by S. Cushaway
Moad glanced briefly at Reeth and the Soulmaker bowed his head in acquiescence.
And we know who really pulls the strings here, don’t we? You might set yourself up as a deacon here, Moad. And I’ll rule Dogton and the other border towns through my Coalition, but Reeth . . . he’s the real “in” man back in your holy city, isn’t he?
“Neiro, I do believe we may be able to dance, yes.” Holding out his hand, Moad stepped forward. They shook, all smiles. All wagging tails and lolling tongues. Happy dogs who would stay happy until the next bone was tossed into the field to tussle over.
“Let’s go back to my office and have a drink, Moad. I’ve got a bottle of Synth waiting for us. It’s too damned hot out here.”
“Why, I do like the sound of that idea.”
They’re mine. The Harpers, Glasstown, even the Junkers. All of it.
Purge
Romano whistled softly as he eased the rover to a crawl. “That’s the thing that caused all the trouble for so long, huh? We had pictures of it back at the Foundry when I was training, but I’ve never actually seen it before. I heard it was big, but . . . damn.”
A mile in the distance, the gargantuan shape of the Toros shard soared six-hundred feet into the air. Its smooth surface cast no reflection despite the sun blazing directly overhead. It drank up the light, pulling it into some vague, unfathomable shadow, neither tangible nor quite illusion. A thousand years’ worth of collapsed limestone and sand hid most of the base, but Leigh could still make out several thick, black cables twining downward from the monolith like monstrous roots. What lay under those roots, far beneath the surface of the land, she did not know—and did not want to get close enough to find out.
“Gren told me the piece out in the Sand Belt is even bigger,” she said. “And still active. Changing everything out there.” She studied the shard a moment longer. Toros had been designed by the Cynops to save the world from radical climate change and ever-dwindling resources, but nearly destroyed it instead.
At length, Leigh spoke.“We need to rendezvous with the Scrappers, not worry about Toros.”
“Fine by me,” Romano replied. The rover picked up speed again. “That thing creeps me out anyway. Sooner we’re away from it, the better.”
Kaitar, who had been staring fixedly at his lap, glanced up at the mention of Toros, his pupils dilated like empty, black pools. As he turned his head to look at Leigh, his hair caught the wind, each coiled length reminding her of a striking snake.
“Do you hear that humming?” he asked.
Why’s he staring at me like that?
Revulsion burned the back of her throat, mingled with trepidation. “It’s only the rover.”
“Giving me a headache.”
“Drink some water, then.” Leigh peered at the old city of Pirahj jutting from beneath the shard’s bulk like rows of rotten teeth. Once the crowning glory of Pihranese architects, those limestone and brick structures had long faded to the same grimy red as everything else. The domed roofs had collapsed countless years before, and wind had swept away whatever stained glass once decorated the vaulted, horseshoe windows.
On the outskirts of Pirahj stood the grandly dubbed outpost of Os’tizal—The Old Way. There was little of Pihranese grandeur about the place, however. A shining barbed-wire fence pressed Os’tizal against the ruined breast of Pirahj; it seemed the forgotten mecca guarded the outpost like a jealous mother. Inside that wire, a fleet of rovers and sand bikes dotted the area, parked in front of a large barracks. Several figures carrying rifles moved to and fro between smaller buildings, their rough, brown uniforms as dusty as the wreckage itself.
But neither the militant efficiency of Os’tizal nor the decaying glory of Pirahj held her attention like the monstrous shadow of Toros. It brooded over the land, refusing to be ignored. The very sight of it was enough to give anyone nightmares.
“We should just turn around,” Kaitar muttered.
A frown tugged at Leigh’s lips. “Are you certain you aren’t feeling ill? You look pale.”
Romano, too, studied the scout with an uneasy expression. He said nothing as he eased the rover down the well-traveled path toward Os’tizal.
“Just . . .” Kaitar fiddled with a button on his duster. “Just that thing. Toros. I don’t like it. It’s too loud. It bothers me every time I come out this way.”
“Loud? It’s deactivated.” The Junker pushed his goggles onto his forehead as they neared the barbed-wire gates. “That one’s nonfunctional, Katey. It can’t do anything to you or to us. The Scrappers took care of all that.”
