GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Page 13

  An Empty Chair

  “Knock your boots clean before you come in here, case you got any goat shit on them,” Steig said, looking up from the frying pan he’d been tending at the stove. The smell of eggs and goat cheese permeated the room. “You got your mule settled in?”

  Thumping his boots against the porch, Kaitar nodded. “She’s in the last stall in your barn.” He shoved one of the curious nanny goats away as it tried to sneak past, then crossed the threshold and stared around at the odd decor. While goats and chickens ruled the yard, meandering at will, the inside of Steig’s home had an air of immaculate sanctity even a Harper would envy. Hanging from the low rafters, a cell lantern draped the entire cabin in a gauzy, yellow curtain of light. Goat skulls lined the walls, free of grime, the horns polished until they shone. Unlike the humiliated dead of the Dust Bin, each skull held a place of reverence and they gave the impression of contentment as they dangled from their pegs, watching guests with the solemnity of the afterlife. Steig had once said he knew all his goats by name, and never let one of them go unremembered.

  “He ain’t much of a talker, is he?” Steig motioned with a tarnished fork toward Mi’et, sitting at the table in sullen apathy.

  Kaitar’s lips quirked up in amusement. “Not really, but neither am I.”

  “Most Shyiine ain’t, and I guess that includes half-breeds, but maybe you’ll answer my questions since he won’t. Go sit down. Supper will be ready in a minute.” With an unceremonious jerk of a spatula, Steig flipped the eggs. He tossed in a dash of salt from a bowl perched at the crook of one massive arm, then sprinkled more goat cheese onto the food. “Tried playin’ that message back, but the Veraleid’s getting too much interference. That Bloom again.”

  “That’s my luck.” Kaitar lowered himself into a chair and jabbed Mi’et with an elbow. “You should have just told him about Dogton. He’s not going to spread rumors.”

  But Mi’et wasn’t listening; he gazed at an empty chair made entirely of bone, shaped by expert hands to support a Druen’s weight. On a shelf above the unoccupied chair a small, graying photo of a young Druen man smiled at them.

  Kaitar looked away from the photo, feeling as though it were watching him with the same, somber consideration as the goat skulls. He nudged Mi’et harder. This time, the half-breed turned and stared at him.

  “What?”

  “Your arm bothering you?”

  Mi’et shook his head, speaking below the clatter of plates and sizzling chicken. “I have no bones to offer.”

  “Bones to offer?”

  “You offer bones to Yvres when someone has died, but I have none to offer. My mother taught me about that. A Druen stayed with her family once when she was a girl, before she was taken slave, and he taught her.”

  Steig lumbered over, carrying plates laden with fried eggs and beans. “She gave you some manners, at least. Might be you’re Druen after all.” He set a plate in front of Mi’et. “Yvres knows if your reasons are honest. If they are, there’s no offense to my boy.”

  Kaitar felt too betrayed to so much as glance at the plate Steig slid in front of him; Mi’et had never uttered a word about knowing any Druen customs. Offering bones had something to do with a great black ram, Kaitar recalled. The ram—Yvres—had led the Druen to the mountains, where they settled until the Shurin retaliated at sharing the territory. Then, the Estarians came to reclaim the wilderness from Toros. After long, bloody wars, the Estarian conquerors had driven the Druen west into the Senbehi, while some of the Shurin had escaped north. Many, though, had been assimilated by the Estarians, and their ancestors now lived as second-class citizens in Avaeliis.

  “Stop glaring at me. Eat.” Mi’et tapped the platter with a thick finger, making it scrape against the wooden table. “You need to be strong to cross the Belt.”

  “You and I are going to have a talk later.” Kaitar stabbed an egg with his fork. “Accuse me of having secrets? Heh. Sounds like you got a few of your own.”

  “Thought you wanted to know about the bounty?” Steig asked. “And about water rights being cut to all Enetics out here.” He plopped down at the head of the table, ready to man the helm of a plate heaped with so much food Kaitar wondered how he’d handle it all.

  “Chicken ain’t done yet, so we got a minute,” the Druen went on. “Niles called out a bounty on you ten-twelve days ago, or there ‘bouts. Twenty barrels dead, fifteen alive. Banditry and murder.” He squinted. “What’ve you two been up to? You kill someone again, Kaitar? And what the hell happened to that Yvres-cursed shithole you came from? I thought old Neiro was in charge.”

