The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

  She needed to be at the harbor now. No, she needed to be at the harbor an hour ago. There was a chance that Tanalin’s crew might still be days out, but if they had been quick to Harvest their Slagstone, then they could be departing to sail through the night.

  What was she going to do when she reached the harbor, anyway? Sneaking away from the Crown’s Ashing had been simple. Getting back on board with a stolen Drift crate full of dragon egg would be something else.

  Quarrah reached the harbor long before she had any kind of a plan. It was fully dark, but she’d been following the glow of the tall lighthouse that overlooked the harbor. From her place on this raised bluff, Quarrah could see past the gate and checkpoint and down to the ships waiting below.

  A large detonation of Light Grit had been set above the docks, and Quarrah could see dozens of figures milling around the Crown’s Ashing.

  Tanalin’s crew was back. They were loading the ship for departure. Quarrah could see all the equipment from their expedition arranged on the docks.

  Quarrah saw three other ships below, quiet and out of the light. Smuggling her crate onto one of those would be far more doable. One of the ships would belong to the harbor Regulation. It wouldn’t depart until just before sunset on the night of the Passing. Quarrah didn’t have the supplies to survive that long in the wilds of Pekal.

  There was no way to know the schedules of the two other ships. One of them had been in the harbor when she arrived, so it would stand to reason that it should be departing soon. But there was no telling where those other ships would sail. The last thing she needed was to end up on Talumon or Strind with the dragon egg.

  Quarrah needed to get aboard the Crown’s Ashing. And she needed to do it before they finished loading.

  Pekal’s harbors were developed with security in mind. From her position, the only reasonable way to reach the docks with a Drift crate was by descending a wide man-made ramp that switchbacked twice. At the bottom of the ramp, Quarrah would need to pass through the checkpoint gate—the only break in the wall that skirted the entire harbor.

  Picking up the blazing Drift crate once more, Quarrah started down the dark ramp. Tanalin’s crew had either arrived before nightfall, or been on the docks long enough that any Light Grit used to illuminate the ramp had burned out.

  Still, Quarrah knew she would be seen. And the Regulators would stop her. It left her with only one recourse, and she didn’t have much confidence in her ability to pull it off.

  Surprisingly, Quarrah reached the bottom of the ramp without attracting any attention. She was aware of the Drift crate’s rear poles thump-thumping across the wooden planks of the walkway as she moved toward the gate. At least it was still open! Although a bright cloud of Light Grit hung directly above it. Even from here, Quarrah could see three Reggies in the checkpoint booth beside the gate.

  Quarrah ducked her head low and pressed forward, holding her breath against the inevitable confrontation. She actually passed through the open gate, which was farther than she expected to make it.

  Quarrah was twenty feet onto the damp docks when she heard the Regulator shout from behind her.

  “Hoy! Stop right there!”

  Instead of halting, Quarrah picked up her pace. Every foot closer to the Crown’s Ashing increased her chances of pulling this off.

  She heard running footsteps from the Regulators behind, but Quarrah didn’t stop until she heard the click of a Roller hammer beside her ear. Slowly, Quarrah lowered the Drift crate to the dock and turned to face the Reggie, hands raised.

  “I claim the Fourth Decree,” Quarrah muttered. “I came here with a Harvesting ship earlier this cycle, but I was separated from my crew. The law states that you are required to allow me and my belongings to board that ship and receive safe passage back to the Greater Chain.”

  “Oh, you think you know the law?” asked the Reggie with the gun. His partner stood just beside him, a deep dimple in his chin full of whiskers.

  “I claim the Fourth Decree,” Quarrah said again. This needed to work.

  “I heard you the first time,” the Reggie replied. “If your paperwork checks out, we’ll get you on the king’s ship out of here.” When Quarrah didn’t respond, the Reggie shrugged impatiently. “Let’s see those papers!”

  “Don’t have them,” admitted Quarrah. She’d feel a lot better if he’d lower that blazing Roller. “Lost them.” She tried to remember how she had lied so convincingly as Azania Fyse. Those skills felt rusty now, and Quarrah hoped it wouldn’t give her away.

  “Well, why don’t we start with your name?”

