GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Page 21

  Mi’et merely looked at him as though he’d gone crazy. Somewhere close by, the da’mel gave a low grunt.

  Kaitar stared up at the sky, as blanketed by white as the land. “There’s nothing out here. No birds, no snakes, no flies or beetles. Something is wrong with this place. I’ve never seen country where scorpions or beetles can’t make a go of it. There’s water from this fog every morning. . . but nothing grows here. Toros—”

  “I dreamed. . . ” Mi’et stood and wiped his palms against his fatigues. “The world had turned to glass.”

  “This place has been giving me weird dreams, too.” Kaitar led Molly to the bedroll. The fog had lightened somewhat, and he found his way back to the spot without the thick sense of vertigo. He stooped and began to shake dew from the blankets, then paused. “We can squeeze these out for extra water, at least.”

  Mi’et pressed near, but made no move to help. “The glass shattered every time I took a step.”

  “Sounds like Firebrand glass. You’ve seen what it can do.”

  “It wasn’t Firebrand.” Mi’et pushed his face so close Kaitar leaned back, unnerved; staring directly into those hazel eyes—brown flecked with green and gold—made an anxious flutter rise in his belly. He ducked his head, making a pretense of wringing dew from the corner of the blanket. Water streamed into the open container.

  “Ok, so it wasn’t Firebrand glass. You want to help me get the da’mel, or are you trying to figure out the best place to break my jaw?”

  “I tried to fix the cracks.” Mi’et’s voice dropped a notch. “With my hands. Tried to put it back together, but it melted in my fingers. My skin burned away until only the bones showed.”

  Kaitar fumbled with the canteen. “Sounds like a hell of a ni—”

  Mi’et grabbed his jaw, forcing his chin up until Kaitar was staring into the hazel eyes again. His forehead touched Mi’et’s piebald brow.

  “The fuck, Mi’et!”

  The half-breed’s grip tightened as he spoke. “Then, I looked across the glass. The sky was on fire.”

  Kaitar flinched back, almost blurting out, “Did it melt the moon?” Instead, he pulled free, shaking his head. “That da’mel’s going to get lost if we don’t go find it. I hear it over there. If it slips down the dune, it’ll break its damned neck.”

  “I saw someone in the fire. I think it was you. I saw Toros, too, rising out of the desert.” Mi’et scooped the remaining blankets from the ground and squeezed water into the canteen. “I can’t tell you what that means, but the Shyiine will be able to.”

  “If we find them.” Kaitar folded the bedroll. Molly stamped, agitated by the sudden shift in his mood, but he ignored her. “Take a good, hard look at where we’re at. This is the Belt. The chance of Shyiine finding us out here isn’t very damned good, is it?”

  “We have to find them. You have to stop being too afraid to go look.” A strange, dull expression crossed Mi’et’s face. “I can hear the road again.”

  “Shit.” Sodden wool slid against his threk-hide sleeve. Kaitar hoisted the heavy blanket and held it more tightly. “Hey. C’mon. Just. . . just help me break camp. The fog’s lifting.”

  “It has to be close.”

  He wanted to hit that granite-hard jaw, knock all the madness from his old friend, and beat sense into its place. Gritting his teeth, he said, “We’ve got to figure out a better place to make camp tonight. Something could sneak up on us in this fog. A Nith’ath, maybe. I haven’t seen any yet but I know there must be some out here.”

  “I’ll pack the da’mel. Your saddle is over there, by the big waterskin.”

  Mi’et moved away and left Kaitar standing there, staring at his own shaking hands. After a moment, he shuffled to his fog-dampened gear.

  “Kaitar.”

  Acting as though he hadn’t heard, he made a pretense of checking his supplies.

  “Kaitar.”

  He looked up and saw the other man lifting the heavy waterskin to his strong shoulders. “Don’t let your thoughts wander here.” Motioning with his maimed hand, he added, “Get the teakettle.”

  “Fuck your teakettle. Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” But he picked the dented container from the sand anyway, and cradled it against his chest.

  “The same reason I never told you about getting lost trying to come and find you and Mari. . . my sister.”

  “If we don’t find the road in two days, I’m going back. And if you won’t come with me willingly, I’ll knock you out with your damned kettle and drag you home.”