“Yes,” Kaitar mumbled. “I know. I was there helping them in those days. Set all the beacons for them. The Sulari let it go too long out here, though. It’s in the land. Toros won’t let go, and—”
“It’s everywhere, but I don’t suspect it’s worse here than anywhere else, except the Sand Belt,” Leigh said. Annoyance tickled past her earlier anxiety. “Kaitar, you are here to do a mission. This is our job. It’s too late to back out now.”
“I’m not backing out of anything!”
“Then compose yourself. We have a long way to go until Bywater.” Leigh settled back against the water barrels. The bruise between her shoulders ached, but she ignored it.
“Funny, coming from someone who tried to break my nose a few nights ago because she got scared by a pair of threk.” The scout grinned, all rancor and bitterness, his sharp teeth ready to bite.
She held her breath a moment to calm herself. One palm glided along the rubber grip of the Firebrand holstered at her belt. Then, she sighed and dropped her hand to a field pack. “I’m sorry about that, Kaitar. They had me on edge.”
The mirthless grin fell from his face. “And the fucking noise has me on edge, so lay off.”
I’m going to have to try to make a report to Orin as soon as I can about this. He is sick, no matter what he says.
“Couple of Scrappers hailing us,” Romano said. “Big Pihranese guy and some Estarian. See?” He pointed. Two men in fatigues stood near the fence, beckoning them forward. “They want us to come around this way by the gate.”
“Yes, I see them.” Leigh nodded. “Gate guards. They don’t let anyone into Os’tizal without checking weapons and gear. Let’s get this over with.”
The Draggin rolled to a stop near a line of parked sand bikes a dozen yards from the gate. The solar rails hummed, then went silent as dust settled over them, thick and choking. A smell of battery and ozone lingered in the air, pungent but oddly comforting.
Romano gave a little salute. “Well, guys, I’ll see you later. I’m going to turn around, go back to the Old Tree Well, and have a drink with Gairy and Senqua. Then, I’m going home. I miss my kid. Frankly, this trip has been a pain in the ass.”
“Just follow instructions, Romano. It shouldn’t take long, and then you can go,” Leigh said, doubtful Romano could even find his way to Dogton without help. “Will you be all right on the drive home?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got water, food, the Veraleid, tools if something breaks. I even have a shotgun packed back there under my tool case. Static rounds.” He winked.
“Static rounds?” Kaitar’s head jerked up. He clamped a hand onto the other man’s shoulder, squeezing. “Static cells? You have those in here? Around Toros? Are you insane, Romano? Do you know what would happen if you set those off?”
“You should know how dangerous that is! You, of all people . . .” Taking a deep breath, Leigh lowered her voice. “Don’t use those out here, no matter what! Use your pistol if you run into trouble, but not static rounds. It can set off a Bloom, even if that piece is deactivated.”
“I’m not going to use it, but I thought it might come in handy. Calm down, Leigh.”
“Shh!” Kaitar’s face drained of color and his fingers trembled along the breast of his duster.
“Kaitar . . .” Leigh leaned forward, trying to catch the scout’s eye. “If you—”
He hissed between his teeth, eye
s fixed on the approaching Scrapper.
Romano recoiled. “The hell is wrong with you, Katey?”
“Leigh, we need to go. We need to go!”
“No, we need to prepare for check-in, and—”
A deep voice cut her off. “Stay there!” The Pihranese Scrapper stood several yards away, rifle slung over his shoulder, a frown on his strong-featured face. He waved with his free hand.
Something’s wrong.
“Romano, listen to Kaitar.” Those hushed words felt thick as bean porridge. “Start the rover and turn it around. That is an order.”
“Why?” Romano asked. “I thought we were supposed to check in first?”
The Scrapper swung the gun down, finger on the trigger.
“Do it, damn you!” Praying Romano would listen for once and not balk, she reached for her Firebrand. Just as she unsnapped the holster and palmed the weapon, the Scrapper leveled his rifle directly at her, the long barrel dull with dust.
“What the hell is this?” Romano's hands drifted upward from the steering wheel, his fingers splayed in a helpless gesture. “What the hell is going on?”
