GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Read online

  Senqua gritted her teeth, already regretting her outburst; they would never make it to the Foundry if they were at one another’s throats the entire journey. She exhaled hard through her nose and squared her shoulders. “Let’s just keep walking. Please. It’s a long way to the Foundry. Seven hundred miles at least, and it will take weeks to get there. Months, perhaps.”

  “I want the Pumer,” Gairy said.

  “The Pumer is mine,” Aizr-hin replied without looking back.

  “I doubt you can even shoot it. Sulari can’t shoot. All they know how to do is steal.”

  Aizr-hin waved off the insult, laughing. “Don’t fret too much He-Go—Druen. I am a good shot. I can hunt antelope, sand hogs, bandits. . .”

  “You probably stole that gun. Sulari never had Pumers. You took it from some Estarian.”

  Senqua groaned. “If we can’t go a hundred yards without arguing, how are we—”

  “I know how to shoot goats, too,” Aizr-hin said, cutting her words short. “In case you were wondering.”

  Gairy’s hands flexed into ham-sized fists. “Call me that again, thief, and I’ll ram that Pumer down your throat.”

  Senqua stepped between the two men, placed her hands on Gairy’s massive chest, and pushed. Her heels slid against the sand as the Druen’s immense weight plowed forward, and Senqua had to grab his duster to keep her balance. Gairy caught her wrists and squeezed so hard she thought the bones might crack.

  She bit back a yelp and met his gaze steadily. “Let me go.”

  His brows gathered like thunderclouds. “The hell are you doin’? Stay out of this, before you get hurt. I almost ran you over.”

  Senqua wrenched her wrist free, rubbing the bruised flesh. “Quit fighting over an old rifle! We’re in the Shy’war-Anquai, not Dogton sitting at the Bin arguing over cards.”

  Aizr-hin grinned over his shoulder, his voice threatening to crack with laughter. “Are you both tired already? We can stop, if it pleases the two of you.”

  Senqua ignored him and lowered her voice. “The deal was made, Gairy. You have the revolver. Aizr-hin has the rifle.”

  “You want to walk so bad? I guess we’ll walk.” Gairy clamped his hands on her shoulders, spun her around, and gave her a shove. A startled hiss caught in Senqua’s throat as she caught her balance, legs moving out of instinct rather than from conscious effort. Seething, she walked, wishing she could turn around and kick all the cruelty and stupidity right out of Gairy Reidur. Instead, she lifted her chin high and focused on each step.

  How many will it take to get north to the Foundry? A hundred-thousand? A million?

  “Well,” Aizr-hin said. “He’s right about one thing. I did steal this gun. I took it from a caravaneer who fell asleep in his low wagon. By the time he realized what had happened, all he could do was curse my name and swear revenge, and throw rocks as I ran away.”

  “See?” Gairy said, triumphant. “He’s a thief.”

  And you’re a drunken traitor, Gairy. I’m a Shyiine, and everyone says we’re liars. I guess that makes us all outlaws by default.

  A deep ache filled Senqua’s chest. She wanted to see her father, Anaz’dalo, more than anything at that moment. Wanted to run and cry on his shoulder as she had when she’d only been a little girl, so long ago it seemed like part of some dream rather than her own memory. He always smelled a bit like leather and pepper bloom, always spoke in patient, quiet tones as he told stories or talked about the day’s work.

  For a moment, she could picture his face so clearly tears stung her eyes and had to blink hard to stop them from spilling over. She wanted her father. She wanted her home, the little shop back in Dogton. She wanted—

  The wind lifted and swept over them, drying Senqua’s tears. Her father’s voice faded as the gale whistled in her ears and tugged her braid, making her scalp ache. The red yalei she wore flapped against her thighs, so she pulled the garment tight.

  “If we hadn’t been arguing, we could have been a mile north,” she said. “I’m just going to walk as fast as I can now. If you two can’t keep up, maybe a pack of coyotes or a threk will be better motivation. They’ll be out once the sun goes down, and there are stories about two big ones that like to hunt in this area.”

  “There are stories they follow Besh, too.” Gairy limped close. “But I think it’s all bullshit and rumors.”

  “Rumors or not, I’d rather not run into them.”

  “Nor do I,” Aizr-hin said, long legs striding easily around wind- blasted thorn bush.

