GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Page 16

  “No!” She sprang, grabbed for the revolver, and pushed the short barrel down with all her might. “Don’t! It’s not a Scrapper!”

  “Don’t shoot!” A voice drifted to them, cutting above the roar of the engine as a sharp bark punctuated the words. “I’m from Dogton! Senqua, is that you and Gairy?”

  “Erid? Erid Vargas?” Gairy called back.

  “Yeah!”

  Gairy grunted. “Aizr-hin, hold on a second. That’s Romano Vargas’s kid. . . the guy. . . never mind. Just wait. Senqua, he alone in that rover?”

  Senqua nodded, swallowing a rising tide of elation. “I think so. I don’t see anyone else except his dog.” A smile spread over her face, weary, but joyful. “Yes, he’s alone. No Scrappers!” Erid would have news of Dogton. Of her father. Maybe Neiro had won the fight and—

  Then, her smile fell.

  Neiro never would have sent a boy out alone. If he’s here by himself, without his father or an Enforcer. . .

  Aizr-hin lowered the rifle and shielded his eyes with a hand. “Are you sure it’s wise to just let him come up on us like that? I’ve known young boys who were better bandits than men twice their age.”

  “He’s not a bandit.” Senqua raised her arms, hailing Erid closer. “He’s the son of a Junker from the Foundry. Something must have happened in Dogton.”

  “Maybe he escaped,” Gairy suggested.

  “Maybe.” Senqua waved both arms again, and saw Erid raise his own in return. The Draggin tore across the plain, ripping up great clods of grass and sand beneath its tires. Erid seemed too small and alone sitting in that rover with only a dog for an escort.

  Please, whatever spirits there might be, let my father be all right. Let him be alive.

  “He might have news,” Gairy said. “And he could give us a ride to the Foundry. To hell with walkin’ all that way.”

  Aizr-hin leaned against the rifle, wary. “This is dangerous country for a boy to be driving through.” Before he could say more, the rover roared up, circled once, and then rolled to a stop a dozen feet in front of them. The scent of machine oil and ozone wafted from the warm vehicle, strange after weeks of smelling nothing but the desert. Senqua covered her nose until the wind carried the odor away.

  “Hey!” Erid stood from the driver’s seat, smiling sheepishly. Aerby wagged his tail and hopped from the rover, barking as he scrambled toward them.

  Aizr-hin raised the Pumer.

  “Don’t! He’s friendly.” Senqua crouched to meet the dog. Aerby greeted her with a slobbery canine-kiss and turned his soft, brown eyes up at her, begging for a treat. She smiled and patted his head. “My father always has to chase him out of our shop. He tries to get at the fat we use to make travel cakes.”

  “That dog could feed a family in Bywater for a week,” Aizr-hin said as he lowered the gun. An instant later, he clutched it hard again. “Put it down, boy!”

  “Don’t touch my dog!” Erid glared at the Sulari, a pistol in hand. His tanned face had splotches of dirt smeared along each cheek; The boy had been crying at some point, and hadn’t bothered to wipe away the grimy streaks.

  Gairy said, “No one’s gonna shoot your dog. Put the pistol down, like he said.”

  “Aizr-hin is. . . he’s not dangerous, Erid,” Senqua said, feeling tired all over again. Her shoulders sagged, and what smug pleasure over having power over a Sulari evaporated. “It’s all right. He’s not going to hurt Aerby.”

  The yellow mutt’s tail thumped at the sound of his name. Erid hesitated before lowering the pistol to his side, but didn’t holster it. He leaned against the open roll cage and pushed the goggles up. “I got a rifle too. So if he touches Aerby. . . ”

  “I will not touch your dog.” Aizr-hin shrugged. “I was only making an observation as to his plumpness. I don’t care for the taste of dog myself, if that’s any comfort.”

  “It’s not.” Erid studied the Sulari. “You’re a squatter, aren’t you? And they said you two. . . ” He pointed first at Gairy, then Senqua. “Both of you were in on a plot to destroy Dogton. You’re outlaws. There’s a big bounty on your heads.”

  “A bounty?” Senqua blanched. “We didn’t plot to destroy Dogton! The Scrappers chased us off from the Old Tree Well. Gairy. . . he. . . ”

  Was in on it. But I knew nothing until they showed up and threatened to shoot us.

