Lost to Belmont, Vernon must now find a way back in

Outcast of Belmont

Part I

BY FRASIER ARMITAGE

The Marine Lander’s doors whooshed open, and Vernon’s long robes trailed behind him as he entered the hangar. He left his iron staff by the door and paced towards the center of the vast chamber. 

Captain Ward stood with one hand on her hip and the other twirling a laser pistol. Subtlety was for diplomats, not marines. 

Vernon approached her and bowed. “You summoned me, Captain?” His face remained hidden in the shadow of his hood. 

Ward holstered her pistol and smiled at the Belmontian, catching her reflection in the glisten of his mirrored goggles. “Vernon of Belmont. You’re a hard man to find. You know it’s taken me three days of sending messages through Whitehallers to get you here. Where’ve you been?” 

“Is that why you summoned me?” 

Ward raised an eyebrow and tapped her pistol. “You showed up out of the blue the night we arrived. We watched Kite Night together. And then you vanished into thin air, with no way to be contacted, despite the fact I made it clear how much I wanted an escort into Belmont. I just wondered what could be more important to you than your duty to the Polity, and to your city?” 

Vernon nodded. “Nothing is more sacred than duty, Captain. But I have no duty to Belmont. Not anymore. So I can be of no use to you. It was in your best interest that I disappear, for I would only hinder your chances of safe passage into Belmont.” 

“Why?” 

Vernon’s shoulders shuffled in apprehension. “Because of my banishment. I may never return to Belmont.” 

Ward frowned, her tongue pushing against the inside of her cheek. “But you represented Belmont at our talks?” 

“I represented myself. I never claimed to speak for Belmont.” 

Ward laughed. “Vernon, you sly dog. You know I’ve heard so many things about Belmontians. That they’re made out of fire. That they’re inbred mutants, allergic to sunlight. That their skin is so pale they make the moons look dark. But I never heard they were smart.” 

Vernon shook his head. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Captain. A true Belmontian would never deceive another. Not intentionally.” 

“Then you really aren’t a true Belmontian, are you?” 

His head dipped. “Not anymore. A pure Belmontian would never be seen outside the mountain.” 

Ward’s lips curled into a smile. “I’m curious to know how many of these rumours are true. Why don’t you pull back your hood and show me that face of fire?” 

Vernon stiffened. “It is forbidden to reveal oneself to an outsider.” 

“You can’t remove your hood? Not even if I ordered you to?” 

Vernon’s fingers fluttered in a ritualistic gesture. “I still follow the way of fire, Captain. But, like I said, nothing is more sacred than duty.” His hand quivered as he peeled back his hood to reveal his face. Scars tattooed his cheeks in a pattern of scorch marks. 

“I still follow the way of fire, Captain.”
Photo by Kyle Cleveland

Ward ran her eyes over his calloused skin. “Well, they were right about you being pale, at least. Still, I like a man who knows when to follow orders. So tell me about Belmont, Vernon. How do I get there? How do I get inside that mountain?” 

He shook his head. “You cannot. The Gatekeeper watches when the force field protecting the city is lowered to allow supplies through.” 

“Gatekeeper?” 

“It was the station I used to hold in Belmont. They monitor everything that enters the gate. It would be impossible to get past them, either in or out.” 

“Not totally impossible. Take a look.” Ward produced a marble from her pocket and it floated from her palm, projecting a holo across the hangar. 

Cast in pale blue, footage played of a skirmish at a restaurant. Two people boarded a hover and the camera chased them through the streets. Just before a pistol-blast fried the footage, the image paused to show a young man and woman. 

Ward clipped her fingers together and zoomed into the image. The fractured pixels revealed the man wore goggles, the same as Vernon. Along the hangar wall, Vernon reached out and traced the faces of the man and woman. 

“This was taken from a drone in Whitehall during kite night,” Ward said. 

“The Whitehallers gave up their footage?” 

Ward pulled the imaging-ball back to her and it zipped into her palm. “Not exactly. We monitored all of Whitehall’s drones during kite night. For security, of course.” 

Vernon nodded. “Of course.” 

Ward slunk towards him with panther-like grace, ready to pounce at whatever prey crossed her path. “Rumour has it that goggle-boy’s a Belmontian. So he must’ve got out somehow.” 

“Not through the gate.” 

“Then there has to be another way into the city.” 

Vernon rubbed his brow. “If another way to reach Belmont exists, the boy is the only one who knows it. Why not summon him instead of me?” 

“I tried. But he’s even harder to find than you are. I think he’s getting help to stay out of sight.” 

“And you want me to find him?” Vernon asked. 

“Not just a pretty face, are you? I have the feeling you know all the best hiding places. But I want access to the city, Vernon. I want Belmont to know we’re here.” 

Vernon bowed. “I will find the boy, and if he knows of another way into Belmont, then you shall know it too.” 

Ward grinned, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing. Her perfume danced through the air between them. “I know you won’t let me down.” 

Vernon pulled his hood over his head. “I will not fail you, Captain. I, too, wish for Belmont to know you are here. Who knows what kind of fire that spark of knowledge may stir? When I find the boy, I shall return.” 

He paced away from her, picked up his staff, and left the hangar. The door whirred closed behind him. 

“With staff in hand, he journeyed across the dunes towards the river.”
Photo by Stéphane Hermellin

Another Belmontian had left Belmont. Did that mean Julius had failed again? His lip quivered at the thought of another outcast roaming the sands. 

With staff in hand, he journeyed across the dunes towards the river. His feet had grown so used to sand, he’d forgotten what it felt like to stand inside the mountain, to feel the surety of rock and the pulse of magma rippling up from the river of fire. He’d caught glimpses of it in the Marine Lander. The dormant engine’s hum filtered through the hangar’s floor, reminding him of his post by the gate, before Julius’ scheme was discovered. If only he’d opened the gate before the Council had sent their enforcers against him. They were all so young back then, with dreams of harmony and unification. Ideals which abandoned him as he’d been forced to walk the sands alone. 

Those first nights after he’d been forced out from the mountain, he’d wandered the savagelands, his robes tearing as Mirrims snatched at him. He’d spent his days wrestling unseen beasts and his nights wrestling the cold. His skin blistered as the sun penetrated his hood. Skycrawlers circled above, until he stumbled across the river, to Wildcat Fields, and the fringe of Westminster. 

It was there he’d found a shard of glass poking out of the dunes. His first glimmer of fire beyond the mountain. He still remembered the day he built his first kiln, and the first ornament of glass he fashioned as he turned the sand around him into cups and bowls. 

