Reaper (Cradle Book 10) Read online

  He considered what Redmoon would say to that, and examined his arguments. He presented some of his own. All in his head.

  Across the hall, his clone did the same.

  When they were both finished, Redmoon spoke. “She will return to the Valley when we begin.”

  “So we will follow Shen’s instructions,” Red Faith agreed.

  “For now.”

  Unwittingly, the Monarch had positioned them exactly where they needed to be. For they were instructed to return south, soon. To Sacred Valley.

  Where they would inevitably find Yerin Arelius.

  Red Faith nodded. “We will have leverage on her then. She will join us with gratitude, and it will be in her own best interests to support the research. Very well. We will wait.”

  “As I said all along.”

  Red Faith snorted, but allowed the Herald his hollow victory. At least they were unified now.

  As they should have been all along.

  7

  It was Cassias’ habit to stroll the streets of the city every night after dinner. It was a pleasant way to cycle, helped him to get a sense for the city, and reassured his employees—who often started their work when the sun went down—that he was around and watching.

  And, of course, Eithan had done this back when he was in charge.

  He had very often shirked his normal responsibilities, but whenever he had been in the city, he had walked its length and breadth. He intervened in problems, no matter how minor, and made sure the Arelius presence was felt.

  Cassias didn’t have Eithan’s talent in using their bloodline legacy, but he was still an Arelius. He saw more than anyone else could.

  So he stepped aside gracefully as Eithan plummeted from a rooftop above him.

  The Archlord landed gently, as though he’d merely stepped off a stoop, but he still clicked his tongue in disappointment.

  “Were you trying to land on me?” Cassias asked.

  “I was going to land on your shoulders. Then I was going to make a joke about how it was your turn to hold me up, but now it’s dead.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a very good joke.”

  “Well, the moment’s gone, isn’t it? You ruined it.”

  Despite his words, the smile on Eithan’s face looked more genuine than usual. He took a deep breath of the cool night air as he spread sapphire sleeves wide.

  “You ever have a night when you’re just glad you don’t have to fight to the death?” Eithan asked.

  “Yes. Every night.”

  “Every night? Really? What do you do if you’re not fighting for your life?”

  “Literally anything else.”

  “Huh. Well, sometimes even I prefer not to have the pressure of the world on my shoulders.” Eithan looked at Cassias’ shoulders and sighed in regret, no doubt thinking of the missed opportunity for his joke.

  Cassias glimpsed something in the strands of power constantly radiated by his bloodline, and looked off to his left. Two streets over, someone was creeping along an alleyway outside a restaurant. A quick scan showed that their spirit was veiled. A robber?

  They were walking away from the restaurant, but there were houses that way. Cassias was about to leap over the house and confront the sneaking man when Eithan manifested a ball of madra between his fingers. A tiny Striker technique.

  He closed one eye, aimed for a moment, and then hurled it into the sky.

  It came down on the same man Cassias had been watching, driving into the man’s spirit and tearing through his veil. He yelped. An employee of the restaurant came out furious while wiping hands on her apron.

  “Thief?” Cassias asked.

  “He dined without paying.” Eithan shook his fist at the sky in mock outrage. “Not in my town!”

  Then he strode down the street, whistling.

  They didn’t foil any more crimes that night, though Eithan shouted encouragement to a girl trying to work up the courage to dance, then led Cassias up to a bird’s nest on top of a chimney. Cassias had expected them to be dreadbeasts or hostile sacred crows or something, but no, Eithan had just wanted to show him some sparkly eggshells.

  Eithan then climbed to the top of the highest tower around—if you could call soaring from floor to floor with one tap of the foot “climbing”—and trusted Cassias to follow.

  With a lot of grumbling and much more physical exertion, Cassias eventually made it up.

  He found Eithan sitting on the edge of the roof, staring out into the night. Usually, his hair would be blowing in the breeze, and Cassias was glad he’d seen sense and kept it short. Long hair could be a liability in combat.

  Although Cassias reflected on that as he sat down by Eithan. That was true in combat between Golds, but Eithan was an Archlord now. How could an opponent getting a grip on his hair possibly inconvenience him? And he couldn’t be blinded by it fluttering into his eyes.

  “What a beautiful city,” Eithan sighed. “Then again, I’ve found that most cities are beautiful, if you have the right perspective.”

  Cassias shook himself back to reality. He had just gotten distracted thinking about hair.

  Eithan would be proud.

  “I don’t often find you in a contemplative mood,” Cassias said. These days, he mostly didn’t find Eithan at all. The Archlord was in high demand.

  “I contemplate all the time! Truly, my deep machinations make Monarchs and emperors tremble.”

  He waited a beat, then added, “I am shocked that man on the third floor can eat so much fried meat at once. Truly shocked. It’s not his Iron body or anything, I think he’s just…very hungry.”

  Cassias wasn’t paying attention to the man on the third floor of the tower, as he was studying Eithan. The Archlord had leaned back on his palms, his feet still dangling off the edge, and was now staring up at the stars with a small, content smile.