  For nearly an hour, no one spoke, and only the cawing of desert crows broke the long silence. Once, Senqua’s ears pricked at the screech of a hunting kestrel.

  My namesake. Maybe it’s a good sign. Mother always said they brought luck, and Father loved watching them whenever they flew above Dogton.

  Smoothing back a loose strand of her hair, she scanned the horizon for the raptor, but saw only the colorless smear of desert sky. When she grew tired of looking for birds, she watched her own diminishing shadow marching along just ahead of her worn boots. A scorpion skittered across the path, making for a large rock. It vanished into a crack in the boulder.

  “Senqua needs a break,” Gairy announced abruptly. Red-faced and drenched in sweat, he’d fallen further behind with each mile.

  “I don’t need a rest. But if you need to stop and catch your breath, we will.”

  “He is not very fit.” Aizr-hin swung the rifle from his shoulder and leaned against it, resting his sandaled right foot on his left calf. “Drinking whiskey does that to a man. Some in Bywater are no better. I’m fortunate my cousin, Ga’behz, was so adamant about keeping me away from Saltang. He’s more like a second father to me in some ways—a strict one.” He chuckled, white teeth flashing. Senqua wondered how he’d managed to keep them from rotting in a squatter camp, but didn’t ask.

  Gairy sat on a large rock. A droplet of sweat dripped form the tip of his nose and onto his lap. “I don’t need a rest, but Senqua’s a Shyiine. They’re small.”

  “I—”

  “Shyiine are strong,” Aizr-hin said, waving a hand pompously. “She could probably out-pace us both, He-Goat.”

  “I do not need a Sulari speaking for me.” Senqua crouched in the dust and rubbed at her aching thighs. Then, flipping the yalei over her shoulder so it wouldn’t hinder movement, she unsheathed the knife Gah’leen had given her, regarding it critically. Old and in sore need of sharpening, it was a far cry from the fine tools her father used, nor did it have any of the deadly beauty of a yatreg.

  “A stunning blade, yes?” Aizr-hin leaned close and pointed at the blade. “I didn’t sharpen it after I used it to butcher that threk, but I suspect a Shyiine will know what to—”

  Senqua jabbed the knife against his throat so the dull edge grazed his dark skin. “I don’t want a Sulari touching me.”

  “I. . . suppose you don’t, no.” Aizr-hin swallowed.

  From his perch, Gairy glared. “Senqua! You want him to shoot you with that Pumer?”

  “Shut up. I’m tired of you scolding me like I’m a child. If you don’t like what I have to say, close your ears to it.” She shoved the blade back into her belt and stood, almost knocking Aizr-hin over. “You and I are walking together to the Foundry, but I am not your friend, Aizr-hin. I do not appreciate comments about what you think you know about Shyiine.”

  “You’re gonna get shot,” Gairy said sourly.

  Cautiously, Aizr-hin moved aside, holding the long rifle as if it were a walking stick. “It’s quite all right, Druen. I am not so quick to take offense as my father might have been. I grew up hearing far worse threats than that, and have made a few myself when necessity dictated. If the She-Snake. . . ah, forgive me. . . if Senqua wants her space, so be it.” He bowed, making a sweeping gesture with his free hand, tightly coiled braids falling around his face. “I merely meant to compliment the Shyiine’s reputation with knives. It’s well known they are accomplished knife-fighters.”

&n
bsp; Sick of his melodic voice and perfect smiles, Senqua turned her back. For a moment, she listened to the wind, trying to clear her mind of her irritation. Though the Bloom had blown out a few days before, the land had changed; much of the dry grass and scrub had been buried and what few plants contained precious water now lay flattened.

  “Do either of you know how to make a water trap?” she asked. “What we have won’t last very long.”

  “Yes, I do.” Aizr-hin wiped the smear of blood from his neck. “We’d have to set up several to get any decent amount. If this wind keeps up, there won’t be any dew at night to collect, and making a trap during the day will slow us down.”

  “We’ll have to do it unless we want to die of thirst,” Gairy said. “That Bloom made a mess out here. I used to know of a river bed nearby. You dig down deep enough. . . four, five feet. . . you could hit water in the right spot. But it’s gotta be half-filled with sand now.”

