GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Read online

  The Song

  The strange sounds of the Belt upset Molly. Her gait, which had never been smooth, became steadily worse as she grew more agitated. Finally, the ache in Kaitar’s ass grew intolerable. He reigned the mule to a halt and dropped from the saddle to lead Molly the rest of the way up the steep incline. As Mi’et had prophesized, the riding boots were hell to climb in. With each step forward, Kaitar slid an inch back, listening to the low warble of sand beneath his feet.

  “An hour out here and I already hate it.” He leaned against the mule, taking comfort from her presence just as she did his. “How do you like the Belt? Not much, I bet. Guess we should have gone south after all. The sand won’t hurt you, Molly. It’s just noise. No different than a rover or Firebrand.”

  As Kaitar patted the mule and let her rest, he studied the dune’s peak. There, at the crest, Mi’et waited, his profile dappled with the sunset-orange glow. He held the surly da’mel in a sure grip, ignoring the animal’s frequent attempts to meander back the way they had come. The half-breed’s hazel eyes held a far-away look and his mouth had gone slack, as if he were seeing something entirely different than the vast, empty Sand Belt.

  Kaitar sighed. “Let’s go, Molly. We’re almost to the top. Up there, maybe we can spot some place to sleep for the night, hm? Shit, I don’t expect any place is safe to camp out here, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  A hard wind struck with the force of a blow as they reached the summit. The sun fixed on him like a single, mirthless eye, blazing accusation at the stupidity of such weak creatures daring to span the march of red dunes.

  Maybe the Sulari were right to fear the Sun King’s wrath, but I don’t think his palace is in the sky. It’s out here, and it’s going to burn us alive.

  The da’mel grunted a warning as he and Molly drew near. Kaitar gave it a wide berth to avoid a confrontation between the animals. Mi’et did not look his way as they approached, but continued to peer west.

  “Hey, you all right?”

  The bigger man blinked as though he’d been woken from a heavy dream. “Just waiting for you. I didn’t think anyone so fast with a yatreg could be so slow climbing a hill.”

  “Molly needs time to get used to this.” Kaitar shrugged. “Do you know what direction this road is in? If we wander more than a few days, we’re going to run out of food and water for the animals. Are there markers or beacons or—”

  “Why would Shyiine need such things? Those are human ways of mapping an area.”

  “Then what? Do Shyiine warriors just magically fucking appear when wanderers are on the verge of starving?” Aware Molly had picked up on his tension and was growing agitated again, Kaitar lowered his voice. “Mi’et, you have to tell me what you know. Anything. I’ve never been this far west. That last beacon? That’s it. Beyond that, I’m as lost as anyone else from Dogton would be.”

  Mi’et’ rubbed his right arm, fingers tracing the shape of the scars beneath his yalei. “It’s hard to hear, but my mother said it’s in the north of the Belt, where the Xi’jahata is.”

  “There’s that word again. Xi’jahata.”

  “It’s where the Shyiine live. Didn’t Ohrain ever speak of it?”

  “No. My father never talked about the Sand Belt.” Kaitar frowned. “But this road. . . you can hear it?”

  “Yes. Put your head to the sand, and listen.” Mi’et knelt and patted the ground with his maimed hand. “You’re just trying not to hear it, but I know you can.”

  I’m afraid.

  The simple fact made Kaitar’s throat go dry. “I don’t want to listen. If you say it’s north, then we’ll start going north. I think—”

  Mi’et’s ruined hand shot out, snagging the long ends of his ropey hair and pulling him down before he could break free. The half-breed’s strong left arm wrapped around his shoulders, pinning them. Molly snorted, side-stepping away, her eyes rolling as she brayed.

  “The fuck! Let me go!” Kaitar kicked, caught Mi’et in the knee, and heard a sharp intake of breath. The other man tightened his grip and Kaitar’s arms went numb.

  “Listen.” Mi’et’s breathed against his neck. “You’ll hear it.”

  “Let me go! You’re making Molly—”

  A knee thumped down on the small of his back. In a desperate attempt to get away from the burning pain along his scalp, Kaitar jerked his head, shoveling sand with his chin.

  “Listen first,” Mi’et rasped.