Nomads from Newlondon had stumbled into him, and traded his sculptures for food. As his craftsmanship became more precise, he sculpted them ever more intricate maps for their skivs. That was how he’d made the beginnings of a life, how the seeds of friendship with the outsiders had been planted, and how the harmony he’d dreamed of had in a small way come to pass. 

Now, as he journeyed across the same desert, from Ward’s ship to the Elizabeth river, he trudged through his memories. They shivered through him like the shifting sands. 

Vernon wondered how long the boy might’ve wandered alone before he’d found help. Whether the boy had been luckier than him. His help had come too late. His curiosity over the lights had made him a puppet of Ward. But it might not be too late for the boy, provided he kept the lad away from her. Besides, if he brought another Belmontian to her, she may not request his presence again, and he may never smell the sweet intoxication of her perfume. But he pushed thoughts of Ward away from his mind, as he focused on the image of the young man from Belmont and the woman on the skiv.

Vernon dipped his toes in the Elizabeth’s crystal water, and waited for the passing hovers which had fed him all these years. He collected boulders from along the riverbank and wisps of tall grass. Stones grouped together to form a kiln, and he removed the shard of glass which had saved him all those years ago, and given him the gift of fire. He angled sunlight through the shard, and the grass erupted in flame. He fed the fire until it was so hot, he could barely stand beside it, and then he tossed sand into the hearth. 

After hours of working on the sculpture, and blowing air through his hollow staff, he’d worked the glass into the image that he’d seen on the holo. He let the glass cool, and flagged down a passing skiv. 

“…Blowing air through his hollow staff, he’d worked the glass into the image that he’d seen on the holo.”
Photo by Johannes W.

“You need a ride, old man?” the Newlondoner hollered as they slowed. 

“I need a favor. Do you know Oberon?” 

The Newlondoner scoffed. “What Newlondoner doesn’t know Oberon?” 

“Will you give him this for me?” Vernon handed them the sculpture. “Tell him that Vernon the Outcast seeks an audience with these two. I’m certain he can reach them, for one of them has eyes of blue.” 

“And in return?” the Newlondoner asked. 

“In return, you may keep the sculpture. The glass alone is worth the hassle. Do you accept?” 

The Newlondoner weighed it for a moment. “Okay, Pops. You got yourself a deal.” 

“Tell him that I shall wait here three days, and on the third day, if I haven’t heard from them, I’ll know they refuse me an audience.” 

The Newlondoner sailed into the distance. 

Vernon laid beside his kiln and slept. Three days should be plenty of time for Oberon to send the message. The old sea dog had connections up and down the river. Someone was bound to know of them. 

Of course, there was no way of guaranteeing Oberon would send out the message. But he trusted his friendship with the man enough to believe that Oberon may feel a duty towards him. 

All Vernon need do now was wait, and hope that duty would be enough for the old trader. 


Night fell on the third day. Vernon had blown glass in his makeshift kiln each day and night. At first, they were just random shapes, but as the hours drew on, they came out more and more like the image of Captain Ward. He’d foraged enough to survive this long, but he could wait no longer. He stomped out the fire, and took his staff to smash his sculptures, when a hum droned up the river. A barge approached with its lights off, but his red eyes made out its shadow as if it were midday. 

“He took his staff to smash his sculptures, when a hum droned up the river.”
Photo by Jackson Hendry.

“Are you Vernon?” a voice echoed from the hover. 

“I am the same,” Vernon answered. 

“Then hop aboard. Nice and slow.” 

Vernon collected his staff and his latest sculpture. He leapt in a single bound onto the deck of the skiv. 

A gun pointed straight between his eyes. 

“I mean you no harm,” he said. 

“If I had a credit for every guy I’d shot who said that, I’d be a rich woman,” the Newlondoner threatened. 

“I seek only to talk with the Belmontian. Look.” Vernon removed his goggles and hood, flashing his red eyes. “I am a friend.” 

“Lorenzo, do you see anything?” 

From behind the helm-panel, the young man from Belmont appeared. “It’s all clear on the shore. I think we can trust him, Ros.” 

She lowered the gun. “What do you want with us?” she asked. 

Vernon shuffled forwards and placed the sculpture on the deck. “I am Vernon. I was once the Gatekeeper of Belmont. And though I am an outcast, I honour the flame.” 

“My name is Lorenzo. I never heard of a Gatekeeper by the name of Vernon before.” 

“It was a long time ago. Do you know a Hoodsman by the name of Julius?” 

Lorenzo nodded. “I heard rumours of him down the mine. They say he wants peace between Belmont and the outsiders.” 

“And so do I. He was my brother once. I may have been forgotten by the mountain, but does he live?” 

Lorenzo shrugged. “All I heard were rumours. Is that what you wanted to ask me?” 

Vernon shook his head. “Did you see the lights that adorned the sky?”

“The Polity?” Ros asked. 

“You know of the Polity?” Vernon raised an eyebrow. 

“They’re looking for a home,” Lorenzo said. “They’re no different than the rest of us. If you’re here to convince us otherwise, you’re wasting your time.” 

“They sent me to find you,” Vernon said. 

Ros frowned. “You’re with the Polity?” 

“Captain Ward of the Polity seeks an audience with the Council of Belmont. But she cannot obtain entry to the city. You got out, Lorenzo. How?” 

Lorenzo glanced at Ros and back to Vernon. “Through an old smoke vent. The deeper they mine, the more smoke they produce, but this old vent was redundant. The smoke barely reached it.” 

Vernon pinched his brow. “There must be hundreds of vents that lead to the mountain. But you say you found one that is safe to travel through? Can you show me where it is?” 

Lorenzo crossed his arms. “I’m not going back to that mountain ever again.” 

“You don’t have to. Here.” Vernon gestured to the glass sculpture. “This is the mountain. All you need do is point at where the vent is.” 

Lorenzo approached the glass object on the deck and peered closer at the intricacy of its details. His jaw dropped as he recognised the path he’d wandered, and the ridges he’d scaled. “You made this?” he asked. 

“I did,” Vernon answered. 

“Then I salute you, Vernon. This is the entry point, exactly where I was when the Polity landed.” 

Vernon memorised the spot. Not even the thickest mist could’ve hidden it from him. “Thank you, Lorenzo.” 

“Will you take a message to the Polity for me?” Lorenzo asked. 

“Speak, and they shall know it.” 

“Will you tell them,” Lorenzo said, “that we are all the same. And that Lorenzo of Belmont binds himself to them in an oath of friendship. We are galvanised by one purpose.” 

