CHAPTER

15

Ard slipped through the outer gate of Tofar’s Salts, pressing through the crowd of Trothians inside the soakhouse. Busier than normal tonight, under the red glow of the Moon Passing. Most Landers would be indoors, but this was a night of celebration for the Trothians—their Agrodite religion worshiped the terrifying Moon.

The baths were so full that the salt water flowed over the plank walkway, wetting Ard’s boots. He wasn’t excited for tonight’s meeting in the Be’Igoth. The last two had been wholly unproductive, and it was only a matter of time before Hedge Marsool decided to drop in and check on them.

Eggat and Drot were both on duty outside the hot bath house tonight. “Gentlemen.” Ard tipped an imaginary hat at them, moving up the stone steps and slipping into the remodeled structure.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ard said to Raek and Quarrah.

“No surprise there,” Raek muttered. He was stooped over a table, studying a map. Above his head was a large orb of Light Grit. Ard’s thoughts took hold of him for a moment, his eyes lingering on the brightly glowing ball.

Another sphere.

In his studies, Ard had started listing all the naturally occurring spherical shapes in the real world.

It was the shape of a detonation cloud.

The Red Moon.

The bleeding eyes of a Moonsick person.

“Did you get lost on your way here?” Raek followed up.

“Had to shake a tail,” Ard lied. He certainly couldn’t tell them the actual reason for his tardiness. He had been lost. In his studies.

The split focus between the Islehood and Hedge’s job was draining. It shouldn’t have been—Ard had run plenty of simultaneous ruses in the past. But maybe that was just it. Maybe he didn’t view his position in the Islehood as a ruse anymore.

Sure, he was using the Mooring to get what he wanted—the location of the dragon shell, and clarity about the Great Egress. But he’d found more than he’d expected there.

“Hedge, or Captain Dethers?” asked Quarrah, standing up from one of the padded armchairs.

“Huh? Oh, I didn’t get a good look at them. Suppose it could be any number of spiteful enemies,” Ard said, artfully evading an honest answer. “Where are we with getting another Moon Glass?”

“Um…” Raek glanced up from his map. “Nowhere. That ship has sailed, my friend. Or rather, sunk.”

“But Baroness Lavfa—”

“The job is shot, Ard,” seconded Quarrah. “Time to move on.”

Moving on was not one of Ard’s strong suits. She, of all people, should have known that. Looking at her pierced him with a pang of regret, still fresh even after days of profuse apologies.

Sparks, why hadn’t he listened to her plan on the Double Take? If he had, they might still have the glass. Ardor Benn actually knew the reason. It was the same reason he had insisted on meeting with Lyndel—it kept him relevant. Useful.

Quarrah’s way of doing things was always simpler, but it didn’t give him a chance to impress her. Of course, the logical side of him acknowledged that she’d probably be far more impressed if he actually listened to her ideas.

Ard had always prided himself in his ability to read people and manipulate them. But when it came to Quarrah Khai, he was helpless. He knew what it would take, but he could never quite commit to the lie—pretending to be something he wasn’t just to win her over.

His feelings for Quarrah exacted nothing short of perfect honesty from him. But this time around, all the honesty did was make Ard realize how much he hated himself.

“Baroness Lavfa’s unnecessary anyway,” said Raek. “Hedge told us to contact her because he needed a place to store his dragon. There are other places besides the cavern under Helizon.”

“You weren’t here when he hired us,” Ard pointed out. “Hedge was pretty adamant that we secure the baroness’s Helizon property. Tell him, Quarrah.”

She shrugged. “Hedge talked like that was the only option. But I don’t see why we couldn’t persuade him otherwise.”

“Hedge Marsool isn’t really a flexible, understanding fellow,” Ard said. “If we don’t play by his rules, I’m afraid he could—”

“Right here.” Raek tapped the map with his finger. “There’s a sizable cave just a few miles south of Beripent. In the Pale Tors. Actually not far from that abandoned granary where we hosted the Karvan lizard fight.”