  “Dogton isn’t your home.”

  “That place, the Xi’jahata, isn’t, either.”

  They broke camp without saying anything more. The fog dissipated as they made their way along dune’s narrow ridge. As far as Kaitar could see in any direction, the great Sand Belt rose and fell like a crimson ocean. Remnants of the night’s mist lurked in the low valleys, drifting like wayward haunts. Soon, the sun would burn it all away and leech the blue from the sky, leaving it a hot, colorless sheet.

  Kaitar sighed. He would have to walk Molly most of the day; climbing up and down the dunes would be treacherous, hard work even for the tough little mule. She did not belong in the Belt, either. Her home was the red scrub country, where threk prowled and snakes rattled from the brush. Where the wind kicked up dust devils, and where white acacia reached upward from the ochre earth.

  Several paces behind, Mi’et led the unwilling da’mel. An austere glint showed in the half-breed’s eyes and a grim, determined expression on his face; just like in the old days, he was unwilling or unable to admit defeat. Worse, Kaitar knew he could not give up, either. Their bond—wrought in blood and spattered across the Sulari fighting pits—could not be broken so conveniently.

  Only death would could sever it now.

  Mercy

  Gairy couldn’t remember the last time he’d pushed himself so hard; he’d stopped only a handful of times to rest since finding Senqua’s trail. After days of chase, every step made his legs tremble and his knees ache, but he ignored it, focusing on the dry soil ahead of his own boots. There, the barest scuffs and imprints marred the surface between clumps of grass.

  She’s close. The wind hasn’t got to these yet.

  As the light in the east faded, he lowered his head and forced himself to walk faster. A cold wind lanced the desert—a true winter wind, heralding the season of storms. Senqua might have a rudimentary knowledge of navigating by stars or the sun and moon, but in a real dust storm, she’d be lost. Wander around for weeks, starve, or get eaten by threk. . . or the drell. If he found Senqua dead and being picked at by the giant bird, he would shoot himself.

  At that thought, Gairy broke into a jog. With each fresh gust blowing east, the Shyiine’s tracks became more indistinct. Darkness streaked the sky, touching the gold, red, and orange hues in the west. To the east, first stars sparkled against the violet and indigo.

  Just keep goin’, you dumb fuck. Don’t think about how dark it’s gettin’.

  Gairy slowed as he came to a dip in the land. An ancient riverbed cut a narrow line into the desert, and he recognized the place as the northern line of the Yellow Gully, a narrow ravine that ran hundreds of miles north to south. He surveyed the steep bank, lined with granite and sandstone. With each ragged breath, his chest rose and fell like a smith’s bellows, but exhaustion gave him less pause than the riverbed itself. North, the gulch bent sharply out of view, and Gairy could see nothing beyond it.

  Using the exposed stones wedged into the dusty earth as handholds, he clambered down the banks. His travel-worn boots lost traction and, for a heartbeat, he had the sickening sensation of falling. When he landed, a bolt of pain shot from ankle to knee. Gingerly, Gairy took a step, found himself uninjured, and unholstered the revolver.

  “Senqua?”

  Trepidation thudded in tandem with his heartbeat, tapping a song in his veins, the sweat on his brow turning cold. He moved, feet scuffing along the ground, sending rocks an
d sprays of loose soil with each step. “Senqua, are you—”

  The rock caught him in the temple and a different sort of star flashed before his eyes. Gairy staggered and reached to touch the warm, wet trickle along the side of his head. The world careened, tilting wildly as he crashed into a steep bank and slid down onto his knees.

  Bandits. . . fucking bandits!

  He fumbled with the revolver and cocked the hammer, aiming in the direction the rock had come. Shadows met his gaze, dark and brooding, hiding some secret menace he could not see. Gairy grunted and pushed himself up, one hand feeling along the uneven earth.

  This time, the pain that hit him didn’t make his head ring or his eyes flash stars, but smashed into him from behind with a force that buckled his knees. He thudded against a large stone, head missing it by mere inches. A cold, sharp sensation drew across the other side of his jaw, clean and brutal, followed by a searing agony. He screamed and clutched what remained of his ear. A weight slammed against his belly as his breath exploded from his lungs. A blade pressed against his throat, still warm with his own blood.

