GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Page 10

  “You shouldn’t have stopped me.”

  “Shouldn’t have stopped you?” Kaitar stared over his shoulder at Mi’et. “What were you thinking? What the hell were you trying to do?”

  “Why do they follow you?”

  “What the fuck were you doing?! They’d have ripped you apart. And maybe Molly, and maybe even me! I don’t know how far they’ll take it before their instinct kicks in or—” Rage pulsed like an exposed nerve, making it impossible to finish the thought.

  “They’ve been stalking since I found you three weeks ago. Better to kill them than let them ambush us one night.” Mi’et crouched and shrugged his weapon off with a quick, easy movement. “Let me see your arm.”

  “Fuck, you know they aren’t trying to ambush us.”

  “Do I?”

  Kaitar wanted to drive his fist into that hawk-nosed face. “You provoked them.”

  “How did you get it to let your arm go?” Miet’s hazel eyes narrowed as he inspected the injured wrist. “You did it before, too. In the pit. You got that threk to stop attacking me, and then you killed her with your yatreg.”

  “Don’t twist it.”

  “Your wrist or the truth you won’t admit to?”

  “The bullshit you pulled with the threk, that’s what! Even a greenhorn knows not to try to stare them down, and you’re no greenhorn. You, of all people, know what a threk can do if it’s pissed.”

  “Just bruised.” Mi’et thrust the arm back. “Why do you let them follow?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Worry about not wandering off and provoking them. If you stay close, they won’t bother you. Even Leigh had that much sense, and she’s a damned Sulari.”

  “And you let her follow you, too.”

  “And you’ve fed her for the past five years.” Kaitar scooped the duster from the ground and pulled it over his shoulders. The morning chill numbed his throbbing arm, but not his irritation. “She’s Madev’s niece, did you know that? I think Orin did, but heh, I’m not surprised he didn’t tell us. Help me with these damned buttons. I can’t move my wrist right now.”

  Mi’et worked at the buttons along the duster. “If I had known she was an Al’Daree, I’d have let her starve.”

  “She wasn’t the one that put a collar on our necks or made us fight. She grew up in Nal’ves.” Kaitar wondered why he was defending a Sulari to someone he’d bled and almost died with on numerous occasions. Someone that he’d stood in front of an attacking threk for—twice. Leigh Enderi would not do that for him, but Mi’et might. No, there was no might. Mi’et had.

  “No one deserves to starve anyway,” he went on lamely, finding no other excuse to give. “Gah’leen never starved you, did he? He just turned you loose when there wasn’t enough food.”

  “He did other things,” Mi’et said, rising to his feet. Anger lurked in the flat tone now. “You know that.”

  “Yes, I do know that.” Kaitar picked the miet from the sand and stood, facing his former rival. Mi’et towered over him by half a foot, glowering and grim. The first peek of sun crept above the eastern ridge and struck his piebald face, making a patchwork of light and shadow.

  Kaitar sighed. “I’m too tired for this. Leave the threk alone, Mi’et.” He tossed the hooked weapon to the half-breed. “Don’t wander off. They follow me. That’s all you need to know.”

  “One day, you’ll tell me why.” Mi’et swung the weapon onto his broad shoulder, his angry sneer becoming a menacing grin. “You’ll tell me what kill you shared with them to make you their brother.”

  “Lay off. They spook Molly when they get that close. Do it again and I’ll ram that damned hook down your throat. I don’t want Molly hurt.”

  The dull thud of their boots seemed too loud in the vast silence. Molly watched their approach, ears pricked up. Her eyes no longer rolled white, but when Kaitar reached to take her bridle and stroke her neck, she trembled under his touch.

  “Bad way to wake up, hm? Shit world. I should just take you and ride south. To hell with the rest of it.” He scratched her dusty mane, feeling the skin quiver at an itchy spot. “You need to be brushed, Molly. When we get south, I’ll brush you down and feed you some real oats for a change. We’ll go ride along the coast. Leave the fucking threk up here in the dust.” Without thinking, he glanced at Mi’et. “All three of them.”

  “Four.” Mi’et kicked sand over the coals. “You make it four.”