  “I don’t …” She couldn’t make something up. They’d check whatever name she gave them against earlier manifests. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know your name?” The Regulator let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re not doing yourself too many favors, miss.”

  “Sparks, Hedris,” the dimple-chinned Reggie said to his companion. “Lighten up. Look at her. Homeland knows what this lady’s been through out there.”

  Quarrah suddenly realized that she must have looked something awful, caked in dried mud and speckled with Ulusal’s blood. She hadn’t had time to clean herself up. The only thing that mattered was getting off Pekal with the dragon egg.

  “Can anyone verify your identity?” chin Reggie asked.

  Finally, something was going right! This might work after all. “Tanalin Phor,” said Quarrah. “Tanalin Phor can vouch for me.”

  The two Regulators looked at one another. Then the one with the chin said, “I’ll fetch her.” He took off in the direction of the Crown’s Ashing.

  Well, all hope was now resting on Tanalin. It was an idea so risky that Quarrah would never have resorted to it if she’d seen any other way. Tanalin would have to lie on her behalf. She’d have to tell the Regulators that Quarrah was not an undocumented poacher. But a part of her believed it would work. Tanalin had all but invited her to stow away. Quarrah was hoping that the Harvesting captain wouldn’t get hung up on semantics now.

  Sooner than Quarrah expected, she saw the Reggie returning along the docks. At his side was the athletic figure of Tanalin Phor.

  Quarrah drew in a deep breath when Tanalin saw her, bright light perfectly illuminating her face. Quarrah didn’t know what to make of the captain’s expression. It wasn’t surprise so much as appraisal.

  “Woman says you’ll vouch for her, Captain,” said the Regulator who was waiting at Quarrah’s side. “Trying to claim the Fourth Decree, but she can’t seem to remember her own name!”

  Tanalin stood just out of arm’s reach, eyeing Quarrah from head to foot, studying her filthy appearance. Quarrah stared straight ahead, her gaze fixed over the dark harbor, unwilling to look Tanalin in the eye. Her heart was pounding, and every second seemed to draw out like dripping honey.

  “Can’t you see she took a blow to the head?” said Tanalin. “Poor woman’s been on Pekal since the first week of the cycle. You were a Harvester in Captain Munyan’s crew, weren’t you?”

  Quarrah broke her distant gaze to look directly at Tanalin. “Yes,” she muttered. “Yes, I was …”

  Tanalin strode past Quarrah to inspect the damaged Drift crate. Only now was Quarrah realizing that it didn’t look much better than she did, smeared with dried blood.

  “And you carried this down by yourself?” Tanalin tapped softly on the side of the crate.

  “I did.”

  “Equipment from your crew, I presume?” said Tanalin.

  “Small piece of Slagstone,” Quarrah answered. “Tools.”

  It was a ludicrous story. Quarrah was a terrible liar. Tanalin surely knew what was in the Drift crate. Quarrah had told the captain her reason for coming to Pekal. Still, Tanalin looked impressed—no, astonished—that someone with as little experience as Quarrah could successfully extract a gelatinous egg.

  Tanalin circled around the Drift crate and spoke to the two Regulators. “We’re good here. You can make a note that I’ve persona
lly inspected the woman’s cargo. Looks like everything checks out.”

  “We still need her name for our records,” said the gun Reggie.

  “Why don’t you bring me the last cycle’s worth of manifests and we can look it over together?” Tanalin said.

  “We’ll get them over to you right away,” said the chin.

  “In the meantime,” Tanalin said, “would you two be so kind as to load this woman’s Drift crate onto the Crown’s Ashing?”

  At last, the Regulator holstered his Roller. With his companion taking the back poles, the two men hoisted the crate and moved down the docks.

  Slowly, Quarrah turned to look at Tanalin. The captain was staring up at the dark hillside of Pekal, a distant expression on her face.

  “Tanalin,” Quarrah whispered. “Thank you.”

  “Well, I can’t leave you here,” she replied, her attention turning away from the mountain grandeur. “This island is wicked.”

  “You’ll be able to clear my name on the manifest?” Quarrah asked.

