Unsouled (Cradle Book 1) (22 page)

Lindon looked him dead in the eyes and tried to imitate his father. He knew he looked stronger than he actually was, so he was hoping to approach the prideful stare of an expert. “My failure is my own, and I must walk my own path.”

He took two steps and sagged, barely catching his balance. This time, the Copper boy sighed and pushed him back toward the carriage.

“I know you have your own pride, but I have mine as well. If I were to let a fellow sacred artist die on the side of the road when I could have helped, how would I show my face among the disciples? What would people think of my Heaven’s Glory School? I must take the carriage up the trail either way, and these Remnants will not mind a little extra weight.”

With a show of reluctance, Lindon allowed himself to be ushered inside.

***

Elder Whitehall only
looked
like a child. As a young man, old age had frightened him more than anything, so he had tested his fledgling refiner’s skills on all the spirit-fruits and sacred herbs he could gather. He’d finally refined an elixir that he was convinced would allow him to extend his youth.

It had almost worked.

An eight-year-old boy’s body was not developed enough to use the full extent of its spirit, no matter how powerful that spirit was. Nor was it strong enough to handle the most powerful sacred arts. He could accept that if it meant an increase in longevity, but for reasons he couldn’t fathom, this state put an increased burden on his internal organs. In only another decade or so, he would die of old age while trapped inside a child’s body.

That he had achieved Jade in spite of his handicaps was a testament to his own genius. Unfettered, he was certain that he could have become the first sacred artist in hundreds of years to reach Gold. The other elders thought his condition added a mystique to the Heaven’s Glory School, as though they’d trained a child to Jade, so they sent him to other factions. He especially resented it now, as a young woman in disciple’s robes told him what he’d missed while he visited the Wei clan.

Having to crane his neck to look this seventeen-year-old girl in the eye didn’t improve his mood.

“Elder Harbek, Elder Nasiri, and Elder Serenity were all confirmed slain in battle,” the girl reported, her voice heavy. “Four Irons are still missing, and thirteen dead.”

“But the Sword Sage was destroyed?” Whitehall was very intent on this point.

“There can be no doubt. His Remnant was the one to kill Elder Serenity, forcing the rest to retreat. The Remnant was sealed in the Grand Patriarch’s tomb.”

“And the corpse?”

She bowed, averting her eyes from his. “Pardon this one’s insufficient knowledge, elder. This one presumes the corpse is still inside with the Remnant.”

Of course it was. If the elders had been able to bypass the Remnant and loot the corpse, they wouldn’t have locked the tomb.

“His disciple is still in hiding,” she added as an afterthought. “The elders say she will be caught soon, and she may provide insight into the Remnant’s powers.”

Whitehall rubbed his chin, wishing for a beard. He hadn’t missed anything too important after all; he was only too late for the danger. The reward may still await him. “That will be all, disciple.”

The disciple bowed again—her hair dangled close to his face—and then ran off. She would be only too happy to leave; no one liked standing here, on the edge of the cliff at the top of the Trial of Glorious Ascension. The stairs were steep here, and covered in a pink-tinged cloud, and occasionally a slashing claw or flickering tail would emerge as the Remnants fought within.

Whitehall had just climbed the stairs himself, so he couldn’t be bothered, but many of the disciples harbored nightmarish memories of their time in the Trial. They didn’t want to spend a second longer near that cloud than they had to.

Nor, at the moment, did Whitehall. His heart itched with impatience, as he longed to go explore the tomb. There was every possibility that he could find a method to disperse the sword-Remnant, and if he did…

The Sword Sage had come from beyond Sacred Valley. Only the most favored of the Heaven’s Glory elders knew that truth, as many believed there were no settlements outside the valley. It was almost true; he’d seen the land beyond from a distance, and it was a barbaric world of slaughter and violence. Better if people stayed here, to meditate on the sacred arts in peace.

But this visitor from outside could be the key to Whitehall’s greatest problem. During his stay in the Heaven’s Glory School, the Sword Sage had demonstrated not only his proficiency with weapons, but his skill as a refiner. He’d brought out herbs and ingredients that Elder Whitehall had never seen before, from an Infant Songroot to the bones of a thousand-year-old sacred beast. With materials of that quality, Whitehall was sure that he could restore his body. He was close already, even with the pathetic sacred herbs he’d been able to scavenge from the clans.