  He had no choice. At first, the ragged sound of his own panting filled his ears, followed by Mi’et’s steadier breathing. Molly pranced, circling close, her hooves coming into view from behind his sand-caked eyelashes. The rapid thudding of his heart became audible as his pulse rushed against his eardrums, growing louder, blending with the wind. The sound twisted into a high, static whine, then ebbed low, spiraling downward—past his breathing, past the da’mel’s bellow, and Mi’et’s mumbled words, boring deep into the very earth. There, the drone spread like monstrous roots, vibrating so strongly Kaitar thought his spine would shatter from the force.

  Then, he heard the singing.

  He thought he should recognize the words, almost did recognize them; chaotic, sad, joyful—every emotion smearing into a long symphony beneath the skin of the desert. Tendrils of the song rippled through the entire Shy’war-Anquai and beyond. Veins. The herald of pumping blood as Toros, the great machine, breathed in and out.

  “That’s the road,” Mi’et whispered at his ear, sounding far away. Kaitar closed his eyes and heard something beneath him move. The pressure on his head and back vanished, and the thing moved again. A tickle went through his skull, becoming a searing, white-hot jolt.

  “No!” He bolted upright, choking on dust and terror, heedless of Mi’et toppling backward. Molly reared, crow-hopped once, and backed away, quivering all over. The da’mel loped a few paces down the dune before resuming its sullen observation.

  The pain inside Kaitar’s head dulled as he sputtered against the ground. Without thinking, he rose, every muscle trembling as he staggered blindly in Molly’s direction. She shied from his outstretched hand, her steadfast composure torn to bits. Seeing his mule dance away from his fingertips somehow hurt worse than his aching back or ringing head.

  She heard it too. I know she did. She’s never pulled back from me before.

  “You’re shaking,” Mi’et said.

  Kaitar didn’t answer. Instead, he whistled softly. Molly pricked her ears up, her pink nostrils taking in deep pulls of air.

  “You heard it then.” Mi’et pulled himself to his feet, brushing sand from his clothing. “The road. I knew you—”

  “Quiet. She’s spooked.” If he admitted he had heard it —the road, the song—he’d scream again. “Let me get her calmed down. Go get the da’mel before it runs off. And,” he added, his voice trembling and soft. “If you do that again. . . grab me like that. . .? I’ll leave you here to find your own way.”

  “I had to show you.”

  “Go on, go get the da’mel and we’ll find a place to camp.” Kaitar cleared his throat and whistled for his mule again. “C’mon, Molly girl. Just me having a bad dream. You’re used to that, right?”

  Hesitating only a moment longer, she took a cautious step toward him, stretching her neck. Her nose bumped against his fingertips, lipping, nuzzling for reassurance, taking in the familiar scent. Once the mule’s tension eased a little, Kaitar took the bridle and leaned his cheek against Molly’s broad forehead.

  “Not the place for us, is it? Poor old Molly. We won’t be out here long. We’ll go back as soon as we find this road for Mi’et.” He scratched the mule, listening as Mi’et caught the frightened da’mel. Though the sun still hung above the western dunes, pale stars twinkled on the eastern skyline. At the foot of the three-hundred-foot slope they’d climbed, the broken beacon pointed like a crooked finger, warning they were going the wrong way.

  “We can camp at the bottom of the next dune, out of the wind.” Mi’et tightened the
straps on the dam’el’s pack saddle. “Is Molly calm enough?”

  Kaitar looked away from the beacon and studied the other man’s face, seeing a maze of contradiction written there, hiding secrets even his own guilt couldn’t match. “Your mother wasn’t born a slave, was she?”

  “No.”

  “Neither was my father.”

  “Nor was Anaz’dalo.”

  “Is that why ‘Dalo hated us so much? He wouldn’t even let Senqua talk to me in town without finding some reason to send her off on an errand. My father hated me, too—you know that’s the truth.”

  “My mother didn’t hate me. She didn’t she hate you, either.”

  “Heh, she was a rarity,” Kaitar said, recalling how Ina'iri had smiled her sad smile at him once. “Mi’et, the Shyiine don’t want slaves like us that fought in the pits. They think we’re tainted.”

  “They’ll want you.”

  “Why would they want me?”

