“My symptoms were consistent with the effects of Thornleaf,” said San. “Vomiting, diarrhea, a rash on my chest and back…”
“All right, bud.” Raek held up a hand, face disgusted. “Save it for a healer.” He shuddered. “What kind of person poisons her friend so she can take his place on a death march?”
San looked him squarely in the face. “What kind of person traps his friend in an empty bath?”
“Watch it, kid,” Raek whispered.
But San didn’t back down. “Lomaya talked and talked about how weary she was of this world. How she saw her boyfriend dying every time she closed her eyes, and she was tired of living with the pain. She had begged me to let her go with Garifus, but I convinced her that I was better suited for the hike. That it had to be me. I thought she wanted to go because she figured Pekal would be the end of her. A quick way out of her suffering.”
“But she survived the island,” said Quarrah.
San nodded, eyes glistening in the faint glow of their single Light detonation. “And that’s when I realized… She’d given me a lot of selfish reasons for going, but when it came right down to it, she didn’t do it because she wanted to die. She did it because she wanted to keep me safe. So you asked what kind of person would do that to their friend…”
Raek stared at the young man for a long, hard minute. “You got a pack?”
San shook his head. “I’ve got one change of clothes to my name.”
“Then you should probably bring it,” said Raek. “There’s an outfitter in New Vantage. We’ll set you up with everything you need when we get there. But we’ll want to take as much Grit from here as we can reasonably carry.”
“We only have six vials of Transformation Grit.” San wiped tears from his face, springing into action.
“We’ll take two,” said Raek.
“Only two?” Quarrah questioned.
“I should only need one detonation to undergo the change,” he pointed out. “But I’m not the only one who needs to transform after the Passing.”
“You’re talking about Motherwatch?” Quarrah checked.
“Wait… the dragon?” San cried.
“Long story,” Raek said. “She might be a goddess. I’ll fill you in on the way.” He turned back to Quarrah. “We don’t know if the transformation will work the same for her. She might need more than one dose, so you should keep the four remaining vials.”
“Can’t you make more when you get back?” Quarrah asked. “You have the source material you need here?”
“Dragon tooth,” Raek affirmed. “We’ve got a little left.” He crossed to the open cabinet and withdrew an empty backpack. “I’ll leave you the formula just in case the dragon doesn’t respond to the first four doses.”
“I’m no Mixer, Raek.” She had packed plenty of powdered Grit in her day, but she’d never attempted anything as complicated as the liquid solutions. “And we both know Ard won’t be any help there.”
“Well, hopefully, Motherwatch transforms on the first detonation and you don’t have to worry about it.”
Or hopefully, you and San will be back by then. Quarrah didn’t say it out loud. Raek was obviously leaving her the formula for a worst-case scenario.
“So you’re trying to get that dragon Moonsick?” San said, still hung up on it. “How are you storing her?”
“In Stasis Grit,” answered Quarrah.
“Isn’t that going to be a problem?” San checked.
“Seems like a bigger problem if she’s not in Stasis,” Raek pointed out.
“But how do you expect her to react during the Moon Passing?” San probed. “I feel like I’m pointing out the obvious, but a creature in Stasis isn’t supposed to change in any way.”
“Actually, I kept a Moonsick man in Stasis a few cycles ago,” said Quarrah. “He still progressed through the phases.”
“You what?” San turned to her with a horrified expression.
Quarrah shrugged. “It was for a client.” As if that would be a reasonable explanation.
“It’s something we already discussed with Ard,” Raek said. “Quarrah’s experience shows us that Moonsickness cuts through the Stasis. We’re counting on that to work for Motherwatch.”
“How do you plan on getting to the summit?” Quarrah asked.
Raek dropped an entire keg of Health Grit into his pack. “I know a guide.”
“Nemery? I thought you said Ard burned that bridge.”
“He did,” said Raek. “But luckily, I wasn’t on it.”