  “Traitor!”

  The top half of Gairy’s right ear smacked him in the chin. Wide-eyed, he stared up at the shadowed face and sunset-tinged eyes peering down at him. “Senqua?”

  “I should slit your throat.”

  “Wait, damn you, put the knife down!” Speaking made his mutilated ear roar with pain and his rock-wounded temple ache.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you, Gairy. I could, ri—”

  He bucked, torso leaving the earth with a great push that sent Senqua airborne. The knife flew from her hand, gleaming fire-red in the last light. Senqua grunted as she hit the ground, hands groping for the dropped blade.

  Gairy scrambled to his feet and kicked the knife out of reach. It slid and hit a rock, sparking where the blade struck the granite. He stumbled forward and caught Senqua by the shoulders, wrapped his arms around her thin body, and pinned her beneath his bulk. She snapped her sharp teeth at him like a frenzied animal.

  “Stop!” The words came out a roar, all fright and anger. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Senqua. Just stop, and listen!”

  “Let me go! I’ll skin you, Gairy Reidur. You and the Scrappers. . . Evrik Niles—all the filth that helped kill my father!”

  She brought her knee up, aiming for his groin. It smashed into his belly instead. Gairy growled against the new wave of pain before clamping down harder, pressing until the Shyiine could not move, even to spit.

  “Stop,” he panted. “It won’t bring your old man back. You dyin’ won’t change it. You can’t go to Dogton. The bounty, Senqua.”

  “The bounty,” she wheezed. “Is your fault. All for whiskey! I don’t even understand it. I don’t.” Her voice became quiet with confusion and hurt. “You were my friend once; we used to laugh together. Now, everything is gone.”

  It struck Gairy then, what she must be feeling. That guilt burned as deep and low as a swallow of Saltang. Beneath Senqua’s anger lurked the type of terror the friendless and alone faced, staring across a life so empty and meaningless it was better to pick up a bottle and drown in whiskey. Or in a horse trough—or in your own blood, after you’d taken out as many enemies as you could.

  I became my old man. I hid in that bottle. Would have drowned myself in that well, too. The water rights wouldn’t have made no difference. Never did.

  “Senqua, listen to me.”

  She fell still beneath him, breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut. She did not speak.

  “You can’t go back to Dogton. Are you listenin’?”

  Senqua opened her eyes, but the fiery anger had dimmed to weary grief. “Why should I care? Why should you care where I go now? At least I could do some good if I killed those Scrappers.”

  “Good for who? It wouldn’t change one damned thing. They’d shoot you. Go on runnin’ the town. Go on lying to people, killin’ them. Avaeliis ain’t gonna care, either.” He eyed her, wary. “I let up, you gonna go at me with that knife again?”

  “Maybe. I should.”

  “I guess if you’re gonna kill me, well, that’s how it is, then.” Gairy sat up, neck muscles tensed against pain as he pressed his hands to either side of his head. Senqua moved out from under him with a quick jerk. She regained her feet, dove for the knife, and palmed it, ready to sink it into him. He made no move to stop her and only waited, tired.

  “Might be threk in this gully. If you’re gonna do it, make it quick. Else, they’ll catch you, and you’ll never make it back to Dogton. In the end, won’t matter which way you die, though. Told you that. Won’t have any more effect on what they’re doing in Avaeliis.”

  “And you know something that will have an effect, I suppose?”

  Gairy shrugged. “Not really.”

  Senqua gripped the knife more tightly, knuckles white against the blue, fading light. Then, her disgusted sneer became a hopeless grimace. She shoved the weapon into the sheath at her belt and stood, motionless, thin shoulders sagging under the tattered yalei. “I don’t know what to do anymore. But what you did? No one—”

  “I know what I did.” Gairy got to his feet, swaying. He leaned against the dry river bank until his vision cleared. “And I know I’m rotten. I can’t do nothin’ about it except try to get you somewhere safer than here or Dogton.”

  “I’m not afraid to get shot and die.”

