The beat of the hammer seemed to evoke a deeper music. Sometimes, when he was Soulsmithing, he felt that he was doing it right. Better than ever before. At those times, the unheard music was louder.
As he had sensed before, bringing something out of nonexistence seemed to resonate with the Void Icon, but that wasn’t it. Not entirely.
There was something else, and he tuned himself to it even as he lost himself in his creation of the Phoenix Blade.
He was so immersed that, when he felt something change, he couldn’t afford to stop.
[Um, Lindon…]
I felt it. Lindon continued swinging Genesis.
Dross shrugged. [We’ll handle congratulations later, then.]
Far above the labyrinth, in Sacred Valley, the image of a massive hammer spread across the sky.
34
This time, when Li Markuth descended into Cradle, he didn’t need to wait to be summoned. He stepped through the Way with confidence, striding back into his home.
Of course, his spirits weren’t as high as they had been the first time.
He strode into the Grand Hall of the Li clan, which was significantly less grand than it had been in his day. His outstretched black-and-white wings brushed the pillars on either side of the hall. Once, he would have had room to fly in here.
The Li clan elders weren’t gathered, and in fact it was the middle of the night. A Copper sweeping up the place staggered away, either to go summon them or to warn someone. Either way, Markuth’s descendants would be gathering here soon.
He wasn’t concerned about them at the moment. Markuth felt the change in the air around him as clearly as if Sacred Valley had risen from the sea.
A bunch of Irons staggered into the Grand Hall clutching spears, but he brushed past them. Some might have stabbed him.
Li Markuth spread his wings and called wind aura, drifting into the air. He felt a wry smile cross his face.
The four beasts had come home to rest.
The Valley had been ravaged. None of the trees he saw were more than a few years old, and the mountains were broken. Even Samara’s ring crackled with lightning.
So this land had finally fulfilled its ancient purpose.
It was funny, though. He’d expected that either the Dreadgods would have left this place in ruins or they would be sealed here. However, Sacred Valley had been half-ruined, and now he didn’t sense the Dreadgods anywhere in the world.
Which meant that they must be sealed beneath his feet, sleeping even now. Imprisoned in the labyrinth was the only place they could stay without him sensing them.
Markuth stretched his spirit, feeling the vital aura around him and letting madra flow through his channels. Now, with the suppression field gone, he could really settle down here. They wouldn’t remember his visit from before, so he could start over completely.
He didn’t like remembering that visit either.
That thought quenched him, because it reminded him of the hook on which he squirmed. No matter what the Mad King promised him, there was always the possibility that Suriel would come back for him. He’d live the rest of his days in this Iteration looking over his shoulder for a Judge.
But there was no choice. He’d been ordered to return to his home world, and one did not defy the Mad King.
An old Jade woman in intricate jewelry finally stumbled out in front of him, though at least she had the good sense to prostrate herself before him and beg his name.
“I am Li Markuth, Grand Elder of the Li clan,” he announced. “Gather the Elders before me, so that we can place our clan in its rightful place at the top.”
With her forehead pressed against the ground, the Jade quivered. “Ah…forgiveness, Grand Elder, but the other Elders are visiting the Wei clan for the Seven-Year Festival.”
“Seven years,” Markuth murmured.
Had it really been so long?
Tucked away in the Void and then imprisoned in Haven, he’d found it difficult to track the passing of time. In some ways, he felt as though it had only been a few months.
In other ways, these seven years had been a lifetime.
A detail stood out to him, and he turned back to the Jade woman crouched beneath him. “The Wei clan? Did they not host the Festival last time?”
If they didn’t remember even holding the Seven-Year Festival last time, perhaps Suriel had erased more than he imagined.
“Your knowledge of our circumstances humbles me, Grand Elder. Last time, it was the Wei clan’s turn to host, so this year it should have been the Kazan. But, given that the Wei clan now has a Grand Elder of their own, we unanimously decided to bring the Festival to him.”
A smile split Markuth’s face. “Is that so?”
He swept his spiritual sense across the Valley, this time paying attention to the tiny masses of power that were the weak sacred artists here.
There were quite a few Golds this time, as one would expect from the suppression field falling. No spirits that stood out to him, though. Sages, Heralds, Monarchs.
Perhaps he could have some fun in his exile after all.
Markuth drifted down to the ground and spoke to the Elder. “Gather up anyone still left in the clan. Tomorrow, I will take you directly to the Seven-Year Festival. And you will see what true power is.”
That night, Li Markuth found it easy to get the Li Elders on his side. He just had to show off some of his power and they groveled at his feet.
That was one thing he’d missed about Cradle. They respected the law of the jungle.
In the forest outside the arena constructed by the Wei clan, Markuth gave instructions to the Elders. Though he still felt the sword of the Abidan hanging over his head, he did appreciate the second chance to have his grand homecoming. This time, he’d do it right.
He told the Elders what to do, and they swore allegiance. For the most part, they listened perfectly.
But they did have an annoying habit of bringing up the Wei clan’s Grand Elder.
“Of course, we don’t doubt your power, Grand Elder,” one of them said, bowing so deeply that his nose was tucked between his knees. “But the Wei Grand Elder is…”
Another Elder took it up. “He did battle with the Dreadgods.”
When Li Markuth had left Cradle, he had only been an Archlord. It had taken years of preparation and good fortune to ascend at all.
He waved his hand arrogantly, rings flashing in the sunlight. “He is a bug who grew in a cage. No matter how big he’s grown, he can’t match me.”
“Surely what the Grand Elder says is correct, of course, but to our lacking eyes, he is…very impressive. We would not be serving you well if we did not point this out.”
Markuth chuckled fondly. This was like having children warn you about their imaginary friend.
“There are enemies out there who dwarf even me,” Markuth said to them. “None of them would remain in this world. The true depths of the cosmos are beyond your comprehension.” He placed his hand on the back of one white head; no matter how you measured it, after all, he was far older than they were.
“We saw the sky break,” one of the Elders put in. “We were too weak to see the battle in the heavens.”
Li Markuth paused in ruffling an Elder’s hair. “A battle in the heavens?”
The Elders compared rumors and hearsay to cobble together a story for him. They had heard of a black-armored man with white hair fighting against another with bone armor and burning red eyes.
The Mad King had mentioned nothing about coming to Cradle.
Li Markuth paced as the children babbled questions. He rubbed his face. If Daruman had come to Cradle, why was the world still here? And Ozriel? The Reaper of Worlds and the Mad King had done battle inside an Iteration, then left it intact?
Something was terribly wrong here.
More than ever, Markuth felt like bait on a hook. If Ozriel came back for him, there would be no arrest. The Reaper did not bring his enemies to prison.