CHAPTER

38

Afternoon sunlight angled through the tavern’s broken window, spilling across empty tables and overturned chairs. It was the quiet that Quarrah found most unnerving—an eerie silence that pervaded places that should have been teaming with liveliness.

She squeezed through the open door, a pot of protective Barrier Grit clutched in one hand. The place smelled of mold and spilled ale, and a dozen rats scurried away at her arrival.

A mere three days since the Moon Passing and Quarrah Khai could clearly see that the world was dying. Her boots crunched over broken glass as she crept for the stairs. This place had been ransacked, just like the rest of what she’d seen in the Northern Quarter. Not by Bloodeyes; they weren’t ripe yet. This place had been torn apart by desperate people. What could they have possibly wanted? Ashings? Ale? Neither would protect them from what had already infected their bodies.

She rounded the bar, a cloud of flies buzzing up from a corpse on the ground. Quarrah drew back, surprised to recognize the man in the bloodstained apron. Folks at the tavern had called him Jingles, probably for the large ring of keys he often wore. The bartender’s throat was slit and his right hand still clutched a spent Singler. Jingle’s glazed eyes were fixed open in a death stare, and Quarrah could tell by the whites that he had been killed before the second phase of Moonsickness had taken him.

Feeling her stomach churn, Quarrah moved up the stairs toward the third floor. Beripent wore the consequences of the Moon Passing on its damp sleeve, the city so quickly devolved into a cesspool of lawless fear. From what she’d seen since leaving the Char on her secret mission, slums stood abandoned while wealthy neighborhoods like the Northern Quarter were completely pilfered. Outside, bodies littered the streets, murdered like Jingles without so much as a scream to offer.

Sliding a key from her pocket, she headed down the hallway. Numbered doors lined both sides, leading to simple, single-room apartments. Most were broken open, some of the doors knocked completely to the floor.

The hallway came to a T and she rounded the corner, nearly crashing into a man who stood with a broken board tucked under one arm.

“Sparks!” She reared back, raising her Grit pot. The man also readied for action, bringing up the wooden slat like a club. They faced off for just a moment, the man’s swollen eyes a pinkish hue as he squinted against his fading vision.

Quarrah recognized him, too. Didn’t know his name, but she’d seen him plenty of times on her way to and from her apartment here.

He lowered the board, taking a curious step toward her. The man tried to say something, but not a sound escaped. He tried again, mouthing the words with more emphasis so she could read his lips.

You speak? There was hope in his sickened gaze.

Quarrah shook her head, stepping sideways to move around him. The man blocked her, holding the board in front of him like a shield. His reddening eyes were fixed on hers, a desperation shining through.

Help. Help us!

He might have said more, but Quarrah looked away so she wouldn’t see his lips moving. The door behind him cracked open and a woman’s face peered out. Ragged, Moonsick. She rapped softly on the doorframe to get the man’s attention.

He spun, gesturing to Quarrah and pointing at his eyes. He mouthed something more. A child’s face appeared in the open door. A little girl of maybe five years, who looked even farther along in the Moonsickness than the adults. She was holding a handful of nails and a hammer, offering them to the man.

She can help us, Quarrah saw the man mouth to the others in the room.

“No.” Quarrah decided to break her silence. “There’s nothing I can do for any of you.” Her words sounded strange in the hollow corridor, and the woman shuddered at the sound. “I’m sorry.”

Are there more of you? the man mouthed.

Quarrah thought of that recent night, Evetherey’s perch crash-landing in a tree top, silhouetted by the Red Moon.

Eight thousand four hundred and forty-eight survivors.

There should have been ten times that number, but Elbrig and Cinza had crippled humanity with their oath of vengeance.

“Not enough,” Quarrah answered the man.

He nodded in solemn understanding, tears welling in his rotting eyes. Then he held up the board and mimed an action toward the apartment door.

“It’s a good idea.” Quarrah found it surprisingly easy to lie. What good would it do to barricade his door against the inevitable violence ahead, when that same violence would soon awaken within his own family?

In a rush of pity, Quarrah reached out and offered him the clay pot. “Barrier Grit,” she said. “It’ll only last ten minutes, but…”

The man accepted it, his quivering lips mouthing a sincere thank you.