  “I’ll make something work,” she answered. “This is a different shift of Regulators from the ones who were here during Captain Munyan’s expedition. I can convince them that there was a discrepancy.”

  “Thank you,” Quarrah said again. She realized what Tanalin was risking. “When do we sail?”

  “At first light,” answered Tanalin.

  Now it was Quarrah’s turn to cast a glance at the dark mountain. “I hope I never come back.” She turned to Tanalin. “How do you do it?”

  “It’s all I know anymore.” Tanalin’s expression darkened as she gestured toward the InterIsland Waters and the Greater Chain. “I’ve got nothing out there.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “There was a time when I didn’t have anything, either,” Quarrah said.

  “That’s why you became a thief?”

  “Sometimes you have to chase the things you want.”

  “And sometimes you have to stop chasing them,” said Tanalin.

  Quarrah nodded. “It took Ardor a long time to figure that out.”

  “You think he has?”

  Quarrah realized that the captain wasn’t just talking about Ard’s feelings for Tanalin. She was talking about his lifestyle. The insatiable drive of the ruse artist.

  “Did Ardor ever tell you about his death?” Tanalin asked. “Did he tell you why he did it?”

  “The husk of dragon scales.” No, Quarrah hadn’t heard it from Ard. But Raek had told her enough.

  Tanalin nodded. “Once he decided to take it, he couldn’t stop chasing it. He gave up everything he had to steal that husk.” She stepped forward and gripped Quarrah’s shoulder. “Ardor doesn’t know when to stop. He gave me up for a husk of dragon scales. What’s he chasing now?”

  Quarrah didn’t respond, staring back at Tanalin in the steady illumination of the harbor Light Grit. The captain’s words upset her. Tanalin didn’t know Ardor Benn like she did.

  “He’ll stop,” Quarrah finally managed. “Ard has to see this through. Just a little farther. Then it’ll all be over.”

  “Will it?” Tanalin asked. “How far will he try to push you, Quarrah? Sparks! Just look at what you’ve done for him. You’re covered in blood, for Homeland’s sake!”

  Quarrah didn’t answer, but Tanalin dropped her hand and stepped away. She had a point. Ardor Benn had pushed Quarrah into doing things she never would have done on her own. But that wasn’t all bad, was it? The Islehood taught that the Homeland wanted people to progress. Ard had forced Quarrah way out of her comfort zone, but she was a better person for it. She was proud of her accomplishments over the last year.

  “Keep your head down,” Tanalin instructed, striding toward the Crown’s Ashing. “Someone in the crew might recognize you as our escaped prisoner.” Quarrah moved to keep up with the captain. “And take a minute to wash yourself off. You look terrible.”

  Quarrah cast a final glance over her shoulder at the towering blackness of Pekal. This place took too much out of people. She hoped to the Homeland that she’d never find her way back here.

  My scribing must be brief. There is little time left. I am running. If I do not reach the harbor in time, this writing will fall into the hands of a deranged monster.

  CHAPTER

  41

  Quarrah leapt down from the wagon’s driving bench, pausing beside the blood-spattered Drift crate lashed to the back. All was quiet around the butchery hideout, and Quarrah couldn’t help but feel extremely nervous. She had been gone less than a week, but a lot could happen to an injured, wanted man in that amount of time.

  Quarrah was back in her city, having survived a second venture to Pekal. She had scrubbed herself clean on the Crown’s Ashing, and with her feet on Beripent roads, Quarrah’s terrifying ordeal with Ulusal seemed like a fading nightmare.

  It would be dark in about an hour. Standing outside the butcher shop, Quarrah was anxious to see Ard. But she was too uneasy about leaving the Drift crate and its precious contents unattended in the quiet street.

  She crossed to the dilapidated shopfront door and knocked. Who was she kidding? Ard wasn’t going to answer the door, regardless of his health. The only people who pounded on doors in this part of town were Reggies.

  “Quarrah Khai.” The voice came from behind, causing Quarrah to whirl around. Lyndel stood beside the wagon. There was a thin sword strapped to her hip now, and the wooden butt of a Roller rose from a holster on her thigh.

  “Lyndel,” Quarrah sighed with relief. “Where were you?”

