The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

  Ard could hear the dragon, however, and that was quite enough. It was beyond strange to think that the dragon’s current act could possibly save the world. Sparks, she was just doing what came naturally.

  The fact that the greatest power came from the dung of a beast was the perfect illustration of society in the Greater Chain. Rich folk talked of Grit as though it were some blessing from the Homeland. They used it to light their homes, construct their buildings, silence their crying babies. The Regulation used it to enforce the law, to wage war. But what was this substance that ruled them all? What was it really?

  The most vile, undesirable excretion.

  By the time Ard and Nemery reached the bottom of the cliff, the fresh slag had been deposited. But the dragon was not finished. A crucial step remained, and without it, this whole venture would be an utter waste.

  Ard held Nemery’s shoulder so she wouldn’t be tempted to step around the boulder they were hiding behind. The girl had been right about the ideal setting of this rocky hillside. There were dozens of Slagstone boulders that had survived their own Dross, rolling to the bottom of the cliff as the rains washed through.

  Tucked behind the black boulder, Ard immediately realized that they were still downwind of the dragon. The stench was choking, but it brought back a flood of memories from his time as a legal Harvester. From his time with Tanalin. Strange to think that she was here now, looking for him.

  The thought occurred to him that the same orange marks that guided his crew could also guide Tanalin straight to him. No use dwelling on that. Ard’s crew just needed to be faster. It was going to be a race to get this Slagstone packed up and carried out before the king’s Harvesters tracked them down.

  Ard glanced at Nemery who was frantically applying the scent-masking Pichar extract to her neck and arms. It really wasn’t necessary, with the wind in their favor. Besides, hadn’t Nemery just splashed some on before the dragon took flight?

  The girl held out the small vial in a silent offering. Oh, why not? A little extra precaution wouldn’t hurt, even if the stuff curled his nose hairs. Ard stuck out his finger, and Nemery dabbed a drop of oil onto it. He swiped the extract across his forehead and peered around the edge of the boulder, Nemery following his lead.

  The dragon was still there, hunched halfway up the slope. Her tail was curled up like a scorpion, and her forelegs scratched the loose rock, sending it tumbling down toward Ard and Nemery. In front of the dragon was the slag pile—black, steaming, revolting. The awful mound had been deposited in a slight dugout, excavated in the loose rock by the dragon’s powerful legs.

  “It’s huge,” Nemery whispered. “Although the firing process does tend to shrink the Slagstone as it dries under the extreme—” Ard reached around and covered the girl’s mouth. The last thing they needed was for Nemery’s nervous, albeit knowledgeable, rambling to spook the sow.

  The two of them watched in silence as the dragon drew a deep breath, torso expanding. She began to glow from within, a web of red cracks that shone between her rough scales. Then the breath came tumbling out as bright yellow fire.

  The flames were precise, just as Nemery had said. The fire streamed from the dragon’s long neck, enveloping the slag until it glowed like a white-hot coal. Ard stared, unblinking at the absolute power of the beast. He was pretty sure Nemery tried to say something, but his hand still muted her as the rush and crackle of raw fire echoed off the cliff behind them.

  Then the dragon was done. The stream of flames ended abruptly. Her wings unfurled and she leapt into the air. She soared directly over Ard and Nemery’s hiding place, disappearing into the trees at the top of the cliff.

  Ard released Nemery and she stepped out from behind the boulder, mouth agape. The fired Slagstone was still burning on the hillside. In the gloom of the storm it seemed bright and enchanting.

  “That’s it,” Nemery whispered, fighting to keep her voice down with excitement. “She did it!”

  “We did it,” Ard replied.

  Nemery turned to look up at him, her face breaking into a massive grin. She let out a laugh and threw her arms around him. The victorious feeling was contagious, but Ard knew they still had a long way to go before they got off this island. Especially with Tanalin’s crew searching for them.

  “That’s enough.” Ard peeled her off. “We need to retrace our steps and set the final Markers for our crew.”

  “Can’t I stay with the Slagstone?”

  Ard shook his head. “The king’s Harvesters could already be here, watching. We’ll be exposed on that slope. We need to scout the perimeter and make sure we’re alone.” He glanced at the smoldering stone. “That Slagstone needs to cool off anyway.”