She stepped past him, wishing she could have done more. There were additional Grit pots on her belt, but nothing would actually save this family.

Quarrah reached her room at the end of the hallway. As it turned out, there was no need for her key. The lock was broken and the door was ajar like all the others. She pushed it a few more inches, slipping inside.

Of the many apartments Quarrah kept across the city, she had always liked the location of this one. The respectable neighborhood meant she had never worried as much about the things she’d stashed here. Now the bureau in the corner was toppled and ransacked, even the mattress torn open and slid off its frame.

Amateur hiding spots, Quarrah thought, flipping back the rug and taking a knee on the wooden floor. Poking her finger through a knothole in one board, she pried it up with ease, revealing the things she’d hidden between the floor joists.

A sack of a hundred Ashings, a diamond ring, a ruby broach…

Noises from the street outside brought her to her feet. The glass window was smashed, white bird droppings spattered across the sill and floor, but the view was still the same.

From the height of the third floor, she could see across the broad intersection of five major roads below. Normally, the confluence was bustling with carriages and pedestrians at nearly all hours of the day and night. The usual bustle of business might have been lacking today, but the intersection was not empty.

Glassminds were coming down Pole Avenue. At least half a dozen of them, the afternoon sunlight glinting on their glass skulls. Behind them marched a massive group of citizens, several hundred strong, their faces weary but eager.

Even from this distance, Quarrah could hear the words the Glassminds were calling, their voices sounding in an unnerving unison, like a choral recitation.

“Come unto the Homeland! Your salvation awaits you with a mind of clarity and a body perfected. Do not fear us, but rather join us. Your willingness is the cure you so desperately seek.”

She’d seen a similar gathering at the edge of the Central Quarter this morning. That mass transformation had resulted in at least another hundred Glassminds, and a heap of dead ones whose minds did not live up to Garifus’s standards.

Quarrah imagined that these kinds of gatherings were happening all over the Greater Chain. The Glassminds rounded people up with a great deal of efficiency, but the clock was ticking, even for them. Once the people hit the third phase of Moonsickness, their minds would be too far gone to undergo the transformation. That meant the Glassminds would reach their maximum population in the next three or four days. After that, Garifus’s only concern would be the paltry clump of human survivors.

“Stand close together!” called the Glassminds in the intersection below. “You shall all receive the cure at once.”

Everyone at once? Quarrah studied the crowd more closely. There had to be close to four hundred speechless followers down there! The implication was terrifying. She knew that Garifus relied on a majority mindset to keep control of his hive. He wouldn’t risk transforming more people than there were faithful Glassminds for fear of tipping the balance. Even with this method, their numbers would grow exponentially. Four hundred would become eight hundred, would become sixteen hundred…

Telepathically, they could communicate their exact numbers across any distance, maintaining the integrity of the group while scouring every inch of the Greater Chain.

Directly below, Quarrah saw three figures exiting her building. It was the family from down the hall, and the man was waving his arms as if begging the Glassminds to wait for them.

In Quarrah’s limited interactions with them, they had always seemed like respectable people, not prone to extremes or radicalism. She knew they were simply desperate for a cure, and what harm was there in trying the transformation, since they would soon lose their minds to Moonsickness anyway? Of course, Garifus and his team would have a peek into their thoughts and memories first to see if—

“Oh, flames,” Quarrah whispered, suddenly realizing what this could mean. The Glassminds wouldn’t have to pry very deep to see that the family had just spoken with her. Spoken. They would know she was close by, and they’d want to know how she’d escaped the Moon’s rays.

Quarrah backed away from the window, her mind already tracing through the fastest route to exit on the opposite side of the tavern. Her foot caught on the edge of the rug and she glanced down at her concealed treasures.

Was this all she had to show for her life? Expensive jewelry and money? It suddenly seemed almost comical in its unimportance and she stepped over the stash. She hadn’t really come into the city to gather these treasures anyway. What did they matter?

She had come to spy. Because sitting inside their bubble of safety in the Char was driving her mad. Because she couldn’t stand to wait and wonder about the fate of the outside world.

Because sneaking around Beripent felt right when nothing else in the world did.