“I’ve heard of that cavern,” Ard said. “Doesn’t Jaig Jasperson have the run of the Pale Tors?” He turned to Quarrah. “Jaig was a smuggler during the war. Moved cannons and ammunition out of the Archkingdom and sold them to the Sovs for Ashlits.” Then to Raek. “You think that cave’s big enough to house a dragon?”

“The entrance is too small right now,” he admitted, “but I think a couple of well-placed kegs of Blast Grit could open it up without collapsing.”

Ard snorted. “As if Jaig would agree to that.”

“I actually swung by this morning and had a word with him,” said Raek. “Showed him my plans for blasting.”

“You did what?” Ard cried. “If Hedge finds out—”

“Relax,” Raek cut him off. “I told Jaig we were looking to hide a sailing ship.”

“What did he say?” asked Quarrah.

“He wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of widening the entrance,” Raek said. “I think I could bring him around.”

“Threats, or money?” Ard asked.

“Maybe a little of both.”

Ard shook his head. He didn’t like changing plans on Hedge like this, even if all their efforts were still aimed toward finding a place for his dragon.

“If you’d rather stick to the original plan,” Quarrah said, “I’ve got a solid lead on a glassblower who I think could make a convincing replica of a Moon Glass.”

“We went over this,” Ard said. “There’s no such thing as a convincing—”

“Quiet,” Raek hissed, holding up his hand for silence.

The cheerful sounds of the bathing Trothians outside had come to an abrupt silence. Then Ard heard a man grunt just outside the door to the Be’Igoth. The wall shuddered as something slammed against it.

“I thought you shook your tail…” Raek reached for a Roller lying on the table beside the map.

Oh, sparks. Had someone actually been following him? Ard reached for his own gun belt, but it wasn’t there. He needed to figure out a way to secretly arm himself when leaving the Mooring.

The door flew open. A single figure filled every inch of the doorway, cowled head ducked low just to squeeze inside the room. Draped in an ill-fitting black cloak, the stranger was terrifyingly large and imposing. With the backdrop of the reddish night behind, Ard saw a waterfall of sparks tumble from the figure’s hand.

Quarrah had wisely retreated to take shelter behind a table stocked with Raek’s Grit Mixing equipment. Ard was doing the same when Raek pulled the trigger. His Roller spit flame and lead, striking the stranger squarely in the chest.

Instead of stumbling or flinching, the figure reached up and cast off the large hood.

Impossible…

It was Prime Isless Gloristar.

Ard stood rooted in speechless shock. Could it really be her? Alive and looking no different than when they’d seen her plummet from the top of the Old Post Lighthouse. Her enhanced body rippled with muscles, enlarged beyond any natural frame. Pale blue skin shimmered with veins of pure gold, and her hairless scalp was made of thick red glass. Her eyes blazed like coals of crimson.

“Shoot first, ask questions later?” she declared, her voice resonating unnaturally. “Honestly, where is your discipline, Raekon Dorrel?”

Raek lowered the gun slowly, as if it had suddenly grown too heavy to keep raised. Gloristar made a dismissive gesture behind her, the door suddenly swinging shut, seemingly of its own accord.

“Flames, Gloristar,” Ard finally managed. “We thought… Everyone thought you were dead!”

“That’s understandable, I suppose,” she stated. “But death does not come so quickly to me now. I was merely… out of sight.”

“Where were you?” he followed up.

“I was stranded for a while,” she said, “in the depths of the InterIsland Waters.”

“And how did you…” Ard found himself stumbling on his words, an uncharacteristic testament to his shock. “How did you get here?”

“Now, that is something altogether miraculous.” Gloristar strode into the room, swinging an object from her shoulder and dropping it heavily on the table.

It was a black leather backpack. And it was still wet.

In the corner of the room, Quarrah Khai stood up from her hiding place. She stepped around the Mixing table, moving quietly toward Gloristar, who seemed unsurprised by the thief’s sudden appearance. Maybe the woman had already spotted Quarrah with those glowing red eyes. Maybe there was nowhere safe to hide from the perfected creature Gloristar had become.