This will save so many lives, but I’m doing it just as much for myself. In time, I’m sure my arrogance will be remembered as selflessness. But those who really knew me will see through it.
CHAPTER
28
Nemery peered through the trees, overlooking the wreckage—two broken Drift crates, a handful of collapsed tents, a smattering of backpacks strewn through the tall grasses of Bo’s Glen. She was especially proud of the deep talon gouges she’d raked into the soil and the goat entrails she’d splattered against the side of the crate.
The destruction looked good, but Nemery was starting to worry that the cultists weren’t even going to notice the scene.
“Their guide should have stopped them by now,” Nemery whispered to Mohdek.
“You use the term guide too loosely,” was his reply. “This one seems even less capable than the last.”
They had quickly noticed that none of the large summiting parties had hired true professionals. But that didn’t surprise Nemery. Who would be willing to lead entire families to the top of Pekal on a one-way trip to Moonsickness?
The guides were obviously fellow cultists with some Pekal experience. Probably ex-Harvesters. Maybe even poachers. Still, the guiding got easier with every passing group, trampling a veritable highway up the slopes.
By Nemery’s estimation, there were eighty cultists in this party, with at least fifteen of them younger than her—some of them little enough to be carried in packs or on top of Drift crates. Bo’s Glen was a common camping site for the first night out of New Vantage, but this party was moving so slow that it had taken them two days to reach it.
“Here we go,” muttered Mohdek. Halfway across the meadow, Nemery saw the guide hold up his hand, bringing the procession to a grinding halt. Packs were slipping from shoulders and people were collapsing into the grass, grateful that their leader had called a break. But Nemery could see the concern on the faces of those in the front of the group as they drew closer to the first crumpled tent.
“You better get into position,” said Nemery. “Signal me when you’re ready.” Mohdek nodded with a grin, moving off through the trees.
The guide and a handful of others were now spreading upward through Bo’s Glen, examining the wreckage that Nemery and Mohdek had put out. The cultists’ anxiety was palpable, especially once they recognized the brand on the gear, matching the same supplier as the equipment they carried. The tension began to ripple through the large crowd, even managing to bring some of the laziest-looking people back to their feet.
She heard Mohdek’s whistle through the trees, easily mistakable for the chirping of a small bird. He was in position. Now it was her turn to signal back.
Nemery crawled forward, pulling aside a broadleaf branch to reveal the shiny mouthpiece of her Caller instrument. It was disguised well, even though she hadn’t built a full hut. That had seemed like overkill. Staying hidden from the eyes of eighty frightened cultists would be much easier than going unnoticed by one determined dragon.
Nemery reached up and began to prime the little box. She loved the subtle rattle as she pulled the cords in a steady, rhythmic fashion. She had decided on Territorial Bull, the same Call she had used when trying to frighten Motherwatch. It was really her only choice, since any other Call would risk bringing a curious dragon down on them. And Homeland knew she wasn’t going Wilder Far on these people.
Nemery drew a deep breath and placed her lips on the mouthpiece.
The brass buzzed, her whole face vibrating as she unleashed the impressive sound.
Twenty yards to her side, there was a tremendous rustle in the trees. Like a gale force, it bent trunks and broke limbs, sending them careening toward the cultists in a maelstrom of leaves and twigs. This was accompanied by a blast of heat that even Nemery could feel from her position in the trees. She squinted one eye against it, pealing on with every bit of breath she had.
The cultists were screaming and running back the way they’d come. The guide and a few others had drawn guns, taking blind potshots into the woods ahead. Nemery heard one of the Roller balls crack into the stump in front of her, chipping up splinters.
See, Moh, she thought. I told you it was a good idea to barricade.
Her breath ran out, but she sucked in another, putting it through the instrument and feeling the rumble of the great horn all the way down to her toes.
