GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Read online

  Khote’s eyes glittered. “I’ll make note of it all, thank you. But you can keep charming me, if you want. I don’t mind being sweet-talked by a good-looking young man.”

  “And I do not mind taking the time to compliment pretty women.”

  “Hmm.” She turned to Erid, who rolled his eyes at the flirting. “Let’s finish this up and get out of this wind. There’s snow in the mountains, did you see it on the way in? All right Erid, time for formalities.”

  The boy straightened his back. “Erid Vargas, son of Romano Vargas.” A shadow of grief passed over his face. “Uncle Frell wanted me sent back to the Foundry because of what’s going on in Dogton, and to come live with Grandma since Dad. . . died.”

  “I heard about it. I’m very sorry, Erid,” Khote said softly, making a note on her VDA. “And the Scrapper that was escorting you? A certain Jay Turpin?”

  “He. . . uh, got snake-bit. Died. I tried to help but couldn’t,” Erid stammered. “So I drove myself, and met Aizr-hin on the way to the Foundry. That was a few days ago.”

  Khote studied them for a moment. Aizr-hin met her gaze evenly, but the flirtatious twinkle had gone now, replaced by a shrewd look. Her fingers moved over the VDA’s pad, inputting information with quick accuracy as she spoke. “Ham Elgin is going to find this situation very odd, you know.” Tucking the device back into her jacket, Khote shook her head. “Erid, your grandmother will lecture you about picking up a squatter and bringing him here. Forgive my terminology, Aizr-hin, but that is what most people call the Sulari exiles and refugees in Bywater.”

  “I’ve called myself that more than once,” Aizr-hin admitted. But her words only rekindled his previous anxiety over the situation. It would look strange for an Estarian boy to help someone that, by all rights, should be hung as a bandit. They would wonder why he had not simply killed Erid and stolen the rover; Estarians never understood Sulari honor in all its complexities.

  “The Scrapper was more dangerous than Aizr-hin,” Erid said. “They took over Dogton. Killed people. Aizr-hin. . . he. . . he’s a Sulari, yeah, but he seems all right. Aerby likes him, and Aerby’s always right about people.”

  The dog, snuffling around at the sand bike with single-minded interest, didn’t so much as flick his tail. Khote glanced at the mutt, smirking. “It’s not me you have to convince, Erid. Ham Elgin, on the other hand. . . and your grandmother too. But if you are both ready, we can go now. I suppose I’d better let Aizr-hin ride with you. It’s against regulations to ride double on a sand bike, though I’ve been known to break rules now and then.”

  “No one ever told me Drahgur women were so charming,” Aizr-hin said. At any other time, he’d have enjoyed the banter, but now forcing himself to joke and flirt—two things that had always come naturally—was as difficult as holding the urge to gag against the foul wind. “It’s a pity they don’t leave the Foundry more often and come grace the rest of the Shy’war-Anquai with their smiles and laughter.”

  Khote slid back onto the bike. “Maybe one day I’ll visit Bywater, if you’ll be my escort there.” The bike revved into life and she kicked it into gear and, without waiting for them, began driving back toward the Foundry.

  The sky became hazier as they drove, as though they drifted through a sooty, dismal fog completely unlike anything Aizr-hin had ever experienced. No dew came with this fog, only bits of ash, drifting down, changing the grass from brown to a dusty gray. The few trees, too, were crusted the same dingy color.

  Then, he saw it—the Foundry, rising out of the land, twice as large as his father’s entire estates had ever been, and so ugly his heart wept. The soot-caked, five story complex pushed against the gray foothills, while smoke spewed in an endless cloud from several massive, cylindrical stacks. Small factories and shops surrounded the main facility, situated in an organized fashion. Behind those buildings were the mines—great holes punched into the Senbehi, marked by carts and tracks and other equipment he had no name for.

  This is not at all like we heard the Foundry was. This is no place of learning; it’s a nightmare. A cancer on the heart of the Senbehi, turning everything gray.

  “Erid, the Junkers’ Union, and this Ham Elgin, are you certain they will help?”