  “You look happy,” Cassias observed.

  Eithan responded without looking away from the sky. “I’m always happy. Haven’t you noticed how much I smile?”

  “Then you’re doing well?”

  “My new haircut suits me, so I suppose I’m doing wonderfully.”

  Cassias nodded and leaned back himself, looking up at the stars. Eithan would answer seriously soon, or he never would.

  After a minute or so of silence, Eithan spoke. “Sincerely, I am content. Better than I have been in…a long time.”

  Cassias thought back to the beaten, battered, and burned Underlord that had come through the Arelius family portal about nine years ago. Since then, as long as Cassias had known him, he had been searching for something.

  “I’m glad you found what you were looking for,” Cassias said.

  Eithan seemed to know what he meant, because he nodded. “Everything’s finally—”

  With a slap to his own mouth, Eithan cut himself off. The slap made such a loud explosion that Cassias shot up, cycling his madra against an attack.

  Eithan gave a heavy breath of relief. “I almost said ‘Everything’s finally perfect.’ Can you imagine what a mistake that would have been? I can’t afford to tempt fate like that.”

  Cassias was happy for him, he really was, but he still kicked Eithan off the tower.

  It felt just as good as the Emperor had promised.

  Reigan Shen coughed up blood, which wasn’t as bad a sign as it seemed.

  Nine flying tridents wove around him each glowing with the soft green flame of death madra. He directed the Nightstone Spear Formation according to a method passed down for generations on the Iceflower continent.

  They swept through in a complex pattern, butchering the army of blood spirits that filled this massive chamber. He had to fuel their flight by scattering his own natural treasures, given the lack of wind aura here, but their performance was worth it.

  The Blood Core’s prison looked identical to the one that had held the Storm Core, except instead of being covered in flowing blue crystals, this one was filled with semi-liquid beings that hung
ered to consume flesh. The second Reigan Shen had blasted his way in here, he’d been flooded by a tide of blood spirits.

  The rich blood aura was too much for his weakened body, especially combined with the half-formed Ruler techniques of this host. Blood oozed from his eyes, from the smallest of scratches, and pooled in his chest.

  Perhaps a human would have died. Reigan Shen didn’t know. He wore his human form like a cloak.

  And lions were not so fragile. He maintained his concentration, focusing his will on the nine tridents as they wove a complex web of green death throughout the room.

  In seconds, there was silence except for the red liquid spattering to the stone floor.

  The pressure on Shen’s veins eased up, and he wiped off his lips with the back of one hand. The Blood Core sent a crimson pillar of light up to the ceiling. If not for the suppression field, its power would have blasted through the entire mountain and pierced the sky.

  Then again, if it weren’t for the suppression field, the Blood Core would have no reason to be here.

  Shen readied the second of the four silver containers he had prepared. He’d chosen the order of this operation very carefully.

  If he had removed the Titan Core to the west, the golden beam currently streaming into the sky would have been interrupted. Everyone in a hundred miles would notice.

  Likewise with the east. When he removed the Silent Core from beneath Mount Samara, its ring would begin to fade within a day.

  He had spent almost a year living here, in his own personal Netherworld of private torment, taking his time at every turn. He had mapped and cleared the routes between all four peaks, disabled countless scripts, and even tampered with the great script-circle that maintained the suppression field. All to allow this.

  When the locals noticed, it would only be a matter of time before the other Monarchs did as well.

  This was the last step he could perform slowly. Soon, the race would begin.

  Reigan Shen seized the Blood Core, as large around as his own midsection, and shoved it toward the opening of a silver, rectangular case small enough to fit in one hand.

  Space distorted as the Core was slurped inside, like water draining.

  He could rest now, catch his breath, take his time. Only when the next step began would he have to rush.

  For now, he simply had to take the Blood Core to the south and return it. To where it had always belonged.

  Lindon strode through the school building that the city had given him, watching the rows of students wearing burnt orange and pale blue.

  There were about forty of them, all younger than Lindon himself, most Copper or Iron. They had gone through the training to cleanse their madra, returning it to a pure state—if they had been too advanced, it wouldn’t have worked.

  Now they had their eyes closed, cycling clumsily according to a spiritual Enforcer technique that Lindon had taught them.

  The Heart of Twin Stars.

  Lindon had to point out mistakes here and there, but for the most part, their madra control was more than good enough for the technique. And they weren’t splitting their cores today; this was only a cycling technique to prepare them.

  Under Lindon’s supervision, they should have an easier time than he himself had. But his stomach rolled as he sensed them.

  What if he was wrong? What if they messed up under his guidance, and damaged their own spirits? What if he hadn’t eased the way for them as much as he thought, and the spiritual pain was too much for them?

  It was gut-churning, being responsible for someone else advancing safely. He preferred when it was only his own safety he risked.

  Little Blue patted the back of his ear and quietly whispered encouragement to him. It did help. He was confident in his theoretical understanding, though he would be more confident if Dross were still around.

