“I am eager to learn,” Lindon said. “I know there is no shortcut for work.” Ten months wasn’t much time, but he was resolved to at least try to master sacred arts the orthodox way.
At least until that failed him.
“…instead of all that, I’d like to take a shortcut,” Eithan continued.
Lindon let out a sigh of relief.
“Building up aura in your core takes time. You cycle aura every day, a fraction of that aura is converted to madra, and your core slowly transforms to produce madra of that aspect on its own.” He waved a hand. “Since we have a deadline, I want you to share madra with my friend here.”
“Of course,” Lindon said, thinking of the scales he had Forged for Fisher Gesha. “Allow me a few days to gather some.”
“I like that attitude, but I think you may have misunderstood me. As I said, Orthos is plagued by a buildup of Blackflame madra in his system, ravaging his mind and his body. We bring him purified madra to cleanse his channels, but it’s like sprinkling water on a bonfire. However, if we can link your core with his…” Eithan spread his hands. “He gets relief from the burden of his immense power, and you get a piece of that power for yourself. It’s a win all around.”
Lindon looked to the turtle hesitantly. “Do I just…pour madra into him, or…”
“Even easier than that. There’s a contract that humans can make with sacred beasts, and it functions in a similar manner to a soul oath: two spirits binding themselves to one another. It must be mutual, just like an oath. And it’s typically done while both the contractor and the contracted beast are young, so the child’s madra is pure and the beast’s madra has not yet fully developed.”
Eithan ran his hand over the smoldering shell, evidently not the slightest bit worried about burning himself. “Orthos is almost three hundred years old. Far from a hatchling, even by the standards of his line. If he were to share his power with a child, the child’s body would quite literally explode.”
That image did nothing to soothe Lindon’s misgivings. “But that’s what you want me to do?”
Orthos snorted. His eyelids fluttered, and his shell flared red. Eithan snatched his hand away and took a careful step back.
“There are some risks, to be sure. If Orthos is too far gone to consent, the contract will fail. There’s the chance that it will work at first, but it won’t be enough to save him. In that case, you’ll still have your Blackflame core, but we’ll have to put him down after all. You’ll bond his Remnant at Gold.”
The turtle slowly rose to his feet, and the temperature in the cave rose another few degrees.
Eithan moved between Lindon and Orthos, shaking out his sleeves in preparation to use some technique. “However, if this works as I hope it will, you won’t need his Remnant at all. Instead, when you’re ready to break through to Gold, he will use his power to help you bridge that gap.”
Lindon wanted to walk forward, but the creature’s sheer size, overwhelming heat, and the uncomfortable needle-prickling of destruction aura kept him where he was. “Is this still my choice?”
“Certainly. You have a choice between sharing the power of an ancient dragon-beast or, instead, spending three hours a day in meditative cycling until you can begin to touch the faintest whiff of Blackflame power.”
Lindon marched up and placed his hand on the turtle’s head.
His madra slipped into the sacred beast with no resistance—an advantage of pure madra. Orthos’ madra was black and blood-red twined together, dark and hungry, like a malevolent wildfire. Lindon almost broke contact immediately; the turtle’s spirit was so overwhelming and unrestrained that he was sure it would consume his madra instantly.
Black eyes filled with circles of shining red swiveled up, meeting Lindon.
“It’s not a complicated technique,” Eithan said. “Swear to share your core with him, and to accept his power in return.” After another second, he added, “I’ve found that saying it aloud helps the process. That goes for you, too, Orthos.”
“I swear to open my core to you and share my power,” Lindon said, though he was ashamed to hear his voice quaver a little. The hand on Orthos’ head was starting to get uncomfortably hot.
Orthos’ mouth slid open. Thick, inky flames gathered in the back of his throat, streaked with red like blood.
Eithan moved forward. Lindon took a step back, half-lifting his hand away from the sacred beast’s head.
“I swear,” the turtle thundered, in a voice that slammed into Lindon’s ears.
A stream of pure madra flowed from his strongest core, sucked away beyond his control. Lindon stumbled back, releasing his touch, but the bond between their souls did not break. Orthos drank in his power until the core was almost empty.
Then a black-and-red river plunged into Lindon, burning through his madra channels like molten iron through his veins. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he felt it should have; the worst part wasn’t pain, it was the feeling that his spirit was burning up. Crisping and blackening like a leaf in a fire. That he was dying, hollowed out.
Everything that was Lindon was burning away.
“Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel!” Eithan shouted.
Lindon was still staring at his burning core as though at the stump of his own hand. His mind couldn’t process it aside from a sense of numbing horror.
But Eithan’s words shook him awake.
He dropped to his knees, picturing the stone wheel, pushing it harder than he ever had before. Now came the pain, scorching his soul in a way that was more than merely physical, but the fire helped him as well as hurt. Every rotation of the wheel drew in more Blackflame madra like a spindle gathering thread.
He could hardly breathe, but that didn’t bother him now. All his mind, soul, and will was focused on the heavy stone wheel, churning away.
Either this would work, or the dark fire would burn him to ash.
Eithan watched the two of them with hands on his hips. Orthos and Lindon were both screaming, though he doubted either heard it, and tongues of Blackflame madra leaped around the cave, scorching through Lindon’s clothes, leaving grooves in stone. The aura of the place had gone wild, making this cave an oven and steadily devouring anything inside. A Copper who stepped inside this place would have the air scorched from their lungs and their skin crisped and blackened.
So far, the plan was unfolding beautifully.
He picked up Lindon’s pack and carried it to the entrance tunnel, where the air was relatively cooler. The books inside wouldn’t have lasted much longer without bursting into flames, and the pack itself would have eventually followed.
Without turning his head, Eithan watched the boy and the turtle. They would still be a while. Advancing to Jade usually took some time, after all, even if you had help.
In the meantime, Eithan took the opportunity to flip through Lindon’s possessions.
He set aside the books, bandages, medical kit, rune-light, emergency rations, extra clothes, inkwell, spare brushes, blank scrolls, needles, thread, scripted fire-starter, sculptor’s chisel, carving-knife, soap, seven purple boundary flags—one broken—and a frying pan, carefully remembering the relative position of each item.
Eithan had seen everything in here already, from the first moment they met, but he didn’t want Lindon to know he had interfered with anything. That would spoil the surprise.
Finally, he unearthed what he’d been digging for: the Sylvan Riverseed’s case.
It was a box of scripted, reinforced glass, big enough to contain a small cat. A river flowed around the edges, guided by a water-aura script that kept it in motion, but the center of the box was filled by a little grassy island. A finger-sized tree rose from one of the hills, life aura flowing through it in a verdant green web.