A Glassmind.

“Well, I’ll be sparked,” Raek muttered, drawing closer to inspect the backpack. There was no mistaking it. Ard could see where the shoulder strap had been severed by Moroy’s knife in his final desperate moments.

Slowly, as if expecting Gloristar to stop her, Quarrah reached out and loosened the pack’s drawstring opening. The transformed woman watched in silence as Ard, Quarrah, and Raek peered inside.

The soft glow from the Light Grit glinted magnificently on the thick red Agrodite Moon Glass. Beneath it, Ard saw two Grit kegs and four bricks resting in the bottom of the pack.

“And how…” Ard started. “How exactly did you come by this?”

“I didn’t,” Gloristar replied. “It came by me.”

Raek gave a grunt of annoyance. “Look, I realize that you’re fluent in cryptic. Makes sense, from all that scripture you must have read as Prime Isless. But we’re simple folk here, and I think I speak for all of us when I say you need to explain things a bit more clearly.”

“Things are unclear, even to me,” said Gloristar. “How long was I gone?”

“Two years,” Quarrah answered.

Gloristar lifted a hand, fingers sparking absently as she tapped them together. “Two years. Time was a blur to me without the rising and setting of the sun.”

“The pack,” Ard said. “We lost it in a struggle just four days ago.”

She nodded her glass head. “It settled to the depths, where I was waiting.”

“Whoa,” Raek remarked. “That’s one blazing lucky backpack.”

“Not so,” said Gloristar. “It was directed to me by a power beyond your comprehension.”

“What do you mean?” Quarrah asked.

“In my current state, my body has developed a bond with renna—what you and the Trothians call Moon Glass.” She placed one hand on the pack. “I sensed the presence of this piece the moment it entered the water. It is corrupted, having spent so many centuries in the hands of those who cannot access its true power, but my mind still perceived it. I drew that Moon Glass toward me, feeling it push and pull against the natural currents of the sea until at last it was in my possession. The renna was imprinted with the history of those who had touched it, and I knew exactly how to find you here.”

Ard rubbed his chin. “Incredible,” he whispered. “This is unbelievable.”

“I am drawn to the renna,” said Gloristar. “And it is drawn to me. That is how I survived these last two years. There are great spires of this glass scattered across the bed of the sea. Each is protected by a pocket of air—residual effect from ancient detonations that are sustained by the glass spires.”

“We know,” Ard said. “We saw one.”

Gloristar tilted her head and Ard saw that her glass skull was still broken—a spiderweb of thin cracks across her scalp.

“How is that possible?” Gloristar asked.

“We enclosed ourselves in a bubble of Containment Grit and sank down during a Moon Passing,” said Raek. “Just happened to land in one of those handy air pockets.”

“Lyndel,” Quarrah whispered. “She believed that some spiritual power had guided us to that spire of Moon Glass.”

Ard remembered perfectly. The priestess had been determined to snuff out their protective Containment bubble so they could go out and investigate. She had called it a test of faith. And she hadn’t been wrong.

“Lyndel,” Gloristar repeated. “She is an Agrodite priestess. Her history is deeply imprinted into that piece of corrupt Glass. Her Trothian form is a mere shadow of its glorious ancestors, but the power of the spire would have been sufficient to detect her heritage and draw your sinking bubble toward it.”

“The testament spire attracts Trothians?” Raek said.

“Only if they are alive at such a depth in the sea,” answered Gloristar. “And Lyndel’s connection to this piece of Moon Glass would have made the draw even stronger.”

“So the only reason we survived that night was because Lyndel was with us,” Quarrah said.

Ard already knew that. Without Lyndel’s unique ability to limit her breathing, they would have had no one to stay awake and ignite fresh Containment Grit to keep their bubble safely intact. It made the sting of their falling out even more intense. But Ard didn’t want to acknowledge their reliance on Lyndel now.

He shrugged. “Maybe we would’ve gotten lucky and landed in one of the air pockets.”

“No,” said Gloristar. “The spires of renna repel common debris. It keeps them safe and protected.”