  The words wouldn’t leave her mouth.

  “Evrik Niles is a lyin’ son of a bitch,” Gairy said. “Why you out here alone? Where’s your old man?”

  Erid’s chin jerked, but his tone remained steady as he spoke. “My dad’s dead. Lein Strauss killed him down near Bywater Gully.”

  The half-Druen shifted his gaze, avoiding the boy’s hard stare.

  “Lein Strauss?” Aizr-hin frowned. “You’re sure of that?”

  Erid’s head bobbed once. “I’m sure of it.”

  Senqua’s knees turned to water. Romano Vargas had always struck her as something of a fool, but not one deserving a hard death out in the desert. “Erid, come down and have some food with us. We don’t have much, but we do have some antelope jerky. Can you tell us about Dogton? Did Leigh and Kaitar make it back?”

  “Kaitar and Leigh killed Lein Strauss,” Erid said. He pushed himself from the rover. “Leigh told Evrik Niles and the Scrappers about it, and the news got all over town. But Kaitar didn’t come back at all. He just walked off in the middle of the Bloom, right outside the gates. Leigh had to come in alone.”

  Her heart dropped. “So Evrik Niles did take the town then.”

  “Now that is some irony,” Aizr-hin said, watching Aerby sniff at his sandaled feet. “The Besh has saved the Sulari in Bywater from another Enetic. Lein Strauss never should have tried to go up against the Al’Daree champion, anyway.” The Sulari knelt and scratched the dog’s floppy ears. Aerby licked his wrist, then padded toward the Draggin to water the back tires.

  “I doubt he was thinking of saving Sulari when he killed Strauss.” Senqua turned her attention back to Erid. “Neiro lost the town?”

  Erid nodded slowly. “Yeah. No one knows for sure, but we think he’s alive. Sokepta dropped some hints, but I think Evrik Niles threatened him not to talk about Neiro. It’s. . . it’s bad there now, in Dogton. And the Bloom—”

  “Why are you out here, Erid?” Gairy asked. “You run from Niles?”

  “They were sending me back to the Foundry. Uncle Frell said if they didn’t, there’d be some major problems for Niles.” Erid wiped some of the grime from his face. “He told Niles that Dogton was too dangerous and if they refused to cooperate, the Foundry would remove support. So I had to leave the day that—” His words died abruptly as his gaze settled on Senqua. A flush crept up his cheeks, turning them scarlet underneath the layers of dirt.

  Her fingers tightened into fists at her side. “Tell us.”

  “Senqua,” the boy mumbled. “Your dad. . . he took six of them out. The Scrappers, I mean. Six. By himself.”

  Something cold stirred in the pit of her belly. It crept up her legs all the way to her chest, freezing her heart and making everything went numb.

  Father.

  “’Dalo killed six Scrappers? That old man?” Gairy scratched his beard. “He dead?”

  Erid nodded. “Karraetu shot him, but Anaz’dalo killed the Scrappers with a knife first. Six!”

  And I know the knife he used, too. The one with the bone handle. The one Mother made him all those years ago.

  Gairy snorted. “That’s a line of bullshit. There’s no way that old Shyiine could take out six armed men.”

  Senqua wheeled on the half-Druen, teeth bared. “My father was a Shyiine warrior! He had more courage in his right foot than a traitor coward like you could ever know, and now he’s dead. And Erid’s father is dead. And who knows how many more? Look at what you’ve helped do, you and your fucking whiskey!”

  He cringed as though she towered over him and not the other way around. “Senqua, you’re. . . you just got some hard news,
and—”

  “Hard news? My father is dead.” The words would not stop, but somehow, the tears which had threatened were gone, dried up in the blaze of grief. “He lost everything in his life except one daughter—me. And he was the only family I had left. Hard news?” She spat at his feet. “I hope someone catches you and hangs you, Gairy!”

  Erid stammered something, an apology, maybe; Senqua couldn’t hear the words clearly. The sight of Gairy Reidur sickened her so much she squeezed her eyes shut and clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting. Faint blobs of light from the bright sunshine shifted beyond her internal refuge, flowing into a dark river and sweeping her father away. His ghost smiled sadly at her, waving goodbye, leaving her standing alone on an empty shoreline where shadows lurked, hungry and cruel—a barren, empty country named Despair.