Through the window, red lights caught her eye in the intersection below. The skulls of the Glassminds were glowing, preparing for swift and merciless assessment of those who were about to transform. It was happening so quickly. On the road, hundreds of civilians of all ages and sizes were literally crawling out of their skin, emerging as something new. But Quarrah couldn’t afford to wait around and see how many of them survived Centrum’s judgment.

She turned, sprinting out the open door and down the hallway. Past the partially barricaded door of the family that had just turned themselves over to a different fate. Past the corpse of the bartender and out the back door.

She was a long ways from the Char, but she would reach it well before sundown if she didn’t run into trouble. Raek would let her through the Barrier, just as he’d let her out earlier that morning.

But Quarrah would have to be extra careful to avoid any Glassminds. If that man, woman, or little girl had joined their ranks, Quarrah’s face would be shared among every connected mind in the city. And if they caught her, they might uncover details about the survivors… about Evetherey.

Things out here were every bit as bad as she’d imagined. And it was only a matter of time—probably short—before the Glassminds turned their attention to the Char.

What chance did eight thousand four hundred and forty-eight frightened humans have against an unstoppable force like that?

“Of course we’ve got a chance!” Ard slammed his hand on the table. “It’s not over until it’s over. And it’s not over.”

He didn’t appreciate the glum looks that surrounded their makeshift council table. Only five of the seven council members had survived the rearrangement of Raek’s Barrier wall when Evetherey had crash-landed. Apparently, Lady Volen of Espar and the aged Lord Ment of Strind had pitched their royal camps farther from Oriar’s Square and hadn’t joined the others for the concert.

By now, Ard imagined that they either had undergone the transformation into Glassminds, or were shredding their fingers to the bone in a senseless desire to tear apart any manmade structure in Beripent. By the sound of Quarrah’s report, most of the city had been ransacked before the Bloodeyes had even gotten ripe in the sickness. Now it had been almost a week since the Passing, and things were sure to be downright apocalyptic outside the little Barrier where the eight thousand survivors huddled.

Queen Abeth Ostel Agaul sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead. Her hair was down and her face untouched by makeup. She had exchanged her gown for a pair of sensible trousers and a loose-fitting blouse, which was now smudged with soot from their campfires.

Ard thought she looked more war general than queen. Fitting, since most of the commanding officers of the Regulation had been cut off in the realignment. Now Abeth had given up her palace for this single-story historic site, one of the only Char ruins with something that resembled a roof overhead.

“We can’t keep saying we’ll put up a fight,” said the queen. “We need actionable strategies. Any day now, the Bloodeyes will be at our border.”

“It’s not the Bloodeyes we should be worried about,” said Raek. “They’ll never get through the Barrier wall.”

Their defenses hadn’t dropped in a week. Even now, Evetherey was outside, taking her turn to maintain the small dome of Barrier Grit that surrounded the last of humanity.

“It’s the Glassminds that should scare your pants off,” Raek finished.

“I’m not so sure,” said Lord Blindle. “It’s been six days and we haven’t seen a single one of them! We have to consider the possibility that the Glassminds are simply not interested in us.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” Ard said. “Garifus Floc won’t stop until his Glassminds have sole occupancy of this world.”

“Then why haven’t they come yet?” barked Blindle.

“They will.” Quarrah leaned forward, resting her forearms on the edge of the table. “The Glassminds know exactly where we are. Up until now, they’ve had to focus all their attention on rounding up the Moonsick people and transforming them before the sickness got too advanced. That’ll be winding down today. The people out there are entering the third stage. Once the Glassminds see that there’s no one else to transform, they’ll have their numbers. Then they’ll deal with the next problem on their list.” She sat back. “Us.”

Ard smiled at her boldness. There was even a touch of drama to her monologue. “Tell them how many we’re dealing with, Quarrah.”

Lady Werner scoffed. “How would she know?”

“I’ve been sneaking out into the city every day,” Quarrah said.

“What? How?” The council members all began to murmur.

“Did you visit my estate in the Southern Quarter?” asked Lord Owers. “What is the condition of my manor?”

“I’d say you can count on all your valuables to be scattered and lost,” she reported. “But that’s not our problem. It’s impossible to know for sure, but I’d say there are thousands of Glassminds by now. Probably more like tens of thousands when you consider that Beripent is just a small percentage of what’s happening all over the Greater Chain. The Glassminds aren’t forcing anyone to join them, but the people are desperate for a cure from Moonsickness.”

