by S. Cushaway
Gren, is this Bywater? Is this where you died?
A new image pushed to the forefront until the squatter town receded far back into a shadow of memory—Gren, standing in his Enforcer’s jacket, a cigarette dangling from his lips, coffee cup in hand, one brow cocked in dry amusement.
“Well, damn, Leigh.” He tipped the coffee cup over to show her it was empty. “The worst part of the whole Bywater bullshit is I haven’t had a cup of coffee in almost two weeks. It’s killin’ me.”
His voice, raspy as the desert wind, had seemed so real, so there.
“You ready, kid?”
Heart thumping, her eyes popped open, looking for Gren, and seeing only the Shyiine and the Junker both still asleep.
A deep sadness enveloped her then, so powerful her entire body hurt. Leigh rubbed her face, hands coming away wet with perspiration and tears. They would never see Gren again. If they could get back to Dogton—and it might be weeks before that happened—Neiro would be too focused on the Scrapper’s betrayal to care about another rescue mission. It would be winter soon, too, and that meant dust storms. Even the scouts stayed in Dogton territory during those months.
Gren was gone. Lost. She had failed him. Orin. Everyone. Leigh swallowed the lump in her throat, but a quiet sob slipped out. She bit her tongue, staring at the branches, where the bright sky peeked between wooden lengths that looked too much like the bars of some cage.
I’m sorry, Gren. I will always be sorry, but I have to bury you in my heart like I did Father and Mother, and everyone else I loved in Nal’ves.
She pictured how it would be, heaping sand over Gren’s still, pale body. Saying her final goodbyes as she laid a cactus flower over the mound of dirt. The other Enforcers, heads bowed and dry-eyed, would pass the lieutenant’s badge around, then toss it onto the grave. They would all turn from that mound and not look back. Ever.
A sound reached her ears, abrupt and low. Humming. Frowning, she wondered if there’d been a wasp nest in one of the trees nearby. Then, her breath caught.
“Kaitar!” Leigh grabbed the scout’s shoulder and shook him, but he only toppled forward, so deeply asleep his eyelids did not even flutter. Without bothering to wake Romano—there was no time— she crawled over the two men. As she tripped out of the lean-to, the bright glare of sun slammed full into her face. Her vision smeared into big daubs of red, brown, and yellow. Leigh shielded her eyes against the pummeling heat and scanned the vast eastern horizon. Far in the distance, the Senbehi shimmered like hazy, gray liquid.
A single vehicle, hardly more than a speck, crawled across the ridge of a low dune opposite of the one they’d descended earlier. Sand churned beneath its wheels. A canvas tarp stretched across the long, low back of the rover. The front was open, save for a flimsy piece of cloth tied over the top like a crude hood. There, three figures hunched under the canopy.
That’s a low wagon! Caravaneers!
“Hey! We need help!” The hot air burned her throat. “I’m a Dogton Enforcer! We need help! Over here!” Her legs moved, pumping with a sudden strength when only hours before there’d only been aching exhaustion. Waving frantically, she called again. “Over here!”
The driver’s head swiveled as he stood in his seat. He raised a long, thick arm before lowering himself again. The man next to the driver wiggled, calling something she couldn’t quite hear. The vehicle turned, coasting down the dune in her direction, the tires biting into the sand and leaving a deep track.
A triumphant, weary grin broke over Leigh's face; they would make it to Dogton. They could warn Neiro about Karraetu’s betrayal. Maybe they could still find a way to get to Bywater, somehow. If the caravaneers had a Veraleid installed in their rover, they—
The driver hailed again, holding something oblong in his hand. Leigh squinted, and her smile dropped as she recognized the wink-and-flash of gun steel.
No. Not again. Not this again!
Forgetting everything about Sulari dignity her mother had taught her, she took a step backward, shaking. “Kaitar! Romano! Bandits!”
“Stay right there!” The driver’s bellow cut above the roar of the engine.
Leigh’s overworked leg muscles quivered.
Run! Run!
She could not move. The rover would run her down, and then they would shoot her. Her eyes watered against the hot glare as she tilted her head to stare at the sky. The sun burned itself right into her brain, leaving a bright imprint against darkness. Leigh waited for a gunshot to crack that darkness bring true blackness sweeping over her, complete and final.