  “Let him eat first,” Mi’et said. “He never eats enough.”

  “Never was a Shyiine alive that did. Scrawny shits.” Steig grinned. “You his wet nurse?”

  Kaitar sighed; his appetite—unsteady even in the best of times—gave a weak flutter and died. “I haven’t killed anyone except a few bandits down by Bywater. I’m not—”

  “Eat.” Mi’et gave his shoulder a hard slap. “Talk can wait five minutes.”

  “Do you damned Druen ever shut up?”

  “Not until you eat.”

  The weary annoyance held no more strength than his pitiful appetite. Kaitar swallowed a bite of eggs as Mi’et and Steig watched. He let them gawk and forced himself to eat another forkful. The rich taste of goat cheese might have complimented the eggs at any other time, but now stuck like glue on his tongue.

  “Well,” Steig said at length. “You tell me, Mi’et. Should be you talking to me, anyway, seein’ as we’re likely kin. Shyiine always yank the truth a bit far and anything Kaitar says is likely to be half bullshit.”

  “Fuck you,” Kaitar said around a mouthful.

  “I ain’t that desperate just yet.” Steig grinned. “Go on. Speak up, boy. S’rude to ignore your elders when they ask you a question.”

  Mi’et leaned back in his chair, a strained expression shadowing his face. “Niles took Dogton with the help of the Scrappers. I left to find Kaitar and take him across the Belt to the resistance there. Kaitar killed a few cannibals from Bywater, but that’s not murder. We’ve taken nothing, seen no one else along the way.”

  “Ain’t no Shyiine resistance left out there. Or, if there is, they’re not gonna welcome you two into it unless you got a damned good reason for trespassing. As for the rest. . .Well, anyone turned cannibal needs put down.” Steig’s beard waggled as he chewed. “Go on. I can listen while I eat. I ain’t deaf.”

  Mi’et picked at his food. “There won’t be any place for Enetics here soon. Niles and Avaeliis will make certain of that.”

  “You might get run off this place if you’re not careful, Steig.” Kaitar pulled the canteen from his belt, tilting it at the old Druen. “Except this time, it won’t be Sulari trying to push you off. It’ll be border mayors with the backing of the damned Syndicate.”

  “No Estarian pig is gonna run me off my own land. If they try, I’ll tack their hide to my barn wall and let it dry there, like the Shurin used to do in the old days.” The Druen rose to check the frying chicken, growling as he thumped past the table. “I can give you some food and water. You can have that da’mel, too, if you want him. But you’ll help fix my fence and refill my barrels to replace what you’ll be takin’ before you go.”

  “That’s fair.” Kaitar nodded. “Appreciate it.”

  Steig poked the chicken with his fork without acknowledging the thank you. “But I’m tellin’ you right now, if you go to the Belt, you’ll die. That Bloom will get you if the Shyiine don’t first. And it’s the season for dust storms—you think they’re bad in the scrub, you’re in for a hell of a time out in the Belt. Best you stay put until spring.”

  Kaitar took a deep breath. His stomach rolled, unsettled by the rich food and the smell of seared chicken. “If you can talk Mi’et into some sense, I’d camp here until spring. Do chores, muck out your stalls, feed your goats. You need some mules on this place. Get rid of that da’mel.”

 
; “Mules are stubborn.”

  “Not as stubborn as Mi’et. Or you, either.”

  Steig laughed. “Only room enough for one stubborn beast on this land, and that’s me. You can keep your mules and your wet nurse, Kaitar; I got no use for them, or that da’mel, either. He’s the last of that herd I used to run, but I’m tired of dealing with their temperament. I’ll stick to goats.”

  “We’re not staying more than a few days.” Mi’et’s hazel eyes glittered beneath his brow. “We’re going to—”

  Kaitar slammed the un-open canteen against the table. “The hell are we going to do in the Belt but die out there?”

  “Don’t break nothin’” Steig muttered, peering over his shoulder as he piled fried chicken onto a platter. “I ain’t got much to waste out here like you lazy assholes do back in Dogton.”

