The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn

  “I have another rule,” Ard said. “No talking.”

  “Okay,” replied Nemery. “I can do that. I mean, I won’t do that. Talking.” She seemed to realize what she was saying and fell silent.

  Poor girl. How did a good Wayfarist like her end up in a crew of criminals chasing dragons on Pekal? Nemery was a talented Caller. Her time on a legitimate Harvesting crew surely would have come if she’d exercised a little more patience. She was on a rough road now, assuming she even survived this trip.

  It made Ard remember how he’d gotten where he was. This was his first time on Pekal in seven years. Last time he was here, he’d been a different person. Last time he’d stood on these slopes, he’d made a decision—a selfish one, no matter how he justified it. This was where it had all begun for him.

  It took Nemery’s innocence and a return to these forests for Ard to truly see how far he had fallen. If it came down to meeting Tanalin on this mountain, would she even recognize who he’d become? Yet, Nemery had seen some good in him. The spirit of Wayfarism. Maybe Tanalin would see it, too.

  It was midafternoon when Quarrah finally demanded that the crew take a rest. The past day had been rough without Ard. Quarrah was sore from the hiking, but even more tired of her current company.

  Nemery had been missing since dawn. Quarrah had no idea what happened to the poor girl. There were no signs of foul play, and no one seemed to have any indication of where she might have gone.

  Nemery must have run away. It was all Quarrah could figure. Didn’t the girl know that separating herself from the group was an inevitable way to get killed?

  Quarrah had searched for Nemery that morning, venturing farther from their campsite than she felt comfortable. Raek had scoured the woods a bit, too, but the others seemed to dismiss her absence with insensitive nonchalance.

  Raek had given the order to move on, a death sentence for Nemery Baggish. Quarrah was furious with the big man, but it wasn’t like they could wait around with hopes that Nemery might show up.

  They had followed Ard’s orange markers all day. He had obviously tried to leave them in conspicuous places, but even still, the crew spent a lot of time scouring the area for the next stain.

  The Kranfel brothers were crude and crass. Quarrah didn’t care to hear a single thing that came out of their mouths, especially since most of their idle comments were directed at her.

  Moroy was a fountain of negativity. Owing to the reassignment, the ex-Tracer was now taking turns carrying the Drift crate. Quarrah helped, too, the poles rubbing blisters on her hands, and the cumbersome crate slowing them down. And that was with a detonation of Drift Grit to make the contents weightless.

  Lence Raismus hiked with surprising agility, a trekking stick with a whittled handle in each hand. But Ulusal was the primary reason Quarrah had demanded that they take a break.

  The Trothian was really struggling to keep up. Raek had carried the Drift crate during her shift, since it was all she could do to hobble on her injured leg. She was silent and strong, but her body was soaked in a feverish sweat brought on by more than the hike.

  Quarrah crossed to where Ulusal had collapsed in the grass. She handed the Trothian her water skin, urging Ulusal to drink what was left. The woman silently obliged, propping herself onto one elbow and tipping back the skin.

  “Let’s take a look.” Quarrah gestured to the stained bandage around her calf. The wound was still seeping heavily. And not all the fluids were red.

  Yesterday, Lence had stitched the wound closed after Ard’s departure. But by nightfall it was clear that something more needed to be done. Raek had built a small fire, heated a blade, and attempted to cauterize Ulusal’s torn flesh. This had gotten her through the night, though to be honest, Quarrah didn’t think the Trothian slept much for the pain.

  “Have you ever been shot?” Ulusal muttered, lying back in the grass without even protesting as Quarrah began peeling away the bandage.

  “Thankfully, no,” answered Quarrah. “And I hope to keep it that way.” The bandage was stuck in a mixture of blood and yellowish seepage. Quarrah had to tug, tearing bits of burned flesh and causing Ulusal to groan.

  “You wasting bandage,” Ulusal gasped. “Air heals best.”

  “I don’t think so.” Quarrah was no trained healer, but she knew that keeping the wound under pressure was supposed to slow the loss of blood.

  “Let’s get moving,” Raek ordered, returning from a brief moment of solitude in the trees. “Jip and Moroy are on the Drift crate.”

