The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

  Something was amiss. The situation stank of trickery, a stench Ard was becoming all too familiar with. Such a speedy response to their arrival, followed by a flurry of lead.

  Someone knew they were coming. They knew how. They knew when.

  Oh, flames.

  “Poachers!” cried a voice from the far side of the glen. The gunfire ceased as the speaker continued. “Let’s take a moment and talk like civil folk. No need to fill each other with metal!”

  Lan Kranfel pulled back the Slagstone hammer on his Fielder, but Ard’s hand stretched out, stopping the tattooed man.

  “We should hear him out,” Ard whispered. Talking could determine who had sent them and how they had arrived on Pekal so promptly. That might lead to answers about the traitor in Ard’s crew.

  “Blazing Reggies!” Moroy screamed. “You killed her!”

  Ard waved a hand at the distressed man, but the comment didn’t seem to upset the speaker.

  “Actually, name’s Grax!” shouted the man from across the glen. “Grax Hajar. And I’m no blazing Reggie. I’m captain of the king’s Harvesting crew.”

  The king had sent his Harvesting crew to hunt them down? It made sense, in an unconventional way. An experienced Harvesting crew would navigate the island much better than the harbor Regulators. And they wouldn’t be short on firepower. Every Harvester was trained with a Roller, illegal for use in the Greater Chain but not on Pekal.

  Ard glanced at Quarrah and then at Raek.

  “I’m going out there,” Ard said. “To talk to him for a minute.”

  “Flames, no!” Quarrah retorted. “You’ll get yourself shot dead in a heartbeat!”

  “We gotta move,” Jip Kranfel cut in. “Can’t you see what’s going on here? The rat’s stalling us. Probably has men circling around as we speak.”

  “I think we should get some answers from him,” Ard insisted. “It might help us stay ahead of them.”

  From across the glen, Grax shouted again. “Just want to talk about your purpose here. This island’s not for the faint of heart.”

  “I see him,” Lan whispered. “He’s next to that rock cluster. Standing between those two birch trees.”

  Ard peered through a gap in the carriage rubble, eyes strafing through the trees until he spotted the figure.

  Grax was a short man, wearing a loose sleeveless shirt that fell open on his hairy chest. He was short and stocky, his once-dark hair now flecked with white. His face was squarish, brown skin weathered and scarred. Not a handsome man by any stretch of the imagination, but clearly a man who had spent the better part of his life on Pekal.

  “It seems King Pethredote’s taken a special liking to you,” Grax continued. “Made my crew anchor within ten miles of Pekal so we could be the first to greet you.”

  That explained how they had arrived so quickly. A mere ten miles was within questionable range during a Moon Passing, even for the Redeye Scouts. Pethredote had gambled with the lives of his Harvesters because he knew Ard intended to arrive on the island first.

  And there were only three people who had known that information before today.

  “What the blazes?” Raek muttered. “Pethredote knew we were coming? Sparks, Ard. Someone must have sold us out!”

  Something about the way he said it made Ard cringe. Seeds of doubt that Ard had been ignoring for weeks suddenly seemed to sprout. Raekon Dorrel? He was the only one who’d known the extent of their plans this time. He’d been piloting the carriage, allowing him to land conveniently close to the harbor. Ard wanted to push the thoughts aside once more, but this time the idea had lodged in his mind like the crashed carriage in the soft mountainside. There was no other explanation.

  But it couldn’t be! Raek was his brother in every sense but blood. This wasn’t a possibility. It just couldn’t be!

  “We should go from this place,” Ulusal’s voice sounded behind Ard, her Trothian accent heavy. She was right. Grax wasn’t likely to spill much more information than he already had. Maybe that was all he knew. But it was enough for Ard.

  “Not sure if you heard,” Grax carried on, “but there are dragons in these hills. You might want to—”

  Lan Kranfel took the shot, cutting Grax’s sentence short as the Fielder ball tore into his bare chest. Ard saw him slump against the nearest tree before slipping to the grass, a gory wound just below his collarbone. From the woods, Ard heard a woman scream.

  Ard spun to face his crew member, Lan’s Fielder still smoking from the Blast Grit. “What was that?”