  Kaitar ignored the old hermit. “Steig hasn’t seen the Shyiine in a long time, you heard him. Neither have I. I used to pick up their trail every so often when I scouted this way, but it’s been five years since I’ve seen any. Even if we did make it to wherever they live out there, I don’t speak their fucking language. Neither do you, Mi’et. They’ll kill us, same as they would an Estarian or Pihranese.”

  “We can’t stay here,” Mi’et said. “You know that. Do you want this old Druen dead because bounty hunters tracked us here? They’ll kill him, and then us.”

  Steig loomed over the table, gnarled as an ancient, massive tree. “You’re disturbin’ my son with all the argument!” He jabbed a greasy knife in the direction of the empty bone chair. “You speak respectful in the presence of the dead, or you can both get out and make your own way.”

  Mi’et wilted under the Druen’s outburst. Kaitar watched the transformation with stunned amazement. For years in the Sulari pits, Mi’et had faced hundreds of dangerous opponents and never once showed any sign of fear. Even when the mother threk had been unleashed to vent her maternal wrath, he’d not cowered. Now, however, he slouched in his seat, face slack, eyes as wide as a scolded child’s. “I. . . forgive me that rudeness. I have no bones to—”

  “You already mentioned that,” Steig rumbled. “Just stop arguin’ at supper. Damned Shyiine got no dignity at all. I keep things a certain way, and that means harmony. Didn’t your kin teach you about balance and harmony?”

  “They didn’t teach us anything in those pits except how to fight, Steig,” Kaitar said quietly. “And Mi’et had it harder than most. Lay off him a bit. I started the argument, and I’m the one your son can be pissed at. I won’t bring up the Belt again tonight. But,” he went on, defying the thunderous expression on Steig’s face. “What are you going to do, hm? You said that call mentioned water rights were cut, and that means they can take this place any time if they figure out it’s here. Shit, you’re not young, you’re alone, and if the Scrappers or some bounty hunter comes to run you off, what are you going to do?”

  “Die here, I reckon. It’s my land.”

  “Come with us,” Mi’et said. “There’s a road in the Belt. It’s in the old stories. Shyiine always walk it.”

  The Druen chuckled low in his chest. “I’d go with you, but I don’t wanna die. If I gotta kick off, it’ll be here. My boy and my woman are buried out behind the barn. My goats need tendin’ and I can’t leave them to die of thirst or get ate by threk.” He sat heavily, waving a drum stick like a scepter. “Yvres might lead me out of this life at the point of a bounty hunter’s gun, but it’d beat dyin’ out there in the Sand Belt. You two need to stay here, even if it means you’ll be eating me out of food.”

  Mi’et shook his head. “No.”

  “Why? Listen, Mi’et. . . kind of a name is that, anyway? Sounds Pihranese. Hell, get yourself a proper name. Ragnier or Yjorven, maybe.” Steig took a great bite out of the drumstick, speaking through the mouthful. “You don’t belong out there.”

  “No, we don’t,” Kaitar agreed. “I’d rather take my chances here, or south, or in the foothills. Even Northtown might be a better bet.”

  “Now there’s an idea. I know someone who might be headin’ that way soon. You stick around long enough, might be they’ll show up here to do some tradin’ and agree to take you that way. Northtown’s rough. . . ” Steig looked first at Mi’et, then fixed his shrewd gaze on Kaitar. “But I suspect you two could handle it. And you wouldn’t have to starve out on some Yvres-forsaken dune, neither. You boys stay put until that trader I mentioned shows up.”

  The temptation to do that nagged; Northtown might be full of bandits and outlaws, but it was true he and Mi’et were not likely to be bullied very easily.

  “We’re not going to some human bandit town. I’m taking him to the Belt and to his kin,” Mi’et said, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling fiercely. “The Xi’jahata is his home, not the scrubland.”

  “The Xi-what?” Kaitar asked.

  “You two are a pair of fools.” Steig frowned sourly. “Might be you’re more Shyiine than Druen after all, Mi’et. Either way, you’re both like to die out there.”

  “No.” Mi’et shrugged. “We won’t.”

  Kaitar bit his tongue to keep from risking another argument. Steig had done them a kindness and fed them—even offered to let them stay until spring; he could not be rude to one of his few allies in the Shy’war-Anquai.