  “Hold on, Raek,” Quarrah called. “I just got her bandage off. I’ve got to get this covered up again.”

  “It’s good,” said Ulusal.

  “It’s not good,” corrected Quarrah. “You can’t walk like this.”

  “I know,” answered Ulusal. “You all go on.”

  It took Quarrah a moment to realize what Ulusal was implying. “And leave you here? Sparks, no!”

  Jip Kranfel lifted the front poles of the Drift crate. “You heard the woman. She wants to be left behind. She’s not carrying her share of the load anyway.”

  “We’re not going to leave you,” Quarrah insisted. “We can stay here until the bleeding stops.”

  “That’ll put us days behind the Tracer,” said Moroy.

  “The Slagstone’s not going anywhere,” Quarrah retorted. Wasn’t this woman’s life more important than getting to the stone a day sooner?

  “The king’s Harvesters are still looking for us,” said Lan. “Staying in one place is like asking to be found.”

  “Or they find the Slagstone before we do,” Lence hypothesized. “We go home empty-handed. I have a feeling Ardor Benn wouldn’t be too happy about that.”

  So maybe sitting still wasn’t the best idea. But surely they could find another solution that didn’t involve abandoning Ulusal to the wilds of the mountain!

  Raek crossed to the spot where Ulusal was lying. He was the captain of this crew. Ultimately, his decision could trump anyone else’s word. The big man dropped a small pack into the grass beside the injured Trothian.

  “There’s some food and water in here,” Raek said. “And extra lead balls and Blast Grit cartridges. You have a Roller?”

  Quarrah’s mouth fell agape at what she was witnessing. Ulusal nodded, pulling back her coat to reveal the holstered gun.

  “Get yourself to the Harbor,” Raek said. “You can claim the Fourth Decree.”

  “Fourth Decree?” Quarrah cut in. “What’s the Fourth Decree?”

  “It states that no person on Pekal can be declined passage off the island,” answered Raek. “It was designed as a merciful law in case someone was marooned here.”

  “That’s great.” Quarrah turned back to Ulusal. “If you can just get yourself to the harbor, they can’t deny you passage to Espar.”

  Ulusal scoffed, staring at Raek with her vibrating eyes. “You cannot fool me. Fourth Decree only good for legal Harvesters. They will know I am poacher.”

  “Legal Harvester?” Quarrah turned to Raek. “What’s she saying?”

  His face was flat. “In order to honor the Fourth Decree, her name would have to be on the manifest of a legal incoming ship. But since we came in on a carriage …”

  So Ulusal would be turning herself over to the Regulators. Wouldn’t that be better than dying alone on Pekal? Wouldn’t Ulusal rather be arrested than wait in the darkness for a dragon to devour her?

  “At least try to get yourself to North Pointe,” said Raek. “That’s where we’ll be departing from once we Harvest the Slagstone. We’ll keep an eye out for you.”

  Ulusal nodded as Jip and Moroy passed with the Drift crate between them. “Glad to hear that there is an exit plan,” muttered Moroy. “Hope it’s as half-baked as our arrival.”

  “Nothing so fancy,” Raek replied, moving up the hill away from Ulusal. “We’ll be taking a more traditional mode of transportation away from Pekal …”

  And just like that, the others were moving
on. Raek didn’t seem the least bit compassionate. But then, why would he want Ulusal to survive? As their numbers dwindled, the payout got cheaper. Or, if Raek was selling secrets to Pethredote, as Ard now suspected, then leaving the injured Trothian meant one less problem he’d have to clean up later.

  Quarrah remained crouched beside Ulusal, struggling with the moral implications of abandoning her. Ard wouldn’t do this. If he were here, still in command, Ard would have found a way to keep Ulusal with the rest of the crew.

  The Trothian woman had her eyes closed, sweaty face tensed as dappled sunlight played across it. Quarrah quietly stood up and took a step away from Ulusal.

  First Sojin. Then Nemery. Now Ulusal? Their numbers were dropping too rapidly. Not to mention how this didn’t bode well for the women on the crew.