  Erid frowned over the steering wheel. “I don’t see why not. They helped the Drahgur all those years ago. Kept them safe from the Sulari.” He shot Aizr-hin an apologetic look. “And they helped the slave refugees. It’s been a long time since all that stuff with Bywater and the Sulari, though, and you were just a kid then; you didn’t do any of it. And you said most of the ones who kept slaves and all that are dead now, or really old, right?”

  “Yes, that’s all true.” Aizr-hin nodded. “But this is not how I pictured the Foundry I heard about in my cousin’s stories. We were always told it was a great place of learning and diplomacy. Of technology.”

  “It is. It’s kinda ugly, I know, but they do a lot of important stuff here. Help people. The Junkers believe in equal rights for all people, even Enetics,” Erid added proudly. “I don’t know if I want to live here forever, though.”

  “Recall what I said about Dogton, Erid. Evrik Niles may not be in charge forever. Perhaps the Foundry and your Junkers’ Union will help see to that problem, too. I cannot imagine they are very pleased with the danger you were put in, if they hold solidarity in as high esteem as you say.”

  Erid didn’t reply.

  As they neared the concrete gates, Aizr-hin squelched the fear gnawing at him and made his face into a mask of haughty dignity. Khote slid off her sand bike and tapped code into the VDA. The heavy doors of iron and steel gave a grinding bellow as they opened. Almost two stories tall, they resembled the massive jaws of some unfathomable creature—one waiting to swallow them down into a black gullet of smoke and ash, where they would never smell anything clean again. The stink of his own sweat didn’t seem so bad at all by comparison. It was a real smell, a smell of life and freedom.

  “Here we go,” Erid said, waving at Khote as she motioned them through.

  “Here we go.” Aizr-hin’s lips pressed into a grim line.

  But will we ever come back out?

  Reins

  “Come on!” Mi’et shifted his weight to the other leg and tugged hard against the rope. The hump-backed da’mel snorted, spraying his yalei with froth before planting its wide, splayed feet, refusing to move. It lowered its broad head and glared, blinking dull brown eyes.

  “I’m naming it Zres. All he wants to do is cause trouble and pass gas.” Mi’et wiped the saliva from his clothing, disgusted with the stubborn beast. The lead went slack in his hand as he reached for the miet dangling atop the field packs. It had nearly fallen off with the dam’el’s constant balking.

  Kaitar smirked as he finished wiping dust from Molly’s nostrils. “Heh, seems fitting. I did catch it nosing around my pepper bloom last night.” He slid a hand down the mule’s foreleg and she lifted a hoof obediently, looking a little bored as the scout dug out the packed sand with his fingers.

  We’ve been climbing dunes all morning, and neither of them are winded.

  That caustic fact annoyed Mi’et; Kaitar and his mule were acclimated to the rigors of hard travel far better than he or the fat da’mel. He lifted the miet and strapped it to his left arm. Testing the weapon’s fit made his bicep bulge, but raw strength could not make up for the loss of stamina during the long years in Dogton.

  “Let me finish checking Molly over and I’ll help you with him. Why are you wearing that damned thing?” Kaitar dropped the mule’s hoof. “You think we’re going to meet bandits out here?”

  Mi’et tapped the hook end. “I’m going to kill the da’mel with it.”

  The scout broke into a sharp laugh. Molly craned her head to look at him, puzzled at the unexpected sound.

  “You think this amusing?”

  Kaitar straightened, exultation written on his face. “I do think it’s funny, yes. You, standing there and wearing that stupid thing on your arm. A
pissed-off da’mel chewing its cud. Been a long time since I’ve seen anything so damned funny.”

  “You’re not the one trying to drag this da’mel around. If you were, you might not be laughing.”

  “There’s your problem. You’re trying to drag it along. Remember when the Sulari used to drag us? Did you like it?”

  “This is a pack animal, not a man.”

  “Don’t be an ass. You know what I meant.” Kaitar led Molly close, her flaxen tail catching the wind so it whipped around her back legs. “Here, you take her and I’ll take the da’mel. Be gentle, Mi’et. No yanking. She won’t follow someone who treats her like a slave.”

  “You used to dig your heels in, too. I remember. They’d have to get three slaves to haul you into the Poem every time.”

  “And you used to plod right along like you enjoyed it.” Kaitar took the dam’el’s lead. “But you didn’t like it any more than me, did you?”