  Aizr-hin nodded. “I’ve no doubt. Do either of you know of Senbehi melons, and how to pick them?”

  “Yes.” Senqua forced her tone to remain civil. “I think everyone knows how to pick them. Cut the thorns off the vines and the bottoms first, and then use something to cover your hands. But would any be alive after that storm?”

  “Those melons are tough.” Gairy rose from the rock, took a drink from his canteen, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “If any plant lived, it’ll be those. Their roots go even deeper than Harper’s Hand. Some of those vines have been alive for as long as I have. Just a matter of findin’ a clump and shoveling the sand off.”

  “That’s the first thing other than complaints you’ve said.” Senqua managed a weak smile. “We’ll make water traps if it comes to that, even if it slows us down. And try to find melons, yes, and whatever else we can. But I don’t know everything a scout should know.”

  “I know plenty. I been a scout almost as long as Besh has.” Gairy hoisted the canteens. “You don’t think I know shit, but even before I started scoutin’, Hubert taught me about the land out here. I helped him hunt game for years after my old man turned drun—” He cleared his throat. “Got sick. That’s why I should have the Pumer. I know how to use it.”

  Aizr-hin smiled. “I grew up hunting, too, Druen, and I’m a fair shot, as is befitting a prince. All I need now is a falcon or hawk to perch upon my shoulder. Perhaps a kestrel, yes? I’d make a stunning picture then, would I not? In my silken yalei, and with my fine rifle.”

  “No one wants to hear that Sulari bullshit.”

  “I was making a jest, He-Goat.” The Sulari sighed. “Druen and Shyiine have never been known for having a sense of humor. Perhaps that is why they always seem to get along so well. There are stories, you know, about the old days when the first Druen came from across the mountains. The Shyiine took them in and gave them water and food.”

  “Those stories won’t get us to the Foundry,” Senqua said. “We need to walk. It’s a long time until dark, and we’ve had our rest. Gairy, give me some of those canteens so you don’t have to carry them all.”

  Gairy snarled. “I don’t need you to haul them for me. You’re gonna to have a hard time even making this trip, scrawny thing that you are.”

  Why it hurt so much to hear him say those words, Senqua didn’t know. She lowered her hand and her eyes followed suit. A knot of shame twisted in her belly, and the nagging anxiety for her aging father dragged at her heels as she began to walk again.

  I should be walking home, not to the Foundry. I should be walking with my father, not with a traitor and a Sulari.

  With every step, that thought grew heavier, until it felt as though she carried a burden as cumbersome as Gairy Reidur on her shoulders.

  The Darkest Cave

  Zres balanced the bowl of corn porridge against his forearm and jammed the key into the lock. He’d been so excited the last time he’d been sent to feed Sairel, he’d nearly dropped the food. It had only been a month ago, but it felt like a hundred years had passed since that day.

  When he wrenched the door open, the smell of burnt porridge mingled with a musty, sour odor. Zres gagged, swallowed the bile down, and stepped inside. Steeling himself, he moved into the back room where Dogton’s only prisoner waited.

  Zres peeked in, unnerved by how quiet it was. A thin arrow of light from the cell’s one window illuminated the Shurin’s angular face, making it appear a hideous mask with pale eyes.

  “Food.” Zres held up the bowl.

  Sairel smiled, showing every sharp, long tooth. “Ah, they sent you. Hello. Where’s Mi’et? He’s been in a rather foul mood lately. More so than is even usual for him, though I suppose that’s understandable. A lot has changed, hasn’t it?”

  Zres opened the cell, wincing as the rusty hinges squealed. “He ain’t here. Eat. You got ten minutes or the Scrappers will shoot both of us.”

  As Zres set the bowl down on the floor, Sairel stood—tall, gaunt, and completely nude. Zres shrank from the sight of the Shurin’s cock hanging below a ruffle of blond pubic hair; such an ordinary, human organ seemed grotesque on an Enetic.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” Sairel said, sounding a little pompous. “I find it more comfortable to go nude. It’s hot in the desert, as you’ve probably noticed. Where I come from, the weather is more chill, and—”

  “I don’t care where you come from. Eat your food and hurry up with it.” Zres sat on the bench, his forearms on his knees, eyes fixed to the dirty floor. “No wonder Mi’et was always in such a bad mood.”