  “They say the Dross layer forms during cooling,” Nemery said. “Did you know that Dross explosions are still the leading cause of death among Harvesting crews?”

  Ard hefted his orange-stained spear, sighing. “I had no idea.”

  “Bet your pretty eyes have never seen something so ugly as a pile of Slagstone,” Jip Kranfel called to Quarrah as she arrived at the large mound.

  “Sure she has,” Lan said to his little brother. “She seen you.”

  Both men were tending to the piece of fired Slagstone, with Raek standing on the opposite side. The mound came nearly to their shoulders, resting in the divot excavated by the dragon.

  Quarrah had always supposed that Harvesting the Slagstone mound would be as simple as loading the large stone into the Drift crate. But Raek had explained that there was much more to it.

  During the firing process, each mound of Slagstone developed a highly flammable, explosive outer crust called Dross. It was far too volatile to be of any practical use to humans. After processing, Blast Grit was just as explosive and not nearly as finicky.

  The Dross layer detonated under even the slightest bit of pressure. A falling rock, a hailstorm. Raek said that Dross was even known to ignite on a hot day if the mound was in direct sunlight. The resulting blast would blow the Slagstone into small chunks whose detonative properties would quickly depreciate.

  Nature’s purpose for the highly explosive Dross layer actually made a lot of sense to Quarrah. Dragons had lived on this island for all of human record. If each dragon passed a mound of Slagstone on an average twelve-day period, then Pekal should be nothing but a giant heap of boulders. Dross was nature’s way of maintaining Pekal’s lush environment.

  Raek and the Kranfel brothers had already begun to remove the Dross layer. Their cork chisels probed for weak spots, allowing them to pry up small pieces and set them a safe distance away.

  Farther down the slope, Quarrah saw Ard pulling supplies from the Drift crate. Their reunion had been painfully awkward, Quarrah choosing to walk away so she didn’t say something she’d regret.

  Ard still loved Tanalin.

  According to Raek, it had always been Ard’s plan to find her again. Once he had enough Ashings, they were supposed to live out the rest of their lives like happy little lovers.

  It made Quarrah sick. Like an idiot, she had imagined a future with Ard. And, over the last eight cycles, Quarrah had convinced herself that Ard saw the same.

  Well, at least Quarrah would get two hundred thousand Ashings. And she was already devising a way to steal a good portion of Ard’s payout, too. Maybe that would teach him not to play with Quarrah Khai.

  “Let’s get that crate into position!” Raek shouted down the rocky hill.

  The Drift crate was empty now, the supplies unloaded at the base of the cliff. Raek had decided that they would abandon all supplies that couldn’t be carried in packs for the quick hike out. That would include the Kranfels’ Fielders, some of Lence Raismus’s Feeder supplies, and Nemery’s Caller instruments. The crew’s agreement to do so came with the promise of ample compensation for their lost items.

  Ard and Moroy picked up the wooden crate, making their way up the scree. Quarrah was grateful she didn’t have to lug that box any farther today. Raek had begun rationing
the Drift Grit to make sure they had enough for the hike out. This meant a lot of Prolonging Grit was added to the crate’s hopper. It extended the effect of the Drift cloud, but as time wore on, the box got progressively heavier. Today, they had even hiked a few stretches with no Grit at all.

  Ard and Moroy set the Drift crate beside the Slagstone where Raek instructed. Nemery Baggish was at Ard’s side like a talking shadow. Quarrah still couldn’t believe the girl was alive. She had risked so much, leaving the entire crew just to be with Ard.

  Quarrah found their sudden friendship annoying. It was an embodiment of Ard’s charm and personality. He put people at ease. It was his nature. Like how Quarrah stole things, or how a dragon breathed fire.

  Moroy wandered away from the Drift crate. Ard said something to Nemery who moved off to check on Lence Raismus.

  From the trees at the top of the slope, a strange sound echoed downward. It was like the cry of a loud bird: a grating chirp with a gravelly undertone. Everyone looked up from their tasks for a moment. The noise sent a shiver down Quarrah’s spine. This island was wild. It seemed Pekal itself spoke a language Quarrah didn’t understand.