  She gestured across the street to a derelict building. “I watch the shop to make sure no one finds him.”

  “Is it safe for you to be here?” Politically, it was obvious that nothing had changed during Quarrah’s days away. King Pethredote’s expulsion order was clearly still in effect, though Quarrah was relieved to see that the unchecked violence in the streets had ceased. It had been terrible for a few days following the king’s announcement. Now that the general fear and frenzy had subsided, it seemed like the king’s order was being carried out in a much more civilized manner. More deportations and fewer hapless murders. Just that afternoon, Quarrah had seen an entire ship of Trothians leaving the harbor.

  “It is not safe for me anywhere,” said the priestess, scratching at her arm. Quarrah noticed that the woman’s blue skin looked chapped and dry. The need for a saltwater soak would eventually drive all the Trothians to the sea. The Regulators would be waiting for them, ready to pack them up and ship them back to their islets.

  “I’m so sorry, Lyndel,” Quarrah said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I have distrusted your king for many cycles now,” said Lyndel. “My people are made furious by his betrayal. All my time with Isle Halavend, I was anxious to get back to the islets. But after what Pethredote has done, there are many of us who will not go quietly.”

  “You’re going to stay and fight?” Fight who? The Regulation? Lyndel was hinting at war. But it was a war she couldn’t hope to win, outnumbered as her people were in Beripent.

  “Isle Halavend did not want his discoveries to lead to violence,” said Lyndel. “But my people stand ready to move at my command. They will fight for this cause. They will fight for Ardor’s Kram Udal.”

  “Kram Udal?” Quarrah had never heard those words before.

  “The Paladin Visitant,” Lyndel whispered.

  Ardor’s Paladin Visitant? The way Lyndel was talking made it sound like Ard had learned what he needed to make the detonation work. Perhaps the conversation with King Pethredote had been worthwhile, and Raek’s death was not a total waste.

  Lyndel placed a hand on the dirty Drift crate strapped to the wagon. “You found what Ardor asked for?”

  Quarrah nodded. “It was no easy task.” Sparks, it was probably the most difficult thing she’d done in her entire life. Certainly the most frightening. “What is he planning, Lyndel?”

  “Ardor is a man of many ideas,” said the priestess. “T
here is a Trothian saying. Feed the strongest ox first, or none will be well enough to pull the feed wagon.”

  Quarrah wrinkled her forehead, trying to decipher the phrase. “Is Ard the ox or the feed wagon?”

  Lyndel smiled a half smile. “Ardor Benn is mankind’s greatest chance at survival right now. My people will support him. They will fight and die because I have told them that Ardor pulls the feed wagon.”

  So he’s the ox. Quarrah scratched her head. She still didn’t understand exactly how the Trothian saying applied to this situation. But it was enough to know that Lyndel had pledged her people to their cause. Whatever Ard was planning, he wouldn’t have to undertake it alone.

  Lyndel gestured toward the butcher shop. “Go see him.” Quarrah cast a hesitant glance at the Drift crate, still unwilling to leave it unattended. “I will guard it,” Lyndel said, noting her obvious concern.

  Quarrah thanked Lyndel and turned, pushing through the squeaky door of the butchery shopfront. Crossing the room, she pulled open the cellar entrance, descending hastily into the earthy dugout, the faint glow of a small Light Grit detonation illuminating the way.

  “Lyndel,” Ard’s voice sounded. “I was thinking we could …”

  He trailed off when he saw Quarrah. Ard was standing—that was a good sign. But as he muttered her name, he staggered slightly, collapsing onto his heap of a straw bed.

  “Praise the Homeland you’re back.” Ard smiled that roguish smile, melting Quarrah’s insides. It had been almost three weeks since she’d seen him on his feet, heading to the palace with Raek, the pair of them filled with confidence.

  So much had happened since then. Now that she was facing him again, Quarrah didn’t know how to explain everything she’d done. I found the dragon egg, brutally killed Ulusal, and hitched a ride with your old girlfriend.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked instead.

  “Well, I burned through all the Health Grit.” Ard gritted his teeth. “I’m not out of the woods yet, but I’m doing much better. Lyndel’s been checking in on me.”