The Last Lies of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

  “I sense their numbers across all of the islands,” Evetherey answered. “Today we will face only fifty thousand.”

  Raek chuckled sarcastically. “Oh, good. Only fifty thousand.”

  Quarrah glanced up at the Drothan. She was perched on the acoustical shell that rose twenty feet up the back of the stage like a freestanding wall. The reptilian goddess peered forward, her feathered wings spread to counterbalance herself. Could she actually see all fifty thousand Glassminds in the Char, or was she perceiving them as she had with their total numbers?

  “They are surrounding the square from all sides,” Evetherey continued. “As are the ones too sick to transform.”

  “Bloodeyes?” Prime Isle Trable clarified.

  “Yes,” came the answer. “They sense the survivors and desire to tear the life from their healthy bodies.”

  “Why don’t they tear into the Glassminds?” Quarrah asked.

  “Even in their madness, their minds can sense the superiority of the Othians,” said Evetherey.

  “Well, that’s not fair,” muttered Ard.

  “At least they’ll have to wade through fifty thousand Glassminds to get to us,” said Queen Abeth.

  “I rue our odds if that statement gives us any comfort,” said Prime Isle Trable.

  “Evetherey!” Ard called, watching the survivors nervously shuffle on the pavers in front of the stage. “Where is Garifus Floc?”

  She must have responded, but only to him. He nodded, tugging at the white cuffs of his billowy sleeves, which extended beyond the length of his long leather jacket. Of course he was dressed nicely on the last day of existence. He’d probably swindled that shirt right off Lord Kinter’s back.

  “Where is he?” Quarrah asked him.

  Ard pointed far ahead, where the main gathering of Glassminds had congregated on the road leading into the square. “He’s here.”

  “Ard,” she whispered. “What if he doesn’t listen to you?”

  He turned sharply to face her. “You’re here, Quarrah.”

  She wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “Of course I’m—”

  “I don’t fool myself anymore,” he pressed. “I understand that you’ll never see me like you once did. And that’s on me. I’ve been dishonest with you so many times. Tricked and lied. So I understand that things can never be what I wanted them to be between us. But you’re here now. Why?”

  His intense gaze forced hers away. She glanced at the pot of Blast Grit she was clutching. She had a few explosives and a knife, but she felt totally unarmed for this kind of conversation.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Quarrah finally answered. “First with the Realm, then with Hedge Marsool—”

  “I’ve seen you squeeze out of tighter spaces,” Ard cut her off. She could tell he was still looking at her, even though she had glanced away.

  Quarrah swallowed. How could she answer him truthfully? She honestly didn’t love him now, though she once had. The flame was dead, and any spark she might feel was for the thought of what this man could have been… if only he had listened to her.

  “You always know what to do,” she stammered out a response. “When everyone else is retreating, you advance.” She dared to look at him again. “You’re the man with the answers. Whether you really have them, or not.”

  Ard smiled—puckish, yet backed by a twinge of sadness. “That’s why the Glassminds will stop to listen. Because if someone as clever and strong as you keeps coming back to hear what I have to say, what chance does Garifus Floc have in resisting my speech?”

  Quarrah felt a strange sense of calm wash over her—a tribute to his way with words. Surely, in a collective mind of a million souls, someone would recognize the power behind the name Ardor Benn.

  “Quarrah,” he whispered. “I know I’ve apologized before, but I’m sorry I couldn’t value you the way you deserve. I’m going to change. I’m going to be a better man.”

  Was he seriously saying this now? She glanced self-consciously at the others on the stage, but each seemed preoccupied by their own thoughts and the tangible fear of the inevitable conflict.

  “They are coming!” Evetherey’s voice called from her perch. The audible warning washed across the stage and rattled through the human throng, energizing the survivors with a sudden panic.

  Quarrah squinted across Oriar’s Square, but the distance was too great. Especially without her spectacles. Instead, her attention turned back to Raek. The big man was grunting, hands outstretched as his fingertips sizzled with sparks.

  “I can’t…” he muttered. “They’re taking it in as quickly as I can ignite it.”