  But Mi’et did not offer any further explanation, and Kaitar felt too tired to press him for one. The da’mel grunted and swung its head east, pulling on the lead. Mi’et yanked the rope until the beast stilled. Wind swept over them all, and the warbling of the shifting sand reminded Kaitar of Madev Al’Daree’s laughter, but worse somehow. Try as he might, he could not banish it or close his ears to its bleak raillery.

  Toros is going to kill us if the Belt doesn’t first. And I’ll have to watch it. I’ll have to watch it drive Mi’et insane, and then it will come for me. That song isn’t anything but a death chant.

  The Last Kiss

  The Harpers always sang of everlasting torment for sinners, but Gairy knew he wouldn’t have to die to see it. Hell was already inside him that night; a thirsty hell, ripping its way through his throat until his very insides seemed dipped in fire. The deep cold settling over the steppes did nothing to abate the anguish, and his head rang with a clamor of hurt and guilt, shrieking together like some metallic beast.

  He tossed and turned, unwilling to open his eyes to stare across the pitiful fire where he knew Senqua had curled herself in her yalei. Erid, too, lay nearby. The boy had given him such dark looks all evening Gairy’s stomach turned to water. A kid should never have such hatred in his heart, but there it was, beaming out from Erid’s green eyes. Even Aizr-hin had frowned at him with raw dislike as Erid spoke more of Dogton’s fall.

  It was her fault it went so bad. And that old man, Anaz’dalo. Why’d he try to fight them?

  “Because,” the thirst laughed. “He had more balls than you. Old enough to be your granddaddy, and took out six of them. Six, Gairy. And what did you do when they came? You ran away from the well. But you still have me. You can’t run from that.”

  His throat constricted until even breathing became agony. The rocky ground beneath dug into his side. Gairy rolled to his back, but that position proved no more comfortable and did nothing to stop the guilt swamping his mind. Nearby, some creature rustled through the tall grass, but he didn’t open his eyes to see what might be lurking; snake or s’rat, owl or coyote, it made no difference. Those things had lives separate of his own, with more right to live than he’d ever had. They were pure. He, Gairy Reidur, was not.

  He thought about his dead ancestors turning underneath the vast earth, hating him. The dead knew of his guilt—his great grandfather’s shade most of all.

  Eizendal. Granddaddy. The Shyiine saved him, and this is what I’ve done to repay them.

  Gairy tried to picture what his grandfather must have looked like, but could only picture himself—haggard and dirty, his dark beard matted, his body slow and ponderous. His grandfather’s name had evoked pride once, long ago. Now, it reminded him of the taunting throughout the years. Most of the faces he’d forgotten, but the cries of “It’s the boy with a goat for a daddy!” would never fade.

  “One little sip,” the thirst chuckled. “Go over there and beat that Sulari bastard’s head in. Show some guts for once. Take what’s yours.”

  Gairy’s legs flexed, wanting to get up and walk over to the sleeping squatter. Cave his head in with a rock. Take the Saltang. The spined mouth of the Nith’ath would touch his own lips, and there’d be the sweet, salty burn of whiskey. A flash. His brain going off like a thousand Firebrand cells at once. Then nothing—no great granddaddy frowning from whatever dead place his spirit had gone, no more Senqua growing thin and withdrawn, no more mocking Sulari prince or angry Junker boy, either.

  Just quiet.

  Listening to the rustling in the grass grow more faint, Gairy sighed. Whatever had caused the noise was moving away. Aerby snuffled once, then grunted as he settled closer to Erid.

  We’re outlaws now, me and Senqua. Can’t go to the Foundry. They’d arrest us. Hang us, probably.

  “Now that’s a problem,” the thirst admitted. “Oh. Before you forget, that Sulari keeps the bottle in his coat pocket.”

  He opened his eyes. Cold, black sky stretched overhead, pressing against the desert until everything seemed frigid and lonely. The Sulari and Estarians made songs about the beauty of the desert night, but all of it was bullshit. The endless spill of stars reflected his guilt perfectly—a glittering, false light streaking a soul too dark to penetrate. The thirst still burned and bit, but as Gairy’s body grew numb from cold and discomfort, even that torment no longer seemed a real part of him.

  Must be what it’s like to be dead.

  His vision blurred from staring so long. He closed them and even the scattered points of light were lost. Gairy’s mind ebbed another notch, slipping down into the bare rush of blood in his veins and following it like a river, pulled down into something deeper than sleep.