  The denial stuck on Kaitar’s tongue and would not leave the spot. He cleared his throat. “There’s an old Druen who lives five or six days south of here. He’s a homesteader. Raises da’mel and goats, and hates humans almost as much as you do. His name is Steig. Owes me a few favors for helping him catch some of his runaway da’mel a few years back.”

  “You never told me about any Druen living out there.”

  Kaitar found Molly’s saddle blanket and shook it free of sand, wincing at the deep ache in his forearm. “You never asked about what goes on out here. Shit, you’ve hardly left Dogton since the Bywater rebellion fifteen years ago. I didn’t think you’d care if there was an old Druen around.”

  “It wasn’t the Bywater rebellion.” Mi’et knelt to gather up their few supplies. “It was just after that. You remember. It was to come and find you, because you ran off and tried to die, just like you tried to this time.”

  And why didn’t you come when I really needed you to, Mi’et? When Mariyah and I were starving down in those cages? Gah’leen had let you out by then. You were in Dogton for months already by the time I got there.

  But he didn’t want to know what Mi’et might answer to that accusation. Instead, Kaitar saddled Molly, trying to picture what it might be like in the south. He wanted to imagine riding along a warm ocean beach lined with strange, lush plants and colorful birds singing in the trees. But every time he tried, the only image that formed in his mind was that of a town nestled against the eastern foothills, where a rusty sign hung above a steel and wire fence, painted with crude letters: Welcome to Dogton.

  The Drell

  “I learned this as a boy, and now I’m teaching you. You may need to know this one day if you go out into the Shy’war-Anquai.”

  Senqua heard her father’s words as clearly as if he were speaking into her ear. He’d taught her how to snare s’rat as they came out of their burrows at dusk, and showed her how to skin them quickly without wasting any of the lean meat. Anaz’dalo had taught her many such tricks in the years following the Sulari’s fall, and now she wished she’d paid more attention to his rambling lessons on desert survival.

  At least I can clean a s’rat, though. I can cook and make a fire without a firebox. I remember all of that.

  She spitted the skinned carcass on a sharpened acacia branch and propped it over the fire. Nearby, a cricket chirped, prepping for its nighttime song. Sand owls hooted from the scrub, ready to hunt. More than those little creatures, though, Senqua was keenly aware of the two men sitting nearby. Aizr-hin watched her work, but Gairy only stared moodily into the fire, never once glancing up. With each day, he’d grown surlier and limped more heavily. Senqua guessed his considerable girth weighed him down as much as the need for whiskey. She wondered if he’d ever get over the craving for alcohol, and doubted he would.

  “Where did you learn how to do that?” Aizr-hin motioned toward the cooking s’rat. “I may be wrong, but I do not think it was the habit of many Sulari princes to teach their slaves to hunt. We had our own hunters for that. Pihranese commoners and hired Estarians.”

  Senqua didn’t look at him as she spoke. “My father was not born a slave. That’s all you need to know about it.”

  “It would explain why you know so many practical things,” Aizr-hin went on as if he hadn’t heard the finality in her voice. “Did you know that it was my ancestors that taught your ancestors how to live in the desert, Senqua?”

  “And it was your ancestors that took mine as slaves, too.”

  “I certainly had no intention of bragging
on that subject. But you have to admit, the Pihranese were the best astrologers ever to grace the world.”

  Gairy peered at them, frowning. “The Druen were the ones that brought guns, though.”

  “True enough, He-Goat. They did bring that technology to the desert. But it was the Estarians who invented firearms, thousands of years ago, it is said. Primitive weapons, even more bulky than this Pumer rifle. That reminds me though, Druen; your name is familiar to me.”

  “How’s my name familiar to a squatter? Unless you heard stories about me scoutin’ for Neiro, or—”

  Aizr-hin shook his head. “Not you, He-Goat. Just your name. It reminds me of an old legend. The Estarian mythologies always intrigued me, as does Shyiine folklore.”

  Senqua yanked her yalei over her mouth to suffocate any comment about those legends. Her father had known some, too—long tales of the islands far to the south, where their ancestors had come from countless generations before. Those Shyiine could talk to animals and even the desert itself, he’d said, and had called fire from the very wind. Some had known the secrets of shadows and could walk in a noonday sun, veiled by darkness, moving as quickly as a striking snake.