  Before Mi’et could answer, the smaller man turned away, his heavy, coiled hair swaying. A blast of wind lashed down the dunes, followed by the warbling sweep of sand, hauntingly soft.

  Kaitar raised his voice to be heard over the gale. “We’ll keep walking along this valley for a while and give the animals a break from climbing.” He began to walk, and the da’mel resisted only briefly before plodding behind him.

  Mi’et followed, feeling insignificant as a beetle under a magnifying glass as they made their way between the hills. Heat waves danced atop the soaring dunes, fluid as water, but utterly without any drop of moisture—liquid promises that dissolved beneath touch to become scorching lies. Kaitar’s duster flapped in the wind, making him look larger than he was as he walked several yards ahead.

  It reminded Mi’et of the way Madev Al’Daree had adorned Kaitar in a black ahn’raka, keeping him covered from head to toe like some exotic pet, too precious for common eyes. Excerii scales had been woven into the loose fabric, and they’d gleamed in the sunlight with every movement. Madev had made Kaitar dance before the fights, as much to show off the Shyiine’s lithe agility as to humiliate him. Though none of the spectators had ever guessed that beneath the menacing attire was a stable boy, Mi’et would never forget how his friend had cried about missing the horses.

  The reins jerked from his hand, breaking his reverie. Irritated all over again at the stubbornness of animals, Mi’et stared back at Molly. She lifted her head, nostrils flaring and showing pink inside. Cursing softly, he gripped the leather bridle with his strong hand and tugged.

  “Wait, stay there.” Kaitar turned toward the north-facing dune. Then, he pivoted on his heels, tilting his head to one side, listening. “It stopped.”

  Mi’et opened his mouth to protest, to ask what had stopped, but hesitated. He followed the scout’s gaze, peering first at the long ridge of sand ahead and seeing nothing except the breath of heat, distorting the land where it met the sky.

  There’s no sound here. The wind is still blowing, but the road. . . it’s gone.

  His jaw muscles clenched, making his teeth click together. A metallic taste Mi’et almost didn’t recognize flooded the back of his throat.

  Fear.

  He wanted to run and hide, to shrink away, but could not—and so he stood there. Burning with dread. Immobile.

  Molly snorted, twisting against the bridle.

  Kaitar called, “Take her back!”

  The sand rippled, pushing Mi’et upward. He crashed into the frightened mule, nearly falling beneath her before catching his balance. A low rumble emanated from the earth, making his belly rise to his throat. The song that had died so abruptly filled his ears in a roar, the notes bending to a frenzied cacophony.

  “Get Molly out of here!” Kaitar fell to the quaking ground, narrowly avoiding the da’mel’s wide feet as they battered the sand.

  Molly tore from his grasp, her shrill bray lost in the mounting noise. Mi’et clasped his hands over his ears, but the clamor pounded relentlessly through his skull. Granules of sand cascaded over his feet, pushed by some unseen force beneath.

  Then, a long, pale spine ripped the ground, slicing it a dozen feet in front of him. He staggered back, frantically trying to escape the split ground. A small, iridescent shape writhed upward from the torrent, all segments and spines. It clamped gnashing jaws onto Molly’s right foreleg, sending a spurt of blood from the sorrel coat. She crow-hopped and kicked powerful back legs in a valiant effort to free herself from the Nith’ath larva. Mi’et lunged for the reins and went down with a grunt as Molly’s head slammed into him with the force of a sledgehammer. Dazed, he watched as she reared, hooves striking the air before pounding the sand inches from his head.

  Kaitar stumbled toward her, blind to the danger. “Molly!”

  Mi’et reached for the reins, felt the leather go taut, and watched it snap as Molly threw her weight against it. Flecks of foam dotted her mouth, her eyes showing white along the edges as she bolted past in a red blur, tail streaking like a pale flag. Mi’et made a desperate grab for the broken rein as it sailed past. It slid between his fingers and whipped in the empty air—gone.

  “No! Molly! Mi’et, get her before she goes over the—”

  Bellowing, the da’mel turned on its haunches, knocking Kaitar to the ground. The wooly beast kicked once before lumbering away on long, spindly legs, the heavy load on its back swaying.