Whitehall had attempted to buy what he wanted from the Sage, as had many of the other Heaven’s Glory elders. The visitor had laughed and insulted them to their faces, saying they did not deserve such treasures.

That was why the elders had collectively decided to kill him and take his wealth for their own. He was a lone expert, after all, not backed by any significant power. Whitehall had only hoped that they would wait for him to return from the Wei clan, but obviously the others had rushed ahead without him and bungled everything. This presented him with a unique opportunity. If he could dispel the Remnant and loot the man’s treasures on his own, then he wouldn’t have to settle for a small cut. Even if he couldn’t undo this curse on his body, his powers as a refiner and as a sacred artist would leap forward. It would be a heaven-sent opportunity either way.

He only lacked time, and now here he was waiting for disciples. What a waste. He’d already stood here for three hours, and if the two children were especially slow, he could be here for three more before the sun set.

As for the third disciple candidate, Whitehall wouldn’t even bother waiting. If the Unsouled hadn’t turned back for his clan, then the boy didn’t know what was good for him. He could die on the steps, and it would be no less than he deserved for embarrassing Whitehall in public.

A more substantial shadow loomed in the clouds, and Whitehall raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he had underestimated the boys. The tall one, Kazan Ma Deret, actually had a bit of talent. If he’d managed to climb the stairs this quickly, Whitehall might even consider taking him on as a personal disciple.

The figure that lurched from the stairs and collapsed, panting, on the cliffs was certainly tall. His hair was too dark for the Kazan boy, and though his robes were white, they were not the Heaven’s Glory robes that Deret had started with. And he was carrying a bulky brown pack that Whitehall didn’t recognize.

He lifted his face, and Whitehall saw that his jaw was clenched with apparent anger, his eyes sharp as spears. From his face, you’d think him rebellious and defiant.

The Unsouled.

Wei Shi Lindon crawled to his knees, kowtowing before him. “This one…greets…honored Elder Whitehall,” Lindon said between breaths. “This one tried his hardest, and hopes he has not shamed the Heaven’s Glory School too much with his tardiness.”

Judging by the sun, they still had at least two hours until sunset. The goal of reaching the top by sundown was not an easy one; only one in five disciples who survived the Trial of Glorious Ascension were allowed to select from the Lesser Treasure Hall. As a boy, Whitehall himself had not made it, and he had used that failure to push himself in the following years.

Had he been outdone by an
Unsouled?

The boy’s clothes were shredded and caked with dirt, as though he’d crawled on his belly the whole way up. Scratches covered his knees and hands, and it looked as though part of his face would swell up. He was crusted in layers of sweat, as though he’d wrung every drop of effort from his body for hours. He certainly
looked
like someone who had passed the Trial.

But he remembered the final demonstration of the Seven-Year Festival, how Lindon had “beaten” his Iron opponent by conjuring Remnants out of nowhere. This wasn’t a proud potential disciple of Heaven’s Glory, but a scheming child whose spirit was trapped in a body that had grown without him. A twisted mirror of Whitehall himself.

Whitehall walked over and kicked Lindon in the shoulder, tossing the boy up and making him shout with pain. “Did you have a winged Remnant carry you up? Hm? Do you have a construct that protected you? Are you a genius scriptor? Because the heavens will
crumble
and the earth will sink into the
sea
before I believe you climbed up here on your own strength.”

Wei Shi Lindon looked up at him with hurt in his eyes, but rather than looking pitiable, he looked like he was angry enough to pick a fight. But there was no hint of anger in his words. “Forgiveness, honored elder, but the honored elder himself was very specific that we should climb the steps by any means at our disposal. If the honored elder did not mean it, I would be willing to return to the bottom and climb back up, only I don’t believe there is still time…”

Whitehall slowly glanced over his shoulder. Several disciples, in their red sashes, had gathered to watch this scene. They had paused their end-of-day training to see who’d made it up the Trial of Glorious Ascension.