  But she did not want to hear those stories out of a Sulari.

  “I see your eyes, Senqua. You’re listening, even if you won’t speak to me.” Aizr-hin grinned. “That is good, because I can talk enough for all three of us. I suppose such a skill is befitting a prince of the Sulari dynasty.”

  “Prince of the squatters, maybe,” Gairy muttered.

  Senqua hid her smirk as Aizr-hin’s cheerful expression fell to a frown.

  Gairy tilted his shaggy head and studied the other man, suspicion glinting in his eyes. “But what’s this about the name? The hell would any Sulari know about Estarian legends?”

  “A lot.” Aizr-hin leaned forward on his haunches, back poker-straight. “It will be a while before the s’rat is done, so I will tell you, since you don’t seem to know—or won’t admit you know.” He cleared his throat. “Once, there was a great hunter, born, it is said, of a mother bear and a lost Estarian tracker, who mistook the bear for a woman wrapped in bearskin.” He winked. “No one ever claimed Estarians were very brilliant. In any case, this hunter. . . they called him Gaiyren Strider, I think. Yes?”

  Words popped from Senqua’s mouth before she could stop them. “Gairy used to call himself Strider. I remember when my father and I first came to Dogton and he was working with Hubert.”

  Gairy looked away and said nothing.

  “Ah. So, he does know the story, then.” Aizr-hin arched his brows. “I thought so. But Druen are stubborn, worse even than Shyiine in that regard.”

  Senqua sneered at him. “And Sulari are arrogant, and talk too much.”

  “We do, yes. We like the sounds of our own voices. They have a musical note, don’t you think?” Aizr-hin held up a hand. “But I’m losing track of the story. Gaiyren Strider, great Estarian huntsman who had a bear for a mother and a—”

  Gairy jerked the old revolver from his belt and pointed it at Aizr-hin, peering from beneath the short brim of his stained hat. “I could shoot you.”

  Senqua went cold despite the heat of the fire. “Gairy, put it down!”

  The barrel swung in her direction, and Gairy’s eyes caught the light of the coals—cold and sober. “Both of you.” He pressed the barrel against his own temple. “Or myself. Give me the whiskey, Aizr-hin, or I will. Your old man made a deal with me. I’m tired of people goin’ back on their deals. I’m not stupid, and I’m done bein’ cheated.”

  Aizr-hin met that hard stare evenly. “If I give you the bottle, Druen, you will drink from it, and you will die anyway. Senqua told me not to give you the liquor, and I think that was sound advice.” He patted the oblong shape in his coat pocket. “No, Gairy Reidur, you cannot have the whiskey until we are at the Foundry.”

  Gairy thumbed the hammer, a thick finger trembling against the trigger. The skin beneath his temple puckered and went white from the pressure of the tarnished steel. Senqua closed her eyes, expecting to hear the sharp crack of the revolver. Tears burned the back of her eyelids, and she wondered why she cared so much; Gairy had betrayed Dogton and put her afoot in the desert, but all she could remember was a Druen boy, smiling and shy. His had been the first smile she’d seen since her mother had died. That boy, Eizen Tragir, had helped her carry water the water jugs she’d been straining under, and had blushed when she’d thanked him.

  Senqua held her breath, wanting to cry, and being afraid if she did, she would never be able to stop.

  “Gairy,” Aizr-hin said without any hint of his usual pomp. “Put the revolver down. Senqua is worried about her father, and I am worried about mine. We do not want to think about more death right now. We are all tired, and I apologize for making a jest about your namesake.”

  “Strider isn’t his namesake, though. It’s not,” Senqua said quietly. She opened her eyes and found them still dry. “His name is Eizen.”

  A breath of silence followed. Gairy lowered the gun, shoulders sagging in defeat. Aizr-hin poked at the fire, making a show of checking the s’rat, though he’d propped the Pumer rifle across his knees. Senqua swallowed the lump in her throat. For a moment, the only sound was the cricket beginning its song in earnest.

  Gairy pushed himself up and stalked off into the darkness. Senqua forced herself not to watch him go; he would only bellow at her to shut up and leave him alone if she asked where he was going. By the time the half-Druen’s footsteps faded, the smell of roasting s’rat had begun to make her feel ill.