Vernon smiled. “I’m sure that Captain Ward will be thrilled to hear of your vow.” 

Ros stood behind the helm. “You need a lift?” 

“Can you take me to Whitehall?” Vernon asked. 

“We’re not too popular around Whitehall these days,” she said. “I can get you to the city gate, but no further.” 

“Thank you. Now, tell me of Belmont, brother Lorenzo. Do the pillars still stand?” 

Ros threw the hover towards Whitehall. Lorenzo caught Vernon as he stumbled at the sudden lurch of the craft. “They stand as solid as I am on this deck. And yet, how I wish they would fall.” 

“The way I do on this deck.” Vernon laughed. 

“You get used to the way she pilots,” Lorenzo said. 

Vernon nodded. “People can get used to anything.” 

Lorenzo pulled him to his feet. “Even the darkness,” Lorenzo said. “That is Belmont, brother. They are so used to the darkness that they cannot see the flame, even as it burns before them. Is that why you left?” 

Vernon sighed. “I left because I tried to make them see there was a world out here. That we had a higher duty which stretched beyond ourselves.” 

Lorenzo nodded. “You cannot cure a man of blindness while ever he refuses to open his eyes.” 

“We’re at the gate,” Ros called. The hover slowed to a thrum. 

“Thank you, brother.” Vernon took Lorenzo by the arm. 

“I hope we meet again,” Lorenzo said. 

“May the fire warm and feed you. Both of you.” Vernon leaped from the hover and landed on the sand. Ros turned the skiv and it faded into the distance as Vernon vanished into the night.


If you enjoyed Frasier’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Frasier’s “Pillars of Smoke,” which kicked off the Belmont stories in the Globe Folio series.

Check back on Friday, when we reveal the conclusion to “Outcast of Belmont.”

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

Don’t miss Part 2 of “The Voice of Beasts”

In Part I, Lorenzo escapes Belmont, the city beneath the mountain, only to find a harsh, blinding landscape and dangerous beasts. Ros saves him from a Mirrim attack, and the two head for Whitehall, following the purple streaks across the sky . . .

The Voice of Beasts

Part II

by Frasier Armitage

Wind shrieked as it battered Lorenzo. He craned his neck over the hovercraft’s edge and squinted through his goggles. 

“This is the place,” he said. “This is where the lights end.” 

Ros brought the skiv to rest below the ridge of a swollen dune. Lorenzo scaled the sand and peered over its peak, with her at his side. 

Whitehall’s towers glittered in the distance. Between the dunes and Whitehall stood a hulking monster of metal. Painted green and brown, it loomed from the ground like a mountain in itself, its landing gear propping it on insect legs. 

It loomed from the ground like a mountain in itself, its landing gear propping it on insect legs. Photo by Lynn Kintziger.

It loomed from the ground like a mountain in itself, its landing gear propping it on insect legs.

“Could it be a Mirrim?” Lorenzo asked. 

Ros peered through an eyeglass she carried on a necklace. “I’ve never seen one so big.” 

“Where did it come from?” 

Ros pointed to the heavens. “Only one place something like that could’ve been made. From the stars. It looks like the ships they used to tell us about in old fishermen’s stories.” 

“What stories?” 

“On long sailing voyages, we told tales to pass the time. Warships came from the Polity and landed on a world, forcing our ancestors to flee across the sky to this one. I thought they were just fairy tales.” 

“People came in ships like that to seek a home?” 

Ros nodded. “Apparently.” 

Lorenzo smiled. “Then we are the same. That ship and I. For am I not in search of the same thing?” 

Ros frowned. “I don’t think Belmont and space are in quite the same league.” 

“What do you know of Belmont? What do you know of these newcomers?” 

“I know they dress a lot better than you. Here. Take a look.” 

Lorenzo clunked the eyeglass onto his goggles and peered through. Around the giant frame, people stood in uniform, holding guns. They carried the authority of the Council of Belmont. Had they worn robes and hoods instead of guns, he would have feared them. As he peered closer, his stomach tortured him in waves of doubt. 

These people seek a home. We are not so different. That is why the smoke of their trail has guided me to them. It has to be. 

“What’s that?” Ros yanked the eyeglass from him. 

A convoy of transports swept across the sand from the direction of Whitehall. 

“A Mirrim?” Lorenzo asked. 

“Nah. More likely a welcoming committee. Looks like we missed our shot.” 

Lorenzo’s eyes widened behind his goggles. “You were going to shoot them?” 

“No. Our shot at being the first to offer a trade. Those Whitehall goons will beat us to the punch. Come on. The best place for us now is the city. News travels fast. Let’s make sure we get it first.” 

Ros slid back down the dune. 

Lorenzo halted at the top. “Should we not warn them of the Mirrim?” 

“By the looks of it, they can take care of themselves.” She pointed her fingers in the shape of a gun and mouthed ‘pew pew pew’ as she gestured her index finger firing rounds. 

Lorenzo shook his head and scampered down the dune. 

Not everyone is looking to kill something. There are some beasts who seek only some shelter and a little shade. 

Lorenzo scampered down the dune. Photo by Fernando Paredes Murillo.

They approached the hover. Lorenzo halted, pulling at Ros’s elbow.

“How do we know that’s really your baby?” he asked. 

She tutted and unfurled her gun. From the top of its barrel, she removed a shaft that formed a piccolo, and blew a melody through it. The ode drifted through the breeze until its sound touched the hover. At the end of her tune, its horn blared the final notes. 

“That was beautiful,” Lorenzo said. 

Ros reconnected the instrument to her weapon and holstered it, hauling herself on deck. Lorenzo followed. 

She struck out across the sand for Whitehall. Lorenzo didn’t totter as the hover leapt over the dunes. 

“You learn fast,” she said. 

“We have a saying in Belmont. ‘When burned, only the fool keeps reaching for the fire.’ I will not be burned a second time, Ros.” 

She flicked the hover onto automatic and scooped some fruit from a cubby in the helm-panel. Her eyes never left Lorenzo as she reached into her boot, grabbed a knife, and sliced a chunk of fruit, placing it to her lips. “What’s it like in Belmont?” she asked. 

Lorenzo perched on the edge of the hull, his eyes returning to the distant mountain hidden by mist. “Have you ever seen a furnace blaze?” 

“Of course.” 

“How far does the smoke rise?” 

She licked her lips. “Depends. Sometimes on a still night, it feels like it scrapes the most distant stars.” 

Lorenzo nodded. “Imagine if that smoke filled all the air. Made it impossible to see these stars you speak of.” 

