GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Read online

  “Kaitar? Or maybe it was Broach. He was a good scout; everyone said so, but Kaitar is the best.”

  “It’d figure you’d think so.” He eyed her with a marked look of disgust. “But I’m as good as Besh. Better, maybe.”

  Aizr-hin snorted. “He was the one that scouted the Bywater Gully for the Enforcers and Neiro, wasn’t he? They got Lein Strauss—almost. But I don’t think you could have done it. There were a lot of bandits in that region in those days, and Kaitar was always very tricky. Even in the fighting pits, he was cunning. He had to be, of course, to hold his own against Mi’et for so many years, and keep the mantle of Besh against the other fighters. Or so my father told me.”

  Senqua blanched at the mention of the fighting pits. “I wish the Enforcers had burned Bywater instead of just shooting a few bandits.”

  “Burning is a very hard way to die,” Aizr-hin said quietly. “Not as bad as starving, perhaps, though almost. And I have seen men and women . . . children too. . . killed in both ways. It is not something to speak lightly of. Many of us were glad when the Enforcers shot Lein Strauss. We thought he might die. But he didn’t, and he had enough men loyal to him to protect him long enough to recover.”

  “Dying in those pits was a hard way to go, too. So was being whipped to death, or just. . . ” The words died on her lips, but the thought whirred on despite the sharp grief.

  Just giving up. Like Mother. Because all but one of your babies was taken from you. My brothers and sisters that I never knew.

  “Yes, I agree,” Aizr-hin said. “Death is never as poetic as some songs would have a person believe, I suppose. But it was always the Sulari way. . . no. The Pihranese way. . . to make tragedy bearable with pretty words and symbolic indifference.” He swung the rifle up and balanced it across his shoulders. “We should walk now. Druen, try to keep up today.”

  Gairy hefted the remaining canteens and eyed the Sulari. “You’re arrogant for a squatter, orderin’ me around. And the Foundry ain’t gonna help Bywater, anyway. They’ll just flap their lips and make excuses, same as they did about the slaves before Avaeliis stepped in and sent Neiro here. They could have done something about all of it, but they were too busy kissin’ Sulari ass. Harpers, too.”

  Aizr-hin arched his brows. “And your family as well? They were—”

  “Shut up!” Senqua beat a fist against her thigh, bruising it, and not caring. “Shut up, both of you! All I wanted to think about is finding enough food and water, not listen to two men bicker about who is the bigger asshole!”

  They stared at her, blinking stupidly. Gairy’s jaw unhinged, his mouth opened, and then closed again as his brows drew down over his stormy eyes. Aizr-hin tilted his head and scrutinized her with a piercing look, scratching his chin thoughtfully

  Senqua rubbed her leg, cheeks flushed hot with shame. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “If either of you are hungry, there’s a little threk jerky left. Otherwise, we should go.”

  “We’ll go,” Gairy said. “No use standin’ around here bitchin’, anyway.”

  “Good. Maybe we can make twenty miles today.”

  Without waiting for the two men, Senqua began to walk. Her smile faded with the sunrise, blanching into a dull expression, and her heart mirrored the hot, colorless sky; empty, without a single sparrow or hawk to color it with hope.

  Burnt

  A sandstorm swathed the land to the northeast, glowing fiery-orange in the mid-morning light. Lightning forked in the belly of the storm, creating dusky purple streaks with hot, white centers. A dull roar echoed for miles across the desert, making small pebbles vibrate along the ground.

  Watching the display of sinister beauty, Kaitar hoped the storm would blow itself out before reaching Dogton, more than a week’s travel to the east. A steady breeze slapped his gaunt cheek and made his duster flap like an erratic, leather flag. The southern edge of the sandstorm only kicked up an occasional dust devil, but he knew enough to expect the day to be rotten for travel. Grit would get into everything, irritating eyes and throats, caking nostrils, and making food hard to swallow.

  He sighed, reined Molly south, and scanned a shallow gully for any sign of game. While they still had plenty of travel food, Mi’et had insisted on finding something fresh. A lizard or scorpion perhaps, or any small game that could be taken by yatreg. They had no guns to hunt with; Evrik Niles had not allowed Mi’et to leave Dogton with a firearm.