“Are you calling us debris?” Ard muttered.

“That explains why the seabed was so clean,” Raek said. “Not a scuttled ship or skeleton in sight.”

“Once you found the pack,” said Quarrah, “how did you get back to the surface?”

“In this state, I am able to absorb detonations and reignite the Grit clouds in any shape or manner I choose,” said Gloristar. “But my reserves were spent from stopping the Cataclysm flood. I was pushed deep with the sinking rubble of the lighthouse. By the time I had recovered from the fall, I was miles down. Too far to swim unassisted to the surface. I needed more Grit.”

Ard glanced at the backpack, realizing that the two kegs were empty. “And suddenly, you found it.” That was a blazing happy coincidence.

Gloristar nodded. “Your Barrier Grit shielded me from the water, and your Void Grit propelled me upward.”

“When did you surface?” Raek asked.

“Not more than an hour ago,” she said. “I pulled myself out of the water and found this cloak in the harbor. I came directly here.”

“We were your first stop?” Ard checked. “That’s quite the honor, but why didn’t you go to the queen? There’s a lot of speculation about what happened to you that night. You could set the record straight.”

“After killing Termain, I had no idea what political state the islands would be in,” said Gloristar. “The Moon Glass let me know that the three of you were safe. You have not seen him, so I felt I could trust you.”

“Excuse me. Him?” Ard leaned forward, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Who is him?”

Gloristar closed her glowing eyes for a long moment. “There is much to explain.” The three of them waited for her to go on, but she wouldn’t even open her eyes.

“Would you like to sit down?” Ard asked. “We can get you something to eat. Drink?”

“My perfected frame no longer requires sustenance,” she replied. “Nor do I tire of standing or wakefulness.”

“Oh, well…” Ard said. “I hope you don’t mind if my imperfect frame has a seat while we talk. My dogs are barking.”

Gloristar opened her red eyes slowly. “Forgive my rudeness. I will sit.” She moved toward the large armchair with the green cushion.

“But maybe not there.” Raek gestured her away from the trigger for the trapdoor. The woman took a seat on the short couch, making the furniture look comically small beneath her enlarged figure.

“The Homeland, as I once understood it, does not exist,” Gloristar began. “There is no distant shore where the righteous go. There is no existence beyond this one.”

“Okay,” Ard said, seating himself heavily on the edge of the table. “Let’s just get the discouraging bit out first, then.”

“I am the true Homeland,” Gloristar said, “and any who become like me can find this perfection. I am what was once called Othian.”

“We’ve been calling you a Glassmind,” said Raek.

“Is Othian a Trothian word?” Quarrah asked.

“It is from a language that precedes Trothian,” she answered. “It is the pure language that revealed itself to my mind at the time of transformation. In your tongue, Othian would be translated to mean one who is like the gods.”

“The gods…” Ard leaned forward. “What do you know about them?”

“Only what I learned from the renna spire on the seabed,” she replied. “The gods attempted to keep humankind contained. A portion of the people strayed beyond the borders and were inflicted with Moonsickness. Using dragon teeth, they transformed themselves into Othians. A great battle ensued, and the gods took those who had not transformed and created these high islands, filling in the rest of the world to drown the rebellious Othians.”

Ard clenched his fists in frustration. None of that was new. Gloristar’s surprise arrival should have brought all the answers he craved.

“But what happened to the gods?” Ard pressed. “Why is there no mention of them in Wayfarism?”

Gloristar shook her head. “That knowledge, among much else, was kept from me at the time of my transformation.”

“Kept from you?” Quarrah asked.

“By one who calls himself Centrum,” said Gloristar. “He was the first Othian in existence.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ard. “All the original Othians swam up from the depths. Ships unseen,” he quoted the historical reference. “Their race devolved and they turned into Trothians.”

“Yet I am here,” she said.

“Yeah, but you came later,” said Raek.

“And Centrum was before me.” Gloristar looked at each of them with her burning eyes. “He began the next wave of Othians, of which I am second.”

“So somebody figured out Metamorphosis Grit before Portsend?” Raek asked.