There were a lot of things that didn’t add up about their little trick, but Nemery was counting on fear and ignorance to overlook them. For example, a bull dragon would rarely, if ever, cry twice in a row like that. And as for Mohdek’s part, that was pure theatrics. She supposed the combination of Void and Heat Grit—both of which they had stolen from a previous group of cultists—was meant to represent the hot breath of a dragon. But if that were so, how could the dragon bellow a cry at the same time it was breathing heat? And Nemery was banking on no one sticking around long enough to realize that the dragon’s breath seemed never to waver for a full ten minutes.
Sure enough, the relentlessness of their deception was working. The guide and front guards stood their ground only until the bulk of the cultists had made their retreat. Then they, too, began backing away in haste.
Nemery sounded the instrument one last time, blowing until the last person had moved out of Bo’s Glen and disappeared from sight. She knelt back, sitting on her heels, flapping her lips to shake out the tingling sensation leftover from the instrument.
“Just the person I was looking for,” said a deep voice from behind her.
Nemery lunged to the side, drawing her dagger from a thigh sheath. She whirled to face the intruder, but she didn’t even need to bring up her blade.
“Raekon?” She relaxed at the sight of him, but only a little. The big man was wearing an overstuffed pack with a crossbow dangling from it. There was a short sword on his hip, the type commonly used to clear underbrush when hiking off the trail. His bald head was bare, and his sleeveless shirt showed his massive biceps.
“How did you…?” Nemery sputtered. “Why are you…?”
“I enjoyed your little performance,” he said. “Sent those Bloodeye-worshipers running with their tails between their legs. But I know a ruse when I see one.”
“You were with them?” she asked.
“Only for a little while,” he said. “We caught up to them an hour or two ago, and we were just hanging around long enough to ask if any of them knew where I could find someone called Salafan.”
Nemery stiffened at his use of the word we. “He’s with you?” she asked.
“If by ‘he,’ you mean Ardor Benn,” said Raek, “then no. I’m with a Mixer named San Green. An old friend of Lomaya’s.”
“I know the name. Did Lomaya come, too?” Nemery checked.
“It’s just San and me.” Raek slipped his pack off his shoulders and shrugged to stretch, lines of sweat marking his gray shirt where the straps of the pack had been. “Lomaya… she didn’t make it.”
What? She had been so brave! So strong! It was hard to imagine that the young woman had bested Pekal only to fall in Beripent. “What happened?”
“Garifus Floc,” Raek answered.
“I’m sorry to hear it.” She tried to shrug off the heavy feeling. “Where’s your companion?”
“Soon as I decided that was a fake dragon Call, we slipped away from the group and made our way around the sides of the glen. I sent San along the north edge so we’d be sure not to miss you. He should be here any second.”
“What tipped you off?” Nemery gestured to the glen.
“Well, those weren’t human guts spattered on the side of that Drift crate,” he answered. “So unless there’s a dragon with an exclusive taste for goat, I’m guessing nobody actually died here. That, and the apparent lack of carcasses.”
“The cultists didn’t seem to notice,” said Nemery. “Of course, regular folk tend to think that an attacking dragon eats every scrap of every person in sight.”
Raek glanced through the trees in the direction that the group had fled. “Not sure what you were hoping to accomplish, though. They’ll just find another way up.”
She shook her head. “Any guide worth their salt knows that there’s an alternate route just half a mile back. We only need them to get to the fork in the trail.”
“Then what?” asked Raek.
“Regulator Chief Lampar has a regiment waiting there,” said Nemery. “Once the cultists come into sight, she’ll have them.”
Raek grinned. “A trap. How’d you arrange that?”
“A fleet of Reggies sailed into New Vantage just two days ago,” she said. “Moh and I were there when they started rounding up the cultists and packing them onto their ships by the hundreds. Taking them in shackles if they didn’t go peacefully. This group struck out as quick as they could, and Chief Lampar was pretty chapped that she couldn’t get permission from the higher-ups to go on a chase across the mountainside. Moh and I offered our services to herd them back into reach. We’re hoping this should be the last of them.”