“You’d choke.” 

Belmont is a furnace, Ros. Photo by DDP.

“Belmont is a furnace, Ros. The air is smoke. They’ve built pillars dedicated to fire, believing it protects them. But the flames imprison them. They cannot see or breathe or taste anything but its bitterness. Belmont is blind, Ros. As blind as I am without these.” He pointed to his goggles. 

She sliced another lump of fruit and it slipped down her throat. “Sounds intense. I thought Newlondoners had it bad.” 

“Newlondoners?” 

“It’s where I’m from. Newlondon. The last city. We spend our lives on the water. The sea, the river, you name it.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “But you get to sail where you wish?” 

“Where others ask us to sail. Most of us are doomed to debt. We’re not a rich city. Not since pollium stopped washing up on shore. We don’t have the spires of Whitehall or the glass of Westminster to fall back on. So we sail where people tell us and hope that’ll be enough. You got family in Belmont?” 

“I do. And it would’ve grown had I stayed. They’d already matched me.” 

“Matched you?” 

“Chosen me a bride. And from a good family, too.” 

“You were gonna be married? Why didn’t you?” 

Lorenzo’s brows knitted into a web. “When it comes to my life, should I not have a voice?” 

“So you ran away?” 

Lorenzo stood. “I would rather die screaming than be forced to live without a voice. If I’d stayed, I’d have been no better than that Mirrim lying at the foot of the mountain.” 

Ros nodded. “What was her name? Your bride?” 

“Narissa.” 

“Pretty.” 

“There are prisons with pretty names, too.” 

She tossed him the other half of the fruit. He caught it, and she offered him the knife. 

“Eat up,” Ros said. “You don’t want to enter Whitehall on an empty stomach.” 


A line of yachts and barges snaked up and down the river, all the way to the city’s gates. The whole Globe had come to Whitehall, following the lights in the sky. 

Three Moons had circled the heavens and twilight had settled by the time Ros passed safely through the checkpoint along the road to Whitehall. 

“Come on,” she said, as they passed the city’s gate. “It’ll be quicker on foot.” 

She grabbed Lorenzo’s hand and dragged him through a maze of gleaming glass towers. Dusk played its swooning song in the fading auburn light. 

As night settled, a cavalry of bulbs lit up the city, twinkling brighter than the stars above. Crowds gathered in the restaurants and bars to sample Finsbury’s finest food. Whitehall was alive with expectation, a city brought to life by whispers of what might lie beyond its walls. 

“Let’s get a table,” Ros said. “It’ll be the best way of finding out what’s happening.” 

“How? By eating?” 

“By listening.” She winked, yanking him into a colonnade of restaurants where the diners collected outside, and a thousand voices mingled in a symphony. “Table for two,” she said to an automated waiter, who flashed her a holo of the empty seats, and she selected the ones closest to the biggest table. 

Whitehall was alive with expectation, a city brought to life by whispers of what might lie beyond its walls. Photo by Alexander Popov.

A white light glowed from the chairs, vanishing as they took their seats. 

“I’ll have a grilled skycrawler, medium rare, with a side of greens,” Ros said. “What about you?” 

“Same,” Lorenzo answered. 

“And two ales.” 

“Ales?” Lorenzo cocked his head. 

Ros licked her scarlet lips. “Trust me.” 

He shrugged. “Very well. Two ales for me as well.” 

She giggled. “No. Those two ales were for both of us. You know what? It doesn’t matter.” She dug into the pockets of her waistcoat and fed the credits into the mechanised server. The automaton slunk away, its gears humming. 

“We have nothing like this in Belmont,” Lorenzo said. “We eat with family.” 

“Family is important to you, huh?” 

“There is fire and family, and that is all. At least, that’s what my father told me. He would never have dreamed of a world where people ate together. He would’ve called them beasts and carnivores. He could be like that. Always so devoted.” 

“Not a bad quality to have in a father. Devotion.” 

“I tried to make him see. To open his eyes. But he wouldn’t listen.” 

“Listening is how we learn. Speaking of.” Ros raised a finger to her lips, and tipped back in her chair. She swept her sun-goldened curls behind her ear and tilted her head towards the cacophony of voices ringing from the table behind her. 

She tilted her head towards the cacophony of voices ringing from the table behind her. Photo by Nils Stahl.

Lorenzo did the same. 

“I heard,” a man’s voice said above the others, “that someone from each city has gone to meet with the Polity.” 

“It’s definitely a Polity ship then?” a woman chimed. 

“Didn’t you recognise it from the ancient texts? I always said those technical documents would come in handy,” another man blustered.

“Tosh and nonsense. You’ve been petitioning the libraries to burn those documents for years,” the woman said. 

The automaton interrupted Lorenzo’s eavesdropping with two plates of steaming food. 

Ros sat forwards and leaned into the aroma rising from the plate. “Smells good, right?” 

Lorenzo nodded. I’m not eating with these strangers. I’m eating with her. There’s a difference. 

He scooped up his utensils and copied Ros as she carved her skycrawler into bite-size morsels.  He picked at the charred breast of the skycrawler and inclined his ear to the conversation on the table behind. 

“Well, if it’s the Polity,” the woman said, “we shouldn’t be just sitting here waiting for them. We should take the initiative and attack.” 

“Attack?” the man questioned. 

“Absolutely. You know the Book of Shakespeare. The Polity are the reason we ended up on this world in the first place.” 

“You think they mean to subjugate us?” 

“Isn’t that what they did before?” she asked between mouthfuls of food. 

“How many of their ships could they have sent?” the man said. “But instead, they chose a single vessel.” 

“A rather large, single vessel, if you ask me. Don’t you think they were making a statement?” 

“What statement?” 

“I don’t know. How about ‘don’t mess with us if you want to live’? I tell you, if we don’t act now, they’ll disrupt the peace here.” 

Lorenzo shook his head, slamming his cutlery down and gulping his ale. 

“What is it?” Ros asked. 

“Those people behind us,” he said. “They’ve already sentenced the newcomers to death.” 

“They’re Whitehallers. If they had their way, everyone would be sentenced to death. You might want to take it steady with that ale.” 

He swigged the dregs of his first glass. The drink stung the back of his throat, but his head never felt so clear. “These people just want a home,” he shouted. “Anyone who can’t see that is as empty as a Mirrim.” 

He glugged on his second glass of ale. A hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face the man from the table behind, his brown eyes swirling as Lorenzo tried to focus on them. 

“You might want to keep your voice down,” the man said. “Not everyone takes as kindly to the thought of the Polity as you do, friend.” 