  Panic roared through Mi’et, muting the scout’s curses; if their supplies were lost, they would die. He pushed to his feet, lurched after the fleeing animal, then fell again as the earth vaulted upward. The da’mel vanished beneath the sand, swallowed whole. Momentary silence followed, and only a wide ripple remained where the earth had split, looking as though a huge knife had cut a shallow gash into the land.

  “Help me get Molly!” Kaitar hit the north dune at a sprint, but his riding boots slipped on the treacherous spill of sand. “Fuck these boots!” He tore both yatreg from their sheaths, sliced the tall, snakeskin boots from calf to ankle with a single swipe, and kicked them away.

  “Kaitar!” Mi’et ran, legs pumping, lungs aching with exertion. “Don’t go that way!”

  The scout did not even turn to look at him as he tackled the dune again.

  For the first time Mi’et could remember, he matched the Shyiine’s speed, something that had always struck him as nearly supernatural. He scrambled up the slope, heavily treaded boots digging in. Kaitar’s eyes met his briefly, glinting with such fury Mi’et flinched. Plunging the hooked end of the miet into the slope to take some of his weight, he surged past, focusing on the ridge a hundred feet above. The mule’s hooves had punched holes into the sand, and a bright-red spatter painted the path. Mi’et forced himself to go faster, tasting grit on his tongue, not caring if it choked him. He felt his right arm tense and his knees nearly give way under the sudden pain, but he caught his balance and crested the dune.

  At the foot of the slope, Molly staggered, her tail no longer catching the wind to stream behind her. She slowed and stumbled a few paces, leaving a dark, wet streak on the sand. The Nith’ath larva had slithered up her shoulder. Molly’s right foreleg buckled beneath her. She floundered and went down as heavily as if she’d been hit with threk venom. As the Nith’ath larva reached her neck, her head slammed to the ground. The mule struggled in the brave silence of the doomed, every muscle quivering until the red hide seem as though it were made of water.

  It was over; Mi’et had seen death too many times before to deny it, but could not help but pray to some benevolent spirit—

  . . . Yvres. . . !

  —a miracle would save her.

  Another Nith’ath larva emerged from the ground, followed by a dozen more. They moved like vipers, gliding over Molly, making her body jerk as they burrowed deep into the flesh. She nickered once, softly, calling for help. Her dark, liquid eye turned upward and met his.

  “Why didn’t you come for me? I was your blood, and he was only some slave boy.”

  Mariyah. I’m sorry! I tried.
r />   “It was him you wanted to save.”

  It was only his shame taunting in his dead sister’s voice, and still, Mi’et could not deny that truth. He closed his eyes and listened helplessly as Kaitar clambered the last few feet, calling for his mule with such panic each syllable cracked into a sob.

  “If she’s hurt, I’ll kill you Mi’et! I’ll KILL you! Where is—”

  A sharp intake of breath. Silence after that, stretching out for long, eternal minutes in the space between Kaitar spotting Molly and realizing what had happened. Mi’et opened his eyes, and it seemed to take forever to turn and face the Shyiine. The single phrase he could think—I’m sorry—kept getting stuck in his throat. Time had stopped, glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and made his heart cease beating in his chest.

  A wordless cry tore from Kaitar as he pushed past, almost knocking Mi’et to his knees.

  “Don’t, they’ll have you, too!” Slowly, far too slowly, his hands—the maimed and the whole—wrapped around a length of black hair. He yanked as hard as he could, arm wrenching so violently the tendons popped. Kaitar crashed to the ground, still screaming, his eyes wide in his flushed face. Mi’et’s feet slipped an inch before he braced his legs. Time sped up again, shooting by in a kaleidoscope of agonized wails.

  “It’s a Nith’ath nest! You can’t go to her!”

  Cat-like, Kaitar twisted onto his belly and tore himself free, a handful of hair ripping from his scalp as he gained his feet. His eyes glittered raw hate as he unsheathed his yatreg. “That mule was all I had in this shit world. You knew that, and you killed her anyway.”

  “It’s a nest! I won’t let you—”

  A blade bit into Mi’et’s stomach, slicing through the flesh so cleanly he felt no pain, only an intense warmth. The coppery odor of blood struck his nose a heartbeat after. He staggered back, stunned at the ferocity and speed of the attack. Even in the pits, with all the Sulari goading him, Kaitar Besh had never come at him so viciously.