“I thought only those who shared Centrum’s ideals were allowed into his hive mind,” said the queen.

Quarrah nodded. “If you think the number of living Glassminds is worrisome, I can assure you that you’ll find ten times that number of rejects, their glass skulls blown out in the streets.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as the queen and the noble council shifted in their chairs.

“Anyway, we’re safe here,” Lady Heel finally declared. “Veth… Eveth… the dragon woman said she can create all the Barrier Grit we need to—”

“The Glassminds can manipulate a Barrier wall,” Raek cut off her optimism. “Any one of them could absorb our defenses. And with their numbers, Evetherey and I won’t have a chance of keeping a Barrier intact.”

“We should start mandatory military training with all the survivors,” said Lord Blindle.

“With what?” said Lord Owers. “We have no weapons!”

“There is plenty of available vegetation here,” said Raek. “Evetherey and I can shape tree limbs into spears and clubs—”

“We need guns!” Lady Werner cut him off.

“Why?” said Quarrah. “The balls won’t pierce the skin of the Glassminds. We’re better off trying to club them over the head.”

Quarrah had been more talkative than usual in these meetings. Ard was grateful for her input since she was the only person who had seen what things were really like out there.

“A soldier isn’t defined by his weapon,” continued Blindle. “Training would at least give the people some hope. The Regulators who survived may be few, but they should be teaching the citizens to fight. After all, even if we survive the outside threats, I do not think any of us feel completely safe within.”

“You’re referring to the Trothian group?” said Lord Owers. “They have not been hostile—”

“Six hundred Trothians—even their children show more combat discipline than our Reggies,” Lord Blindle went on. “You can’t tell me that the Trothians aren’t already posturing. I hate to think what will happen when they decide to make their move.”

“The Trothian posturing, as you put it, is in regards to Ardor Benn.” This came from a new voice at the doorway.

Ard whirled to see Prime Isle Trable standing rigid. Unlike the queen, he still looked every part the Prime Isle, his purple robes as clean as could be expected. All week long, he had busied himself among the people, speaking calming words and reading passages from Wayfarist Voyage. But he still hadn’t said one word to Ardor Benn. In fact, this was the first time Ard remembered standing within speaking distance of the Prime Isle.

Ard took it harder than he’d expected. He had filled his life with people who were willing to forgive him. Raek had done it countless times. And regardless of his many offenses toward Quarrah, she kept coming back, too. But Ard had finally given up hope that Olstad Trable might find forgiveness—sparks, he’d settle for understanding.

Ard stood by what he’d done in the Mooring. Trable had his family—Gaevala and the girls. And if Ard’s actions had in some small measure kept them safe, then it was worth the death of their friendship.

“Regardless of everything that has happened,” Trable continued impassively, “the Trothian priestess is still determined to exact justice on Ardor for his crimes against her nation.”

“Exactly!” cried Blindle. “And despite his crimes, our Regulators are spending all their time guarding him.”

“I assure you that not a single Regulator has received orders to protect Ardor Benn,” Queen Abeth said in a voice of steel. “They guard this building and the royal section of Oriar’s Square.”

The segregation seemed uncalled for, and Ard realized that the queen had authorized it only to appease the other nobles. She herself was often out among the citizen section with Prime Isle Trable. But Ard didn’t dare venture out to where Lyndel and the Trothians were posturing for justice against him.

“This man doesn’t have a drop of noble blood in his veins,” said Lord Kinter. “If he’s causing an upset, we should force him to leave the royal section.”

Ard held up his hands. How had this turned from a plan against the Glassminds to sacrificing Ard to the Trothians so quickly? “I don’t see how that is going to help us with the real problem.”

“You are the real problem!” shouted Trable. “I don’t know why—call it an Urging from the Homeland—but I can’t shake the feeling that you’re responsible for all of this… the Glassminds, the Moonsickness…”

Ard cleared his throat. “Everything I’ve done has been Urged by the Homeland.”

“You arrogant little son of a gun!” Trable laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “The Homeland would never speak to you. You manipulated me, Ardor! You used your connections with the Islehood for your own gain.”