  Ard reached out and placed a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Raek. Let them come.” Raekon Dorrel lowered his massive arms and Ard took a deep breath. “Thanks, brother.”

  “This better work,” whispered Raek.

  Ard chuckled, but Quarrah sensed an unusual melancholy buried shallowly beneath it. “Oh, I’m betting my life on it.” He squared his shoulders and strode toward the steps at the edge of the stage.

  “Where are you going?” Quarrah called, all the panicky feelings of anticipation returning like a detonation of its own.

  “I need to have a word with Garifus Floc,” he replied.

  “I thought you’d say it from here,” she said.

  “And let these poor civilians be the first line of defense against a wave of Glassminds and Bloodeyes?” Ard turned back to her in a fleeting glance, his brown eyes alight with an intensity that matched his religious name. “I have to make sure Garifus doesn’t miss a word.”

  Ard stood on the grass with both hands raised in an innocent gesture. Behind him, the human survivors were making an undisciplined clamor, their knees knocking together in justifiable fear.

  It’s just a ruse, he told himself. Just another ruse. The thought calmed his nerves, even though he knew this would be different than anything he’d done before.

  “Are you sure of this, Ardor Benn?” Evetherey’s voice spoke into his mind. He sensed that the message was for him alone, but he didn’t know how to respond. He settled for a firm nod, trusting that Evetherey’s superior eyes could pick up the gesture from her perch.

  The task ahead terrified him in a way that nothing ever had. But the fear didn’t make him unsure of the plan. In fact, he would’ve considered something to be very wrong with him if he hadn’t been shaking at the thought. No, his fear was his conviction today.

  The enemy was close enough that Ard could see their glowing eyes. Their advance had been steady, and notably without haste. If there was any good news to be had, it was that the density of the Glassminds was obviously slowing the Bloodeyes. Gratefully, Ard hadn’t glimpsed any of those mindless creatures yet.

  “Centrum!” Ard shouted. “I know you to be a man of understanding… one who respects the ideals of the masses. Today, I speak for this mass.” He pointed at the disarray behind him. “Will you step forward and speak for yours?”

  The entire Glassmind processional came to a unified halt. Then one broke ranks and tromped across the grass toward Ard. Garifus Floc’s perfect lips were curled up in a winning sneer. Well, it would be fun to see how long that lasted.

  “Ardor Benn.” His enhanced voice pealed with much greater ease and clarity than Ard’s practiced projection. That didn’t matter. Ard had the man here. And what he said to one Glassmind, he said to all of them.

  He was counting on that.

  “My people stand ready to fight. Ready to die,” said Ard. “But I have to ask… Are we such a threat to your race that we cannot coexist?”

  “Your question shows a fundamental lack of understanding of the word perfection,” answered Centrum. “The simplicity of humans is fraught with flaws. This earth cannot attain its true potential with your people floundering upon its surface. We can only rise together.”

  This comment sparked a chorus of approval from the Glassmind host behind him.

  “And the Bloodeyes?�
� Ard asked. “They don’t upset your perfect world?”

  “They are easily dealt with,” said Garifus. “But I do not think your people will find them so. Even now, thousands are clamoring for you, though I have ordered my people to hold them back while we speak. It is not my wish that you be torn to shreds. Of course, I would rather you join me.”

  “That’s just not possible,” said Ard.

  “Which leads me to ask,” Garifus replied. “How did you all escape the Moonsickness?”

  “We had a little help.” Ard pointed to the top of the distant stage behind him. Centrum’s gaze narrowed on the spot, and Ard wondered if he could actually see Evetherey with his superior eyes.

  “For a being who can see all of time as a Sphere, you didn’t pay attention to your history, Centrum.” Ard folded his arms. “The first Glassminds—I’m talking the very first—were imprisoned beneath miles of water. Who do you think did that?”

  “You speak of the Drothans?”

  “Yeah,” said Ard. “We got ourselves one.”