  At that moment, Senqua understood why her mother had broken, understood why she’d had just given up and died. Understood, yes, but would not travel down that same desolate road herself—not yet.

  I am going back to Dogton. And I am going to kill them. Niles, Karraetu. . . as many of them as I can before they shoot me, too.

  “I didn’t mean to. ” Erid’s voice trembled, on the verge of breaking. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Guess not,” Gairy said. “Think before you talk next time.”

  “Senqua, you’re shaking,” Aizr-hin said. “Come, let us all sit and talk a while. We’ll honor the memory of our fathers. I’ve heard stories about Shyiine warriors—don’t they believe their souls are carried off by birds? We could sing him a song. Maybe the bird carrying his spirit will hear it on the way to the Sun’s eternal palace.”

  Senqua opened her eyes. Dream-like, she lowered herself into the tall grass and stared at nothing. Aizr-hin had been right after all; there would be no more walking that afternoon. She would need a full night’s rest for the journey back to Dogton. She thought she might slit Gairy Reidur’s throat before she left.

  PART THREE:

  THE BELT

  The Liar

  Mi’et paced around the tracking beacon, inspecting the damage. Only a third of its original six-foot height still showed above the ground, jutting at an eastern angle rather than straight up and down. All but the “V” and “E” of the Veraleid logo had been buried by sand, and the top half of the beacon—a circular device the size of a man’s head—had cracked long ago, the innards now caked with sand. It was useless, like everything the humans had made to fight Toros.

  “Fine way to mark the end of the world. Stupid to think something like that would stop a Bloom, anyway.” Steig slammed the low wagon’s door closed. Mi’et thought the rover looked almost as rundown as the beacon, but it had gotten them the last hundred miles to the edge of the scrubland.

  “They work when they aren’t cracked,” Kaitar said as he led Molly closer. “It worked the last time I rode out this far, but it’s been years. Neiro never did order another report on this region.” He kicked the cracked cell casing and shook his head in disgust.

  “He probably forgot you planted this one out here.” Steig turned to unload the wooly da’mel from the low wagon’s trailer, still muttering. “More fool him if he never sent any of you scouts out to repair it.”

  “It’s not our concern anymore,” Mi’et said, studying the western horizon. Beyond the marker, dunes towered three-hundred feet into the air, sweeping to low valleys. An incessant wind cut their giant forms, changing them, making them sing. Even now, he could hear a low warbling as sand whipped along the high crests. The sound echoed for miles. He guessed he and Kaitar’s footsteps would add their own notes, blending the frequency to create an endless symphony.

  The gale beat his back like invisible fists, urging him to face whatever fate lay beyond those mountains of sand. Mi’et wanted to tell the old Druen to go home and stop wasting their time, but Kaitar and Steig were still talking, the hermit bemoaning their certain death every other sentence.

  “Here,” Steig said, handing the da’mel’s reins to Kaitar. Molly backed away from the surly beast, ears pressed flat to her long skull.

  Steig grinned. “You’ll have your handful with those two, I suspect.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Kaitar said. “Appreciate all the supplies and water. You sure you’ll be ok driving back alone? It’ll be dark in a few hours, and I spotted some threk sign not far from the edge of your land.”

  “Your threk.” Mi’et tugged the da’mel’s lead from Kaitar’s grasp. “We should go.”

  The smaller man shot him a stony look, but Steig spoke first. “You that eager to go off and die? Telling you right now, you’re better off waitin’ at my place ‘till spring. Last chance on that offer. You can work for me a while, and I’ll pay you in supplies. Might be you’ll have your head on straight by then and forget about tryin’ to go out to the Belt.”

  “No,” Kaitar said with obvious reluctance. “We’re going. But you. . . it’s two days’ drive back to the first fence of your homestead. You going to make it?”

  “You arrogant snake.” Steig thumped his back so hard Kaitar’s knees nearly buckled. “I was out here when you were still rolling around in those Sulari pits with a chain on your dick, and here you are, askin’ me if I can make it back to my own land? Don’t be a horse’s ass. I got a gun. Wouldn’t be the first time I chased threk off.”