  “I was sorry to hear about Ulusal,” Ard said, hiking up to where Quarrah stood. “The others told me you did everything you could to help her.”

  “Didn’t seem right to leave her like that,” Quarrah answered. Had she cooled off enough to have a conversation with Ard?

  “I’m glad you’re all right.” Ard’s voice matched the soft evening light. Quarrah felt his hand gently grasping for hers. She made a subtle movement, pulling away as she turned to look out over the rocky slope.

  “You never saw Tanalin’s crew?” Quarrah decided to tackle the subject. It would eat her up if she had to wait any longer.

  “Tanalin,” Ard muttered. “What did Raek tell you?”

  “I don’t care what you did in the past, Ard.” Quarrah turned back to him. “I don’t care who you were with. But I do care about now. Raek’s explanation helped me understand something. That wall. The wall you keep around yourself that I’ve been trying to climb. But I don’t want to climb it anymore. Not if I’m going to find Tanalin inside.”

  Ard lifted a hand to his forehead, jaw tightening with discomfort. “It’s not like that, Quarrah. Tanalin and me. She’s the reason I did a lot of the things I did. But she has nothing to do with this.” He reached out and took her hands.

  “But you love her,” said Quarrah. “A woman who you haven’t seen in years. As long as she has you, I can’t.”

  “I owe it to Tanalin,” Ard replied. “I abandoned her that night. She thinks I’m dead. I have to—”

  “You don’t have to do anything!” Quarrah cut him off. “So she thinks you’re dead. Let her think it. The only thing that could hurt her worse is finding out you’re alive.”

  That same guttural chirp echoed down the rocky slope from the trees above. At the Slagstone mound, the Kranfel brothers commented on it, and Raek glanced upward to see if he could spot the source.

  But Ard and Quarrah remained on the hillside with their eyes locked. “What are you going to do if you see Tanalin before we leave the island?” Quarrah probed. “You really think she’s going to be happy you’re here? Think she’ll be proud of the name you’ve made for yourself and all the dirty Ashings you’ve earned?”

  Ard dropped the eye contact, unable to withstand the torrent Quarrah was sending his way. He hadn’t denied any of it. He hadn’t even bothered to rebut. Tanalin’s obvious power over him made Quarrah feel exposed, like her emotions were something comical to be paraded around, while Tanalin was kept close to Ard’s heart.

  A few loose rocks tumbled down the slope as Nemery came running up behind them. “Ardor!”

  “Not now, Nemery.” All the energy and charisma was gone from Ard’s voice. Perhaps it would be good for the young girl to see him boiled down to this unusually humbled state.

  “I’m sorry,” said Nemery, “but that sound. Did you hear it?”

  “Of course,” Ard answered. “Why?”

  “I couldn’t place it at first. It’s a Call my master said I’d never need to learn,” explained Nemery. “It’s a hatchling dragon in distress.”

  Ard stepped back, casting his eyes up to the trees. “What?”

  “How is that possible?” Quarrah asked.

  “It’s not,” said Ard. “That sound isn’t coming from a hatchling. It’s coming from a Caller.”

  “The king’s Harvesters?” Nemery asked, but Ard was already scrambling up the slope, scanning the tree line. Quarrah glanced in that direction, but she didn’t even know what to look for. A Caller with an instrument like Nemery’s?

  The rest of the crew picked up on the sudden tension. Raek and the Kranfel brothers redoubled their efforts, chipping away the Dross with calculated, steady movements.

  Lence, Moroy, and Nemery were fanning out along the hillside, their eyes trained upward, when the Call came screeching out again. But this time it didn’t stop. The Caller knew his trick had been uncovered. There was a true desperation behind the grating chirp. The race was on to see how long he could Call before his exact location was uncovered.

  “There!” Nemery pointed into the trees some fifty yards away. Moroy was closest, and he set off at a sprint. Quarrah watched those long legs churn over the damp, loose rocks with the agility of a practiced Tracer.

  At first, Quarrah couldn’t see what he was running toward. Then she saw a structure to the vegetation that didn’t seem quite natural. It was a hut. Similar to the one Nemery had constructed, only much smaller.