  Outside, goats bleated from the porch, curious, wanting in. The air grew thick, and the food churning in Kaitar’s belly became a painful knot. If he had to sit there another moment, the smell of fried chicken and eggs would suffocate him. He stood and hooked the canteen to his belt. “You have a brush out in your barn? I need to curry down my mule.”

  “Hrm?” Steig cleared his throat as if he’d been deep in thought. “Yeah, there’s one out there somewhere. Just clean it out after your done. I don’t want mule stink when I go to get the sand burs off my goats.” He paused. “You need to stay to have a drink first, Kaitar, and tell me the news from the border towns. Besides, it’s proper to have a nip of whiskey after a meal. Settles the stomach.”

  “Talk like that makes you sound like Gairy Reidur.”

  “Do I look like Gairy Reidur to you? That drunk asshole came out here one time, did I tell you? Few years back, wantin’ to buy this place from me. He gave up that privilege when he spurned his good family name.” Steig spat onto his empty plate for emphasis. “Feh to that. Get out and go see to your mule. I’m sick of talkin’ to a stubborn Shyiine, anyway. Make sure you give her some seed head and fresh water; she looks about as ragged as you. And you should listen to me about wintering here.”

  “Thank you.” Kaitar turned to leave, ignoring Mi’et’s angry look at being left in the house with Steig. “I hope you can convince Mi’et we should stay. You’re not easy company, Steig, but better to listen to you talk about Yvres all winter than face the Belt.”

  “First sense I ever heard from a Shyiine!” Steig’s voice followed him out the door, louder than the excited bleating of half-wild goats.

  “I thought you wanted to die, my Besh?”

  Go away, Madev. I’m tired of listening to your ghost.

  The door banged closed behind him.

  Two Confessions

  Mi’et balanced the teakettle with his good hand, careful not to spill any of the hot liquid as he kicked the heavy barn door shut. A warm, musty odor of goats filled his nose, making him sneeze. He cleared his throat and waited for his eyes to adjust. A long string of white lights illuminated the interior, humming in the exact tone the fence had. Shadows blurred the far corners where the light didn’t reach, but the packed sand directly ahead of him glowed. The sleepy cluck-clucks of hens rose in a homey lullaby, louder than the buzz of cell lights. Mi’et heard Molly stamp and nicker, followed by Kaitar’s quiet voice.

  “I know you hate having your tail messed with, but you’ve got a twig tangled in here.” A pause. “Shit, Molly, I might have to cut this out. How did you manage to get it so knotted? No, don’t tell me. You found a spot to roll this morning before we bro
ke camp, hm? I should hobble you, but you’d probably give me a good kick once I set you loose again.”

  Mi’et repressed the urge to turn around and leave; he had the sense that Kaitar Besh had—in some unfathomable way—tricked him. Tricked the entire world. Shed his skin and forgotten everything the countless hours spent bleeding together while the Sulari cheered them on.

  But even Kaitar’s stubborn denial was better than being inside the cabin with Steig. For an hour, Mi’et had endured the Druen’s gruff speculation on if they could possibly be kin or not. The worst part of it was the guilt of having no answer to give. Mi’et had never known a father, and his mother had been unwilling to say much about it, though she’d shared her scant knowledge of Druen customs readily enough.

  “Cross the bones always pointing north and east. Even the tines they tie into your hair for the fights. You’re half-Shyiine, but you are Druen, as well. Yvres—that is what Druen named Toros—knows.”

  Yvres might know, but he, Mi’et, did not.

  One hen gave a sharp ca-cluck as he walked past. For a few heartbeats, all the chickens followed suit, cackling between one another and reminding Mi’et of humans gossiping.

  “I thought you’d be inside, having a drink of whiskey with Steig.” Kaitar’s eyes shone from the gloom as he tossed aside a branch tangled with tail hair.

  “I don’t drink whiskey.”

  “I know, but I thought you’d make an exception for the chance to talk to another Druen.” Kaitar sheathed a yatreg and slid an arm over the animal’s neck. “It’s only Mi’et. You know him, Molly; the guy who always changes subjects whenever someone tries to call him out on his bullshit.”

  “You’re no better. Worse, perhaps. You can remember everything, and you pretend not to.”

  “Most of what you’re asking me to remember isn’t worth it.” Kaitar leaned his cheek against Molly’s neck and scratched under her jaw. The mule relaxed, her eyelids drooping as his fingers found an itchy spot.