“I didn’t gain anything,” protested Ard. “Yes, I knew the location of the Islehood’s shell storage. But I didn’t take any of it!”

Ard’s eyes flicked to Raek, quickly realizing just how hot the water of this conversation was becoming. Downplaying his knowledge of the shell location would only dig into a sore spot with Raek.

“It doesn’t matter what I knew, or when I knew it,” Ard settled on saying. “What matters is what I did with that information. I saw an opportunity to lure Garifus and his Glassminds out of the Mooring, and I took it.”

“And I suppose you’d like me to thank you for that?”

“It was nothing really,” said Ard. “Just putting my life on the line for the Islehood I had sworn to serve.”

“We have protocols for violent trespassers in the Mooring,” barked Trable. “I had tripped a silent alarm. A sizable Regulation platoon was on its way.”

“And you think they would have arrived before Garifus plucked your arms off?”

“I was stalling them,” Trable said. “It was a risk I was willing to take.”

“Gaevala and the girls need you, Ols—”

“Do not speak of my family!” he bellowed, silencing Ard with an upraised hand. Then he took a deep breath and seemed to compose himself. “Our friendship might have been nothing more than a ruse to you, but it meant something to me.” He clenched his jaw. “But unlike your other ruses, this one isn’t going to end favorably for you, Ardor Benn.”

Ard lowered his gaze. “I know.” The defeat in his voice was palpable. “And I’ve come to peace with that.”

Another bout of awkward silence filled the run-down building. Then Prime Isle Trable tugged at the front of his purple robes. “I came to report that the rations were raided again. Even if we cut back to the bare minimum, we’ll be lucky to last three more days.”

“We won’t last that long anyway,” said Quarrah. “The Glassminds will get to us before then. They’re an unstoppable force that can’t be run from, beaten, or deceived.”

Ardor Benn cleared his throat. The bleak picture Quarrah was painting set him up nicely. “I have an idea.”

He tried to smile coolly as all heads turned to him. Ard’s plan was the very reason he had asked the queen to call this morning’s meeting. Quarrah’s report last night had sealed it for him. He’d barely slept a wink, running his plan through the gauntlet of his mind, testing it for weaknesses and preparing himself for naysayers.

“Quarrah is right.” Ard slowly rose from his seat. “Things are hopeless. There’s no recovering from this. If it were possible, I’d say our only chance at survival would be a Paladin Visitant. But that doesn’t work anymore. The advent of Spherical Time makes it impossible to reset the Material Time. But what if we could restart it?”

“What are you talking about?” Prime Isle Trable’s voice was full of distrust.

“Glassminds exist, but to what end?” Ard asked.

“To cause all of humankind to evolve or be destroyed,” said the queen.

Ard held up a finger. “That’s Centrum’s plan. But Evetherey told us the real reason Glassminds were supposed to exist.”

“To be used in exchange,” said Quarrah. “Send a Glassmind into the Sphere and bring a human life into the Material Time.”

“Any point in the Material Time,” Ard clarified. He had double-checked that detail with Evetherey just this morning.

“What’s the point of this?” asked Lord Owers.

“Don’t you see?” Ard clapped his hands. “Evetherey opens a cloud of Visitant Grit and we all go into the Sphere—”

“We can’t,” Quarrah cut in. “On the docks, Garifus threw that Regulator into the cloud. He was erased from existence.”

“Erased, or trapped?” Ard said. “Garifus said we can go in. We just can’t get out.”

“Sounds like a great plan.” Raek’s comment dripped with sarcasm.

“We can’t get out of the Sphere… on our own,” Ard added. “But Evetherey has the power to bring us out in exchange for Glassminds.”

The idea lingered in the room, striking the noble council with varying expressions. Whether or not they were really comprehending it remained to be seen.

“Let’s say this wild theory could actually work,” said Kinter. “At what point in the past would we all reappear?”

“How would that be any different than becoming a Paladin Visitant?” asked Prime Isle Trable. “If we could get out, we’d make a huge impact on whatever point we appear, inevitably changing the course of history and erasing all existence. You can’t possibly think to hide eight thousand four hundred and forty-eight of us.”