Lorenzo wheeled on the man, swiping his hand away, losing his balance as he stood. “Listen, friend, I come from the mountain. They come from the sky. What’s the difference? If you want to kill them, you might as well be killing me.” 

“Lorenzo, sit down!” Ros glanced around as a hush settled among the diners. 

Lorenzo pressed his finger on the man’s chest. “You’re scared because they have a big ship and carry guns,” Lorenzo said. “Well, don’t you carry guns? I never saw a gun until today. But look!” Lorenzo pointed at the man’s hip, where he holstered an antique pistol. “You’re all killers.” 

“Is it a crime to protect ourselves?” the woman said. “We have to keep the peace somehow.” 

People who started shouting their mouth off might find themselves catching a blast. Photo by Daniel Stuben.

“Peace? You say you want peace, but you don’t want peace. You want control. There’s a difference.” 

“Sit down, Lorenzo!” Ros stood and reached out for him, but he shrugged her off. 

“You should listen to your lady, friend,” the man warned, and he tapped the pistol. “People who start shooting their mouth off might find themselves catching a blast.” 

Bloodflame flashed across Lorenzo’s eyes. He snatched at the man’s weapon and yanked it from its holster. A raging fire coursed through his veins. He wrapped his hands around the pistol and bent the barrel until it almost snapped in two. 

The man stepped back. “What are you?” he asked. 

“This is the only way to peace, friend,” Lorenzo said. “I’ve lived my whole life trapped inside a cage that others made for me. But no more.” 

As Lorenzo stepped forwards, people around him reached for their hips. 

Blue lightning flashed over the crowd.

“Should we not accept these newcomers with open arms?” Lorenzo called out. “They are the same as you. The same as me. Do not be poisoned by how tall your glass towers reach. No matter how high they seem, they are still just glass. Who will join me in welcoming the Polity? Where is your—” 

A shot rang out across the colonnade. Blue lightning flashed over the crowd. Ros snatched at the knife in her boot and hurled it at Lorenzo. Just before it struck his face, the path of the blast met with its metal, disintegrating it in a fizz of light. 

Lorenzo fell to the floor, gripping his goggles. The flash overwhelmed him. The sound of a tussle bombarded his ears. Pounding fists silenced grunts. Boots slammed into flesh. Glass crashed all around him, as the frenzied air whooshed past his face. 

His vision returned and he glimpsed a shadow darting in front of him. Then an explosion lit up the sky. Sparks rained down on the plaza of diners, before another boom signalled a hail of light. 

Ros knelt beside him, grabbed her piccolo and blew a tune into it. 

Then she stood and a flurry of air knocked Lorenzo back as a thunder of fists rocked the plaza even more than the explosions in the sky. 

Above him, a hover descended, its horn blaring. 

A hand grabbed Lorenzo and dragged him to his feet, forcing him up the rungs of the hover as eruptions overhead ignited the heavens. 

Lorenzo stumbled over his feet, and the hand pushed him behind the helm-panel, before flinging the hover through winding city streets. 

Drones pursued them, but Ros turned her pistol to them, and blue blasts swatted them out of the sky. 

“What was all that about?” Ros said. 

He raised his head. There wasn’t a scratch on her. “Ros, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Which is more than can be said for those Whitehallers.” 

“You saved me. Again.” 

“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment. Now are you gonna tell me what got you so riled up?” 

Another boom thundered overhead as sparks speckled the sky. 

“What is that?” He pointed up. 

“Just a little light show to celebrate the arrival of the Polity. Something I overheard at dinner.” 

“So much talk. So much hate. Why can’t people just accept one another?” Lorenzo shook his head. “My whole life, talk has kept me caged. I’m sick of it. I’d rather be in the company of Mirrims than listen to their babble.” 

Ros swept through the city gate and plunged into the darkness beyond. She eased off the throttle and switched it to automatic, turning to Lorenzo and running a hand across his cheek. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Come on, let’s get you sobered up,” she said. 

“No. Ros. I know exactly what I’m saying.” He took her hand in his. “Those people, they’re dangerous, Ros.” 

“Nothing I can’t handle.” 

“No. You don’t understand.” He gripped her hand. “I wish I could explain it. Thank you for saving me. For listening to me.” 

She smiled. “You really think the Polity are harmless, don’t you?” 

“I believe the only harm they bring is the hatred their presence stirs in the hearts of others.” 

She rose and pulled her pistol from her hilt. “Okay, Lorenzo. I believe you. But until we reach the river, I have to keep watch. There could be any number of beasts stalking us right now, and we wouldn’t hear them coming.” 

Lorenzo shook his head. “We’re safer here than back in that city.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He stared at the flashes of light raining down on Whitehall. “It’s not the beasts without a voice we should be worried about. It’s the creatures who speak which are most to be afeared.” 


If you enjoyed Frasier’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Frasier’s “Pillars of Smoke,” which kicked off the entire Globe series and then Part 1 of “The Voice of Beasts.”

In two weeks, the next installment of Nights of Revelation will take us to the desert dunes of Westminster in Shanel Wilson’s “The Sands of Change.” As the leaders of the oil fields and the glassworks feel their grip on power slipping, the next generation begins its rise to power. And the Polity’s arrival on the Globe only quickens the flow in the hour glass.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

At long last, we bring forth Nights of Revelation

On the Night of the Rocket, in the mountains of Belmont . . .

The Voice of Beasts

Part I

by Frasier Armitage

Purple streaked across the heavens as Lorenzo staggered over the mountain. Mist saturated his view, and a trail of violet blurred through vapor. He followed the light’s path as it burned above him, before it altered course and lowered as a distant speck. Then the lurid glare faded, but its afterglow still fell in shards of purple light, painting the sky. 

The glow drew him, pulling him towards a sanctuary of light. Its trail was a road stretching out above him, beckoning him away from the mountain. Rocks jutted from the ground in random clusters. The only road to follow was the one above him. 

He inched forwards, beginning his first reluctant steps away from Belmont, and the life he left behind. Each stride strengthened his resolve, and as the distance between Lorenzo and the city grew, so did the surety of his heart. 

Navigating a way down the rockface of the mountainside strained the muscles which the mines had nourished. His tendons stretched as he clambered down steep embankments and clawed his way across narrow ledges.

The ground levelled, and a causeway wound a path towards a faint amber shimmer which danced over a gate. Everybody knew about the Gatekeeper who kept watch over the mountain, but he’d never pictured the gate that led to Belmont until he saw it now. He shied away from where the bizarre haze shielded the entrance, and took the road leading down the mountainside. 

