It was like staring into a world of fractured rainbows.
Lindon had to close off his senses before his head began to throb. Focusing on any aura gave him information about that aura’s aspect, so opening his aura sight was like staring into the sun and reading a hundred books at the same time. A headache followed in seconds.
The thousands of sacred artists who had gathered to explore the benefits of the Ruins had started to drift away as soon as the pyramid stopped drawing in aura. Now, only three days later, half of these newly built buildings were abandoned. The dirt paths leading all over the Alliance encampment were all but empty, not choked with traffic as they had been only half a week before.
But news had already traveled fast. Everyone they spotted on the road bowed at the sight of Eithan, murmuring respect as he passed. Usually seconds before scurrying out of their way, lest the Underlord become displeased.
Eithan continued to ignore everyone, chatting with Lindon and occasionally stopping to sweep dust from a windowsill or snip a branch from a bush with the black iron scissors he seemed to carry everywhere. He never glanced at anyone else, whether they bowed or not, and many of the strangers looked relieved by that fact.
Lindon knew better.
Eithan didn't look at them because he didn't need to.
They finally arrived at the end of Fisher territory, amid a collection of wooden buildings that looked as though they had been built in a day and abandoned just as quickly. A bucket of nails rested on a half-finished fence, and a hand plane sat abandoned in the grass.
Eithan gestured to the biggest building, which smelled of fresh-cut wood and sat in a bed of sawdust and wood chips. “Behold,” he said, “your new training hall! The crew started and finished it last night.”
It was a barn. Fisher Gesha’s foundry looked almost exactly the same, except this one was unpainted.
Why was Eithan having new buildings constructed? Weren’t they leaving soon?
“I'm eager to see what's inside,” Lindon said diplomatically.
“Are you? That’s strange. I designed it to look as uninteresting as possible.” Eithan swept up the plane and the bucket of nails, placing them next to a pile of other tools. “I’m sure Yerin’s reaction was much more entertaining.”
Lindon resisted the urge to apologize, instead approaching the barn.
There was an average-sized door on the side, obviously made for foot traffic, and broad doors in the middle designed for livestock. Although if it was built only a day ago as a training hall, why would there be animals here at all?
After a second's indecision, Lindon hitched up his pack and hauled with both hands on the livestock door.
Yerin sat inside, legs crossed, with a white-bladed sword across her knees. She was roughly Lindon’s age, about sixteen, but while Lindon had been raised among the comforts of civilization, Yerin looked like she’d grown up in a never-ending knife fight.
Blades had left their tracks in the pale scars on her face and hands, in the tattered edges of her coal-black sacred artist’s robe. She cut her hair with her sword madra, so it ended in absolutely straight lines across her eyes and above her shoulders.
The rope tied around her waist was the red of spilled blood, but Lindon couldn’t bear to look directly at it. There was something alive about that belt, as though it could slither away at any moment.
Her Goldsign grew from behind her shoulder, a silver arm ending in a blade like a scorpion’s stinger. Even seated on the floor in a cycling position, she looked deadly, as though she were poised to dive back into a battle.
She nodded a greeting to Lindon, but addressed Eithan. “Daylight's wasting. Am I going back to cycling, or are we going to start hitting these guys?”
She jerked a thumb behind her, and Lindon took a glance over her shoulder. Except for the beams supporting the roof, the barn was wide open from wall to wall. And filling that space was a circle of eighteen wooden dummies.
They were only crude outlines of men: rough shapes of a head and torso, with boards sticking out like arms. They had no legs, only a single pole driven through the floorboards beneath them.
But what drew Lindon's attention, and made him walk forward for a closer look, were the runes carved into those boards. The dummies had been arranged all around a script-circle the size of the barn, and it was one of the most intricate circles he'd ever seen. There were two lines of script circling the dummies, one on the inside and one on the outside, and the runes were packed small and tight; each symbol was only the size of his thumb. He picked out a rune he recognized here and there, but a circle like this was far beyond him.
A second circle, much smaller, overlapped at the far end of the barn. It was only big enough for a single person to stand inside, and a wooden podium rested in the center. Lindon guessed that those were the controls.
Eithan put his hands on his hips and looked over the eighteen dummies with the smile of a proud father. “Six Soulsmiths worked alongside the carpenters all night for this, and I have to say, I think they did a wonderful job.”
Lindon could tell that the runes had been carved quickly, but he was still having trouble accepting that this had been done in one night.
“This is a traditional training method from my homeland,” Eithan said, walking over to stand by one of the dummies. “I've seen similar setups elsewhere, but I’m partial to this design. Yerin, did your master ever take you through one of these?”
“Master wouldn’t let me draw my sword on a wooden man,” Yerin said with a shrug. “If it didn't bleed, it wasn't good enough training.”
“I suspect that, in a few years, you’ll have drawn enough blood to satisfy even your master. No need to start too early.”
Yerin looked pleased by the compliment, but Lindon was wondering what exactly the Underlord had planned for them over the next few years.
Eithan moved on. “These dummies are more than wood, you see. They are moved by small constructs inside, and are used to practice basic steps in combat.”
Yerin's face fell, her disappointment clear. Lindon perked up.
She might not need such simple instruction, but Lindon was looking forward to his turn in the circle of wooden men. He was lacking in many areas, and hand-to-hand combat was one of them. As an Unsouled, he had been encouraged to practice the simple exercises of the Wei clan, but never trained for a real fight.
Eithan strode over to the podium at the center of the control circle, pointing a finger at Yerin while moving his other hand over the podium. “I know how you feel, but be patient. I'm making a point.”
The air between Eithan's hand and the podium rippled. The smaller circle around Eithan lit up white, then the light flowed into the bigger circle. Soon, the entire barn was lit with pale runelight.
Suddenly, one of the wooden dummies spun on its axis. A previously invisible circle of runes lit up on its left arm—green—then in its lower torso—blue—then on its face—white. The lights faded away in seconds.
“Hit the circles as they light up. Simple, isn't it? If you do it correctly, and your strikes carry enough madra, the circles will stay lit instead of dying out. When all three circles on all the dummies remain active at the same time, you have won.”
Air rippled between his hand and the controls again, and a deafening chime sounded from all the dummies at once. They each spun in place, and the three circles on their bodies continued to shine instead of dying out.
Eithan stepped away from the controls, though the circles in the floorboards remained lit.
The dummies stayed bright for a handful of seconds, their three rings shining, before finally going dark.
“Yerin, if you wouldn't mind demonstrating for Lindon how the system works, I'd like to see you defeat the dummies. As quickly as possible, please.”