  Quarrah reached into her belt and withdrew her rationed bit of Health Grit. Wordlessly, she set the clay pot beside Ulusal. Maybe the Trothian’s leg was too far gone, but the Grit could provide at least a few minutes of relief from the pain. She had to believe that Ulusal had a chance at getting off the island before the Moon Passing.

  Failure to do so would lead to an inescapable punishment. It was a constant threat lurking in the mind of every individual who dared step foot on these forested slopes. A burning fuse. And the same time was given to each person. Thirty days. And then … Moonsickness.

  Quarrah moved stiffly up the hillside, not daring to look back at the injured crew member lying in the grass. It could have been any one of them. That Fielder ball could have torn through Quarrah’s calf just as easily as Ulusal’s.

  What was she doing here, hiking with a gang of criminal men and a traitorous friend? Quarrah didn’t belong on this island. Pekal was equally terrifying as it was beautiful. Quarrah belonged in a city of smoke and Grit. With walls to scale and locks to pick.

  Quarrah had followed Ard into this wild land, but where was he now? He had been suddenly cold toward her, from the crash site until the moment he departed to track the dragon.

  But Quarrah remembered his kiss, genuine and concerned. He had kissed her as Dale Hizror, but this was different. This was Ardor Benn, and the look in his eyes had been real. Quarrah knew he cared for her, but there always seemed to be something in the way. Most recently, a dragon.

  This would be over soon. If Quarrah could survive the next few days, she’d be back to the Greater Chain. Back to a familiar world where companions weren’t left alone to die in the grass.

  I have found a steady pace, though sometimes it seems I will never reach the summit.

  CHAPTER

  29

  Ard knelt at the edge of a small pool, his little orb of detonated Light Grit reflecting like a brilliant star in the glassy surface of the water. He needed the extra light, in addition to the small campfire flickering behind him.

  Ard was experimenting like a Mixer, trying to be as calculated and mathematical as he could, which seemed to go against his very nature in a highly frustrating manner. He glanced at the ball of ice floating in the pool. At least he had improved from last night’s attempts. But there was still a long way to go before deciding if his plan would even work.

  Ard spread an empty dye paper cartridge on a flat stone in front of him. He took a pinch of Cold Grit from a pouch and placed it in the center of the paper. To that, he added two equal-sized pinches of Compounding Grit. Digging into another pouch, Ard withdrew a Slagstone fragment. They were supposed to be replacements for the hammer of his gun, but one would serve well in this experiment.

  Ard carefully placed the Slagstone chip atop the mound of Grit. Pinching the ends of the paper, he rolled the cartridge, securely containing the contents. He selected a rock from the edge of the pool. It was smooth and oblong, roughly the size of his fist.

  Delicately placing the cartridge against the stone, Ard used a length of string to tie it in place. He stood up, extending his arm as high as he could over the pool and dropping the contraption.

  The stone hit the water with a splash and sank out of sight. The Grit was soaked, not worth salvaging. Ard cursed softly and turned from the pool.

  “Sank like a stone,” said Nemery, who had been watching curiously from the campfire.

  “Maybe because it was one,” answered Ard. What he needed was Raek’s expertise. His Mixer friend could probably solve this problem in mere minutes. Ard had come so close to telling Raek this part of the plan, but he was grateful now that the gunshots had interrupted him.

  “What was it supposed to do?” Nemery popped a handful of fresh berries into her mouth.

  “I thought the impact of the rock would spark the Slagstone and ignite the Grit. It was supposed to …” Ard waved her off. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” It did matter. Immensely. But Ard didn’t need to trouble Nemery with it.

  “Maybe you need to increase the impact,” suggested the girl. “Drop it from higher up. Or throw the rock down.”

  Ard blew off the suggestions. They wouldn’t have much relevance in the actual application of his plan. When it came to executing this idea, the rock would be dropping from a fixed height.

  “You could boost me onto your shoulders and I could drop it,” Nemery went on. “Or we could …”

  “Nemery,” Ard said. “I’m done with that for tonight.”