  “Let’s make the best of it, hm?” Kaitar patted the mule’s neck. “At least we don’t have to worry about taking care of any greenhorns. I’m not sure I could do that right now. You’re not much help with them either, Molly. At least Mi’et has enough sense not to go picking Senbehi melons.”

  As Molly eased down the bank, Kaitar shifted his weight in the saddle to lessen the burden on her front legs. Though his back and shoulders ached with the effort, he found he could keep his seat more easily than the week before. He was recovering, putting on weight. Thriving, despite his ordeal, in a land where humans could barely survive in the best of circumstances.

  “I guess if we don’t get something soon, Mi’et will be coming to find us. He’ll think we rode off. We ought to go south, Molly. You might like the ocean.”

  Her ears flicked back as she listened. She appeared content carrying the slight weight of her rider rather than a heavy load of supplies, and trotted steadily along the dry riverbed. Kaitar let the mule pick her own path while he cursed the fact all snakes and lizards seemed to have vanished for shaded dens. Nothing with any sense would stay out in the wind or the heat for long.

  As they neared a spot where the gully widened, he glimpsed a sidewinder coiled near several skull-sized rocks, getting ready to take cover there.

  “Right here, Molly girl. Don’t need you getting snake-bit.” Kaitar urged the mule to halt, slid from the saddle and rubbed the soft muzzle as he regarded the serpent. It flicked a black tongue out at him, tasting the air. He didn’t feel particularly thrilled with the prospect of killing the creature—he’d been likened to snakes so many times he’d developed a fondness for them—but Mi’et had been right; they needed fresh meat.

  Cautiously, Kaitar approached the wary rattlesnake. It buzzed a warning, and he paused, counting in time with his heartbeats until the sidewinder calmed and ceased rattling its tail. When the snake uncoiled and made an attempt to wind away, Kaitar brought his boot down on the blunt head, pinning it to the sand. He unsheathed a yatreg.

  Sorry, I’ll make it quick.

  One neat stroke severed the snake’s head from its writhing body. Its tail coiled around his ankle even as he kicked the head away. Behind him, Molly nickered, and Kaitar turned to see what had alarmed her. On the far bank of the gully, Mi’et stood looking down at them, his shadow cutting across the riverbed.

  The half-breed quirked a brow. “Are you planning on sneaking off down this gulch while I’m not watching?”

  “You don’t leave me alone long enough to run off, or even think about trying. Here’s your fucking snake.” Kaitar held it up by the tail. “You been stalking me the whole time, or did you actually get a fire going?”

  “The fire’s been ready for fifteen minutes. I’ll skin the snake and cook it for you.”

  Kaitar pulled himself into the saddle, knees trembling as he settled against the worn leather. He draped the snake over the mule’s narrow withers and motioned the other man aside. “Stand back unless you want to be trampled. That’s a good spot for her to come up.”

  Molly crested the bank in a powerful heave. On the eastern edge of the gully, thirty or forty yards away, a little campfire glowed bright against the stormy backdrop. Mi’et had built a windscreen of rocks to keep the coals from going out.

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” Kaitar asked. “I’ve had to teach that trick to every other Enforcer. Did one of them show you?”

  “My mother taught me when Gah’leen put me in the kitchens as a boy.” Mi’et took the mule’s bridle and scratched her jaw as she st
udied him with soft, brown eyes. “Orin tried to give me the lecture again when I was a greenhorn and I let him think I was listening.”

  “Let go of her. I’m not going to ride off. You know that.” Kaitar dug for a pepper bloom cigarette in his duster, grateful Sokepta had supplied Mi’et with a generous bundle. The low, deep howl of the storm rumbled on, punctuated by the sharp whistle of the southern wind. As he watched the swirling cloud, he forgot about Mi’et and Molly.

  “It’s going to be a dry year,” Mi’et commented without releasing his grip on Molly’s bridle. “It’s good we’re going southwest and not north or east.”

  “Uh-huh. It’s going to be dry out in the Sand Belt, too. Dry enough to make the scrubland seem like paradise. Dogton get hit by the Bloom pretty bad?”

  “Badly enough.” Mi’et pulled the snake from the saddle as Molly stopped near their camp. “Give me one of your yatreg so I can skin this.”