The rover rumbled closer, its axle squeaking every time it hit a bump. A red cloud of grit billowed across her face as the vehicle ground to a stop. Turning her gaze from the sun, Leigh saw two figures stalking toward her, blooming into formless shadows as her sun-stunned eyes lost focus.
Nah’gatt.
Her sight cleared just as the driver—tall and wide, but gaunt—waved his revolver again. Rings bedecked each knuckle of his right hand, inlaid with teeth rather than jewels or Worm Glass. He peered down at her, his thick, bearded jaw working a wad of tobacco, his deep-set eyes almost hidden under his prominent brow—a Druen half-breed, like Gairy Reidur and Mi’et.
Leigh met his stare, studying him.
“You look Sulari.” His voice sounded like two stones grinding together.
The smaller man edged around, buggy eyes roving up and down as he licked his lips. He scratched his groin through the ragged, filthy slacks he wore before turning to stomp toward the rover. “Hey, Marty! Marty, come see this. You ain’t gonna believe what we found now.”
“What was that name you yelled out?” the driver asked. “I know that name. That who’s over there in that pile?”
“I am an Enforcer of Dogton, employed by Neiro Precaius.” She was sick of those meaningless words, sick of men pointing guns at her. “My scout and I were stranded during a mission to Bywater to—”
Laughter snarled from his throat. “You Enforcers keep taking a wrong turn, don’t you?”
It’s Pirahj all over. Kaitar, Romano . . . wake up . . . wake up and run!
But there was no movement from behind, no exclamation, no rustle of a duster or thud of boots against sand. Nothing.
The revolver’s hammer clicked back. “What was that name you yelled out? Spit it out, or I’ll ram this up your cunt and pull the trigger.”
“Romano.”
“The other one.”
“Kaitar,” she said, choking on the dust in her throat.
The small man reappeared, his round, froggy eyes even wider. “Kaitar. . . Kaitar Besh? Where’s he at? Well damn, it’s been . . . what, almost fifteen years since we last ran into that snake, ain’t it?”
“Fourteen years and nine months.” A blond-haired woman wearing a tattered dress approached from the rover. She grinned, showing big gaps where several teeth should have been. “Felix, you think she’s got nicer tits than me?”
“Shut up.” The driver pushed the brim of his hat down, shading his eyes. “Felix, there’s a little rattlesnake just slithered behind this Enforcer. It’s hiding under that shrub. You and Marty get it. We’re gonna have a little reunion with our friend Kaitar. Pity about the other two. Could have been like old times.”
The other two?
The big man paused before speaking again. “But you . . . you’re invited. You and Kaitar. I don’t give a fuck about that other one you yelled for.” He spat tobacco juice. It spattered against the sand, brown as mud. A long silence followed, broken only by Marty and Felix bickering about the best way to catch the sidewinder. The driver moved closer, and the smell that came with him made Leigh think of something dead and flyblown. Fear scorched her, hotter than the sun, cooking down into the marrow of her bones, turning them to jelly.
The big man regarded her with a half-smile. “Do you know who I am?”
Leigh shook her head.
“Let’s leave it a surprise then,” he said, jabbing the revolver under her ch
in.
A thought flashed through her mind as the hot steel touched her flesh—an image of slamming her knee into his groin, of bringing her fists down on his neck, and then . . . and then what? He’d shoot her. He was too big to overpower, almost as big as Gairy Reidur. The look in his muddy-brown eyes told Leigh that this man, whoever he was, would relish the chance to fight. And kill.
“We got her!” Felix called, trotting back with the sidewinder. He held the wriggling snake firmly behind the head with one hand, gripping the body with the other. The serpent’s tail coiled and uncoiled around his thin forearm. “We gonna eat this for dinner? Why bother when we can have something a lot tastier than snake?”
“I like snake,” Marty said, sauntering close. “Trouser snake.”
Felix laughed at that, but the driver didn’t blink an eye.
“We got other meat for tonight,” he said. “Get a stick to hold its mouth open, and keep tight hold of it. We’re gonna go say hello to Kaitar, and if that Shyiine snake tries to bite, you stick this snake’s fangs in the Sulari bitch’s throat. And you. . .” He grinned, showing rows of brown, rotting teeth lurking in the forest of his grizzled beard as he wiped his free hand against his goat-hide coat. “Get down on the ground.”