“It would seem so,” answered Gloristar. “All I know is that Centrum had already transformed before Portsend Wal came to my rescue at the Realm’s Moonsickness farm. Centrum was waiting for me.”

“You met him?” Quarrah asked.

“Not in the traditional sense.” Gloristar reached up and tapped a finger on her temple, sparks sizzling from her fingertips. “He was waiting for me here.”

“What did he say?” asked Ard.

“He told me we needed to join forces,” she replied. “To end civilization as we know it.”

“And I’m hoping you said, ‘No thanks’?” Ard checked.

“He told me that our minds must be aligned for this to happen.” She closed her terrible eyes again. “I resisted. He tried to kill me.”

“When?” Quarrah asked.

“After the transformation,” she said. “The night of the Cataclysm.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ard. “We were with you.”

“So was Centrum,” Gloristar said, opening her eyes. “He was with me in the throne room. And in the Old Post Lighthouse. He was in my mind, trying to extinguish my existence like the flickering flame of a candle.”

“You didn’t say anything,” said Ard. Not a word about her mental battle. What had she been going through?

“I didn’t understand it,” she replied. “I knew Centrum had information that I needed, but he would not yield it unless I submitted to him.”

“Well, it sounds like you did the right thing,” said Raek. “This Centrum fellow sounds like a real piece of slag.”

“You beat him?” said Ard. “Or is he still in there?”

“When that beam fell in the lighthouse, it cracked my skull.” Gloristar lowered her head to show the fractures. “After that, I could no longer hear him.”

“You think that crack broke the link between your minds?” Ard asked.

“Yes,” she answered, “though I am fortunate the damage was not more extensive. As an Othian, I am close to immortality. Age and disease have no hold on me, and my skin is too thick to be pierced by ball or blade. Shattering my skull is the only way I can taste death. If that beam had injured me any more than it did, I would not have recovered.”

“Hah!” Ard exclaimed. “That’s what I call a lucky break.”

“Ugh.” Quarrah shook her head at the pun.

“Too soon, Ard,” said Raek disapprovingly.

“What do you mean, too soon?” he retorted. “She’s been alive for two years. It’s not like her skull is suddenly going to cave in.”

“Do you think Centrum is still out there?” Quarrah asked, getting them back on track.

Gloristar nodded. “I have little doubt of it. But the fact that you have heard nothing from him gives me hope. It means he hasn’t completed the Sphere.”

Ard felt a chill pass through him, his mind begin to tingle. “You said something about it that night,” he said, voice soft. “When Shad Agaul died on the throne, Quarrah asked if there was anything you could do to help him. You said—”

“Not until the Sphere is complete.” Gloristar nodded. “Centrum was tempting me. He told me if we united, we could complete the Sphere. Then life, death, and time itself would be ours to shape.”

“The Sphere.” Ard squinted in puzzlement. “What is it?”

Gloristar drew a deep breath. “It is time and space perfected through an Othian.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” said Raek.

“Imagine time as a line,” Gloristar began, drawing her finger through the air. “Events unfold, days unfold, in a linear fashion—one thing after the next.”

“Yep,” Raek said. “I’m with you so far.”

“But sometimes, time is circular.” Gloristar looped her finger backward.

“You’re talking about a Paladin Visitant,” said Ard.

“You know their true nature?” she asked, surprised.

Ard glanced at his companions. “We have it on good authority.”

Gloristar raised her hairless eyebrows. “This will simplify my explanation, then. Time becomes circular when a Paladin Visitant successfully appears at a point in the past. But that resets the timeline, starting a new line going forward.”

“Right,” Ard said. “Linear. Circular.”

“But what happens to the other lines?” Gloristar asked. “The timelines that were? Or the ones that might have been?”

Ard shook his head. “They don’t exist. There can be only one timeline. This one.”

“Yes,” said Gloristar. “But once the Sphere is complete, time can roll forward. And backward. And to either side.”

Ard slowly reached up and grabbed the sides of his head. What was Gloristar even describing? This was pure madness. A scripture from Wayfarist Voyage suddenly made sense to him.