  She looked young and defiant, standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, chin jutting, mouth set in a grim line. Hardly more than a girl—too small to be out in the world alone. But that wasn’t quite true; she had to be close to forty, only a little younger than he was— a grown woman. And scrawny or no, he had the impression Senqua just might be able to take out a few Scrappers before being gunned down, just like her old man had.

  At length, he spoke. “I know you ain’t afraid, but get it through your head it’d do no good. If we went to Northtown, might be a place we could get our bearings.”

  “Northtown?”

  “It ain’t under Avaeliis jurisdiction. It’s. . . a place where outlaws can—”

  “I know what Northtown is.”

  Senqua opened her mouth to protest further, but Gairy cut her off. “Hear me out. Yeah, it’s a bandit town. Hell, not even on any of the maps. Most people can’t find it because they pack up and move every year or two. But,” he went on, frowning. “There are a lot of Enetics that hide out there, and not even the Scrappers go fuckin’ with Northtown. Everyone’s armed, and they know how to fight, not like the yokels in border towns.”

  Senqua’s brows bunched. “If we go there, we’ll never be allowed back in Dogton again, even if the bounty is called off. And it could be dangerous for a woman. Some of those outlaws are probably rapists, Gairy.”

  “Yeah, some likely are,” Gairy admitted. “I was thinkin’ while I was tracking you. If we cut your hair off, kinda, I dunno. . . layered some clothes over your chest. . . you could pass for a Shyiine boy. No one’d give you a second look, then.”

  She snorted. “You don’t know how fond some of the Sulari were of Shyiine boys.”

  Gairy felt his cheeks redden. “I know what they did to Shyiine boys. I was at those fighting pits with my old man, remember? But there ain’t any Sulari in Northtown. The other Enetics and outlaws there’d run them out. Bad blood and all that.” His gaze drifted to the dark length of her hair. Senqua’s braid swayed in the wind, heavy and thick, almost reaching her waist. A sudden pang hit his chest as he imagined what she might look like without it.

  “It’s just hair, Gairy,” Senqua said, watching him closely. “It can grow back. But I don’t know if. . . ” her expression darkened. “What’s stopping you from just going to Northtown and getting blind drunk, then trying to sell me off to whatever man offers a price for a Shyiine boy? Or a Shyiine woman? You betrayed all of Dogton because of whiskey and you’d betray one Shyiine for a single glass.”

  “I’m done with drinkin’. Threw the bottle away.
Shot it, in fact. It’s gone, Senqua.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I ain’t lyin’. Look, I’ll empty every pocket I got.” He began emptying his pockets—sand and rocks, a few bits of wrapped jerky, a pocket knife, an old chain watch, which he quickly picked back up and dusted off. “Belonged to my granddaddy.”

  “All right.” Senqua raised her hands in defeat. “I can’t believe it, but I guess I have to; the whiskey is gone. But that’s not saying you won’t start again when we get to Northtown.”

  “I won’t.” Gairy plucked the small bundle of jerky from the sand and deposited it in his pocket. “I’m done with it, I told you. You see me pick up a bottle again, shoot me.” Noting her scowl, he added, “But it ain’t gonna happen. Not after. . . anyway.” She didn’t need to hear about the Nith’ath moving in the bottle, staring at him, trying to slither its way out and into his gullet, or how it had screeched inside his mind and burned the thirst away.

  Gairy cleared his throat to rid himself of that uncomfortable notion. “Where’s the Pumer?”

  “Behind the big rock over there,” Senqua said, pointing. Her expression, still cautious and angry, belied the obvious weariness in her posture. “I thought about shooting you with it, but I didn’t want to waste any bullets. We only have four, and we might need them.” She hesitated. “Why are you doing this? You were rid of me. You don’t like me, Gairy, and made that clear enough a hundred times. After what you did, I don’t know if I can trust you. I’ll go with you to Northtown, but only because I’m going to wait for news of Dogton. Maybe I can find a way to help get Niles out of power. Find someone to—”

  “We need to get there first.” Gairy moved toward the line of rocks near the bend. The darkness had grown so thick finding the rifle proved a challenge. After a few attempts at blind groping, he touched the smooth barrel, hefted it, and held it out. “Here.”