37th of Season of Earth, 58th year of the 32nd cycle

  The problem with going up became immediately apparent. The airship left the sect’s defenses. An explosion to the left rocked them, scattering the seven cultivators like straw. Blossom, a third realm water cultivator and beast tamer, hurtled towards the open door.

  “No!”

  Following a single scream, she was gone. Newt’s heart stopped. A third-realmer could survive that fall, maybe even a second-realmer, but nobody knew what awaited in the jungle. Assuming the Blood Cult conquered the island, Blossom was doomed.

  Newt had an instant to consider her fate before his took priority. A madman wearing red, bulging with muscles, thrust his hand towards their fleeing craft, and a tidal wave of blood surged towards them.

  A fiery spiral struck the wave, deflecting it to the ground, and Elder Flameax shot at the brawny cultist. His diminutive frame danced around the giant before Elder Flameax smashed a fiery fist into his opponent’s right kidney.

  The ship was past them in that split second, and all Newt saw of the encounter was a blur. The vessel shuddered as a blast-wave struck it, but all six cultivators clung to immovable furniture. Everything else had either flown outside or shattered to pieces. Two seconds passed and Newt released a relieved breath.

  They escaped the battlefield.

  His heart racing, Newt rushed to the window and looked back. It seemed like the Explorer’s Gate would win the aerial battle, which was the important one.

  “Is anyone injured?” Greenbow, the most senior disciple present, asked.

  A few exchanged glances later, the group confirmed nobody had suffered a scratch in the battle. Those who suffered scratches bled, feeding their opponents and losing their lives in a matter of moments.

  “We have no healers in this group. Does anyone have any pills?”

  “I have four fasting pills, but that’s it,” Newt said, producing a bottle from his pocket.

  “None,” Sharpcut, another fire cultivator, said.

  Stegorock, Emeraldstreak, and Aura shook their heads.

  Greenbow’s shoulders sagged. “I guess we have four fasting pills. We should snoop around the ship and try to find some weapons, something we can hopefully use. Fourth realm equipment would be ideal, but I don’t have my hopes up, it would be great if we managed to find a couple pieces fit for third-realmers.”

  The group agreed and dispersed. Their airship soared over the sea and would continue to fly unobstructed for at least another hour or two. It was paramount to find something with which to defend themselves should the cultists follow.

  The ship was spacious enough to fit several hundred people, and it had private chambers, captain’s quarters, and a small armory where the crew placed their belongings. Newt lay on the floor, checking under the bunk beds, when he sensed a jolt. He ran to the window and checked behind, nobody pursued them.

  Please tell me we did not hit a flying cultivator because nobody’s steering.

  Newt rushed to the control room, to see whether he could find an explanation other than hitting an innocent person flying by, when his gaze landed on the command board.

  The board was heavily scratched, the runic patterns ruined beyond recognition.

  What? Newt stared, trying and failing to process the sight before him. An ax lay on the ground, its head dusty with black rock-dust scraped from the command board.

  Newt stood frozen in the doorway, then jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder.

  “You all right, Newt?” Stegorock asked, but words failed Newt.

  He pointed at the sight before him and watched Stegorock’s eyes grow wide with realization.

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  “Watch out! There might be a hidden cultist aboard!” His bellow echoed through the airship’s corridors, and the remaining four sprinted towards them from their separate chambers, turning heads left and right in search of danger.

  “What’s going on?” Greenbow asked, fists on her hips and a deep frown on her brow.

  “Someone destroyed the command board,” Newt said after regaining his composure. He looked back at his fellow disciples, refusing to believe the most obvious answer. “We need to search the airship together and find the cultist.”

  “Maybe we should just abandon ship?” Aura said.

  “No.” Greenbow shook her head. “We’re an hour away from the island and an hour away from the shore. If we jump into the sea, it would take us days of swimming to cross it, and that’s not to mention the spirit beasts lurking in the deep. They would sense us, and attack.”

  She looked at Newt and nodded. “I think Newt’s idea is good. We need to find whoever’s infiltrated our airship and eliminate them. We can always jump once we reach the shore.”