Though we struggle in a line, the circle saves, and the sphere governs all.

“So you’re saying,” Raek said slowly, “that if Centrum builds his little Sphere, he could roll us all over to a different timeline? A timeline where he likes things better?”

“Not exactly,” answered Gloristar. “Life can only exist in one timeline. This one. Centrum referred to this as the Material Time. When time circles backward with the appearance of a Paladin Visitant, the Material Time begins anew from that point. The previous line is erased, becoming one of an infinite number of shadow timelines where things are Immaterial.”

“Sparks, that hurts my brain,” Ard admitted. He’d had four years to iron out the idea of circular time. It was what had scared King Pethredote into killing the dragons. He’d tried to eliminate any possibility of another Paladin Visitant resetting the Material Time and turning this one into an immaterial shadow.

“I can’t wrap my head around this Spherical idea,” Ard continued. “If things only exist here, what benefit would Centrum gain by having time roll sideways into an immaterial shadow?”

“I do not fully understand it myself,” Gloristar replied. “As I said, he blocked much from my mind. But he promised me that Spherical Time would usher in a new era of limitless power.”

“You believe him?” Ard asked. “You think something like that is possible?”

“I do,” Glorisar answered solemnly. “Wayfarism teaches something very similar. A time when anything would be possible. When wealth would be found in overabundance, and death would have no power.”

“The Homeland, right?” Quarrah asked.

But Ard shook his head. “She’s talking about the Final Era of Utmost Perfection.”

“That is the time when all living souls will dwell in peace upon the Homeland,” explained Gloristar.

“Well, I don’t like it,” Raek declared. “Sounds like utmost horror to me—time rolling this way and that…”

“How does Centrum plan to complete the Sphere?” Quarrah asked.

“He withheld that information from me,” Gloristar answered.

“Surprise,” muttered Raek.

“But I know he can’t do it alone,” she continued. “Wherever he is, Centrum will try to create more Othians. And when he does, that will be the beginning of the end of human civilization.”

“Hedge Marsool,” Ard whispered.

Quarrah’s eyes grew wide. “He told us he knows how to make more Othians. Flames. What if he created Centrum in the first place?”

Ard nodded. “It’s possible. Even likely. And it makes the job that much more important. We get him a dragon and he doesn’t create more Glassminds.”

“Spark the job!” Raek cried. “I don’t trust anything Hedge Marsool says. Here’s another idea—kill Hedge and deal with Centrum when, or if, he ever shows himself.”

“If we kill Hedge, we lose the chance to find out what else he knows,” said Ard. “Or who else knows what he knows. And right now, he has us at an advantage with that Future Grit.”

“Future Grit?” questioned Gloristar.

“That’s what we’re calling it,” he said.

“We’re not committed to the name,” Raek cut in.

“Anyway,” continued Ard, “we think it’s a new liquid Grit type that allows our unwanted employer to see what we’re going to do before we do it. Have you heard of anything like this?”

“No,” replied Gloristar.

“We’re not even sure it’s a thing,” said Quarrah. Why was she fidgeting so much?

“It’s definitely a thing,” Ard rebutted. “I snagged a vial of it off his belt.”

“You snagged a vial of something,” Raek corrected. “And now we’ll never know what it was because you smashed it on the deck of the Shiverswift.”

Quarrah let out a self-satisfied laugh over that.

“What effect did it have?” Gloristar asked.

“As far as I could tell,” said Quarrah, “the only thing that Grit did was create a look of pure stupefaction on Ardor Benn’s face.”

This time Raek burst out laughing, and Ard stood up, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“I think we digress,” he said. “The point is, we can’t abandon Hedge’s demands now. Come on, Raek. We’ve never been ones to turn our backs like that. We continue with the job. Especially now.” He reached out and shook the backpack on the table. “All our hard work came right back to us. If that isn’t a sign that we should continue, I don’t know what is.”

I always had a strong grasp of my role in things. It only started slipping when I finally admitted that others had more to offer.