Dawn approached as Arrant Moon rose, reflecting the sun’s light. Day opened up to brighten the sky, and Lorenzo squinted through the onslaught of golden fire. His red eyes had never seen the sun. Twilight scorched his vision with disorienting intensity. He staggered as the world around him blurred in a blinding white. 

Mist thinned until it vanished, the last barrier between the raging sun and his innocent eyes. The sound of water trickled across the flatland. A tree’s shade gave him a moment’s relief, and a shadow emerged in the direction of the water. He tottered towards it, feet dragging him forwards as daybreak fractured the world around him.

“Hey!” he called to the distant shadow. He flapped his arms. “Hey!” 

The shadow sharpened as he neared it. A figure. They raised their hand and fixed a gun on Lorenzo. 

“Help!” he cried. 

The barrel of their pistol thundered as a bolt of blue plasma flashed. The shot brushed past his shoulder, whispering as it flew beyond him to strike a form behind. A body thudded to the ground. Lorenzo fell to his knees and turned to see a young man splayed lifeless. Plasma scorched his skin in burns and blotches. 

But at the sight of the man’s face, Lorenzo fell. He shivered, pointing at it, his jaw agape. Staring back at him was his own face. A perfect replica of his own body lay dead on the ground before him. 

Footsteps followed the shot, and the figure emerged from shadow. They holstered their gun and offered Lorenzo a hand. 

“That was close,” they said. “It almost had you.” They hoisted Lorenzo to his feet, their face a blur. 

“What almost had me?” Lorenzo asked. 

“It’s a Mirrim. A mirrorbeast. Deadliest creature in the savagelands. It’s a good job you yelled, otherwise you’d have been the one lying in a heap.” 

“That thing is a creature?” 

The figure nodded. “A nasty critter. The only thing they’re good for is target practice.” 

Lorenzo bowed. “Then I owe you my life.” 

“Pfft. Are you kiddin’? You gave me the chance to shoot a Mirrim. If anything, it’s me who owes you. Where are you heading to anyway?” 

Lorenzo shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m following the sky.” 

“Okay. That doesn’t sound crazy at all. Why don’t we start with where you’re heading from?” 

“I come from Belmont.” 

“Belmont? Is that a joke?” 

Lorenzo shook his head. “I swear it.” 

It’s a Mirrim. A mirrorbeast. Deadliest creature in the savagelands.

The figure leaned closer and peered into Lorenzo’s squinting red eyes. “Well, would you look at that? A real-life Belmontian. That explains the outfit at least, or lack of.” 

“What do you mean, outfit?” 

“Your clothes. Those rags barely cover you.” 

Lorenzo picked at the strands of fabric hanging loosely from his body. “We have no need of clothing when mist covers us.” 

The figure’s hands rested on their hips. “I don’t know the rules in Belmont. But if you hadn’t noticed, it’s not exactly misty today. Come on. I’ve got a spare set of clothes in my skiv you can use.” They turned and slunk into the distance where the sound of rushing water cascaded. 

Lorenzo tried to follow, staggering blindly. He waved his hands in front of him, shuffling across the plain.

“Are you okay?” they yelled. 

“The light,” Lorenzo said. “It’s so intense, I can barely see.”

They appeared at his side. “Here.” A pair of goggles was pressed into his hand, the lenses tinted dark as coal. “We use them for sailing into the sun.” 

He fixed them around his head and the light dimmed, softening everything into focus. The figure before him took shape. She smiled through thin lips, her yellow hair a mane of curls, and her startling blue eyes glistened like two hot flames. Clothing wrapped around her slender frame, hiding her body in oil-stained folds, and her waistcoat matched dark leather boots. 

“Better?” she asked. 

Lorenzo pirouetted to take in his surroundings. A river flowed not far from where they stood, and a machine that must’ve been her skiv hovered above the water. Behind him, across a flat plain, at the foot of the mountain where the mist clouded, lay the creature’s plasma-blistered body. 

“Where is the tree?” he asked. “The one that gave me shade so I could see you?” 

“The Mirrim was the tree,” she said. “It took a couple of seconds to shift from one form to another. That’s how it hunts. To match its prey, it becomes its prey.” 

Lorenzo shuddered. “Why did I not hear the creature approaching?” 

“That’s the one way to know if you’re dealing with a Mirrim or not. They make no sound. They can’t. Something about the way their skin changes means you’ll never hear them coming.” 

“But I heard it fall.” 

“Thanks to my plasma rounds.” She took her gun and kissed the barrel. “This baby’s never failed me yet.” 

Lorenzo frowned. “How does it work?” 

“The gun? You just point and shoot. What’s the matter? You never seen a gun before?” 

Lorenzo stared at the corpse, transfixed by how easily it could’ve been him. “What should we do with it?” 

“Let it rot. It’ll be a warning to passersby. Now are you coming, or not?” She raised an eyebrow and sauntered to the machine that floated above the water. 

Lorenzo followed her up the rungs of the craft, the cold metal tingling his fingers as he hauled himself onto the hover’s deck. 

She rooted through an old sack and tossed him some clothes. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“No problem. You can pay me back later. The interest isn’t too steep.” She winked. 

Lorenzo frowned. “What do you mean ‘pay you back’?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, you’re gonna try and tell me there’s no such thing as trade in Belmont, aren’t you? How gullible do you think I am?” 

“The fire feeds all.” 

“Not unless you feed it first. Everything’s a trade. See?” 

Lorenzo rubbed his chin. “I have nothing of value to give you.” 

“Not yet. But when word there’s a real-life Belmontian roaming around gets out, having you owe me a favor might come in handy, if you catch my drift.” 

Lorenzo fumbled the clothes over his tattered rags. “I can tell you my name, if that’s worth anything?” he offered. 

“Well someone’s got a high opinion of themselves, don’t they? Safe passage downriver and fresh clothes just to know your name. What are you? Royalty?” 

“What would you give me for my name?” 

“I’d trade like for like, if you’d accept those terms?” 

“Alright. I accept. I’m Lorenzo.” 

“Rosaline. But you can call me Ros.” 

“Ros? That’s a short name compared to my own. I’ll take these as compensation.” Lorenzo glanced at the clothes he wore, the leather jacket and canvas sailor’s trousers, tucked into thick boots. He straightened the goggles over his eyes. “How do I look?” 

“Like you still owe me, buster,” she said. 

Ros stood at the hover’s prow and worked the gears with the grace and skill of an artisan. Engines roared as she slung the skiv around, and shot off down the river. Lorenzo toppled onto the deck. Spray rushed up the side of the barge, splashing over him. 