  Lindon flexed his right arm. He had stitched it together with hunger madra he’d gathered from dreadbeast cores, though the limb was barely functional. It looked like it was covered in painted-over cracks, which from a Soulsmithing perspective was roughly what he’d done.

  He could use the Consume technique again, and he did. But he was careful every time. With a less-functional arm and no Dross, the burden on the Heart of Twin Stars technique was increased. He had to take much longer to sort the various powers he absorbed.

  Therefore, Lindon’s comprehension of Heart of Twin Stars was higher than it had ever been. He should be completely confident in teaching it to others. There was only one person Lindon knew of who might understand the principles of pure madra better than he did.

  As if summoned by Lindon’s thoughts, Eithan swooped in through the window at that exact moment.

  He straightened his pink-and-yellow clothes once he landed, then smoothed back his hair, which was all reassuringly normal behavior. But he stared off into the distance with a distracted frown on his face.

  The students all bubbled at his entrance, their cycling forgotten. Some called questions, while others whispered his name.

  For his part, Lindon swept his spiritual perception over the students again, suddenly frightened that Eithan had sensed a problem or cycling deviation that he’d missed.

  But while he panicked internally, he kept himself under control outwardly so he wouldn’t disturb the students. Strong emotion could disrupt the Heart of Twin Stars.

  “How can I help you, Archlord?” Lindon asked.

  “Did you sense anything just now?”

  Lindon followed Eithan’s gaze. The Arelius was staring through the western wall.

  Why was Eithan coming to him?

  Surely if there was anything he could sense, Eithan would already have seen it. And if it were a matter of spiritual perception, Yerin’s could extend the furthest among all of them.

  So it must be…

  Lindon aligned himself to the Void Icon. It had become easier this year, though it was still strange. While he touched the Icon, he felt everything around him as vessels that could be drained, material that could be consumed.

  But he sensed no authority challenging his own.

  “Nothing,” Lindon said, though he didn’t release the Icon.

  Eithan tapped his own lip. “I’m not sure I did either…it’s nothing, I’m sure. Almost sure.”

  That didn’t give Lindon much information, but he tried to stretch his perception even farther. They were hundreds of miles from Sacred Valley now, but that was the direction Eithan was looking, so he reached.

  He passed through an uncountable sea of powers, madra and aura of every aspect, and here and there a will that might have been strong enough to affect something.

  An ordinary population, in other words.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “I don’t know.” Eithan gave Lindon a brief embarrassed shrug. “Perhaps it has been too long since I’ve lived without a crisis. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”

  But his frown deepened, and Lindon’s forehead broke out into a cold sweat.

  Eithan was being both serious and uncertain.

  “Students, I need to have a word with the Archlord. Cycle with your parasite rings for an hour tonight, but don’t activate the Heart of Twin Stars. Wait for my supervision. All right?”

  They murmured their agreement, but most of the students weren’t in a hurry to leave. They filtered out with many a glance backward. Some hid beneath the windows, hoping to hear something.

  Lindon even felt some spiritual senses brushing up against the building; some students must have gotten their parents or older siblings involved. And quickly; they’d only left seconds ago.

  But there was nothing for them to sense yet.

  “So you had a…premonition?” Lindon asked, keeping his voice low.

  “A bad feeling. Intuition.” Eithan tapped his chin, still staring to the west. “It’s like all the aura in the world suddenly shifted, like a loose tile. But when I looked closer, everything was as it should be.”

  “Sacred Valle
y?” Lindon asked.

  “I hope not. I’m not in a hurry to return.”

  Lindon appreciated Eithan’s implication that he would immediately rush toward the source of trouble.

  If Eithan was this serious, then Lindon couldn’t brush this off as a feeling. He sat down in a cycling position, where a student had sat only a moment before, and cycled his pure madra. He opened up his perception as broadly as he could.

  All the while, he stretched out to the Void Icon. Emptiness, hunger, and nonexistence.

  He didn’t sense anything that alarmed him, but he didn’t give up right away. Better to be safe.

  Reigan Shen stood beneath the Greatfather once more, at the heart of the chamber filled with oozing blue crystals.

  He had gone through great battles, suffered indignities, and lost weapons of incalculable value these last few days. But now there were no obstacles remaining.

  He raised the silver container at his belt, the one that had been stained red. The Blood Core was overpowering its case.

  Fortunately, he didn’t need it anymore.

  Reigan Shen steadied himself, cycling his madra, stilling his heart and focusing his will. This was it. When he placed the Blood Core back where it had belonged, he would be flipping the hourglass.

  Then the whole world would be against him.

  For a time.

  When his mind was steady, Shen summoned the Blood Core. The huge red sphere streamed out of the tiny flask, and he placed it on the altar from which he had first taken the Storm Core.

  Instantly, red light poured upward. And the room changed.

  The liquid-looking crystals all over the walls and ceiling turned from blue to purple in an instant, blood madra flowing through them. The lightning now crackled red.

  Originally, this chamber had been made to hold the Blood Core. The Cores had been scrambled long ago, their placement swapped, to help change the function of the script they powered. In a sense, Reigan Shen was setting something right.