GHOSTS IN THE GLASS

by S.

  “Keep your head about you here, Erid,” he called out, voice ringing over the grinding squeal of machinery. “But more importantly, keep your heart!”

  Erid hesitated, then raised a hand and called something back, but at that instant a deep bellow filled the air. It rang on and on, roaring over the desert like the dying wails of some giant beaten down to the earth at last. Aizr-hin’s mouth went dry as he scanned the sky, wondering what sort of horror this awful place had in store now. The noise came from several innocent-looking black boxes bolted near the third floor of the Foundry building.

  “The change of shifts,” the mechinae explained. “No cause for alarm.”

  No, dead man, that is the sound of a thousand souls all screaming at once. This place is cursed.

  The siren began to wind down into a low, pitiful groan and then died all together. A dark form swooped through the air to alight on the tall gates. Aizr-hin stared, shivering and unable to take another step.

  The Nah’gatt. . . !

  The demon sat hunkered atop the massive barrier, gleaming a spectrum of oily rainbows against black so deep, even the desert nights couldn’t match the shade. Aizr-hin’s heart thumped with renewed panic as the apparition tilted its long, sharp-beaked head to peer at him. Then, it puffed its chest feathers and gave a deep, croaking caw that made him jump. Recognizing the creature for what it was—a drell, nothing more—he took a deep breath.

  “This way, please,” the mechinae said, nudging him roughly.

  Aizr-hin pressed his dry lips together and forced himself to march forward. The massive gates parted, opening to the countless miles, waiting to devour him in a thousand different ways. He stepped through and passed under the drell’s shadow. Cold wind tugged his ragged coat, and all the dignity holding him up sloughed off at once like old skin ready to be shed.

  “Please, leave the region as quickly as possible,” the mechinae said. It thumbed the inside gate terminal and the gates closed—a quiet, well maintained barrier Aizr-hin never wanted to see again.

  Grass swished around his legs as he walked, tickling through his rough pants. A vast blackness streaked over him, blurred by, and blotted out the sun behind its twenty-foot wingspan. The drell’s pebble-like eyes shone down at him as it circled once before riding high on the wind. It veered east and drifted toward the faraway mountain range. It was the same one Gairy had shot at, Aizr-hin felt certain of it. He had the unsettling notion the bird remembered him, and wondered if it was going to the land of the dead to carry his message to his ancestors, as the old stories said.

  Speak kindly of me, drell. Tell my father what has passed here at the Foundry. Beg Sun mercy on my behalf, so I may live to avenge Bywater.

  He walked west, toward Glasstown.

  The Road

  He had to rely on Kaitar’s eyesight through the tunnels. Even with the shimmering, amber Worm Glass—Kodrite, Mi’et recalled the Estarian term for it—the bowels of the desert were too dark to see beyond a few feet. The glass glowed under his touch whenever he brushed the narrow passage, warm, but too dim to be any use guiding them. Eight or nine feet above his head, he could just make out the tunnel’s ceiling, where more of the substance glistened. It looked delicate, yet formed a strong enough code to hold countless tons of sand.

  Deep weakness lingered in every tingling nerve, making progress even slower. The Nith’ath had burned away his injuries at the cellular level, but the experience had left Mi’et more drained than he’d ever been in the pits. It took every ounce of willpower to keep walking. Staggering forward, he listened to the comforting drone coursing along his veins, drawing a semblance of strength from it. For hours, they crept along, saying little, while the eyes of countless Nith’ath flashed in the blackness beyond. None of the creatures approached or made any sound, but Mi’et knew they were watching.

  After what seemed an eternity, Kaitar spoke, his voice small in the vast cavern. “I smell fresh air. There’s a way out.”

  “We can’t be at the end already. The Xi’jahata can’t be so close.”

  The scout slumped against the burrow, Kodrite radiating golden points, haloing his body. He rubbed his shoulder where the Nith’ath’s spine had gouged it. “I’d just be happy to see the sky again. Mi’et. . . what happened back there? We were dying. I broke my neck in that fall. I cut your guts open and you punched a hole in my lung. Now, all I can feel is a little ache there. No hole. No broken neck. And you. . .” he trailed off, head hanging.