Before Leigh could kneel or speak, his fist crashed against her jaw, hard as stone, the grisly rings leaving a deep gash. She hit the sand, mouth filling with blood, head ringing. Everything went fuzzy as the sound of laughter rolled in and out, all wrong. Skewed. Leigh struggled to her knees, blood drizzling over her chin. A tooth came sliding from between her lips like some odd, white pebble. Even Siat-rahl had never hit her so hard, probably had not been able to hit so hard. Swaying, she sank to the ground again as a shadow fell over her, noxious and reeking. The snake’s rattle buzzed next to her head.
“You move and these fangs are gonna be three inches in your throat. Bad way to die,” Felix breathed into her ear. He held the snake close, its jaws propped open by a stick, needle-sharp fangs wet with venom. A droplet landed against the side of her neck.
“Marty, I do like her tits better than yours. I’ll let you watch me inspect them later, if you’re lucky. Go get the rope and we’ll tie her up.”
“Screw you,” Marty said, sashaying to the low wagon. “I should make you tie her up. She looks mean enough to bust your nuts.”
“Someone do it quick,” the driver said. “I’m going to wake Besh up from his nap. I been waiting a long time to say hello to him. Marty, you take that bitch’s tooth. It’ll look fine on a necklace.” His big boot came down an inch from Leigh’s head as he stomped by.
The rattlesnake’s tail buzzed again. It twisted in Felix’s grasp, but he held tight. Leigh squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the scrawny man’s grip to slip and the snake’s fangs to pierce her throat. It would be a bad death, as the bandit had promised. Fingers— sinewy and hard as sticks—dug into her calves, bruising her as a rope tightened around her legs.
“Hold still, honey tits,” Marty said from the vicinity of her ankles. “If you squirm while I’m tying you up, Felix might let go of the snake. Wouldn’t want that.”
“I don’t startle that easy,” Felix retorted. “But Marty does. And she’s got a knife that’ll cut you from slit to mouth if she takes it in her head she don’t like you. Best keep still.”
Leigh opened her eyes again. Her jaw throbbed, the inside of her mouth raw where the big man had knocked her incisor out clean. Already, her cheek had swollen, the skin tight as a drum. She kept still, gaze tracing a line all the way to the driver standing near the rickety shelter. He leaned against the boulder and let loose a streamer of tobacco. Then, carefully removing one of the sticks from the top of the lean-to, he peeked through the branches. Grinning, he tested the weight of the club before raising it above his head.
The branch smashed down with so much force it snapped in half. A shocked scream split the air, full of pain and surprise as the entire shebang came toppling down. Kaitar scrambled from the ruined shelter, holding one thigh as he rolled to his back. Romano stumbled after him, eyes wide with confusion, mouth open in a mute cry. The driver wielded the broken branch like a mallet. Kaitar reached for his yatreg, snarling, rising to his knees to attack. The stick cracked across his left cheekbone and sent him sprawling. He did not move again.
Romano stared dumbly at Kaitar’s prone body. The half-Druen turned, lifted his revolver, and shot once. A spray of blood painted the air around the Junker’s head. He crumpled to the ground, bits of skull and brain leaking from the ruined hole that had been his face. The growl of the old revolver rolled over the valley and faded across the dunes.
“That’s how you beat a snake out of some scrub!” The driver laughed and tossed the branch aside.
He killed him . . . he killed both of them. Romano and Kaitar. They’re dead.
A strange emptiness filled Leigh’s belly, too dull to be panic and too wide to be sorrow. It swelled right up to her throat, making it hard to breathe.
Marty wrenched at her limp arms as she bound her wrists with a sturdy cord. “He would go and shoot the handsome one. I hope he don’t break nothin’ important on the snake, though. I’d like to see if it’s true, what they say about Shyiine men bein’ hung.” She nudged Leigh. “You ever see a Shyiine’s cock?”
The question didn’t even register in Leigh’s mind. The bright red pool by Romano’s head grew, soaking into the ochre-colored sand.
Felix laughed. “I don’t think she’s thinking about that right now, Marty.”