“He’s right. We can’t alter the timeline,” Quarrah said again. “Completing the Sphere locked everything down so the Glassminds couldn’t be undone.”

“I’m not suggesting we change anything,” said Ard. “I’m suggesting we go back to a time when there was nothing to change.”

The queen leaned forward. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“The beginning of time,” said Ard. “The very beginning, even before the gods brought humans to walk on this earth.”

“How are we supposed to know when that was?” asked Lord Blindle.

“Evetherey will know,” said Ard. “We’ll become immaterial—lost in a state of limbo. Our existence will be scrubbed from every alternate timeline. But we’ll still exist—just completely removed from time. Evetherey can guide everyone through the Sphere and we’ll exit at the dawn of time itself.”

“And he’s our bargaining chip?” Lady Werner gestured at Raek. “He’ll remain in the Sphere as an exchange, so the rest of us can exit?”

Raek shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not how it works. The exchange rate is one to one.”

“Hold on,” said Trable. “You’re saying we’ll need eight thousand four hundred and forty-eight Glassminds to enter the Sphere with us?”

“That’s the idea,” said Ard. “And by the sound of it, we’ll have no shortage of them when they come knocking at our proverbial door.”

“How exactly will this happen?” asked Queen Abeth.

“Evetherey can create a detonation of Visitant Grit,” Ard began. “All the survivors step in and we vanish into the Sphere. Before the Glassminds can wonder what happened, Evetherey will expand the Visitant cloud to engulf about nine thousand of the enemy. Then the Drothan guides us the rest of the way.”

Ard knew he’d gone off track somewhere. Raek was shaking his head. “It won’t be that simple. Evetherey won’t be able to push a Visitant cloud on the Glassminds. They’ll absorb it faster than the detonation could catch them.”

“What if they were distracted?” Ard said.

“All of them?” Quarrah questioned. “One of them is bound to be paying attention, and since they have a collective mind—”

“There may be one way,” Raek interrupted. “The Glassminds can’t absorb or manipulate Grit when they are carrying out mental judgment.”

“Mental judgment?” the queen asked.

“It’s what they do when they’re evaluating the ideals and thoughts of a new member of their race,” Raek continued. “It’s not a long process, but that would probably be the only time they’d leave themselves vulnerable.”

Ard nodded. “We saw them do it on Pekal. Their glass skulls glow for a moment and then anyone who doesn’t qualify gets their brains blown out.”

“So we just need to catch them in the middle of this act?” said Lady Werner. “When will it be happening?”

“It’s been going on all around the Greater Chain for the last week,” said Quarrah. “Just check the streets of Beripent.”

“Then we need to go out there,” said Lord Kinter. “Hope we can come upon a group of them while they’re evaluating the newly transformed.”

“No,” said Ard. “Quarrah’s reports tell us that the transformations are winding down as the Moonsickness becomes more severe. Besides, it’s too risky to hope that we’ll stumble upon nine thousand Glassminds in the same place. And our massive group of humans isn’t going to be stealthy.”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

“We wait,” Ard said. “Let them come to us.”

“I hate to point out the big flaw,” said Raek, “but isn’t the point to catch them with their skulls glowing? By the time they get to us, the Bloodeyes will be too ripe to transform.”

“But that’s not the only time their heads light up in judgment,” said Ard.

“Oh?” Raek questioned. “It’s not?”

“Technically, they could judge each other in the same way, right?”

“Well… I guess?” He scratched his chin. “But everyone who is part of the group has already been screened and accepted.”

Ard grinned. “Doesn’t mean they can’t change their minds.”

“Ha!” Olstad Trable folded his arms. “You’re suggesting that we get the Glassminds to use their fatal judgment system on each other?”

“Now you’re getting it!” Ard cried. “And the moment they’re distracted by it, Evetherey manipulates a Visitant cloud, surrounding all the human survivors and netting nine thousand unsuspecting Glassminds at the same time.”

“Well, color me curious.” Prime Isle Trable let out a disapproving chortle. “How exactly do you expect us to turn the Glassminds against each other?”

That was it! Ard interlaced his fingers tightly as if to hold the idea captive before it escaped. He nodded slowly. “Leave that to the ruse artist.”

I hope you’ll grant me that one last arrogance. It’s something you won’t have to put up with any longer.