Eithan swiped his hand in a single gesture, blasting the Blackflame madra apart like a gust of wind tearing through a cloud. “Be polite, Orthos. You have a guest.”
The light in the turtle's eyes turned orange, like a living flame, and he roared his defiance. Lindon dropped the halfsilver dagger to the ground in his haste to clap hands over his ears.
And Eithan moved forward, shoving the sacred beast's mouth closed with both hands. The roar cut off with a snap.
“I know it is difficult,” Eithan said, his nose inches away from the turtle’s. “But gather yourself and hear me. A boy has come to train here. He is one of the family.” Orthos struggled, but couldn't escape the implacable grip of the Underlord. “He could help us, do you understand?”
Orthos’ eyes finally moved up to Eithan's, and crimson irises dimmed into a look of helpless confusion.
Finally, the turtle growled once, and Eithan released him. “I'm sorry for getting rough. If this works as I intend, you could both learn from one another.”
“Bond…” the sacred beast said, in a voice like a rumbling volcano.
Despite Lindon’s encounters with Elder Whisper, it still surprised him to hear a six-foot turtle speak.
Evidently that one word exhausted Orthos’ energy, because his eyelids fluttered and then slid closed. He sank down onto his belly, letting out a breath like a furnace.
“That’s the plan,” Eithan said, patting the leathery head. “As I said, Lindon, this place is rich in aura of fire and destruction. I could teach you the Blackflame Path, and you could cycle here, work hard, and eventually grow into a fine sacred artist.”
“I am eager to learn,” Lindon said. “I know there is no shortcut for work.” Ten months wasn’t much time, but he was resolved to at least try to master sacred arts the orthodox way.
At least until that failed him.
“…instead of all that, I’d like to take a shortcut,” Eithan continued.
Lindon let out a sigh of relief.
“Building up aura in your core takes time. You cycle aura every day, a fraction of that aura is converted to madra, and your core slowly transforms to produce madra of that aspect on its own.” He waved a hand. “Since we have a deadline, I want you to share madra with my friend here.”
“Of course,” Lindon said, thinking of the scales he had Forged for Fisher Gesha. “Allow me a few days to gather some.”
“I like that attitude, but I think you may have misunderstood me. As I said, Orthos is plagued by a buildup of Blackflame madra in his system, ravaging his mind and his body. We bring him purified madra to cleanse his channels, but it’s like sprinkling water on a bonfire. However, if we can link your core with his…” Eithan spread his hands. “He gets relief from the burden of his immense power, and you get a piece of that power for yourself. It’s a win all around.”
Lindon looked to the turtle hesitantly. “Do I just…pour madra into him, or…”
“Even easier than that. There’s a contract that humans can make with sacred beasts, and it functions in a similar manner to a soul oath: two spirits binding themselves to one another. It must be mutual, just like an oath. And it’s typically done while both the contractor and the contracted beast are young, so the child’s madra is pure and the beast’s madra has not yet fully developed.”
Eithan ran his hand over the smoldering shell, evidently not the slightest bit worried about burning himself. “Orthos is almost three hundred years old. Far from a hatchling, even by the standards of his line. If he were to share his power with a child, the child’s body would quite literally explode.”
That image did nothing to soothe Lindon’s misgivings. “But that’s what you want me to do?”
Orthos snorted. His eyelids fluttered, and his shell flared red. Eithan snatched his hand away and took a careful step back.
“There are some risks, to be sure. If Orthos is too far gone to consent, the contract will fail. There’s the chance that it will work at first, but it won’t be enough to save him. In that case, you’ll still have your Blackflame core, but we’ll have to put him down after all. You’ll bond his Remnant at Gold.”
The turtle slowly rose to his feet, and the temperature in the cave rose another few degrees.
Eithan moved between Lindon and Orthos, shaking out his sleeves in preparation to use some technique. “However, if this works as I hope it will, you won’t need his Remnant at all. Instead, when you’re ready to break through to Gold, he will use his power to help you bridge that gap.”
Lindon wanted to walk forward, but the creature’s sheer size, overwhelming heat, and the uncomfortable needle-prickling of destruction aura kept him where he was. “Is this still my choice?”
“Certainly. You have a choice between sharing the power of an ancient dragon-beast or, instead, spending three hours a day in meditative cycling until you can begin to touch the faintest whiff of Blackflame power.”
Lindon marched up and placed his hand on the turtle’s head.
His madra slipped into the sacred beast with no resistance—an advantage of pure madra. Orthos’ madra was black and blood-red twined together, dark and hungry, like a malevolent wildfire. Lindon almost broke contact immediately; the turtle’s spirit was so overwhelming and unrestrained that he was sure it would consume his madra instantly.
Black eyes filled with circles of shining red swiveled up, meeting Lindon.
“It’s not a complicated technique,” Eithan said. “Swear to share your core with him, and to accept his power in return.” After another second, he added, “I’ve found that saying it aloud helps the process. That goes for you, too, Orthos.”
“I swear to open my core to you and share my power,” Lindon said, though he was ashamed to hear his voice quaver a little. The hand on Orthos’ head was starting to get uncomfortably hot.
Orthos’ mouth slid open. Thick, inky flames gathered in the back of his throat, streaked with red like blood.
Eithan moved forward. Lindon took a step back, half-lifting his hand away from the sacred beast’s head.
“I swear,” the turtle thundered, in a voice that slammed into Lindon’s ears.
A stream of pure madra flowed from his strongest core, sucked away beyond his control. Lindon stumbled back, releasing his touch, but the bond between their souls did not break. Orthos drank in his power until the core was almost empty.
Then a black-and-red river plunged into Lindon, burning through his madra channels like molten iron through his veins. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he felt it should have; the worst part wasn’t pain, it was the feeling that his spirit was burning up. Crisping and blackening like a leaf in a fire. That he was dying, hollowed out.
Everything that was Lindon was burning away.
“Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel!” Eithan shouted.
Lindon was still staring at his burning core as though at the stump of his own hand. His mind couldn’t process it aside from a sense of numbing horror.