  The hatchling distress Call continued with a wild freneticism until Moroy was mere feet from the hut. A gunshot cracked, echoing down the rocks, and vegetation ripped as the Caller fired from within the small hut.

  The ball must have gone amiss, because Moroy didn’t even hesitate. From the side of the hut, a man emerged, dressed in fringed attire of brown and green. The Caller made to run, leveling his gun behind him in a blind shot.

  Moroy fired first, his Roller smoking as the Caller fell with a scream of pain.

  “Moroy!” Ard shouted. But the Tracer closed the distance, angled his Roller downward and finished the man at point-blank range.

  Quarrah felt her stomach twist in an anxious knot. To see a man’s life ended so abruptly. So violently. She felt nauseous, rooted in place on the slippery rocks.

  “Sparks, Moroy!” Ard screamed. “We needed him alive!” Changing direction, Ard raced toward the Slagstone mound, stones cascading under each step. “How much longer?” he called to Raek and the Kranfel brothers.

  “It’s a delicate process,” muttered Jip.

  “Where are the rest of them?” Quarrah’s eyes scanned the clifftop for Harvesters.

  “We have to assume they’ll be here any moment.” Ard drew a short knife and stepped up to the Slagstone mound. “Their Caller must have been sending a signal to the other Harvesters.”

  Lan Kranfel looked up just long enough to swat Ard back. “Not with the knife, Bloodeye. You’ll blow the whole thing to chunks, and us with it.”

  “We have to speed this up.” Ard stowed the knife but managed to peel off a flake of Dross with his bare fingers.

  “You want to speed things up?” called Lan. “Then make like a legitimate Harvesting crew and form a line to pass the Dross bits.”

  Ard moved past Quarrah and carefully deposited his piece of Dross on the distant discard pile. Quarrah stepped into line with Nemery, but they didn’t have a chance to pass a single piece of Dross.

  Something came careening over the clifftop like an ominous cloud.

  It was a dragon.

  Quarrah felt her legs instantly threaten to give out. The beast was massive. She didn’t know if it was the same creature they had baited, but it looked so much bigger displayed against the dusky clouded sky.

  It dove with a thundering shriek, landing in a spray of rocks. Its neck darted forward like a powerful snake. Those tremendous
jaws opened.

  Lence Raismus was snatched from the rocks midsprint. He screamed, his body tossed skyward before the jaws crunched together, a shower of blood soaking anew the rain slicked rocks.

  Quarrah couldn’t breathe, the horror slamming into her like a tangible wall. The Caller from the hut hadn’t been signaling the other Harvesters. He had been signaling a dragon!

  The hatchling’s cry of distress had been answered, the angry sow looking to destroy anything that might be threatening a young of her species.

  Was this Tanalin’s plan? This diabolical method for disposing of the criminals without even dirtying her hands? This was the justice of Pekal. A monster unleashed to judge and execute.

  Moroy’s Roller cracked twice, and Quarrah saw the lead balls ping off the dragon’s impenetrable scales. The lean Tracer altered his route, making huge downward leaps through the loose rock.

  The dragon sprang for him just as he reached the bottom, diving headlong into a gap between two boulders. The dragon’s broad forehead smashed into the nearest stone, shattering it.

  In the cloud of dust, Quarrah couldn’t see if Moroy had survived. The dragon seemed uninterested, instead turning her attention to the group of six people huddled near the Slagstone mound.

  Nemery suddenly broke from the group, sprinting up the slope toward the trees. “Nemery! Get back here!” Ard shouted, running another flake of Dross to the discard pile. Nemery didn’t stop. She didn’t respond. The girl just kept running as the dragon lumbered toward them in no apparent rush.

  “Blazing girl,” Ard muttered.

  “I’ll go after her,” Quarrah said. With experience at handling Dross, Ard would be of more use to the Harvesters. But Ard drew a Roller from his holster and sprinted after the girl muttering, “She’s my responsibility.”

  Since when had Ardor Benn felt responsible for anyone other than himself?

  Quarrah set off after him anyway. The dragon was coming for the group at the Slagstone pile. Staying together would only give her an easy meal.

  Ard fired three shots from his Roller into the dragon’s face. The balls seemed to sting a little, but proved to be merely a nuisance. Like a biting fly.