  “Too much talking,” the rough man muttered, reloading the weapon with startling speed.

  A flurry of lead balls from the king’s Harvesters pinged off the downed carriage, causing Ard’s crew to drop to the damp grasses and cover their heads. Then the Kranfel brothers were up, each cracking a Fielder before drawing their Rollers and unloading into the trees across the glen.

  It was time to move out. Past time, really. Ard hated to admit that his desire for answers had led to the firefight. The Kranfel brothers were practiced at laying down cover fire, alternating shots and reloads without leaving a moment exposed.

  Raek scrambled to the Drift crate. Ulusal had already hefted the poles on the front of the large wooden box. Raek grunted against the weight, and Ard realized that in their haste to escape, the Drift Grit hadn’t been ignited. Too late now. The load was heavy, but it wasn’t like lugging a lump of Slagstone. Raek and Ulusal would have to bear the natural weight of the crate’s load until they reached the safety of the trees.

  Ard reached for Quarrah, but she was already on the move. Moroy was nearly to the trees, and Lence Raismus was moving surprisingly fast for his age. Ard had taken half a dozen steps when he glanced back and saw Nemery.

  The girl was still seated on the grass, her back to the wooden hull of the carriage, petrified. Ard certainly wasn’t going to leave her to those vagabonds.

  Darting back, he dropped to his knees and took Nemery’s arm. The sharp tug seemed to jolt her senses, and soon they were running side by side, quickly gaining on Raek and Ulusal.

  Ard and Nemery were passing the Drift crate when Raek came to a jarring halt. Ulusal lurched forward, nearly dropping the carrying poles at the front. Nemery sprinted on as Ard turned back to find Raek standing stiffly, gazing toward the enemies in the distant trees.

  Ulusal suddenly howled in pain. Ard saw the spray of blood, the dark blue flesh of her calf ripped wide from a Harvester’s ball. The Trothian woman dropped her end of the Drift crate, one of the poles cracking as it hit the ground.

  “Raek!” Ard cursed. What was he doing? Trying to get shot? Ard leapt to Ulusal’s side, hefting the remaining pole and gripping under the crate itself.

  Ulusal, grunting on one knee, drew a Roller from her belt and fired twice across the glen. Ard groaned under the weight of the crate. It was much heavier than he had supposed, which spoke volumes about the strength of the two who had been carrying it.

  The three of them were almost to the trees when a lead ball ripped through the top of the Drift crate. Splintered wood showered on Ard, and he staggered under the burden. Ulusal, hands bloody and shaking, caught the pole, and together, they limped the remaining distance into the trees.

  “Lay down fire for the Kranfel brothers!” Ard shouted. “Somebody ignite the Drift crate, and get Ulusal some cloth to bind this wound! We’ve still got a lot of running ahead of us.”

  Quarrah crossed instantly to Ulusal, who was making aimless shots across the glen with her Roller. In moments, Ard’s crew was raising a chorus of gunfire, and he saw Lan and Jip Kranfel sprinting toward them.

  Ard stepped up to the Drift crate, his hands trembling as he picked up the ignitor. He didn’t have time to investigate how much damage the crate had sustained, but he hoped it was intact enough to hold the detonation cloud.

  Drift crates were designed to contain a cloud of Drift Grit much the same way a glass lantern contained a detonation of Light Grit. Although there was no way to
reduce the weight of the crate itself, by filling the wooden box with a Drift cloud, the contents of the crate would become weightless.

  Ard peered into the hopper, confirming that Ulusal had filled it. He closed the seal and inserted the long ignitor into a keyhole on the side. Rapping sharply on the end of the ignitor, he heard the Slagstone make impact with a metal plate inside. There was a tiny spark and a rush of detonation as the crate filled with a cloud of weightlessness.

  “Ard,” Raek whispered, coming up alongside the large crate. “Did you see?”

  Ard gritted his teeth, trying desperately to hold back the rush of anger and betrayal that surged toward his old friend. “What the blazes happened to you out there? Ulusal took a ball because you couldn’t keep your feet moving.”

  Raek suddenly reached out a hand, seizing Ard’s shoulder with an uncomfortable firmness. “You didn’t see her?”