  It had been a relatively easy day, and Ard thought the slower pace might help the rest of the crew catch up a bit. The dragon had taken a midmorning nap, foraged a bit around noon, and then moved into a gentle canyon during the afternoon. She was sleeping for the night now, curled against a cliff face with a roof of trees overhanging her position.

  Ard and Nemery were camped far enough away that they could converse easily, but close enough that any movement from the sow would quickly be noticed.

  Nemery had vast knowledge of Pekal and the dragons, but her obvious lack of experience betrayed her. The previous night, she hadn’t even known how to string up her hammock. Ard had taught her the knots, showed her how to test them, and talked about which trees she wanted to string between.

  Tonight hadn’t been much better. Nemery had forgotten the knots, but was clearly too anxious to prove her independence to admit it. The hammock had slipped when she tested it, and Ard helped her restring.

  Ard liked the young girl. Nemery didn’t belong on this mission, surrounded by criminals. Ard thought she finally realized that, now that it was impossible to turn back.

  “You know, that was my first time in a Trans-Island Carriage.” Nemery prodded at the fire with a short stick. Behind them, Ard’s Light Grit detonation burned out with a puff.

  “They’re usually a bit more stable,” Ard said.

  “Is that how we’re getting home?” she asked. “On the carriage?”

  “Sparks, no,” answered Ard. “That thing’s never flying again.” Nemery didn’t respond. Ard could tell that the girl wanted to ask how they were going to get back to Espar, but she didn’t want to appear weak by focusing on home.

  “We have a way off Pekal.” Ard satisfied her need to know without making her ask for it. “We’re each going to ride a dragon.”

  He watched her face stretch, her eyes nearly popping out at the ludicrous idea. Nemery’s reaction was too priceless, and Ard couldn’t contain a snicker.

  She reached across the fire and swatted his arm. “That’s not funny, Ardor.”

  “You would have thought it was funny if you saw your face,” he replied. “Actually, we’ve arranged for a ship to pick us up somewhere near North Pointe.”

  “There’s no harbor by North Pointe,” said Nemery. “It’s just cliffs.” Like the rest of the shoreline.

  “There’ll be some jumping involved,” Ard mentioned. “And some swimming.”

  “We’ll have to swim ten miles!”

  “That would be the legal way of doing things.” The Regulation had set up a no-sail zone of ten miles around Pekal to discourage smugglers from climbing the rocky shoreline or escaping with contraband.

  “
What if we get caught?” Nemery asked.

  Ard thought it was a little late to be asking that question. The answer seemed fairly obvious. Look at Sojin Wint. “The people picking us up are extremely good at what they do.”

  “Breaking the no-sail perimeter?” Nemery clarified.

  “Well, that’s not all they do,” said Ard. “They’re pirates. They plunder other ships, too.”

  Nemery rolled her eyes. “I’m going to pretend like you’re teasing me again.” She looked up at the dark sky. “The stars look brighter here.”

  “It’s because we’re closer to them,” Ard replied. “Some people think that’s why Moonsickness strikes here but nowhere else.”

  Nemery scoffed. “But we know that’s not true.” She was staring at him like he’d suggested something absurd. “It’s because there’s no Holy Torch on Pekal. This island isn’t protected.”

  “Of course,” Ard recovered. “Obviously that’s just a Settled theory.”

  “Did you hear the rumors about that farming village in southern Espar?” Nemery followed up.

  Ard hadn’t heard anything. But it wasn’t like he had a lot of time for gossiping about distant townships. “What’s it about?”

  “They’re saying the whole town got Moonsick,” Nemery said. “But that would be impossible. The southern tip of Espar is as far from Pekal as you can get. And the Islehood is vigilant in burning the Holy Torch in Beripent. That would shield even the southernmost reaches.”

  Ard dismissed the gossip. It wasn’t the first time he had heard rumors about Moonsickness touching down in the Greater Chain. But the stories were always proven false. “Probably nothing more than a Settled scare tactic.”

  They stared into the flickering flames for a silent moment. A bit of sudden movement caught Ard’s eye, and he looked up in time to see a Karvan lizard scamper through the underbrush. It moved fast—nothing like that useless lump of a reptile in Pethredote’s throne room.