  Ard sensed a little ripple of upset pass through the Glassmind ranks, but that was just the beginning. A tasteless appetizer, compared to what he had to say.

  “Lies!” Garifus bellowed. “You see, this is why we must all be of one mind. This kind of corruption and deceit sows only chaos and destruction. Already, I grow tired of your words.”

  “That’s fine,” said Ard. “I only need one.”

  “One… what?”

  “A single word,” he continued. “It’s really that simple.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s something Prime Isle Trable said to me recently. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to say it. The right time to convince you all of this word’s merit.”

  Ard didn’t speak, letting the silence and anticipation brew until the pressure blew the lid off.

  “Say it!” Garifus demanded.

  Ard sighed. “Time.”

  “That’s your word?” Garifus scoffed. “Time?”

  “Flames, no,” Ard said, pretending to be aghast at the misunderstanding. “Time is just something I’ve been contemplating lately. Side thought—You see, most of us waste it while we have it, yet in the end, don’t we all beg for more? Time is the great challenger, for idly it can defeat. Yet if we win but a short battle, it leaves a mark upon its pride.”

  Ard saw the look of recognition cross Garifus’s large features—knowing the verse from his own experience or drawing it from the memories of another Wayfarist-turned-Glassmind.

  “I didn’t understand what that meant when my mother read that verse to me as a child,” Ard said. “She might have been a simple gardener, but Arelia Castenac knew. She knew that none of us really win against time. That it’s not about the outcome, but the journey. And when our time comes, will we have done enough? Will we have left a mark upon time’s pride and shown those who come after—I was here, and I did not stand idly by. My soul did not Settle!”

  This time, a cry of support went up from the survivors who were close enough to hear.

  “You preach outdated doctrines,” answered Garifus. “Your weak minds cannot recognize the perfected Homeland, even when we loom before you! What we have become will withstand time. Its passage, so ravenous to you, has no effect upon our bodies or minds.”

  “Yet you still won’t win,” said Ard. “At best, you’ll be locked in an eternal standoff with time. And what will you have to show for it? You can’t learn anything new because your perfect minds already know it all. You can’t relish in the sweetness of victory, because you can’t taste defeat. Who is really winning, Centrum? The runner who sprints forever and never sees the finish line? Or the one who just wants to make it to the top of the hill?”

  Garifus glanced across the human survivors, their meager weapons of defense clanking in woeful lack of discipline. He chuckled.

  “You’re wrong, Ardor. The Glassminds are superior in every way. Time is our servant and we will remain long after you are gone.”

  “But I will have left a mark, because you’ll remember me.” A smirk touched Ard’s face. “With your perfect memory, you’ll never be able to forget what I did here today. You’ll never forget the word.”

  “What is this blazing word you speak of?” cried Garifus.

  “A word that’ll change everything,” he said. “A word that’ll change the minds of your followers. That’s what Trable said to me. Don’t you get it?”

  Garifus scowled. “We are united in thought. Nothing you can say will change that.”

  “Because you’ll kill them?” Ard said. “If anyone in your hive begins to think differently, you’ll just blow out their skulls. Isn’t that right? Because uncertainty is too much of a risk. Individuality is too dangerous.”

  Garifus huffed, teeth clenched in his broad jaw. “I believe you misunderstand our collectivity. It is not my mind alone that rules us, but the thoughts of the majority.”

  “Oh, I understand perfectly,” said Ard. “As long as fifty-one percent of your people think the same way, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “We are united!” Garifus bellowed, truly losing his temper for the first time. “We have scoured the world for the right minds. And the ones you see before you now represent the true and the faithful. Not some majority rule, but one hundred percent.”

  “And the Glassminds in Dronodan? Talumon? Strind?” Ard questioned.

  “It is as if they are with us even now.” Garifus touched his middle finger to his glass forehead in the old cultist sign of loyalty.

  “Good,” Ard said. “Then I can change their minds, too.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a jostle of commotion among the human ranks nearest him. Someone was pushing through to get to him. His heart slammed against his chest, but he couldn’t pull his eyes from Garifus. He was so close! And the ruse demanded every last drib of his focus.