  “Why do you stay with him?” Aizr’hin asked abruptly.

  “What?”

  “Why do you stay with Gairy? Or Eizen, if you prefer I call him that.”

  She frowned at his sober expression. “I’m not with him. I don’t know why you made that assumption. There’s nothing like that between us.”

  “I did not mean in that manner. Forgive me; I’ll rephrase the question. Why do you care so much for him? He treats you very badly. He’s a drunk and a coward who was ready to sell you over a bottle of tainted whiskey.”

  “I’m surprised your father didn’t take him up on that offer.”

  Aizr-hin tilted his head. “I’ve heard the stories of how loyal Shyiine are to those they consider friends, but the He-Goat? He’s not your friend.”

  “It is not your business what company I choose to keep. Or why.”

  Sighing, Aizr-hin moved the spitted s’rat from the fire. “I was very young when the Sulari fell. The only slave I remember well is Mi’et, and that’s because he nearly killed me once—the day he left, in fact. I’m not sure what stopped him, but he spared us. Even my father, whom he had every reason to hate, was surprised over that mercy.” He sucked at his palm where the s’rat meat had left a smear of grease.

  “I wouldn’t have spared you.”

  “You’d have killed a six-year-old boy and his mother?” Aizr-hin shook his head. “I can’t imagine you being so cold-blooded. I’m not a stupid man, Senqua, though you might argue that notion. I’ve heard the stories about my father, some from his own mouth. I know he used to whip his slaves, and I know my cousin Ga’behz helped him do it. I know it was my father’s great ambition to turn Mi’et into a living weapon. But to me, and to my sister and my mother, he was kind. My cousin was kind, too. Protective and loyal.” He smiled sadly. “The Sulari fell because of men like my father, whom I love because he is my father. How does one reconcile with such opposing truths, I wonder?”

  “I don’t know,” Senqua said sourly, feeling more depressed than encouraged by his chatter.

  “I think you are wondering the same thing about Gairy Reidur, and that’s why I asked. I was hoping you did know so you could tell me how you’ve found peace with your choice. I, as of yet, have not. And if I do, will it matter? I will likely never see my father or cousin again in this life. Or my mother, or my baby sister, either.”

  Senqua stared at him, uncertain
. Sulari were masterful liars, trained manipulators of emotions—she’d learned that growing up. But Aizr-hin’s dark eyes had a faraway look, as if he weren’t seeing her at all.

  She lifted her chin. “I—”

  “We should eat some s’rat. It’s a very fat one. I’m usually not a fan of it, but I’m not so wealthy as to turn down fresh meat, hm? “Aizr-hin slapped his thigh. “Do not fret so about the He-Goat, Senqua. He’s probably just gone to—”

  A shot rang through the night.

  Senqua bolted to her feet, ears twitching at the fading echo. Without waiting to see if Aizr-hin would follow, she vaulted over the little campfire and sprinted into the darkness, heart drumming so fast she felt light-headed. Her vision blurred before the pupils adjusted, drinking in the faint light cast by the moon. Searching the darkness, she saw nothing except the shadowy outlines of rock and scrub breaking the uneven landscape.

  “Gairy!”

  No answer.

  Aizr-hin puffed up next to her and he, too, searched the night. “It came from the north. A few hundred—”

  Something huge broke into the sky with a flap of black-feathered wings. They stared, dumbstruck, as the shape blotted out the moon. It looked to Senqua like the biggest crow that had ever lived, its wingspan so vast it would have dwarfed the largest of desert vultures. When the great bird tilted its head, its blood-red eyes flashed in her direction. Then, it was gone, sailing north on its massive wings and vanishing into the blackness.

  “Get outta here, damned drell!”

  Gairy.

  She moved toward the sound, jumping a line of scrub and ignoring the brief buzz of a startled sidewinder. Aizr-hin followed, stumbling in the darkness and cursing in Pihranese. Senqua didn’t look back to see if he’d been snake-bitten.

  Thirty-yards ahead, Gairy moved from behind a hulking boulder twice as tall and wide as himself. “Chased him off,” he announced, triumphant. “D’you know what that was, Senqua?”