  Mi’et leaned close. Kaitar turned his face away, peering further down the burrow. A streak of dried blood outlined a sharp cheekbone, and Mi’et resisted the urge to wipe it away with his thumb. “You stopped that Nith’ath. You made it heal us.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did. I don’t know how, but I know the stories about how shaman could do things like that. How they call fire and talk to the desert, Kaitar. They can understand Toros, and so can you.”

  “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean! You dragged me out here. Molly. . .” Kaitar’s voice broke. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his duster and took a deep breath. “We killed each other. And then a fucking Nith’ath burned a hole into my brain until I felt like it was going to leak out of my ears. Now, look at where we’re at.”

  “I’m sorry about your mule.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I am sorry, even if you don’t believe that.”

  Kaitar swallowed hard before speaking again. “This is all a heap of bullshit, and we’re two flies in it. I want to know why, but there aren’t any damned answers.”

  Mi’et kneaded the damaged muscles of his right arm with the broken edge of the miet hook, not caring that it would leave bruises. The Nith’ath had not healed any of their old scars—he and Kaitar would wear those to the grave. He sighed. “Maybe the Shyiine can tell you. Kaitar, you are meant to be with them.”

  “Ohrain—”

  “Was lying to you to keep you from going out there. You were a slave then. You couldn’t even find Dogton; how could you have hoped to get across the Belt?” He rubbed his scarred shoulder again, trying to work the ache out of it. “My mother might have told the same lie if she thought I had any inclination to run, but she knew I wouldn’t leave her or Mariyah behind.”

  Or you.

  Kaitar unsheathed a yatreg. For a moment, he held it without saying anything, staring at the Excerii-coated blade. Then, it blazed red-orange with a sudden flash, and the heavy odor of Firebrand sizzled the air. “Take this so you can see a little better.”

  Mi’et tried to choke down his shock, searching for the emptiness inside that had made him a weapon for so many years. It was gone—burned away by the Nith’ath until only the bare edges remained. Hesitantly, he reached for the hilt. “When did you first know?”

  “When I was a boy, my father told me never to tell anyone or he’d slit my throat. I didn’t know what he meant until that last fight, when they set the threk on us. I. . . I heard her. Not words, but. . . I don’t know. Forget it. We need to walk.”

  “You could have told me.”

  “I could have, yes. I used to think about telling you, but if someone had overhead, what do you think would have happened? Even Orin would have tossed us out on our asses over that one. Or the people in Dogton would have lynched me. . . and then you, for keeping the secret.”

  Mi’et grimaced, but could not deny that caustic truth. “Which way?”

  “Let me lead or you’ll walk us right into a Nith’ath.” Kaitar stepped past, the duster slapping around his legs rhythmically.

  “The Shyiine will take you, but they will kill me when they find us.”

  “What?” The scout turned abruptly. “The fuck is this about them killing you? Why would they let me live and kill you?”

  “I’m a half-breed slave who killed other Enetics.”

  “So did I!”

  “It’s different.” Mi’et nudged him, holding the make-shift torch high with his free hand. Shadows
danced along the uneven tunnel walls like strange, iridescent ghosts. “It doesn’t matter now. Walk.”

  “Doesn’t matter?” Kaitar gaped at him. “You think the Shyiine might want me because I can pull Firebrand out of my ass? Did they come for us when the Sulari fell? Did they come and find me when I was losing my mind, lying in that pit at the Al’Daree manse? No.

  “You say they’d want me, but I say it’s bullshit. If they had wanted me, or Mariyah, or any other slave, they’d have come and found us. So I’m asking you, because you did come and find me. Crazy son of a bitch or not, you came, not the Shyiine from the Sand Belt.”

  “But I didn’t come the time you really needed, did I?”

  “You got lost, just like I did.”

  Gingerly, Mi’et moved his fingers further from the Firebrand-heated blade and gripped the hilt lower. “I should have been there with you when you killed Madev. I should have been there to save your mule, but I was too slow. I’m a—”

  “You’re my friend.”