  Chewing the end of the unlit cigarette, Kaitar unsheathed one of the daggers and offered it, hilt-first. “You need help?”

  “No. Smoke your pepper bloom.” Smirking, Mi’et inspected the weapon, turning it over in his palm to feel the blade-edge with a callused thumb. “These are better than the ones Madev made you fight with.”

  “They are.” Kaitar leaned across the mule’s neck, pointing at the reflectionless, black coating that covered the steel. “They’re heavier, though. The Excerii coating adds a few ounces.”

  Frowning, Mi’et flicked the small switch underneath the hilt. “The Firebrand cell is empty. The Sulari woman told us you killed Lein Strauss with Firebrand, but these are dead. “

  “It was the last charge in the cell, that’s all. I don’t care if the cell is out now. Don’t like using Firebrand. Never did, but Orin insisted. Made Gairy Reidur jealous as hell, I can tell you that much.”

  Mi’et made a cut in the snake’s belly. “Gairy was too drunk to be trusted, and Broach might have wasted his showing off for a woman. Orin trusted you, though.” He pulled the skin free with a practiced movement. After he propped the carcass over the coals with a twisted acacia branch, he wiped his hands clean on the sand. The entire process hadn’t taken but two minutes.

  “Heh, you’re better at that than I am,” Kaitar said, impressed. “I guess you had to skin plenty of snakes at the barracks.”

  “In the barracks and in Gah’leen’s kitchens. My mother taught me that, too.”

  Kaitar nodded, remembering Mi’et’s mother. Ina'iri had been a solemn, soft-spoken Shyiine woman famous for her beauty, which had earned her the place as Gah’leen’s favorite bedwarmer. She had died soon after he and Mi’et fought for the last time in the pits. Though the half-breed never spoke of her death, Kaitar suspected it had something to do with a punishment Gah’leen inflicted for losing that bout; the Sulari prince had been keenly aware how much his champion doted on his mother.

  Clearing his throat, Kaitar dismounted and plucked a small length of burning scrub from the fire to light his cigarette. The strong odor of searing snake made his throat raw. Controlling the tremble coursing through his hand, he lit the pepper bloom reed and tossed the brand onto the coals before hurrying past the fire.

  “Where are you going?”

  He quickened his step. “I don’t know. Away from that stink.”

  “Wait.”

  “And here you come following me. Worse than a threk.” Kaitar turned on his heels. “Go away, Mi’et. I’m just going for a walk. I don’t like the smell of snake when it cooks.”

  “It never bothered you before. Why are you running from it now?”

  “There was a woman with Lein Strauss. A bandit.”

  “So?”

  The sharp sting of pepper bloom filled his lungs as the frantic recollection of burning human flesh ebbed a notch. He exhaled. “She said she remembered me.”

  “Remembered you?” Mi’et’s scarred arm twitched. He slapped it with the same irritation he might swat a fly. “From where?”

  “From the Bywater rebellion. This woman, Marty was her name, said her mother died in that skirmish. Said I gave her nightmares. I wonder if she’d have laughed to know she gave me nightmares. She wanted to cut my pen’jaeta off and wear it like a trophy.” He shrugged. “That’s not what bothers me about it, though.”

  “What then?”

  “Threk got her, Mi’et.”

  “The Sulari woman spoke of that.”

  Kaitar nodded; he saw no point in denying the fact. “They dragged her into a campfire. She couldn’t move. The threk venom. . . heh, shit. I don’t have to explain that to you.” He walked, trying to out-pace the memory of Marty’s calico dress blackening to ash. “She burned pretty bad before she died. Smelled a little like that snake.”

  The low drone of the sandstorm reached them, quiet, but too persistent to be ignored. Kaitar cringed. If the smell of burning sidewinder reminded him of Marty’s final moments of life, the storm’s deep rumbling mirrored the sound he’d heard at Pirahj. The shard of Toros there was deactivated, but he’d heard it all the same, deep and terrifying.

  “It’s good she’s dead,” Mi’et said at length. “Stop pitying some squatter who wanted to castrate you. You were never so soft-hearted before.” Expression turning sly, he tilted his head. “Let me have that cigarette. I never tried smoking. I want to know what it tastes like.”