With no witnesses, he would have tossed Wei Shi Lindon off the side of Mount Samara himself. No one would believe the Unsouled had a chance to make it in the first place, and they would all assume he’d died on the way up.

Besides, the stairs were scripted to prevent anyone who started climbing them from leaving. People could enter the Trial late, but even Whitehall himself couldn’t move off the trail once he’d begun.

Whitehall hurled a small wooden piece at Lindon’s head hard enough that it would probably leave a bruise. The Unsouled flinched and raised a hand to his scalp. The token was polished orus wood, bearing the mark of the Heaven’s Glory School: three crossed swords on top of a blazing sun, with clouds surrounding it all.

“Take that to the Lesser Treasure Hall and give it to the elder there,” Whitehall said, restraining his anger. He had more important things to be about; this Foundation-stage cripple wasn’t worth his time. “Tell him you’re not worth anything too valuable.”

Lindon returned to his knees and kowtowed one more time, pressing his forehead to the ground. “Gratitude, honored elder. This one is grateful for your generosity.”

“
Go!
” Whitehall shouted, and the Jade madra powering his voice sent pebbles scattering and a flock of birds fleeing from the top of a distant tree.

The boy scrambled away, token in hand, leaving Elder Whitehall to seethe alone.

Chapter 14

Lindon’s plan had worked better than he expected. He’d ridden the carriage almost all the way up the mountain before dismounting, telling the Copper disciple that he had to walk the final distance for the sake of his pride. As soon as the carriage wound out of sight, he had walked around the slopes to the Trial of Glorious Ascension, which he had only experienced for about a hundred yards.

Certainly, it was a grueling hundred yards. Spirits scoured his mind, tormenting him with doubts and dreams and phantom rage. He stumbled up each step with voices screaming in his head, and when he finally reached the top, he felt as though he’d escaped the cold grasp of death.

If he’d tried to climb the whole thing, he really might not have made it.

He flipped Elder Whitehall’s token in his hand as he asked a nearby disciple where he might find the Lesser Treasure Hall. She was delighted to direct him once she realized he’d passed the Trial before sunset, although his wooden badge gave her a look of clear confusion.

As expected, the Heaven’s Glory School was much more impressive in appearance than the Wei clan. Each building was sculpted from riverstone, a delicate and expensive material that glistened in the light as though drenched. Under the light of the setting sun, every wall sparkled.

The buildings were each large enough to be a family dwelling of the Wei clan, and next to each was a carefully cultivated garden that was dense with life. Disciples, in their white-and-gold robes with red sashes, were often tending the flowers or trimming trees in these little garden patches.

With the mountains in the background, the shimmering buildings and luxuriant plants gave this school the look of a celestial village, torn from the heavens and set down on the side of a peak. As a son of the Wei clan, Lindon could appreciate the dedication that had gone into designing such an image. Impressions were important.

The Lesser Treasure Hall of the Heaven’s Glory School was no larger than any other hall, but a towering sign boasted its name in letters of gold. A script around the edges gathered vital aura into light, so that it could be clearly read even in the night.

Sitting on the porch of the hall, next to a pair of Iron Enforcers, sat an old man that looked as though he would shrivel away to nothing at any second. His hair was white and wispy, his skin so thin and dry that it looked like it might crumble, and his eyes were little more than beady black dots. His heavy jade badge—carved with a hammer—trembled as he climbed to his feet, hobbling over to see Lindon.

“Welcome to the Heaven’s Glory School, new disciple,” the elder said. “Your token, if you please.”

“This humble student greets the elder,” Lindon said, pressing his fists together in a salute. Only then did he hand over the wooden piece.

The elder slipped the token in his pocket and studied Lindon. “You have a wooden badge.”

There was no point in hiding it, even if he could. Lindon didn’t plan on staying at the Heaven’s Glory School very long, and his weakness would cause him trouble even if he tried to deny it. “I am Unsouled, elder.”

“Elder Rahm. For an Unsouled to pass the Trial of Glorious Ascension before sundown is a fine achievement indeed. No matter how you did it.” A bit of wry humor crept into Elder Rahm’s voice before he turned and waved Lindon after him.