Ghostwater (Cradle, #5)

by Will Wight

While Yerin was still thinking that through, Mercy continued. “I don't think he would even notice Lindon was there. Orthos and Renfei maybe, but only if they bothered him.” That only increased Yerin's worries. If Lindon stumbled on whatever prizes the Truegolds were searching for, he might not fight for them, but he'd try to snatch them somehow. Sure as the sun rose.

“Now, be honest with me,” Dross went on. “What do you think his odds are? He's not here, he won't hear you, I just want to know what you think. Turtle-to-gem.” “He is my partner,” Orthos growled. The construct talked too much. He just wanted to wait in silence. “No, sure, I understand that, but what do you think his odds really are? Ten to one? A hundred to one? Maybe just two to one?” Orthos locked his eyes on the purple-lit gem. “One hundred percent.” “...optimism! Oh, that's a good one, it really is. False courage really does wonders for keeping the spirits up.” “One more word, and I will eat you.”

Not even with their bloodline all but eradicated, their authority forgotten, their descendants scattered, would the black dragons leave them alone. Sophara threw back her head, pouring all her rage and her hate into her voice. When she roared, it was the roar of a dragon. And all the golds roared with her.

“What's rustled their scales?” Yerin asked. They were still roaring, and she thought she saw golden flames rising from the Cloud. Mercy shivered. “I think we should get in the tent.” A second later, Yerin felt it too: someone's spiritual sense was sweeping the forest. The Cloud was still many miles away; to search them from that distance would take an Underlord at least. “I'd contend we should,” Yerin allowed with a sigh. She took a last, regretful glance in the other direction. Hiding was the smart thing to do, but she'd rather move closer to the boundary. After all, it wasn't like the dragons were looking for them. The heavens couldn’t hate her that much.

“The prize is an illusion,” he continued. “The mountain has no peak. You keep climbing and climbing until you fall off and break yourself at the bottom. Highgold is one step, Truegold is another step, but there's no end to it. You could walk forever, but every Path ends in a fall.” His bloodshot eyes pierced Lindon, who shifted uncomfortably. “...two years ago, I started at the bottom,” he said at last. He told Ziel about his life in Sacred Valley as briefly as possible, skipping over Suriel and making it sound like they had a dream artist who had caught a glimpse of the future. “Now, I have a chance I never had before. I would be a fool to waste even a second of it.” Ziel watched the dream tablets shifting over Lindon's head. “Just make sure you have something else to keep you going. Sacred arts are not enough to live for.”

“Listen, boy. You're only a few weeks from Truegold on your own. Don't rely on me for this last step.” He hesitated. “And nothing good comes from opposing the Akura family.” Lindon rested a hand on the turtle's head. “Dross has traveled with us for four weeks now. Would a dragon abandon an ally in time of need?” Orthos grumbled. Then he opened his spirit.

“Hey, how about this for a plan: let's not put me in there. I know you've sealed me inside this vessel, but how about you let me go? Hm? I don't trust mysterious compulsions that are telling me to go somewhere.”

Derianatoth

The stranger stepped out of the trees, dragging his huge hammer behind him. It carved a furrow in the soil as he walked, as though he barely had the strength to pull it. “I am the Beast King’s witness,” he said with a sigh. “I witness a Lady attacking two Golds. Fall back, or he has cause to intervene.” The dragon’s shrieking laughter pierced the forest. “And who are you?” “Underlady,” he said, “believe me when I say that I am no one at all.”

Dross struggled, panting like he had lungs, to pull a single vial of Life Water out of the void key's open storage. “You're not going to help, are you?” he asked Little Blue. The Sylvan cocked her head at him and whistled. Before his union with the other Eyes of the Deep, that would have been incomprehensible to him. It was still mostly incomprehensible to him, but there was clearly a pattern in the Sylvan Riverseed's communication. He had started to see it, so he could make out what she was saying. Mostly. “It's not about carrying heavy things, it's about your attitude. Do you hear what I'm saying? Willingness to help, that's all I'm looking for. Moral support.” Little Blue raised her arms in the air and gave a cheer that sounded like wind chimes. “See, that's all I wanted.”

“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.

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.]

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.”

“Daughter of the empire, we grant you the way 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, but 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, each carrying another box identical to the first, 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.

“The Akura family might compete, but we won’t. We can’t.” “When the Dreadgods begin to act strangely, the Monarchs look to one another. This upcoming competition will be a battle between Monarchs, and the Akura family will not allow us to stand aside.” Naru Huan stared off into the distance, light rippling in his wings. “What can you do?” “I have two, maybe three prospects for young Underlords. Given the opportunity to coach them directly, I believe I might be able to raise two of them in time.” “You think they would impress the Akura family?” “Huan,” Eithan said, “I think they could do a little better than that.”

Lindon looked toward the trees, opening his spirit to feel for Yerin's presence. He felt only a flash of power as a black-and-silver blur crashed into him. He stood his ground as Yerin threw her arms around him, squeezing him so tight that his ribs would have cracked a few weeks before. “You're solid,” she said, from somewhere around his shoulder. “You made it.”

Lindon grabbed her wrist as she started to walk away. “The portal's closed. And...” He felt the power of the madra running through her arm. “You too?” She grinned back at him, scarred face beaming. “Looks like we're standing on the same ground. About time. I was sick of waiting for you to catch up.” He realized he was still holding onto her wrist and started to let go, but she twisted her hand around and grabbed his in turn, so they were clasping each other's arms. Lindon let himself relax. He was here, he was alive, and he was advanced enough to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Yerin. Everything had worked out.

He opened his perception, stretching it across the planet to the source of that irritation. It was the anchor he’d planted to keep Ghostwater tied to this world. It had failed. Ghostwater was seconds from destruction. He spent a moment weighing whether recovering the information remaining in his pocket world was worth breaking away from his cycling, but that only irritated him further. If the Ghostwater project had succeeded in the way he’d wanted, he wouldn’t have had to think about the question at all. A Presence would have told him the answer. Mood broken, Northstrider rose to his feet. He might as well go salvage what he could.

The Monarch finished drawing the oracle out of the tree. He would check on the results of this rogue construct someday, if fate allowed. He might learn something, even from a failed product. Until then, he would continue on as he had before. “Though my service is worth nothing, my family would help repay you. Any of my achievements in the future would belong to you. And future generations would tell tales of your legendary mercy.” The halo of shadow behind the young man’s face lent him the aspect of a specter. Determination was carved into every line of his smooth face. His purple eyes smoldered with resolve, and with the fires of vengeance. Northstrider honored this young man by meeting those eyes. “No,” the Monarch said. Then he stepped back out of space, leaving the world to collapse.