  Aura was tense, air cultivators performed poorly in confined spaces, especially once combat got involved. Stegorock, Emeraldstreak, and Newt nodded their agreement. Sharpcut considered the situation, then decided to follow the majority vote.

  Uneasy, the group of six went from room to room, moving everything that was not nailed to the wall. They had covered half the ship before Aura mumbled again.

  “This is ridiculous. We have already searched most of the ship when we acted on our own. If there was someone, we would’ve found them already.”

  Newt agreed, but still searched, hoping they had missed something. A stowaway. He could only hope it was a stowaway. As the group moved from room to room, the nasty reality of the situation was growing clearer. The airship carried six passengers, and six alone. Explorer’s Gate disciples checked every nook of the cargo area at the bottommost level of the ship.

  Stegorock and Greenbow still tried to find any hidden compartments while the other four stopped their search and instead regarded their companions.

  Traitor.

  Newt recognized the silent consideration in Aura’s gaze even as he knew the same idea must be clear in his own eyes as he evaluated her. What did he know about her?

  He examined the tall brunette, her long, slender legs and arms, delicate fingers with two rings. The rings were massive, inset with rubies. She was a core disciple of an air-attribute. She was not combat oriented, not in the thirty-three core disciples which conformed to the ranking system based on their prowess.

  That meant she was an expert in some area, but which? Was it something that could reveal her affiliation with the Blood Cult? What if it seemed incriminating, but she was innocent? What if the cultists somehow controlled her against her will? Were the red gems adorning her rings an unfortunate coincidence or incriminating evidence?

  Ugly thoughts. Their gazes met, and they looked away at the same time. Newt was ashamed of what was passing through his head. He wondered whether she felt the same? Or was she acting? The suspicion in her eyes seemed genuine.

  What about Sharpcut? The man was well built, average height, lean muscles, and explosive strength. He was a third-realmer, a combat core disciple. Newt believed his rank was low, bottom ten, probably. How did he survive the battle? Despite his poor results, he outperformed at least half the combat disciples. But that meant nothing.

  On one hand, the cultists could have deliberately left him alive. On the other, he could have shone brightly in real battle, letting loose like he could not during the sparring matches. Maybe others froze. How did Aura survive?

  Newt closed his eyes.

  This is madness.

  And it was. The teeming mass of paranoid doubt which had flooded Newt’s mind in those handful of minutes outweighed everything he had experienced in his life up to that point piled together.

  He glanced at Emeraldstreak. Newt nearly shuddered from shame. He started considering his senior sister, and the odds of her being the traitor. She had prodigious talent, she had no need to join and accept help from demonic cultivators, and yet Newt could not drive away the thought. What if?

  He looked at his eldest sister and brother. He wished he could join them. Their futile, ongoing search proved their point and revealed their state of mind. They either believed in their fellow disciples so much that they refused to accept reality, or perhaps, one of them was pretending? Following the other’s lead to appear less conspicuous.

  Newt wanted to shout and cry, but those would not help.

  What can I do? Assuming there is a traitor among us.

  “What if the stowaway jumped the airship after sabotaging it?” Newt grasped for the last straw, and five sets of eyes focused on him.

  It was a wonderful proposition. That would mean there were no saboteurs, no traitors, and while everyone would be paranoid, they would all work for the common goal and power through their feelings.

  “That would be clever,” Stegorock said, others apparently unwilling to speak their mind. “Not only have they wasted our time, they also planted a seed of doubt. Does anyone here even know how to fly this ship?”

  “I know runes, so I could read the commands,” Newt said. “But now that the command board is ruined I don’t think I can do anything.”

  Greenbow nodded. “Anyone else?”

  The rest shook their heads.

  “I’m an artificer. Decent enough to become a core disciple,” Aura volunteered, “but fixing an airship is beyond my ability.”

  Another silent spell.

  “We should reach land soon.” Greenbow broke the silence. “Let’s go up to the passenger area and prepare to jump.”

  She looked at the third-realmers. “Can you guys make it?”

  They nodded. Fortunately, both air and fire cultivators had a way to slow their falls.