A nail drove through his calf, and he went down. He caught himself with both hands and rolled before hitting the ground, so the green Forged nail intended to go through his other leg hit the dirt instead.
His Blackflame core was hopelessly empty, and his Bloodforged Iron body was draining pure madra to his calf like a bucket with a hole in it. He pinched the needle with two fingers—the Sandviper madra stung his skin like acid—and pulled it out.
Then he let his pack slide to the ground, turning to face his pursuer.
“My name is Wei Shi Lindon, honored Truegold,” Lindon said, spreading his hands. “As you can see, I’m only a Jade, and surely I have nothing to interest an elder of your caliber.”
“Sandviper Gokren,” he growled. “Kral’s father.”
When the spear came in, Lindon instinctively tried to form the Burning Cloak. Of course, nothing happened—he was cycling pure madra, and it had to be handled differently. But he clumsily Enforced his arms anyway, managing to knock the thrust off course.
The second spear followed instantly, and he had to step back to stop it. Which meant putting weight on his bleeding calf.
He tried to stop the scream, but when he faltered and took a spearhead to the shoulder, he screamed all the same.
Lindon covered his face with his hands as another technique came in, but the spray of needles covered him from head to hips. At first, he trusted in the power of his Iron body and his Enforcer technique to save him, but the strength of a Truegold overwhelmed him. Every wound burned with poison, and his body leaked madra trying to counteract the Sandviper venom.
His lungs locked up. He couldn’t get a breath. His madra channels flickered and went dark, the pain overwhelming him as his Enforcer technique broke.
Gokren was shouting something, face purple with rage, but Lindon didn’t hear a word of it. He was drifting away, his flesh distant, as darkness crept into the corners of his vision.
Orthos hit Gokren like a landslide.
The turtle’s roar shook the canyon. Foreign anger echoed in Lindon’s soul, and Blackflame power flared against acid-green light. Rocks cracked, men shouted, and fire crackled.
The fight continued, but all the other details faded with Lindon’s consciousness.
Time passed in a haze of pain as the ground shook beneath him. He came back to himself choking on a mouthful of dirt and ash. He was riddled with holes, blood still seeping out of him, and he was starting to shiver. But the Bloodforged Iron body had done its job; at least venom no longer crawled through his veins.
He spat out bloody mud and rolled his eyes in his sockets, craning for a sight of Sandviper Gokren.
Twilight had passed, the stars bright pinpricks against the dark.
He could see no one. He strained his spiritual perception, and sensed…
Nothing.
He tried again, taking deep breaths despite the pain, quieting his spirit as best he could. The world remained dead around him. He opened his eyes, staring beyond what he could see, looking to open his Copper sight and catch a glimpse of aura.
No color. The world was gray and lifeless, and his limbs now trembled with creeping cold.
Calming his panic, he focused on his madra. His core was drained, but he could fix that by cycling. He braced himself for the pain as he tried to push himself up on his elbows.
In the dirt, he saw his arms twitch. He felt nothing.
Panic rose into his throat again, throwing off his breathing, and he tried to picture the heavy stone wheel in his core. He didn’t feel anything; not a spark.
His Bloodforged Iron body had drained everything.
Though the pain made his vision swim, and fear weighed him down, he managed to shimmy closer to his pack. It had fallen close to him, and there might be a Four Corners Rotation Pill or some scales inside. At least he could see what he had available, take stock.
He inched closer, seizing the corner of the pack with his teeth. Through pure will, he managed to slide his hand to the hook at the top. The hook held only a loop of cloth; all he had to do was slide that loop off, and the pack was open. He edged his thumb into the gap.
It didn’t take.
He tried again and again, despair growing like mold in his chest, until finally he caught the loop. With a limp finger, he pulled it open.
The pack tipped.
Its contents tumbled onto the ground, pelting his face and hand with junk. The pack must have been jostled around during the fight, because even some things that should have been secured in inside pockets had come free: his Path of Twin Stars manual, his Soulsmith primer, a sealed inkwell, a handful of halfsilver chips. It all spilled around him like trash.
In his hazy awareness, Lindon could only latch onto one thought: he had to put everything back where it was supposed to go. He pushed his hand, trying to keep his precious Path manual out of the dirt. Without madra, his arm might as well have been a dishrag.
He was empty.
The canyon had always been dark, allowing only a strip of light in from the sky, but at night the darkness surrounded him.
So when the light came, it hurt his eyes.
The blue light seemed blinding at first, even with his eyes closed, but when he swiped muddy tears from his eyelids and squinted into the shadows, his eyes quickly adjusted.
He stared into an azure candle flame, burning steadily at the heart of a glass marble. The flame was smooth and bright, the glass flawless.
As Lindon bled into the dirt, he stared at the ball of glass and fire. Just stared.
In the visions Suriel had shown him, he had died…but not here. Not alone in the dark.
He had a long way to go yet.
Lindon slapped one hand down on the marble, feeling its warmth. He hadn’t been able to cycle before, but given that he wasn’t dead yet, he had to think there was some power left in his soul. If he bled to death, he’d do it while cycling.
If that didn’t work…well, he’d climbed his way up from powerless before. He could do it again.
Lindon tried to draw on his Blackflame core, though it was like trying to inhale wood. There was nothing there. But if he could reclaim some shred of power, Blackflame was what he wanted. Pure madra wouldn’t do him much good if Gokren came back.
The thought made him shiver with fear, but he steadied his breath again and started cycling according to the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel. The pain in his lungs almost made him return to his earlier, simpler Foundation technique, but he persevered. Eithan had told him to practice this cycling technique, and at least no one could say he’d given up.
Breath after agonizing breath passed, each one feeling like it hadn’t delivered enough air, but he kept going until he started to feel something. An approaching flame, a slight red light, and a tingling feeling on his skin.
His eyes snapped open to find that he was staring straight into black eyes with irises the color of shining blood.
Orthos.
Chapter 19
Yerin dashed up the black slope, headed for the other peak, but Jai Long followed her.
He was playing with her, she could see that clear as glass. Maybe he wanted to hammer out a new technique, and maybe he thought she wasn’t worth his best. Whatever the truth, it stung.
She had clawed the last drop of madra from her core, and was running on prayers. But there was a mass of silver power left in her spirit, and she begged it for more power.
Her master’s instincts told her to attack.
I can’t, she thought. Give me something, and I’ll use it.
The Remnant had no other advice for her. Just a few wispy memories of running straight at an enemy, weapon and techniques primed and ready.