  An owl hooted, but he did not hear it.

  “Get up!”

  A sandaled foot thumped into his leg. Gairy grunted, swatting as if to shoo away an annoying fly. He rolled to his side and pressed his face to the sand, body aching, pain slamming his head with the force of a three-day hangover.

  “He-Goat. . . get up! She’s gone, and she took the Pumer.”

  Every nerve roared awake. Flopping to his back again, Gairy blinked up at the dark silhouette above, angular and lean. When he peeled his dry lips apart to speak, they cracked, tasting of blood. “Senqua. She left?”

  Aizr-hin nodded. “Last night while we slept. She took the rifle and some of the supplies. Heading south from the way the grass is bent, but the wind will break that trail soon enough.”

  With his stomach twisting so hard he thought he might be sick, Gairy got to his feet.

  I heard her go last night. I heard. . . thought it was a s’rat. Stupid! I should have known!

  He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Senqua!”

  “I don’t think she’s going to hear it,” Erid said, sitting in the rover and feeding bits of jerky to his yellow mutt. “She was pretty upset last night, I guess. I didn’t mean to break the news like that but. . . ” he trailed off, picking a flea from Aerby’s fur.

  “Not your fault, boy.” Aizr-hin frowned, studying the small pile of supplies. “She took three canteens, but not much of the jerky. It’s the gun. . . heh. It’s an irony; she’s an even better thief than I.”

  Gairy ignored them as he watched the waving grass. That southern horizon lay empty. No little shape broke the flat plain, no glint of gun metal or flash of a canteen in the morning sun gave hint to where Senqua might have gone—nothing except the endless, dry prairie. Gairy glanced at the spot he’d lain all night. There, an indent marked the place the Shyiine woman had squatted next to him before leaving.

  Aizr-hin tossed the remaining canteens into the rover. “I’m surprised she didn’t slit your throat. I would not have stopped her, He-Goat, not after everything I heard last night from Erid. And from Senqua. She told us some of it at the Sun Plaza when you were so sick, but the rest of it? Even Lein Strauss might have been impressed at how foul a man you are.”

  Gairy rounded on him, raising a shaking fist. “You don’t know! You don’t understand what happe
ned! You’re just a—”

  “I’m just a squatter thief.” Aizr-hin smirked. “A filthy Sulari, yes, but I can say with a clear soul I’ve not caused the death of anyone’s father, or helped lead a whole town to ruin. Nor have I sent three people into an ambush for a bottle of whiskey.”

  “My dad is dead, Gairy,” Erid said.

  Gairy cringed. “Niles said no one would die. Said he’d be good to the town. He said no one was gonna get hurt, he was just sick of Neiro keeping all the water rights. He promised I’d have a homestead out by the Old Tree Well. Neiro never offered that, not after twenty years working for him and—”

  “Evrik Niles lied.” Erid lowered himself behind the driver’s wheel and tugged the goggles down over his eyes. “You’re just making excuses, anyway. You wanted the whiskey so you lied to everyone and didn’t tell them what was going on. And now, people are dead and Dogton’s a mess. Senqua might get killed, too. And I can’t even take her to the Foundry because there’s a bounty. . . for what you did. The Syndicate will order her hanged if she shows up anywhere.”

  “They can’t do that to her.” Gairy shook his head. “Senqua didn’t know about any of it.”

  “You fail to realize how these things work,” Aizr-hin said. He slid into the rover next to Erid and patted Aerby. “The Avaeliis Syndicate is more than willing to see a few Enetics play scapegoat so they can move forward with whatever plan they’ve got. They had no problem seeing all of the Sulari play scapegoat, either. And Lein Strauss. . . tell me, do you know how he became a bandit king?”

  “No,” Gairy said. He moved toward the rover. “And I don’t care. We’ve got to go find Senqua.”

  “And do what when we find her?” Aizr-hin asked. “No. I am very sorry about what she’s going through, and if I have not made a promise to my dying father I would go after her myself, though it would do no good. The boy and I talked it over before I woke you. We could try to force her to come with us, but to where? The Foundry? She’d fight to the death if we tried to make her go. She’s Shyiine, He-Goat, and she’s on her way to avenge her father’s death. Her fate is on your head, too.”