  “Your snake is going to be ruined if you don’t go turn it.”

  “In a minute. It’s not ready to be turned yet. Let me try it.”

  “All right, but it’s stronger than what you’re used to having in tea.” Kaitar offered the reed. “Don’t drag too hard off it. This is straight-cut.” He squatted and waited to see what would happen. Mi’et’s legs blocked his view of the campfire, but beyond them, he could just see Molly nosing at their gear. The mule vanished behind the breadth of the bigger man’s shoulders as Mi’et crouched, cigarette sticking jauntily from his lips.

  “Try not to get ashes in your goatee there.” Kaitar flicked a finger at Mi’et’s neatly braided chin beard. The other man leaned back, half-grinning. His hesitant puff ended in a ragged cough.

  “Told you.”

  Grimacing, Mi’et handed the cigarette back. “It tastes stronger than it smells.”

  Kaitar slid the thin reed to his own lips. “I caught Zres trying to steal some from my locker a few winters ago. He didn’t believe it would make him sick. Do you remember that? I was stuck in town for almost a month that year.”

  “I remember. It was the winter we had two storms in a row. You spent most of that month out in the stables with your mule.”

  “Better than listening to Vore and Garv tell the same five dick jokes over and over.”

  “It’s all humans ever talk about.” Mi’et’s mouth twitched upward. “I listened to those five jokes for years. You were lucky. You got to run off into the desert.”

  “Nothing stopped you from signing up to be a scout. Always wondered why you never did.” Kaitar frowned. “It might not be so bad listening to the Enforcers joke around right now.” The wind scattered the ashes as he tapped his cigarette. “If I’d had known Dogton was under siege, I wouldn’t have walked off. I’d have come back to help.”

  “Stop thinking about Dogton, Kaitar. It makes you pale.” Mi’et rose, the silver hair clasp bumping the nape of his neck as he moved. “Niles would have had collars on our necks. Or ropes. Avaeliis wouldn’t care about either thing happening. A slap on the wrist for Niles, maybe. Death for us. Dogton isn’t worth it.”

  “You hated it that much there? Some of the people were assholes, but the other Enforcers—”

  “Aren’t our people.”

  “Neither are the Shyiine in the Belt. Not really.”

  “They are your people.”

  Kaitar studied his old rival. They’d hardly spoken for years—too may ghosts and regrets filled the space between them, he supposed—but it occurred to him at that moment Mi’et must appear as frightening a monster as Lein Strauss to m
ost humans. He’d been a terror back in the old days, and the culls had trembled whenever they had to face him in the arena. Kaitar had never been afraid, though, despite the fact their battles had been especially brutal and bloody, as was expected of champions belonging to powerful Sulari princes.

  He took another drag of pepper bloom. “The Shyiine will have no use for us, but Dogton might, if we can find a way to help take the town back.”

  “We’re not going back to the humans, Kaitar. We can’t do anything for them.” The half-breed’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Orin and a few of the others. . . I don’t bear them any ill will, but they aren’t Shyiine, and their fate isn’t our concern any more than ours is to them. We’ve wasted enough time. Come back and eat some snake. After you have something in your belly, we’ll go south, away from this storm.”

  “If our fate wasn’t Orin’s concern, why’d he beg Neiro to give us a job? He risked his own neck for us enough times.”

  But Mi’et had already turned away and didn’t look back as he went to check the snake, its once delicate, pink flesh already charred black.

  Sunday Lunch

  Zres had never seen the town so barren, nor had he had ever felt so uneasy walking through the dusty streets. The noonday sun shone in all its brightness, but almost no one had come out of their homes to do their Sunday shopping. Although a handful of braver merchants had set up what little goods remained to them, most stalls stood bare. Scrappers seemed the only living things in any abundance now, circling the fenced confines like brown vultures—the kind carrying rifles who wouldn’t just wait for you to die so they could eat.

  He kept his head low as he made his way to the Bin, listening to a few of the patrolling mercenaries speaking quietly amongst themselves. As he approached, their talking fell away, replaced by bristling suspicion.

  “On my way to see my ma,” Zres said without looking up. “I got permission. I always go see her on Sunday for lunch.”