The sidewinder rattled its tail, a faint hiss escaping its pried jaws. For a moment, nothing made sense, and even the sight of the driver standing over Kaitar and prodding him with a stick didn’t connect with the words running through her mind.
They’re both dead. Both of them.
A low groan reached Leigh’s ears, barely audible under Marty and Felix’s taunting. Kaitar’s arm jerked against the ground, fingers curling and uncurling, searching for the hilt of his yatreg. Just as his fingertips grazed one of the weapons, the driver stooped, hauled him up by the hair, and dragged him across the sand. Kaitar kicked once, then went still, his head lolling back against the pressure on his scalp. A line of blood ran from his temple down his jaw to his neck. His eyes rolled, white and sightless. As the driver dumped him in the sand a half-dozen feet away, Leigh saw the Shyiine’s chest rise and fall with breath.
Alive.
“Kaitar . . .” she whispered. “Can you—”
“Shut up,” Felix warned, cheerful, almost polite. “Wouldn’t want to have to stick you with this snake. She’s awfully riled.”
Marty meandered over to Kaitar, nudging him curiously. “You want me to tie him up too, Strauss?”
Strauss? Where did I hear that name before?
Leigh could not remember. Her thoughts darted like antelope across the open terror of her mind, too quick and elusive to catch hold of.
Marty eyed the Shyiine thoughtfully. “Funny. I always remember him bein’ bigger than this. But I weren’t no more than a girl last I saw him. I guess he just ain’t as scary as I remember. Looks sort of pitiful, lyin’ there like that. Pretty hair, though.”
“He’d be scary enough if he had those knives up to your throat,” the driver—Strauss—said. “Get those yatreg and tie him up. Make sure it’s damned tight. I don’t want him gettin’ loose. Put them both in the back of the rover.” He turned, smiling as if he’d just remembered Leigh. The brown, ugly grin made her blood run cold.
“You ever been to Bywater?” He tugged a pair of goggles from his coat pocket. “Bet not. But you’ll be there soon.”
And then she remembered where she’d heard that name; it drifted to her like a ghost, floating up from the pit of half-forgotten conversations during her years as a greenhorn. Like that specter of memory, the man standing above her should have remained dead and buried.
“Lein Strauss. Rebel of Bywater.”
He tipped his hat, and winked.
Worm at the Bottom
Gairy roared as the water gushed over his head and down his back, soaking him. His hat—knocked clean off his head by the rush of water—fell to the wet sand. As he sprang to his feet, his big boot sent it rolling through the red mud. “What the fuck!”
“You smell.” Senqua tossed the empty bucket aside. “And I’m sick of it. You’re sitting at a well, Gairy. You could wash once in a while. It might cut down on the flies, too.”
He stood there, dripping, vision so bleary there were two defiant Senquas where there should have only been one. His hands slid over the wet tangle of his beard. “I should toss you down that damned well, but then the water’d be no good.”
“You’re attracting so many flies the water’s already no good. I can see bees and flies in your cup when you scoop water to drink, and you don’t even notice because you’re so drunk.”
“It’s just flies,” he said. “Next time you heave a bucket over me, I’m gonna break your scrawny damned neck over my knee.”
“You can’t even move fast enough to catch me.” Pointing at the rover parked by the outpost, she added, “There’s a message on the Veraleid. I figured out how to answer it. Kaitar and the others are missing. We—”
“Leave it be, Senqua.” He bent to pick his hat from the red mud. “They’ll be fine. And so will we, if we just keep our heads low.”
Senqua frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Gairy ignored her confused scowl as he shoved the hat back on his head, mud squelching against his scalp. Sighing heavily, he lowered himself to the lip of the well. The wet duster and shirt were uncomfortable as hell.
“You Shyiine never know when to drop something, do you? Always gotta push at it until it comes right back around and kicks you in the ass. Listen.” He glowered from under the short brim of his hat. “You’re not cut out to be a scout. Sure, Shyiine are good in the desert, but it takes more than that to do this job. It takes common sense and knowin’ when to keep your damned mouth shut. Your mouth is always open.” He made a blah-blah motion with his hand. “And you won’t listen to an experienced scout when he tells you to not to worry about something that ain’t none of your business.”