Ros stifled a giggle into her sleeve. 

Lorenzo peered over the hull’s edge, wind whipping his hair back. He staggered on deck, the motion throwing him from side to side. “What manner of beast is this?” 

“It’s no beast. It’s my baby.” 

“You said that about your gun. Are all your babies so deadly?” 

Ros smiled. “Did you see those lights last night?” 

“I can still see them.” Lorenzo stared at the purple trail leading across the skies. 

“Really? I don’t see anything.” Ros shrugged. “Must be those pretty, red eyes of yours. What else can you see?” 

“I see you. And this baby of yours. The land. And the sky. And a purple trail leading that way.” 

“Towards Whitehall. It’s where we’re heading now.” 

“To follow the lights?” he asked. 

“Something like that. If you can see the afterburn, maybe your eyes would make a fair trade for those clothes.” 

Lorenzo backed away, his face aghast. “You can’t have my eyes. Or else how would I see? Is this what the world is like? Full of people swapping limbs for finery and fetishes?” 

“Pipe down, sailor. Your eyes can stay where they are. I just want you to show me the way. To the spot where they landed. That’s not too high a price to ask, is it?” 

Lorenzo puffed a breath of relief. “I accept your terms, Ros. For what reason do you seek the purple sparks?” 

She smiled. “Who knows what these newcomers might have to trade? Now, fair warning, this might get a little bumpy.” 

“Bumpy?” 

Ros slammed the hover over the riverbank. Its pads reverberated as the ground undulated below. Lorenzo’s legs wobbled, and he gripped the helm. 

Ros pushed him off the controls. “Keep those eyes peeled, Lorenzo. We’re heading into the savagelands. Quickest way to Whitehall. But Mirrims could be anywhere. Got it?” 

Lorenzo nodded. 

They passed over the wilds of the savagelands in silence. But silence was the mark of the Mirrims. Lorenzo wanted to speak just to prove that he was still himself, but Ros hushed him with a look. She stalked the horizon with a predatory gaze, her hand resting on the hilt of her gun. 

They passed rocks and the odd outcrop of grass, but could trust none of it. Not even the sand. Who could tell if a single grain was not a beast waiting for them, lurking? 

In the distance, another barge ploughed across the bedrock and dunes. Their silhouette warped in the sun’s heat. 

Ros nodded towards the craft. She placed a finger to her lips, and drew her gun. 

Lorenzo understood. 

The hover pulled alongside Ros, and she signalled with her arms to the captain of the barge, counting down from three, two, one. 

She blasted a horn. But no blast came from the hover beside her. 

It tilted to ram her and she fired a burst of plasma at the hull. Blue plasma burst like lightning across the hover as its metal shell writhed, morphing in and out of shape. The ship convulsed, and Ros fired again, before it collided with her hover, shunting it off course. Ros fell from the helm, and the gun clattered across the floor. Lorenzo toppled and when he rose, there were two of Ros on deck. He reached for the gun, and scooped it in his hands. 

“Lorenzo. It’s me.” There was only one voice, but both of them moved their lips. 

“Quiet,” he said. 

Sweat poured down his brow as he glanced from left to right. Which of them is Ros and which is the creature? 

“Lorenzo! It’s me! Use your ears!” 

“I said quiet.” They both stood by the helm. “I just point and shoot, right?” 

Both Rosalines nodded. 

“Okay. You.” He signalled to the one nearest the throttle. “Step forward.” 

They shuffled in front of the rudder, out of sight from the Ros that stood behind them. 

“Where do I come from? Both of you point on three.” Lorenzo said. “Three. Two. One.” 

The first Ros spun and pointed to the mountain in the distance. So did the Ros behind, at precisely the same moment. 

Lorenzo shook his head. His hands rattled on the pistol. “Change places. You go behind, and you in front” 

They swapped. 

“On three, I want you to point to your baby. Three. Two. One.” 

The Ros behind pointed one arm to the deck and her other arm at the gun he held, and the Ros in front frowned, pointing at their stomach. Lorenzo fired. The blast rippled over her body as plasma ignited her skin, charring her to a crisp. 

The remaining Ros picked up the Mirrim and flung it over the side of the craft. 

“Thanks,” she said. 

Lorenzo’s shoulders relaxed at the sound of her voice. “You said your baby never lets you down. Does this settle our debt?” 

She snatched the pistol from him and holstered it. “Keep your eyes peeled.” 

“We’re nearly there,” he said. “The purple sparks gather ahead.” 

Ros swung the hover in the direction Lorenzo pointed. They sped across the dunes, ever closer to discovering what manner of monster those lights had belonged to; ever nearer to where it lurked, waiting for them in the sand. 


If you enjoyed Frasier’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Frasier’s “Pillars of Smoke,” which kicked off the entire Globe series.

And make sure to check back Friday for Part 2 of “The Voice of Beasts” by Frasier Armitage. Ranging from the harsh desert of the savagelands to the glass towers of Whitehall, Part 2 is filled with a race, a brawl, and a chase.

Finally, view the beautiful, original photos used to illustrate “The Voice of Beasts,” learn about the photographers, and follow links to their other work.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

Night of the Rocket–Belmont

The Globe

The Globe Folio: Tales from the Five Cities

[EDITORS NOTE: Below is the first of six stories set on a single planet but written by four authors. We will release one story each Friday. Please bear with this short introduction to the planet and the five cities. It will be worth it. I promise!]

On the planet simply known as the Globe, all the residents live along the Elizabeth River in or near one of the five nation cities. In the wilds in between live the beasts and the bandits, but under the protection of the five cities, the people prosper. Trade travels along the Elizabeth River. Except for the Seven Day War between Whitehall and Finsbury, there has always been peace. What more could one want?

Generations ago, their ancestors fled a war among the stars and settled the Globe. They dismantled their ships and built cities. Now, they only look to the stars to admire their cold, distant beauty.

So no one expected the descent of the rocket. Only those watching the night sky on that historic night saw the lurid, purple glare as the rocket landed in a field near Whitehall. A night that would always be remembered as the “Night of the Rocket.”

The City of Belmont

Furthest north in the cold mountains lies the City of Belmont and its iron and coal mines. Eternal mists mix with billows of smoke to wreath the underground city in permanent clouds of smog. The mysterious Belmontians stick to their own, and some say they are so inbred they have red eyes.

