The Last Lies of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

  Garifus gestured through the group. As the people parted, Nemery saw the young woman step forward. The prisoner looked even more tired and afraid than the night before.

  “Is everything prepared?” Garifus asked her. She nodded, a gesture so small it was almost imperceptible through the foliage. Then she held out her hand to show him something. Glinting in the morning sunlight, Nemery saw a glass vial. What was that about? A tonic or elixir?

  Garifus Floc held out his hands. “Let the chosen ones gather with us.” The young woman stayed by his side, but the three Lander men and the Trothian woman who had spent the night in safety backed away.

  The hikers came forward, gathering into a circle. One of the women pulled along a hesitant Legien Dyer, but Feltman wouldn’t even look at his father. Once in position, Garifus joined them, leaving the young woman alone in the ring of nine Moonsick people.

  “The world may not understand what we are doing here today,” preached Garifus Floc. “But tomorrow they will. The Homeland beckons us, and we must be transformed to receive its glory.”

  He reached up and pressed the tip of his middle finger against his forehead, spurring all the others to copy the effect. All except the sunburned woman. She had closed her hand around the vial, clenched fist raised slightly above her head. Her face was knotted with so much worry, she looked like she might be sick.

  The group began to speak, their voices sounding in unison as they recited a memorized phrase.

  “All things form a great Sphere. And we have now come to the top. We are the Homeland. We are time and space perfected.”

  Their recitation ended as abruptly as it had begun, the chorus of voices seeming to hang among the branches of the forest like a morning fog.

  Then Garifus Floc nodded to the young woman. She brought her fist down, hurling the glass vial at the stony ground. Nemery didn’t hear it break. She couldn’t see if something sparked. But at once, the campsite was enveloped in a perfectly formed vaporous mist.

  Like a Grit detonation.

  The dome easily encompassed the ten participants in the circle. Part of the detonation was contained against the boulders on the far side, but the perimeter of the cloud rippled into the trees, stopping just yards in front of Nemery and Mohdek.

  Her attention snapped back to the campsite as the ring of hikers began to scream and howl. Something was happening to their bodies. They were growing rigid. Paralyzed. Attempting to break their formation, but somehow unable.

  Then they went silent, their faces frozen in various expressions of shock and fear. Legien Dyer was stiff as a board, desperately reaching out for his son.

  Homeland! What kind of Grit was this? Nemery thought she knew all the types, but she’d never heard of one that could do something like this.

  In the middle of the circle, the fair-headed young woman turned this way and that, tears wetting her eyes as she gasped. Nemery couldn’t tell if she was horrified or relieved.

  Then Garifus Floc’s face split straight down the middle. His scalp ripped like a thick piece of parchment, skin falling away to reveal a new skull.

  A skull of red glass.

  His figure rose out of his former flesh, the new Garifus significantly larger than the one before, like watching a great winged butterfly emerge from the cramped confines of its cocoon.

  The other nine began the same process, wriggling through their skins to reveal figures unlike anything Nemery Baggish had ever seen.

  Their skin was pale blue like the morning sky, laced with veins of gold that rippled with an otherworldly iridescence. They stood so tall that their hairless glass skulls nearly touched the boughs overhead. Shed strips of human skin littered the ground at their feet, but torn scraps of their clothing still clung to their enlarged forms.

  And their eyes… They burned with an unholy red glow. It seemed as if the Moon itself had pocked their faces with bits of its power.

  Garifus Floc rose to his new height. He looked so different. Had she not just seen him transform, she might not have even recognized him.

  “We are the Homeland.” Even though he spoke softly, his voice was oddly resonant. “For now, we may be few, but together we can usher all of civilization into the Final Era of Utmost Perfection.”

  “Perfection!” echoed the others.

  Then Garifus stepped forward, finally breaking the ring. “I sense that there is one among us who does not share our ideals.” He crossed to stand before Legien Dyer.

  Like the others, Dyer had been entirely remade by the power of that unknown Grit. His new look seemed ageless, no longer overweight, standing every inch the height of Garifus Floc.