  If I gotta listen to him slobber over that food, I’ll puke. All of it. Right on the floor.

  The cornbread Zres had for breakfast sank like a lead brick in a sea of bitter coffee.

  Sairel scooped up the dish and tapped the spoon against the bowl. “You said ‘was’. Did something happen? Beyond the obvious, I mean.” He took a bite of food and immediately spat it out. “Putrid. This is not Mi’et’s cooking; his was edible. Too spicy, for my taste, but I suppose that’s due to the basic cultural difference in our diet. I did very much enjoy the curried peppers, though. Did you cook this?”

  “Garv’s cookin’ now, so shut up and eat it, or give it back so I can puke in the bowl and you can eat that, instead.”

  The Shurin lifted a brow as he sat on his cot once more, bowl between his knees, clawed fingers sliding along the edge. “You don’t sound like the chipper young man that came in here a few weeks ago. I suppose that’s to be expected. Mi’et wouldn’t tell me much, but he did say your father had been killed when the town fell. You’re upset. It’s hard to lose a family member, and your home, too, in a way. I don’t think Evrik Niles quite runs things in the same manner Neiro did, does he?”

  “The fuck does a man with a blue pecker know about it? Or about anything? Eat. I got important work to see to, listenin’ to Garv fart all day, and Vore bitchin’ about how bad her balls smell, and Leigh—”

  “The Sulari woman?”

  Zres paused, vaguely aware of his fingers digging into his knees. “Sulari, Pihranese, what’s the difference? Eat.”

  “It’s a slight difference, admittedly,” Sairel said, unperturbed. “A few generations of probable inbreeding more than anything. It’s unfortunate how all this has happened, but Neiro should have known better.” He spooned a bite of porridge into his mouth and chewed slowly.

  Disgusted, Zres tried to understand how he’d been giddy at the chance to speak to the Shurin a few weeks ago. Now, he just wanted Sairel to shut up so he could go back to the barracks, wrap himself in a blanket, and pretend the world didn’t exist. He sighed. “Just eat.”

  Sairel stirred the lumpy, congealed mess. “I’m not sure I can eat much more of this, if you want to know the truth. But I do want to talk. Mi’et was a complete disappointment in that regard, as most Druen are. Or half-Druen, I suppose. Getting anything out of him was like trying to squeeze water from a handful of sand, but he’s not the trusting type. I don’t blame him, given his past.” He shrugged, offering anot
her sharkish smile. “Zres, do you think Evrik Niles will hold this town long?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. What’s it matter? You’re still stuck in here no matter who runs the town, and I’m. . .” The words died on his lips.

  “An orphan.” Sairel set the bowl aside. “You know, I’m an orphan, too, and if you consider—”

  “I don’t.”

  “—we all are, in some way, it’s not as depressing. Take the Besh, for example. He doesn’t yet—”

  Zres vaulted to his feet and sent the bench slamming to the stone floor with a backward kick. “I don’t care about Kaitar Besh, or you, or anything!” His vision tunneled on the Shurin, and he imagined himself reaching right through the bars and plowing a fist into the high-bridged nose. Breaking it. Watching the blood spatter against the cage.

  Sairel blinked his opaque eyes. “Lower your voice or they’ll be in here with their guns. Oh yes, I know the Scrappers have gone in with Evrik Niles. If I pull myself up to that window, I can see a little of what goes on, and I can certainly hear some of the louder activities of the town. Mi’et did mention a man called Karraetu, and I remembered that name from Old Avaeliis. Karraetu was a guard there once.”

  Slowly, Zres unclenched his fists, his sneer twisting into the big, stupid grin that would never leave him be. “And Karraetu can come in here and shoot us both. So what? They’ll probably find some reason to execute you soon anyway, and what good am I gonna be to this town now? I ain’t an Enforcer any more, no matter what Leigh and the others wanna pretend. We’re just prisoners, same as you, sittin’ around in the barracks, waitin’ for Karraetu or Niles to tell us to roll over and play with our asses.”

  Seconds crept by, silent and heavy. The air grew more stifling, as if they’d been miles underground in some dark cavern. There, in the blackest part of that cave, Sairel watched him, eyes glowing, gray lips parting to reveal a red, wet grin. Ready to bite and chew and eat—to swallow him whole and shit him out in the dark, where no one would ever find his bones.