“Keep quiet,” Leigh whispered. “Just wait. Maybe this is some mistake. The Scrappers are very—”
“Remove your hands from your weapons,” the Pihranese man said. “All of you. There are men along the watchtowers with scopes on you at this very moment. J. T. over there by the gates can drill a nail at a hundred yards. So, please cooperate.”
Leigh pulled her hand from the Firebrand’s grip and clutched her knee to stop from trembling. Kaitar’s snarl never left his face, but he did not move or speak. Romano bit his lip in a valiant effort to keep from blurting out questions.
“Good. Thank you for cooperating,” the Pihranese man said. “You will remove yourself from the vehicle, drop all your weapons in the sand, then lie facedown with hands behind your heads.”
Forcing a calm she did not feel, Leigh spoke. “I am Dogton Enforcer Leigh Enderi. We’re employees of Neiro Precaius, sent to rendezvous with a team of your own men on a mission to Bywater.”
The Scrapper did not lower the rifle. “I do not like to shoot people, but I have orders to do that if you refuse to cooperate.”
Leigh’s head swam against the rising tide of panic. She breathed deeply, inhaling the acrid scent of ozone. “There must be some misunderstanding here. Neiro’s contracted the Scrappers under authority of Avaeliis, in formal agreement with N’jian Printz to—”
“N’jian Printz isn’t here to give orders right now.” Without turning, the Scrapper called over his shoulder. “J. T.! If these three don’t get out of their vehicle in five seconds and dump their weapons, we are opening fire. Shoot to kill.” He arched his brows. “Now, please, get out of the vehicle before I have to follow that order.”
Leigh clambered from the back, heart racing as she dropped her Firebrand. Kaitar followed, jumping out of the front seat as gracefully as a cat. He unsheathed his yatreg, threw them into the sand, then unbuckled his gun belt. The heavy revolver thudded to the dust alongside the curved knives. The scout’s hair fell over his shoulders and face, hiding his expression. Romano only stared at their attacker, his eyes as round as a child's.
“Romano, get out now and get rid of your boot knife and your pistol. He means what he says.” Leigh pressed her cheek against the hot sand. A crow—black as the monolith towering above them—cawed down at them as it drifted by.
It’s laughing at us.
To her right, Romano’s pistol and boot knife hit the ground. The Junker flopped to the dirt beside her, hands behind his head as he glared up at the Scrapper, who circled them the same way the crow had.
“You have us down,” Leigh said. “We’ve cooperated. Now explain what this is all about. Please.” The added courtesy rankled.
“Change of command here at Os’tizal. I’m sorry, I’m just following orders.” The rifle barrel hovered inches from Leigh’s head as he spoke. “Jess Karraetu has taken Printz’s post as high commander while he was—”
“Mal-eyio!” J.T. called from the gate, watching through his rifle scope. “I’ll cover you while you grab their gear. Just bring the whole rover over with it. That’d be fastest.” He grinned, and even from where she lay, Leigh could see his teeth were brown with tobacco stains. “Best hurry. I don’t think Karraetu would like you chattin’ it up with the enemy.”
“Enemy?” Romano blurted out, lifting his head. “We’re not—”
Mal-eyio stomped between his shoulders, forcing his head into the sand. “Keep still and shut up. Do what you are told if you want to make it out of this alive.”
The crow cawed again, sounding further away this time. The sun slid behind Toros, leaving them bathed in shadow. Leigh blinked against the grit stinging her eyes. She rolled her head left. Kaitar clasped his fingers over his black hair, but did not move otherwise.
I led us all right into a trap. Is this the last thing I’ll see? A Shyiine?
That raw irony hurt.
Mal-eyio tossed their weapons into the back of the rover before inspecting the equipment piled there. When he lifted the tool case he paused, frowning. “Static rounds. What the hell were you planning to do with these? Do you know what could happen if you’d have shot these off? A Bloom is the last thing we need right now.” He dropped his rifle into the front seat and slid behind the wheel, peering at them. “Remember, there are orders to kill if any of you move, and some of our boys are good shots. You can’t see them from here, but they can see you.”