  Ard tried to weasel out of the man’s grasp, but Raek held him firmly against the side of the Drift crate, determined to maintain Ard’s full attention.

  “What are you talking about?” Ard hissed. “See who?”

  “She’s here, Ard.” Raek finally released his iron grip. “She’s in the king’s Harvesting crew.”

  The Kranfel brothers burst into the trees, shouting to get the group moving. Raek never turned his eyes from Ard.

  “It was Tanalin.”

  It is hard for me to accept that I will never see my loved ones again.

  CHAPTER

  27

  Quarrah stared at her reflection in the pool of water, the afternoon sun beating on her neck. Did the springtime sun feel warmer here? She certainly felt closer to it, and that was after a few mere hours of hiking. They hadn’t made a dent in Pekal’s vast altitude, but Quarrah was standing on higher ground than she’d ever known.

  It was beautiful country, there was no denying that. But the beauty had a wild edge to it that prevented Quarrah from feeling like she could ever truly enjoy it.

  Ulusal was not doing well. She had washed her wounded leg in the pool and rewrapped it with a fresh bandage. But even from a distance, Quarrah could tell that the damage was significant. Maybe the bone had been hit. If that was the case, it was likely that a piece of the ball was still inside her leg. Ulusal’s detonation of Health Grit hadn’t done much, prompting Quarrah to offer hers. The Trothian woman refused, explaining that she would rather hobble than be responsible for Quarrah’s life if something were to happen to her later.

  Lence Raismus had chosen this small waterfall as the baiting site. The old man was tinkering with flasks and jars containing various colorful liquids. It was a miracle that the glass hadn’t broken during the carriage crash. The Feeder’s pack must have been very well padded.

  Raek and the Kranfel brothers had been gone a few hours, hunting for any kind of large game for Lence to prepare.

  Moroy Peng was in and out of sight, exploring the surrounding area and doubling back along their route to make sure the king’s Harvesters weren’t following them. It seemed like a good idea, although Ard deemed it unnecessary. The Harvesters had lost their captain. Ard said that was enough to shake any crew.

  On the other side of the pool, Quarrah had watched Nemery Baggish unpack her Calling instruments. The young girl was now foraging into the trees for sticks and vegetation.

  And then there was Ard, standing alone near the base of the waterfall, where the spray from the rocks was just enough to dampen his shirt.

  Quarrah had never seen Ard like this. The surprise arrival of the king’s Harvesters had thrown a terrible wrinkle into an already complicated job. She had tried to talk to him about it, but Ard had truncated the conversation with a brusque reply.

  “Only three of us knew the plan, Quarrah.” His face was intense. “Only three of us knew that our Trans-Island Carriage was headed for Pekal.”

  She knew what that meant, and it made her feel sick. Ard had given in to the logic, though it must have been as painful for him as a knife in the gut.

  Raekon Dorrel was the king’s informant.

  Quarrah couldn’t imagine Raek going against Ardor Benn for any price. The two had been friends and partners for too long. Raek wouldn’t suddenly change sides unless there was a catalyst that Quarrah wasn’t seeing.

  She had seen Raek say something to Ard during the gunfight. The conversation had shaken Ard, and he had obviously been avoiding Quarrah over the last few hours. He’d barely even look at her!

  Sparks, could it be that Ard was now suspecting her? Had Raek said something to cause Ard to doubt her loyalty?

  Only three of us knew the plan, Quarrah.

  Oh, how had she ever wound up with these ruse artists? They were a complicated duo. They found a way to convolute even the simplest job. If something needed taking, sneak in and take it. In Quarrah’s opinion, talking about it was just a waste of time.

  So why did it bother her so much that Ard wasn’t talking to her now?

  Quarrah turned, as Raek and the Kranfel brothers emerged from the trees, Raek’s short sword clearing the underbrush. Lan and Jip carried a stout branch between them, propped over their shoulders. Hanging from the branch was a huge dead hog, its cloven hooves trussed tightly and its head dangling limply.

  “It’s about blazing time.” Lence gestured to a clearing of loose rock beside the pool. “Put it there.”

  The Kranfel brothers lowered the hog, and Raek used his sword to cut the bindings around the hooves. The dead animal slumped onto the rocks.

