Yerin grabbed his hand too tightly. “Are you sure?”
“Do it!”
With the chime of a tiny bell, Yerin carefully used the Endless Sword. And Eithan’s glorious hair fell to the floor.
He gave a cry of pain, and Yerin patted him on the shoulder. “You looked like a yellow dog that climbed out of the fireplace. Your hair was suffering, and we eased it on its way.”
“A mirror,” Eithan croaked. “Bring me a mirror.”
He could see himself through his bloodline power, now that they were hovering in the cloud fortress outside of Sacred Valley, but there was still no substitute to using your own eyes.
Yerin handed him his pocket mirror, holding it up for him so he didn’t have to move his bandaged hands. She had left only two or three inches of hair. Barely enough to style.
He looked…well, he still looked great. A change in style could be refreshing sometimes.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t mourn the loss.
“Thank you. I just needed to see the damage for myself.”
She patted him again, and he could see her struggling not to make some comment about having real injuries to see to.
Eithan himself had a brace on his neck and all four limbs, as well as scripted bandages around his entire midsection and no less than three medicinal pills in his system. If not for the scripts, he would feel like beetles were eating him from the inside out at the moment, but at least he would be healed in a few days.
But he wasn’t the only one who needed attention.
Mercy and Ziel were both asleep, recovering from spiritual wounds. Little Blue had seen to them both, and Mercy would wake soon. She had strained her bloodline far beyond its limits, and would have suffered worse if she hadn’t left the battle once her armor broke.
Her mother would be able to restore such an injury, no doubt, but then they would all be in the unenviable position of explaining to Malice why they let a Monarch’s Overlady daughter face down a Dreadgod. If she recovered on her own, Malice need not be bothered.
Ziel had also pushed himself too far, but fortunately not beyond the restorative benefits of the Pure Storm Baptism. Eithan had performed the next stage—with his arms stiff as boards—and now Ziel slept with sparks of lightning madra playing through his spirit and over his body.
Orthos was perhaps in the worst shape, and his size couldn’t be reversed until he woke up and was provided with more soulfire. He hovered over a hill outside like a mid-sized Dreadgod himself, drifting on green cushions of life aura guided by a script. Everyone had donated life-aspected natural treasures to the effort, and now his flesh was knitting itself together at visible speed.
Even Yerin had not walked away unscathed, though she’d recovered before everyone but Lindon. Veins of bright red madra covered her body, replacing broken flesh, including a chunk of her hip. If she had to fight now, she could.
Instead of mocking Eithan, Yerin stood and looked to the door. “Scream if you need more coddling. I’m going after him.”
“You don’t think he needs some time alone right now?”
“Been more than a minute since he’s been alone at all.”
Physically, Lindon was fine. He was suffering some aftereffects from having Consumed too much of the Titan, but nothing he wouldn’t wrestle through.
Loss was harder to handle.
“Beings such as Dross don’t really die,” Eithan said. “…except under truly extraordinary circumstances.”
They could, however, change so drastically from damage like this that they came back with entirely different personalities. Which would not reassure Yerin, so Eithan didn’t say anything.
It wasn’t a guarantee, anyway. Perhaps Dross would recover and be perfectly healthy.
Eithan hoped so. He still had high hopes for Dross.
Yerin glanced at him as though she heard his unspoken thoughts. “Doesn’t mean he has an easy road to walk right now, does it? I’d contend he shouldn’t be finding his way on his own.”
“Nor will he have to,” Eithan agreed, “but sometimes you need time to yourself first.”
Her expression shifted subtly as she wrestled with herself, and Eithan could read the pain on her face. She knew he was right. She’d pushed through loss enough times herself.
While she was working to her own conclusion. Eithan left his bed. He didn’t have much control over his body, so he looked something like a turtle righting itself after landing on its shell.
When he finally stood stiffly on two thoroughly bandaged legs, he congratulated himself on the victory.
“Doesn’t count as alone if you pop out of the bushes,” she pointed out.
“I can lurk without popping out. Besides, I’m not going to Lindon.”
Yerin radiated such obvious skepticism that he thought he could see it in the vital aura.
“Lindon isn’t the only person in the world. I do sneak up on others occasionally.”
She gave his legs a pointed look. “You won’t be sneaking up on a deaf brick.”
“Ah, but you underestimate my legendary grace and agility.” Eithan hobbled across the ground, his every step clattering on the floor until it sounded like the return of the Wandering Titan.
He paused at the door. He had used up his soulfire to heal himself and perform the Baptism on Ziel.
“Would you mind helping me with the door, please?”
Without a word, Yerin pushed it open.
Somehow, Jai Chen found herself leading a procession of several hundred sacred artists. Most were much older, and none had any idea who she was.
She led by virtue of being the strongest sacred artist present, and because Mercy had told everyone to listen to her. They had been about two hundred strong then, but the last time Jai Chen extended her detection web, she’d counted almost twice that.
Mercy had also left her with a medicinal pill for her brother, and now it slowly revolved in his spirit, but he still hadn’t woken up.
Jai Chen hauled Jai Long behind herself on a stretcher that lay on a hovering construct. She’d been lucky to find that platform; at first, she had been dragging him over the uneven terrain, which couldn’t have been good for his recovery.
The further they pushed into the black trees, the more dreadbeasts they’d encountered. Most wouldn’t bother a group of their size, but some seemed to have no sense of self-preservation at all.
Fingerling flew around her, staying alert for more, even though he was at least as exhausted as she was. He sagged in midair, and his eyes regularly fluttered closed, but he kept shaking himself awake.
Now that the Dreadgod was gone, Jai Chen could turn back west again, but she didn’t want to go back to Sacred Valley in that condition. Nor did anyone else who followed her, it seemed.
They had a plan for the Wilds, so she was clinging to it like a life raft.
But the plan let her down at the first step.
She called out a warning as she felt more sacred artists approaching, but when they emerged, she was the one to panic.
The forty or fifty sacred artists coming out of the trees wore blue, carried spears, and their hair was stiff and shiny as metal. The Jai clan.
Jai Chen and her brother had wondered about this. With the clan being pushed out of the Blackflame Empire proper, it was possible that they would look for places to settle on the border of the Empire. Places that weren’t really under Imperial supervision at all. Like the Desolate Wilds.
A woman with glistening black hair stepped up, her spearhead shining like a white star. “I am Jai Hara, of the Jai clan. Name yourselves.”
There was deathly silence from the Sacred Valley side as everyone waited for Jai Chen to speak. Even Fingerling turned to her.
She shoved the panic down into her stomach. These people wouldn’t know who she was. They couldn’t recognize her; she wasn’t wearing anything that marked her as having once been part of their clan, and she didn’t have their Goldsign. Or any Goldsign at all, as she was still Jade.