The Draggin roared to life and pulled away, bumping toward the gates.
“They just stole my rover!” Romano wheezed, not lifting his head. “My ride back to Dogton! To my kid! He . . . what’s going on? What the fuck is going on? You’re Enforcers. Do something!”
“We can’t do anything,” Kaitar said quietly. “They’ll shoot us, Romano. Don’t think they won’t. Union bullshit won’t mean a thing to them now.”
Leigh swallowed, her throat coated with dust. “We have to stay calm. Kaitar, keep your wits about you and don’t attack anyone.”
“What am I going to attack them with, Leigh? My fucking teeth?”
She ignored the retort. “Just keep quiet, both of you. Romano, don’t bring up anything about contracts or Foundry policies. Let me handle the talking. It’s my job.
The big gates opened with a shriek that rattled all the way down her spine, making her teeth ache. A dozen Scrappers in brown field gear marched forward, led by a slim man wearing a sand mask and carrying a long rifle. The vibrations from their boots pounded the earth until Leigh felt as though a giant hornet’s nest buzzed just beneath her belly, swarming, ready to sting. Two of the Scrappers stopped near Mal-eyio to help unload the rover.
One man held Kaitar’s yatreg high. “Excerii-coated Firebrand! You can light someone up with those, Panezii!” He handed them to his hazel-eyed companion, who grinned and made clumsy cuts at the air with the daggers. Mal-eyio said nothing as he continued to rifle through the gear.
The other Scrappers stopped a few feet from where they lay. Some wore bandannas, others had pins and tags denoting field rank. All were armed. The man in the sand mask swung the rifle from his shoulder and stepped forward. The glass lenses covering his eyes flashed in the sun. For a long moment, he observed the three of them, then spoke in a voice muffled from the mask’s ventilator. “You assholes were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I appreciate you cooperating, but I’m surprised your scout let you drive all the way up here without telling you to skip this pit stop and go on to Bywater yourselves.”
Leigh felt her cheeks flush as anger filled her. “You are Jess Karraetu, I assume?”
“I am.” He pushed the mask over his face, revealing the ordinary features of Estarian lineage—blond, light-skinned, and not yet middle-aged. “Get on your knees, all three of you, but keep your hands where they are.”
Leigh grunted as she pushed herself up.
Karraetu smiled, show
ering them with a manic charisma, his blue eyes cold as ice chips. “Slow, don’t move too damned fast. There, just like that.”
“I am Dogton Enforcer Leigh Enderi, employed by Neiro Precaius, Governor of the Avaeliis provinces of the Shy’war-Anquai. N’jian Printz signed a contract with Neiro to provide aid and support in a mission to Bywater.” It took every bit of willpower to meet Karraetu’s frenzied stare; it seemed to drill right into her skull and leave a hole where all her fears would leak out on display.
“That’s all true,” Karraetu said, rubbing his scruffy chin. “But there’s been some changes here recently, and we’re not currently honoring any contracts.”
“Under what authority? I spoke to Neiro last night. He mentioned no change of plans and N’jian Printz is in Dogton for—”
“Under my authority. N’jian Printz is no longer in charge. Now, we can do this easy or we can do this hard. We’re confiscating your rover and your weapons, except for the knives.”
“You can’t do that!” Romano rocked onto his haunches, preparing to stand. “It’s thievery and the Foundry will not tolerate any breach of—”
Karraetu took two steps forward and pressed his rifle barrel against the Junker’s forehead. “Shut the fuck up. Now.” He ground his teeth together so hard Leigh could hear it. “Tinn?”
A burly, bearded Estarian with a pistol straightened his shoulders. “Yessir?”
“Shoot the next of these assholes that tries to get up without permission.”
“Yessir.”
Romano clamped his mouth shut and looked at the ground, chin hitching. Kaitar stared past the Scrappers as if he hadn’t heard or seen anything going on around him, his unblinking gaze fixed on Toros. His lips parted and moved soundlessly.
“You, Enforcer.”
Gun steel, hot from the desert sun, nudged Leigh's temple. Her eyes snapped forward. Karraetu squinted at her, rifle ready. “You said your name was Leigh?”