  Behind Kaitar, the darkness gave way to a faint, blue lightening. Indigo shadows slanted across the walls, casting an odd contrast against the Worm Glass, turning it a rich violet. A moon ray pierced the tunnel. Mi’et stared at it, trying to discern if what he was seeing was only a manifestation of his hope, or reality. When he spoke next, a hint of fresh air lingered on his lips. “I’m taking you to the Shyiine. To the Xi’jahata. I can do this one thing for you.”

  “You’re going to toss me at them like some kind of sacrificial offering, and then let them kill you? No.” Kaitar jabbed a finger hard into his chest. “I get a say in this. You think I’ll just sit there, scratching my balls while someone kills you?”

  He smirked despite himself. “You gutted me only a few hours ago, and now you want to stand against all the Shyiine to save me.”

  Kaitar winced and looked away. “Don’t twist it like that. What happened back there. . . it. . .”

  “You wanted me dead. You wanted us both dead. You wanted an end to that last fight.” With his scarred hand, Mi’et grasped Kaitar’s chin and forced his head up. His thumb touched the slight indent beneath the Shyiine’s lower lip. “Here we are, together. That’s the resolution. That’s how it was meant to end. There’s more than just blood and broken bones between us.”

  Kaitar blinked, but said nothing.

  Mi’et dropped his hand to his lap. “The way out. How close is it?”

  “I don’t know. I can smell the fresh air up ahead, and there’s light. Not much, and it’s far off yet. Maybe six-hundred yards. I don’t know how far we’ve come, either, or how long we’ve been down here.” He walked a few paces, muttering. “We should turn around and go back. If we can find a way up where we fell in, I can get us to the scrubland.”

  “No. I’m taking you home. You don’t belong with the humans.” Mi’et waved the Firebrand-lit knife, watching his distorted reflection in the Worm Glass. “The Shyiine will tie a hundred bone tines into your hair and you will be free. In a few years, you’ll forget me, and everything the Sulari did to you. “

  “You’re an idiot if you think that.” Kaitar paused. “Look, can you see it? Moonlight is coming in from that direction. It’s angled, and that means this tunnel slopes. Maybe we can climb out.”

  The ground rose steadily beneath their feet. Ahead, a frail spear of light broke the shadows. As the incline grew steeper, the tunnel narrowed and moonlight broadened before them, bathing the ground and walls in a blue glow. In places the silvery light was strongest, the walls glimmered a translucent, eerie green. A small air hole gave a clear view a velvet sky splashed with countless stars

  “Let me go first and have a look around,” Kaitar said.

  “You’re not going alone.”

  “Stay behind me.”

  The yatreg in Mi’et’s hand went suddenly dark and cold. He tossed it to Kaitar. Together, they clambered up a mound of sand that had spilled inward beneath the hole. Jagged bits of Kodrite jabbed his hand, and the cuts burned as though wasps had stung his flesh. As they dragged themselves up the last few feet, Mi’et had the sensation they were climbing straight into the heavens. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to look up at the stars, so beautiful they made him dizzy. Sand cascaded beneath his weight, but he managed to squeeze through the hole.

  The world had turned to sky. All around, stars glittered back at him as far as he could see. Two moons sailed the void, perfect twin replicas mirrored in reverse. A web of silver and blue appeared beneath his boots, accompanied by a musical tinkling.

  Kaitar crouched a few feet away, looking around, stunned. “What the fuck is this place? Is this the Xi’jahata?”

  Dumbstruck, Mi’et shook his head. “Glass. This is all glass.”

  A bright tongue of electricity licked the far horizon. Another flashed, several yards behind the first, followed by an irregular pulse of static energy—a wisp—blinking in and out of existence. Two more wisps appeared, then a third.

  “It looks like we’re standing in the sky.” Kaitar took a step, but the glass did not crack under his slender frame. “I can feel it vibrating under my feet.” He peered across the empty horizon, tilting his head as though he heard something far beyond it.

  Mi’et walked, listening to the brittle ground break with each step. His hope broke, too, with a sudden and complete agony that made the phantom fingers on his right hand feel as though they had tensed to a fist. Wisps spiraled near, and painless tongues of static darted over his shoulders, twining through his hair and lifting the strands.