  “Ha!” Garifus snorted. “With your lies? And your antiquated doctrines? Go ahead. Tell us this word that you claim has so much power. Change our minds.”

  Ard took a deep, steadying breath. “If you insist.”

  From the line of humans behind, Ard saw a blur of dark blue skin, forearms wrapped in religious red cloth. Lyndel’s voice sounded in his ear and he felt the tip of a blade entering his rib cage from behind.

  “Justice,” she whispered. “Justice for my people.”

  Ardor Benn sputtered, choked. He glanced down to see the point of the long knife protruding from his chest.

  Red.

  Deepest red.

  “The word…” he muttered, “word is—”

  With one swift motion, Lyndel whisked the knife from his heart and drew it across his throat.

  Blood sprayed. His blood. And all at once, the world grew dim. He thought he heard a woman shout his name.

  Ardor Benn hoped it was Quarrah.

  It has the power to drive people to do things.

  CHAPTER

  40

  Quarrah’s mind was numb, but her legs carried her out of the crowd.

  “Ard!” she screamed again. At least, she assumed it was her voice grating through her throat. It felt like someone else’s. Like the scene she had just witnessed was the final moments of a terrible dream. She would wake up. She would wake up soon.

  Lyndel released Ard’s body and it slumped to the grass, motionless. Open eyes already glazed. Quarrah landed on her knees beside him, reaching out. But her hand hovered just above his bloodstained shoulder.

  Touching him would make it real. Touching his corpse would affirm that this hadn’t been some kind of ruse performed under Illusion Grit.

  Warm. His blood felt almost hot as her hand finally rested upon his shoulder. He was dead. Ardor Benn. Dead. Not a trick or a scheme. Not a clever ruse.

  Dead.

  Quarrah looked up to see that time, as it were, had stopped. Glassminds and humans alike were frozen in shock and confusion. Only Lyndel seemed able
to move, wiping the flat of the knife on her cloth-wrapped forearm.

  That knife!

  The blade, Quarrah now saw, was not metal or stone. It was thick red glass, unmistakably crafted from the shard that had broken from the Moon Glass in the Ucru that night. Identical to the one she’d seen in her vision, the handle was wrapped in rawhide, now forever stained with the lifeblood of the ruse artist.

  Quarrah felt a hopeless rage overtake her. Had her vision in the Ucru tried to warn her about this? Why hadn’t she stopped Lyndel? She’d seen someone moving through the crowd. Quarrah had been so close, hidden among the ranks to hear Ard’s words. A moment ago, she’d found his speech flowery and melodramatic, but suddenly his final words struck her as poignant.

  Quarrah didn’t need to run forever to win. She just needed to make it to the top of the hill.

  She sprang from Ard’s side like a pouncing cat, a savage cry escaping her lips as she drew her own knife. She would kill Lyndel for this. Stab her through the heart. Slit her throat.

  But her knife never found its mark.

  Garifus, startling at her sudden movement, raised his hands. Quarrah felt the rush of Void Grit strike her, hurtling her haphazardly across Oriar’s Square. Lyndel was caught in the same detonation, but her trajectory threw her elsewhere.

  Quarrah tumbled painfully across the grass, knife flying from her grasp. The impact must have detonated the little bag of Barrier Grit at her side, because her head suddenly slammed into an impenetrable shimmering wall.

  Fighting to remain conscious inside her accidental protective dome, she pushed herself up, blinking away the stars that crowded the edge of her vision.

  She had landed in the open space between forces, perhaps closer to the Glassminds than the survivors. But neither side was charging. In fact, the army of enhanced beings seemed to be in the middle of a telepathic argument. She saw their heads moving, expressions changing—all happening without an audible word exchanged.

  Twenty yards away, Garifus’s face twisted with concentration. Raising both fists, he ignited a light within his skull.

  “Do not move!” His cry was as thunderous as a great bass drum in a small concert hall. Beside him, a few more Glassminds began to ignite, the red light as bright as a welder’s forge, even in the morning sun.