, scripted and reinforced so that it was almost impossible to open by accident. Among the Skysworn, it was considered shameful to open this box.

He flooded it with his madra, unlocking it. It popped open, causing a stone to fall into his gauntleted hand.

This green egg-shaped stone was, in fact, a simple construct. He crushed it, releasing the power inside.

The power gathered into a small, winged creature like a four-winged hummingbird made entirely out of green light. The construct flitted around his head for one lap and then streaked into the distance, heading for Skysworn headquarters.

The messenger would alert the Underlord, drawing reinforcements, but it couldn't carry any detailed information. He would have to tell that story himself.

He retreated into the sky, urging his Thousand-Mile Cloud forward. Away from that disturbing shaft of red light...and from whatever it was shining on.

As he flew away, he spotted someone standing on the outer wall. A young man, with utterly pale skin and black hair that fell down almost to his waist. Even among the brutal scenes below, he stood out. Ren slowed, wondering if he should pick the boy up. He didn't look older than eighteen, but something warned him off.

The young man wasn't watching the fighting around him. His eyes were calm, and on the sky. Watching Ren.

Ren gained some distance, rising into the sky. The young man was wearing a shapeless black coat that covered him from shoulders to feet, but he reached out a hand.

The hand was solid red, as though it had been dipped in blood. With one sharp gesture, the young man made a fist.

A lance of pain shot through Ren's heart.

He clapped a hand to his chest, his lungs freezing up, and the break in his concentration made his cloud shudder. An instant later, the script in his armor flashed, breaking off the blood Ruler technique that had almost killed him. The red aura was pushed away from him, his heart relaxed, and he heaved a huge breath.

This time, he flew as fast as he could. There was no thought in his head besides escape.

He made it a few more yards before something seized him around his ankle and dragged him off his cloud.

Before Pai Ren hit the ground, he screamed one last time. No one heard him.

***

Lindon hobbled out into the sunlight to see what the noise was about. He and Gesha had been preparing his new arm when the mountain shook with an overwhelming crash.

He still hadn't fully recovered from the fight, his body still sore, his madra still weak. Little Blue had cleansed some of his madra channels, but they were still scraped raw.. His body felt as though it was made of clay, and he was pushing it through each step with sheer willpower. Gesha had tried to keep him in his bed, assuring him that he needed his rest, and that she would investigate the noise.

But Yerin was supposed to arrive today.

Fisher Gesha held the door open for him, but she was distracted. Her bun of gray hair was in his face as she stared out the door.

Before he saw anything, he was distracted by the feeling of a huge power to the south. He looked that direction first, and it was as though the sunlight had been filtered through a lens of red glass only a few miles to the south.

But when he realized what was lying right in front of him, all thoughts about that distant power were pushed from his mind.

The wreckage of Sky's Mercy was strewn all over the side of the mountain, with dust and smoke rising from the debris. Blue wisps of cloud were still dissolving in the air, and here and there he could see something he recognized: a chair lying upside-down, a twisted piece of what had once been a dragon-headed banister.

Then he spotted a figure in black robes, and he shot forward, his wounds forgotten. Yerin was lying there on the stone, bloody and broken, with Cassias next to her.

His spirit told him Orthos was nearby, but only a quick glance assured him the turtle was fine: his limbs and head had been retracted into his shell, and he was sitting at the center of the wreck like a smoldering coal. If Lindon was reading his spiritual sensations correctly, his contracted partner was sleeping.

But when he looked at Yerin's condition, his throat tightened up. She was lying on her side, blood pooled beneath her head, with her legs twisted around one another. Her arms were limp, her fingertips twitching, her bare sword lying twenty yards away. At least she hadn't fallen on it. Even her belt had come undone, somehow, twisting around her body instead of coiling around her waist.

He knelt beside her, raising trembling fingers an inch away from her lips to feel for breath.

An instant later, he felt her exhale, and he released his own breath. As long as she was alive, she could be saved.

Cassias' corpse was a few steps away. Lindon only looked him over once before knowing he was a lost cause. He didn't need to check for a pulse; the man was covered in wounds and soaked in blood. No one could—

Cassias stirred, raising a hand to his head. Lindon jolted, hurrying over to the older man to help him sit up.

“Don't push yourself,” Lindon advised. “We're here.” He had no idea what they would do, but it seemed important to soothe a man who had just survived a violent crash.

When it seemed Cassias could sit up on his own, Lindon began to walk back to Yerin, but the Arelius seized his arm.

“Stay away,” Cassias said, voice rough.

He was shaky from the crash. Lindon had seen this before, back in his clan, on people who had survived battles. He tried to pry himself away gently, but Cassias' grip was like an eagle's talon. He staggered to his feet, pulling Lindon away from Yerin.

Toward Eithan.

Eithan had, of course, made it here before Lindon and Fisher Gesha had even made it out of their rooms. But Lindon hadn't noticed until now that the Underlord had made no effort to help his family member or his disciple.

Instead, he stood on the very edge of the cliff, staring at the red light in the distance.

Which, now that Lindon thought of it, seemed a little closer than it had been a moment ago.

Wind tugged at Eithan's hair, and for once he wore no smile. He stared into the red light like a man contemplating the approach of an advancing army.

“Her Blood Shadow has awakened,” Cassias reported to Eithan.

“It's no wonder, considering what's coming,” Eithan said, still looking to the south.

“We should remove it. We should have removed it before now, I can't imagine what you were thinking.”

“No, you can't,” Eithan said, pulling out his black iron scissors. With one swift motion, he sliced open the tip of his finger.

Then, without warning, he turned on his heel and headed for Yerin.

Yerin's belt stirred and struck like a serpent when Eithan moved closer, which startled Lindon. Fisher Gesha scuttled away on her spider's legs, looking terrified, but neither Cassias nor Eithan seemed surprised. The Underlord simply let the end of the blood-colored rope strike him on the neck, where it did no more damage than a limp string.

Eithan pulled Yerin's robes apart.

He tore the cloth easily, exposing about a foot of her belly. There were thin scars even there, though not as many as on the skin of her arms and face. It was just her stomach, but Lindon still thought about looking away.

But the sight stopped him. The bloody rope that she had always worn like a belt stretched out from her navel, as though it was made of her intestines.

Or, a more disturbing thought: as though it stretched into her core.

Eithan sketched in her skin with his blood, writing a circle of symbols around her navel. It must be a script, but Lindon recognized none of it. He took in a breath, and then a gray fire ignited the symbols. Soulfire: the power of an Underlord.

Lindon still didn't understand it, as Eithan refused to explain, but soulfire was the hallmark and the signature of a Lord. This script used it as power.

And the red rope crumbled away. It wilted and shriveled like a dying plant, dissolving into what looked like flakes of dried blood before it finally evaporated to red essence.

Just like that, it was gone. The circle of symbols on Yerin's stomach had been blackened, as though they had been burned into her flesh.

She woke up only a second later, coughing. She groaned. “Somebody find the ox that trampled me.”

Lindon hurried over to her, but Eithan had returned his gaze to the south. “You'll feel worse in a moment,” he said. His scissors were still in his hand. “Battle is upon us.”

Lindon was going to ask what he was talking about, then he saw the wall of red had pressed against the edge of the mountain. His eyes widened.

Then red light swallowed them all.