  “Mi’et. . .?”

  Falling to his knees, Mi’et beat at the glossy surface with his fists, shattering it. All the stars reflected above became distorted, blurry splotches that meant nothing and were no longer beautiful.

  “Hey! What the fuck!”

  “Go away, Kaitar.” He smashed the glass again, cutting his fists, bleeding onto the broken mirror.

  “Stop!” Kaitar’s slim fingers wrapped around his arm, bruising the flesh under his yalei. “We have to go back. There’s nothing out there. All I hear is. . . I can’t—”

  A taste like battery acid filled Mi’et’s mouth, making his throat bob convulsively. His bloody hands went limp, falling onto his lap. He saw nothing except the sky’s reflection, stretching endlessly over the dark horizon. When the scout grabbed him again, he shoved the smaller man away.

  “Don’t pull this shit on me now.” Kaitar sprang to his feet and yanked at him again, frantic.

  He ignored Kaitar and stared at the dead world where no Xi’jahata or Shyiine waited, and where Toros shrieked emptily.

  “Get up!”

  You screamed that at me once before, when the Threk poison was in my veins.

  Mi’et stood, feeling oddly detached from his own body. Even the blood smeared across his hands seemed to belong to someone else.

  “Come on.” Kaitar wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling. Mi’et followed. The sour burn hanging in his throat made breathing hard, and he wondered if it was the taste of his own despair or the ozone-riddled air.

  They staggered toward the crack in the ground, Kaitar cursing with every step as he narrowly avoided slicing his bare feet on the broken glass. Above and below, the sky flashed with an increasing tempo as more lightning bit the sky. Distant thunder rolled like laughter; Mi’et was too afraid to look back to see if broiling clouds covered the moon.

  When they reached the opening, he wrenched free from Kaitar. “Go.”

  “You go first.”

  “Go!” He pushed Kaitar down the narrow hole; the scout slithered through, quick as a snake escaping a diving hawk.

  Mi'et followed, rolling down into the darkness. He hit the Kodrite infused ground with a hard thump and pushed to his feet without stopping to catch his breath. Ahead, Kaitar darted down the tunnel, glancing over his shoulder with wide, bright eyes. A sound rumbled overhead, low and distant at first, then rising to a glass-shattering squeal. A single thought beat
through Mi’et’s head as he followed Kaitar into the belly of the world.

  We’re both lost now.

  A Hard Man

  Sweat ran down Leigh’s bare arms, soaking the sleeveless shirt until it stuck to her back. The ranging hat kept the worst of the sun from her face, but did nothing to stop the flies. They were everywhere, buzzing, drinking up the liquid from her skin only to flit to the next person toiling in the dry ditches.

  Wiping her brow, she leaned against the shovel and surveyed the work with a sinking feeling. The water-fields had never seemed so vast. Only a few months before, the soil had been wet and dark as blood, with a sprinkling of ash and goat manure mixed in to enrich the earth. Sturdy, green plants had pushed through the mud, laden with peppers, tomatoes, gourds, beans, and corn. Now, the few remaining stalks lay limp in the dust, wind torn, ghostly things without color or substance. Even after all their work clearing the fields, there would not be enough water for a normal planting in spring. All Vore’s joking about eating snakes and scorpions might come to pass.

  She heaved a rock out and dumped it on top of the rest of the sand.

  “Hey, Leigh,” Vore called from further down the row. “You want us to mark out the corn field? I think it was, oh, just about here. Hard to tell now, but we can get it close.”

  Just as Leigh was about to call back an answer, a litany of whooping broke over the desert. Everyone turned their head in the direction it had come from—the town gates—but before any sense could be made of the yelling, a chorus of mechanized rumbling filled the air.

  What’s going on now? Please, no more shooting or fires. . .

  The gates screeched open and a great cloud of dust rolled upward. A line of sand bikes and rovers spilled forth, revving as they turned toward the road leading from Dogton. The last and biggest rover halted just outside the gates. Behind it, a lone figure materialized out of the red dust, running on foot and screaming hysterically.

  “You can’t desert. You’re under orders from Avaeliis to hold this town until further notice!”