  Ard appeared beside the hog, intensely interested after the long wait, shell fragments in a bag over one shoulder.

  Lence Raismus pulled off his shirt and dropped it next to his pack. His frame was extremely thin, with a sparse curl of white chest hair over his pasty skin. He pushed past Raek until he was standing at the hog’s exposed belly. Drawing a long knife, Lence plunged it into the animal’s tender gut. Quarrah watched as he sliced a line from the hind legs to the throat. Innards spilled onto the pebbly ground, and Lence reached in to carve them loose.

  Quarrah cringed at the sight of the gory mess. Lan Kranfel must have seen her and he chuckled. “Welcome to the real world, city girl. Pork chops don’t just show up on your table.”

  “Why didn’t you just gut that thing where you shot it?” she asked. “Would’ve made it a lot easier to carry back.” Not to mention it would have kept their campsite a lot cleaner.

  Jip grunted. “Say! That’s a good idea, Lan. Why didn’t we think of it? Oh, wait. We did.”

  “Blazing Feeder wouldn’t let us,” Lan shouted at Lence.

  “Eh?” The old man looked up at the brothers. “Someone say something about me?”

  “Miss Long Legs was wondering why you didn’t let us gut the hog in the field,” Jip shouted.

  “Presentation. It matters,” Lence said. “I needed the gore on these stones.” The Feeder rocked back on his heels, glancing at Ard. “This would be the time to plant the indigestibles. I’m assuming you have some?”

  In response, Ard dropped the bag from his shoulder, the shell pieces clattering against the ground.

  Lence Raismus peered inside, his blue eyes wide. “Ashes and soot,” he muttered. “What have we here?” One of his bloody hands withdrew a sizable fragment of fertilized shell. He held it up, sunlight shimmering on its amber hues.

  “Dragon shell,” Ard confirmed.

  “So you’re making Visitant Grit,” replied Lence. There was no other explanation for planting dragon shell into the bait. “I didn’t take you for a holy man.”

  “Of course,” Ard answered. “That’s why I limit myself to such holy company.” He gestured at the others around him.

  The old Feeder upended the bag, spreading the shell fragments across the blood-soaked stones. In contrast to the deep red, the amber shards seemed to glow.

  Lence stuffed all the fragments into the empty cavern of the hog’s gut before retrieving a long needle and some sinewy thread from his pack.

  Qua
rrah felt she knew a fair bit about sewing. Her dark thieving outfits, with their customized boots and gloves, had been created from scratch by her own hand. But watching an old half-deaf man stitch up a dead pig was a sewing application Quarrah had never considered.

  “I’m preparing this as a Proud Kill,” Lence explained as he sewed. “Dragons are a lot like people. They like to show off. And they don’t get along.”

  Quarrah balked at the analogy at first. But then, how many people had she really gotten along with in her life?

  “Dragons usually forage, but they’ll eat anything or anybody that’s easy for the taking,” continued Lence. “Well, not anybody. Back in the days of the Patriarchy, the bulls wouldn’t fight one another. There were only three of them to keep the species running. But the sows were always available for a skirmish—against the bulls and one another. Dragons fight. They seem pretty interested in killing one another. Again, like people.”

  “Doesn’t the dragon find it odd that the hog is full of fertilized shell?”

  “The dragon will barely taste it; their jaws are so big,” said Raek. “For you, it would be like popping a blueberry into your mouth.” Raek and Ard had probably seen dozens of Feedings during their time as Harvesters, but everything was new to Quarrah.

  “Dragons don’t tend to do much chewing,” Lence added. “They’d just as soon swallow things whole.”

  “Then what’s the point in having such impressive teeth?”

  “Teeth aren’t for chewing,” said Raek. “They’re for ripping things down to swallowable sizes. Haven’t you seen Ard eat a pastry?”

  Quarrah’s eyes flicked up to see how Ard would react to the joke. He met it with a distracted half smile. It seemed as though he had been standing among the group, but absent from the conversation at hand.

  Lence finished stitching the hog’s flayed underbelly. He tied off the thread and stuck the large needle through the fabric of his filthy trousers.