“Should be,” Raek agreed. “The queen herself dispatched that Reggie fleet. Completely closed down Pekal until Garifus Floc could be dealt with and—”
“Garifus is here?” Nemery cut him off.
Raek gave a gesture that was part nod and part shrug. “At least he made a public announcement that he was on his way.”
“Well, he didn’t come through New Vantage,” she said. “Ednes Holcatch would have told me if she’d laid eyes on a bunch of oversized people with glass heads. They must have sailed around to one of the other harbors.”
“They don’t need harbors,” Raek said gravely. “The Glassminds are stronger than before.”
“Stronger?” she croaked. Was there no end to their powers? “What do you mean?”
“It’s complicated,” said Raek. “In a nutshell, they have changed the way they perceive time.”
“Huh?”
He rubbed his chin. “They can use Visitant Grit to create… portals. Once they step through, they can move through parallel timelines and pop out anywhere they want in the world.”
Nemery blinked hard. “I don’t…” What was he talking about? “They can… appear out of thin air?”
“Basically,” he replied. “Although I thought the Glassminds would have appeared here.” He jabbed a thumb at the Glen. “To be with the cultists.”
“They’re probably with the first caravan,” she whispered.
“You mean there are more of them?”
Nemery nodded, discouragement clouding her face. “There are three groups on the mountainside already. Mohdek and I have been waiting outside New Vantage for days, hitting the caravans as soon as they set out. We turned four of them back to regroup. I assume the Reggies have gathered them up by now.”
Raek didn’t bother to hide how impressed he was. “Same tactic every time?” He glanced at the Caller instrument.
“Actually, this was new,” she replied. “Our usual method is to wear them down. Steal and destroy their provisions until the going looks so bleak that they turn back to recuperate. We poisoned the third group, but that made a mess of the mountain.”
“Sparks!” he exclaimed. “There were children in those caravans.”
She held up a hand. “It was just a drib of Nightsure extract. Nothing serious. And they were less than a day out. Made them miserable enough to head back to New Vantage in a hurry. Anyway, between the three groups that got past us, Mohdek an
d I estimate that there are close to two hundred people already on their way up.”
“Let’s make that two hundred and two,” Raek said. “San and I are heading to the summit. And I was hoping, just hoping, that you and Mohdek might be willing to—”
“Flames, no!” She turned away from him, her face growing hot. “I’m never going up there again. Certainly not for you!”
Raek scratched his chin. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”
“Motherwatch,” she whispered.
“The dragon?”
“Ardor took her,” Nemery said. “She had a hatchling.”
Raek sighed loudly. “Ard makes a lot of stupid decisions. Especially when I’m not around to keep him in check.”
“What’s he doing now?” She didn’t want to know, but she had to.
“Oh, I imagine he’s probably pacing the floor, scheming up all they ways he could get back at me once I get home.”
“What?” Nemery risked a glance at him. “He didn’t send you?”
“Definitely not,” said Raek. “In fact, I had to push him down and knock him out just to get away.”
“You?” Nemery said in disbelief. Everything she’d ever heard about Ardor Benn and the Short Fuse spoke of unbreakable friendship. “Are you lying to me?”
He raised his hands. “No. Not I. ’Tis the honest truth.”
She felt like he was being forthright, but there was obviously more to this story.
“In fact,” Raek continued, “nothing would spite Ard more than if you were to guide me to the summit.”
She felt her heart beat a little faster at the thought of vengeance against Ardor Benn. Still, she couldn’t shake a lingering feeling that Raek might be manipulating her to Ardor’s benefit.
Gratefully, her reply was postponed by the sound of a twig snapping in the trees. Nemery and Raek both turned, the big man putting a hand on the hilt of his short sword.
“Back away from her,” Mohdek called to Raek. Sparks! He had a young man in a vise grip, a long knife pressed to his throat.
The Last Lies of Ardor Benn Page 46