  “You are hesitant to share our perfection with the world,” said Garifus. “But I do not understand why. Haven’t your aches subsided? Hasn’t your mind cleared?”

  Legien Dyer said nothing that Nemery could hear, but Garifus paused and then resumed as if the man had spoken.

  “I have saved your son,” said the cult leader. “Look at him. Sense him. His mind is open to you, and it is clear he has no guile. Why do you wish to withhold this state from others?”

  Again, he paused before resuming his monologue. “It cannot be like that. We must all be united in deed and purpose. Our individual strengths and knowledge become part of the whole. Soon to be part of the Sphere. But we cannot fit a square peg into a round hole. If you cannot see the merit in what we must do, then you have no place in the Homeland.”

  “Please!” Legien Dyer shouted, his voice booming through the woods. “You said there was room for every commoner to join you.”

  “There is,” said Garifus. “Every commoner who shares our ideals.”

  “I… I do!” It was strange to see such a powerful-looking figure beg. “I’ll go along with your plans.”

  “There is dishonesty in your heart,” said Garifus. “It is laid plainly before our minds. The Homeland does not need you, when there are thousands of others who will come without a fuss.”

  Suddenly, the red glass of Garifus Floc’s skull began to glow. It pulsed at first, but quickly became steady as others in the group responded in kind. One by one, their glass scalps began to radiate an eerie light.

  “Wait!” pleaded Legien. “I can change. Feltman!” He turned to his son. “Feltman, please!”

  Feltman Dyer’s skull was the last to illuminate. Then it ignited like an orb of red Light Grit.

  The moment the glow was unanimous, Legien Dyer’s skull shattered. Nemery flinched as shards of thick red glass sprayed outward from his cranium. He fell—first to his knees, and then to his face, a wisp of red smoke rising from the blasted crater of his brain.

  The woman beside Feltman reached out, gently squeezing his arm in condolence. Then the lights in their minds were extinguished, heads darkening to smooth red glass.

  “We have sensed another matter,” said Garifus. Nemery tensed, preparing to run, but the huge man turned to the young woman who had backed against the boulder.

  “I believe congratulations are in order,” Garifus said to her. “You were right about everything.”

  He held up his hand and took a deep breath. Suddenly, the vaporous Grit cloud cleared, snuffed out before its usual ten minutes. No. Not snuffed.

  Absorbed.

  Nemery could see the final wisps of the cloud flowing into Garifus Floc’s raised hand.

  “Your secrecy had bought you relevance,” Garifus said to her. “But we now understand your… Transformation Grit on a new level.”

  “I… I…” The poor girl was so shaken, she couldn’t get more than a word out.

  “Your once-impressive mind is nothing to our perfected collective consciousness,” Garifus continued. “And now you have overstayed your welcome.”

  He stooped and lifted a long dagger from the litter of his former body. Sparks, Nemery thought. He’s going to kill her the traditional way.

  The woman grunted, springing past Garifus with surprising agility, making for one of the backpacks on the ground besi
de the fire pit. The Lander man, Carpen, reached it first, snatching the pack away and leaving the woman to fall on her knees in a hopeless pounce.

  Nemery had an arrow on her bowstring before she even realized it. She wasn’t going to stand by and watch this woman—this prisoner—get murdered for doing everything the cultists had asked of her.

  “Salafan!” Mohdek hissed as she rose to her knees, drawing the bowstring and releasing in one fluid motion.

  At this range, she hadn’t even needed to aim. The arrow took Carpen just below the collarbone. He dropped the pack in front of the woman, staggering backward with a gurgle.

  The nine Glassminds turned in unison, their glowing red eyes shining through the dense trees, locating her immediately.

  “Oh, flames…” Nemery cursed, scrambling to her feet. No sense in hiding. Two of the transformed beings were already moving in her direction.

  An explosion ripped through the camp, throwing everyone outward in a blast of fire and smoke. Broken chips of rock sprayed from the boulders and one of the dead trees caught flame.

  It would seem the young woman had found the Blast Grit in that backpack.

  Before the dust had settled, Nemery was on her feet, running. Not away from the campsite, but directly toward it. She burst through the black smoke, stumbling over the body of the dark-skinned Lander man she had seen last night. He was unconscious from the explosion, maybe dead.

  Nemery was at the young woman’s side in no time, yanking her to her feet without a word of introduction.

  “Leave the pack,” Nemery said.

  “But it’s full of Grit,” said the young woman.

  Nemery nocked another arrow, one of the Glassminds sprinting toward them. She loosed, but she might as well have shot the boulder. The stone arrowhead didn’t break skin, and the shaft splintered against the man’s pale blue chest.

  The blond woman plunged her hand into the backpack and withdrew a clay Grit pot marked with a yellow dot.

  Nemery caught her arm before she could throw it. “More Blast Grit?” she cried. “You’re lucky you didn’t blow yourself up the first time.”

  The woman pulled out of Nemery’s grasp. “Eight and a half granules,” she said. “Mixed it myself. We’ll be fine at this distance.”

  She hurled the pot at the incoming Glassmind. It shattered against his shoulder, sparks dancing as the Slagstone fragment struck. This explosion was much smaller, flinging the Glassmind sideways into the boulder. That Blast would have blown a normal man to paste, but the Glassmind promptly rose, glowing eyes narrowing to slits.

  “Come on!” Nemery cried, sprinting back into the trees.

  “We can’t outrun them,” the woman replied, following nevertheless. “Garifus said their new forms would be capable of great speeds.”

  Can’t outrun them. Can’t outfight them. Can’t outthink them… Nemery suddenly regretted her decision to reveal herself.

  “Nem!” Mohdek was waving a hand through the trees. He wasn’t where she had left him, having retrieved their packs and repositioned himself on the other side of the ravine. Smart. The trees were thinner over there. Easier for a hasty getaway.

  In Mohdek’s enthusiasm, he didn’t see the Glassmind racing toward him. Nemery screamed a warning, neither in his language, nor in hers. Simply a guttural cry, punctuated by frantic gesturing.

  Mohdek realized what was happening as the Glassmind leapt the ravine in a single bound. The Trothian stepped back, swinging the short sword he already held at the ready. But the Glassmind caught the steel blade in one hand, halting his blow. Then the enhanced woman reached up with her other hand, seizing the tip of the sword and snapping the blade with the sheer strength of her grip.

  Mohdek let go of the broken weapon, staggering backward and slipping down to the snowy bottom of the ravine as Nemery loosed another arrow. It was as useless as the last, splintering against the Glassmind’s side.

  Sparks! And she thought Bloodeyes were hard to kill… That was it! She needed to treat this foe like a thick-skinned Bloodeye.

  “Hey!” She nocked another arrow, turning the woman’s attention away from Mohdek. In a single bound, the Glassmind leapt over the ravine, landing nimbly in the loose soil. Now Nemery was only a few yards away, and those glowing red eyes were like targets begging to be shot.

  She let the arrow fly, the shaft flexing under the force of her bowstring. Her aim was true, she could tell the moment her fingers released.

  The Glassmind’s hand came up with superhuman speed, catching the shaft of the arrow. It slid a few inches through her grip, the pointy arrowhead stopping just a leaf’s width from her glowing eye.

  Nemery felt her legs threaten to give out. She could see Garifus Floc leading the rest of the Glassminds toward them, shouting commands.

  “Get behind me!” The prisoner woman shoved Nemery down into the ravine toward Mohdek. She remained at the edge, gripping two more Grit pots, a small linen pouch dangling from her mouth by its drawstrings.

  She threw the first pot only a few feet in front of her, a distinctive Barrier cloud forming instantly. The detonation had a small radius, no more than three feet, but it encompassed the trunks of several trees, standing as an impenetrable dome between her and the charging Glassminds.

  Acting quickly, she tucked the remaining Grit pot into the small linen pouch, leaving the drawstrings open. Then she lobbed the parcel over the top of her Barrier cloud, not even waiting to see where it landed.

  Nemery saw it, though, peering up over the edge of the ravine. It was Void Grit, obviously Mixed with Compounding Grit beyond any level Nemery had ever seen.

  The outward rush of energy instantly broke or uprooted every tree within its radius, sending whole trunks flying like massive spears in a hailstorm of rocks. Down in the ravine, the three of them were protected, any limbs or stones bumping over the small Barrier dome and clearing their heads.

  “Blazing brilliant,” Nemery exclaimed. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

  “Didn’t think of it until I saw the ravine,” she replied. “That pouch had all the loose Compounding Grit we brought.”

  “Come on,” Mohdek said, leading the way along the snowy bottom of the draw. He was right to keep moving. As destructive as that technique had appeared, there was no telling how much damage it would do to the Glassminds. Or even how long it would delay them.

  “I’m Salafan,” Nemery introduced, sprinting alongside the stranger. “You got a name?”

  The young woman flinched as a low-hanging branch whipped at her face, threatening to snag her ratty blond hair.

  “Lomaya,” she replied. “Lomaya Vans.”

  They ran in silence, too winded to ask questions or give answers. Mohdek moved in front, choosing their path without a second’s hesitation.

  Nearly an hour had passed when Lomaya finally collapsed to the forest floor, heaving from the prolonged exertion.

  “We have to…” Nemery gasped in Trothian, “to rest.”

  Mohdek nodded, breaking his pace to begin a quick search of the area. There were no signs that the Glassminds had followed, but that didn’t mean they were safe.

  “You care to explain how you just turned a bunch of Moonsick folks into blazing superhumans?” Nemery uncorked her water skin, offering it first to Lomaya.

  “You care to explain how you just came out of nowhere?” she retorted. Nemery dropped wearily to sit at her side, back against a tree, as sweat streamed down her neck. Nemery briefly explained about Legien Dyer’s desperation to reach his son while Lomaya alternated between long gulps and gasps for breath.

  “Your turn,” Nemery said when she was finished, taking back the water skin and finishing the last two swallows.

  “I call it Transformation Grit,” Lomaya said, her breathing finally regular. “My friend and I developed it a few cycles back.”

  “You developed a new type of Grit, and you thought it would be a good idea to turn that information over to the local cult?” Nemery cried.
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  “We weren’t the first to create it,” she said. “Our professor must have been successful two years ago, based on the reports we heard about Prime Isless Gloristar.”

  “So you’re a believer in this Glassmind cult?”

  “Sparks, no,” Lomaya said. “But San and I had to test our theories somewhere. We caught wind of the Glassmind cult. They seemed to have more information about what happened to Gloristar than anyone. Garifus Floc was an eyewitness to the Prime Isless’s transformed state. From him, we learned that Gloristar had been Moonsick before she’d turned into a Glassmind. When San and I told Garifus that we had a strong hypothesis about creating more Glassminds, the cult held us captive.”

  “And your friend, San…” Nemery started. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s in Beripent,” Lomaya replied, “waiting for our return with the rest of the cultists.”

  “How did Garifus convince you to hike up here with him?” asked Nemery.

  “San was supposed to be the one, but he got sick the night we left Beripent. Garifus said he’d only slow them down, so I had to come in his place,” she answered. “San and I spent cycles trying to keep the formula for Transformation Grit out of Garifus’s hands. We had convinced him that one of us needed to be present in order to successfully create the detonation.”

  “Ah,” said Nemery. “That explains why he wasn’t very happy with you after he absorbed the detonation cloud. Did you know he could do that?”

  Lomaya shook her head. “Honestly, San and I had no idea what the Glassminds could do. We thought Garifus’s description of Gloristar’s abilities was exaggeration… Now I’m realizing that he didn’t even know the whole of it.”

  “You knew he would transform when you broke that vial?” Nemery asked.

  Lomaya nodded. “The cultists have been coming to Pekal to get Moonsick for nearly two years now,” she explained. “To them, it’s like the Wayfarist Voyage. The most devout cultists make the sacrifice, believing that the worthy would transform into a Glassmind… Like what happened to Gloristar. Of course, they were missing the Grit until San and I came along.”