  “Your varmint rifle won’t do anything but anger these two, and don’t look them in the eye” Mi’et said, struggling to hold the da’mel steady; the beast was already attempting to wander off.

  “The hell not? I reckon I can hit a threk, even if my eye ain’t quite what it used to be.”

  “Don’t shoot at them, and don’t look them in the eye,” he said again. “These two aren’t ordinary threk; they’re big.”

  “Hell, I’m bigger.” Steig swung his rifle from his shoulder

  “Make a fire, and stay close to it, or sleep in your low wagon. Don’t wander far from your camp.” Mi’et jerked the da’mel’s lead so hard the beast gave a low bellow of protest. The load of supplies tied to its sloping back wobbled precariously, but didn’t come loose.

  “Listen to him, Steig. He’s right,” Kaitar murmured. “I don’t think they’ll bother you, though. They usually won’t go after other Enetics unless. . . ” he trailed off with a shrug.

  Unless they’re threatened. Or someone is threatening you, like Lein Strauss did.

  Mi’et kept that thought to himself as he managed to get the da’mel turned toward the west.

  “Sounds like you do know this pair,” Steig’s shrewd eyes narrowed beneath his heavy brow. “What’s the story on that one, Besh? Why’d your wet nurse say they were your threk?”

  “A joke,” Mi’et said before Kaitar could stammer out some lie. “It’s getting late, and we need to get over the first dunes before we can make camp.” His gaze flicked to the Shyiine’s riding boots. “You’re going to have a hard time going up dunes with those.

  “I’ll manage.” Kaitar offered his hand to Steig. “Be safe getting back to your homestead. If I don’t see you again, well. . . goodbye and good luck, Steigner.”

  “Same to you boys. Wish you’d reconsider, but you’re both idiots. Ain’t no fool like young ones, that’s what I say.” The Druen’s big fingers swallowed Kaitar’s hand. He pumped the Shyiine’s arm up and down once, then released his grip, slid the varmint rifle into a case strapped to his back, and trudged to his low wagon without another word. The rusty door squealed as Steig hauled himself inside. The engine gave a sputter and grumbled to life. Steig turned the bulky rover eastward, waving once out the open window before the track of dust and sand became too thick to see through.

  Mi’et felt a pang of regret at the Druen’s brusque departure. He liked Steig, and under different circumstances, would have enjoyed speaking to him about his ancestry. The old hermit had gotten too nosey during the three days they’d stayed at the homestead, however, and Mi’et had the suspicion Steig wanted them to stay in
definitely.

  “Are you ready?” Kaitar asked, breaking the silence left in the rover’s wake. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “You promised. If you back out now, I’ll break your neck.” Mi’et pointed his chin toward the dunes. “We’re going.”

  The scout hesitated, staring at the broken beacon. Mi’et thought it was the most pitiful sight in the world, leaning there, slowly being buried by the desert. Forgotten.

  He understood the feeling of desolate ruination, but unlike the useless device, he would clear the sand away one last time and fight fate—for his friend’s sake. The Shyiine in the Belt would want Kaitar, no matter how the scout protested. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to lie about that fact, his threk, or the cells in his yatreg; Mi’et had spent too many years unpacking Firebrand in Dogton’s warehouse to believe the tale about the last charge being used on Lein Strauss. The Firebrand cells in the yatreg were dark with disuse and hadn’t been recharged for years.

  But no shaman had ever needed human technology to call fire.

  “Kaitar.”

  “What?”

  “My mother told me about others like you.”

  “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it means. Let’s go.”

  “Don’t know why I bother.” Kaitar pulled himself into the saddle and gathered the reins in one hand. “I suppose there’s no talking you out of this now.”

  “No.” As Mi’et urged the da’mel forward, a cold tingle crept over his scalp. Wondering if Steig had decided to come with them after all, he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see the low wagon—but the vehicle was nowhere in sight. They were not alone, however; a hundred yards behind them, two familiar creatures perched on a sandy knoll. In the slant of afternoon sunlight, Mi’et saw the flash of yellow eyes and a gleam of rust-colored scales.

  “Your threk are behind us. They’re out early.”

  A melancholy look crossed Kaitar’s face as he studied the pair.