This story is set in Belmont on the Night of the Rocket …

Pillars of Smoke

by Frasier Armitage

A horn blasted through Belmont, carried in the smog. In another hour, Thinveil would chime. Lorenzo deactivated his pickaxe and stumbled into the elevator, a shadow among shadows as smoke saturated the air, turning everything into a haze of itself.

Bodies piled out, past the molten lake. Its liquid fire flowed from the Pillars of Belmont where a pneumatic kiln smelted ore in a river of purified iron. Photo by Ian Stauffer.

The lift ascended through the mountain’s core, and the Great Kiln’s pounding rhythm guided droves of spent workers from the mine.

“Hab-level,” the elevator squawked.

Bodies piled out, past the Pillars of Belmont, two colossal monuments carved inside the mountain. Between the pillars, a molten lake flowed. Its liquid fire traced a path through the habitat as the ancient kiln smelted ore in a river of purified iron. The pillars towered over the shrouded city, chiseled into the mountain’s heart. A temple to the fire.

Lorenzo tottered through a swarm of masked workers, naked save for their tools. None needed the extra weight of fabric when mist preserved their modesty better than clothing, and the city’s heat blazed as the sun.

He found his hab-unit, and his fingers smothered the iron keypad. Vents sealed behind him, pumping the air clear, revealing smudges of coal across his sweat-drenched body. He unclasped his breathing mask and hung it with his goggles on the wall. Pulses of air washed over him, cleansing him of the mine’s stain. A chill rippled his skin, and he clothed himself before he stepped into the hab.

“Lorenzo’s back!” his mother called out. Sylvia and Roderigo scurried to him, hugging his legs. His mother pulled the twins from him.

“At the rate they’re growing, they’ll be knocking me down soon,” Lorenzo said.

“We have news. Thank the flame.”

“Never. Your legs are strong as the two pillars.” She smiled.

“My son,” his father entered from the study. “Today is a good day.” He stood opposite Lorenzo and pressed his hands on the young man’s shoulders, his red eyes beaming. “We have news. Thank the flame.”

“What news?”

“You’ve been matched, my son.”

Lorenzo’s head dropped. “Father, I—”

“Narissa is to be your mate.”

“You know my feelings, father. How can you rejoice?”

“Shouldn’t I be happy you’ll have prospects, security, a wife?”

“A cage.”

His father released his arms. “Roderigo, Sylvia, go and play in the other room.”

The children disappeared, shepherded to the playroom by their mother.

“There is more to the world than smoke and mist, father.” Photo by Thomas Tixtaaz.

“How many times have I told you, son? You shouldn’t speak ill of Belmont.”

“There is more to the world than smoke and mist, father.” Lorenzo’s shoulders stiffened. “This city chokes us.”

“The fire warms and feeds us. Smoke keeps us safe.”

“You’re wrong. It’s the others, the outsiders who—”

“Hush, Lorenzo. Do you want the children to hear?” His father glanced over his shoulder. “Never speak of the outsiders. You know the law.”

“The world is a kiln. It forges us in its flames.”
Photo by Viviane Okubo.

Lorenzo threw his hands up. “What would we eat if we didn’t trade our minerals for their food? What would we breathe if we didn’t recycle their air? We’re prisoners inside this mountain.”

“We’re protected.”

“You mean concealed.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” His father pinched the bridge of his nose. “We hide in mist. We abide in safety. You know this.”

“What you call safety, I call a prison. We’re trapped here.”

“Trapped from what? What is freedom, son? What would you do with it?”

“I wouldn’t marry. Or stay in Belmont.”

“You want to leave? Leave the mountain which has cared for you. Abandon the mines that have welcomed and taught you? Are you so ungrateful?”

“Are you so blind? Would you rather I rot in this cage, father? This is not the only city in the world.”

His father rubbed his eyes. “What do you know of the world? The world is a kiln. It forges us in its flames. You can’t escape the fire.”

Lorenzo’s eyes glowed hot, burning red. Bloodflame seared hatred into his bones. “Look beyond the smoke, father. The outsiders could help us.”

“You know nothing of the outsiders, son.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve seen them.”

His father stilled, statuesque. “You’ve what?”

“From the mountaintop.”

“Since when have you been outside the mountain?”

Lorenzo puffed his chest. “I found an abandoned vent. The mist was thinner in the open. And at Thinveil, before our kiln pumps smog into the air, before the smoke thickens the mountain’s fog, I could see the lights.”

“There’s more beyond this mountain.”

“No, Lorenzo. I won’t hear it.”

“They were faint. But I saw them.”

His father shook the words out of his head. “You’re just a child, my son. You don’t know what you speak.”

“I know enough. There’s more beyond this mountain.”

“There is fire and family. And that is all.”

“Maybe for you, father. You can’t leave. You have the children, and mother. But I have no wife. No ties. Why shouldn’t I go?”

“Do you think me a slave, Lorenzo? That Roderigo and Sylvia imprison me? No. They’ve freed me. We’re all children of smoke. You’re free here. Belmont is free. Don’t you see that?”

“I see a tomb.”

His father paced the hab. “Maybe you’ll understand one day, when you and Narissa have children of your own. Come. Today is a good day. Accept your match and let’s eat.”

Lorenzo’s fists shook. Tears welled in his eyes, branding him in rage. “I won’t be buried in this mountain!” He turned to the airlock and snatched his breathing mask.

Mist blanketed everything, yet his eyes had never been clearer. Photo by Jackson Hendry.

“Lorenzo!” his father called after him. But it was too late. Smoke filled the hab, and Lorenzo vanished within it.

Through the city, he climbed. He scrambled to the derelict service hatch, and shimmied up the vent. Thinveil struck. The horn blared below as Lorenzo lifted himself onto the mountainside.

Mist blanketed everything, yet his eyes had never been clearer.

There is more, he thought. More beyond the smoke. More beyond Belmont. More waiting for me.

As if in answer, the sky erupted. A lurid purple spark, bright as molten ore, lit the mountaintop. Lorenzo shielded his eyes, but nothing could prevent the flame blazing across heaven, slicing through his sanctuary of smoke. As the light touched Lorenzo, it held no warmth. No comfort. And for the first time in his life, there was nowhere for him to hide.


If you enjoyed Frasier’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below.

And make sure to check back this coming Friday for the next flash-fiction story set on the Globe, “Shadow of the Dunes” by Shanel Wilson. Set in the desert city of Westminster, it’s filled with action, intrigue, and swirling sands.

Finally, view the beautiful, original photos used to illustrate “Pillars of Smoke,” learn about the photographers, and follow links to their other work.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the entire Globe Folio series (to date) from beginning to end:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross