by Frank Hurt
“BIA?”
“Bureau of Indian Affairs. This is all reservation land here, Ember. Fort Berthold Reservation. Remember when we went through New Town, all the references to the Three Affiliated Tribes? That’s the Mandan, Hidatsa, and Arikara Nation—the tribes that own all this.”
“All these oil wells. These drilling rigs everywhere.” Ember marveled at the 150-foot-tall steel derricks peppering the landscape. “They must be doing alright, financially?”
“Better than most reservations, I suppose.” Alarik slowed down as he approached the top of a hill. “We’re all benefiting from this boom, in one way or another. Some of us are directly—like Arnie and me—others indirectly from the knock-on effect. I’d read that for every drilling rig, there are 120 full-time-equivalent, primary sector jobs created. We’re just over 100 rigs in the state now. That’s 12,000 jobs, most of them paying $80,000 a year and up. Our state’s total population isn’t even 700,000. So it’s not small potatoes. That’s not even counting all the new retail stores, construction companies, restaurants, and on and on.”
“This really is a modern-day gold rush, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “It’s an industrial revolution for North Dakota. It won’t last forever, either. Commodity prices are cyclical. That’s why I always say, we’ve gotta make hay—”
“While the sun is shining.” Ember grinned.
“I’ve told you that before, huh?”
“Once or twice. Have you noticed an uptick in crime since this gold rush started?”
Alarik scratched his stubbled chin as he considered the question. His eyes never left the road. “I guess so, sure. I mean, there’s more people now, different folks sometimes have values that don’t align with ours. So, yeah, I guess it’s probably gotten a little more dangerous off the roads just as it has on them. A woman in Minot was kidnapped from her own house just a couple days ago.”
“I was just reading about that in the newspaper,” Ember nodded. “Tara Bennett.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. They said the cops have security camera footage at least. I hope she turns up, soon.” He glanced at her. “Maybe you shouldn’t go on those jogs by yourself anymore.”
“That’s sweet of you to be concerned for me. I’m careful, not to worry.”
The pickup turned onto a broad, gravel road. The surface of BIA 14 was pulverized, beaten to washboard ruts and soft shoulders. The wreck of a pickup sat in the shallow ditch, with a damaged tanker truck parked on the opposite side. A dark green SUV with law enforcement markings faced the truck, its caution lights spinning.
Traffic was heavy on the road, and visibility was reduced by dust kicked up from countless wheels. The breeze was low, allowing a beige haze to hang over the scene. Alarik kept his headlights on and matched the 25 miles per hour pace of the other traffic. He turned onto a secondary road—BIA 17, he identified it as, though Ember saw no signage—which proved even rougher, though with reduced traffic.
All told, it took another half hour to drive less than a half dozen winding miles. A small, white sign sat on the edge of a well pad, confirming their destination:
Fort Berthold 148-94-35D-26-1H
“This is it. This is the well that Nick and Katrina worked on.” Alarik glanced at the printout on the center console. “Completed in 2001.”
A steel horse-head pump nodded in the center of the gravel surface location. Painted tan, it matched the tank battery and other equipment around the site.
“And we can, what, just walk right up? Nobody’s guarding the place?” Ember surveyed the dusty landscape. “No security?”
Alarik chuckled as he idled his Ford along the access road. “They have signs up warning people of trespassing and danger, didn’t you see? We tread at our own risk. There are more than enough things out here to injure yourself with, so just stay away from the equipment, alright?”
They got out of the vehicle and walked side by side. The pump groaned and squeaked as it bobbed up and down. The counterweight spun in a lazy circle on a horizontal axis, sending a steel beam and its semicircle head traveling. A narrow rod disappeared into the ground, then slowly traveled upward. At its apex, a subtle hiss indicated that fluids were being drawn to the surface. The hydrocarbons and produced water flowed through pipes to separating equipment housed within small steel buildings, painted to match the rest of the components.
“So, what are we looking for, exactly?” Alarik toyed with a piece of soapstone, flicking pieces of talc loose with his fingernail.
Ember consulted her notes. “When I called the Department of Mineral Resources, they told me that the original wellbore was plugged after the operator lost its assembly downhole. They sidetracked and drilled a second wellbore alongside the first.”
He nodded, “that explains why they didn’t hit the Ley Line the second time. Leaving a BHA downhole is an expensive proposition, but not as bad as plugging and abandoning the whole well.”
“It’s a long shot, but I was just hoping that we might find some sort of…I don’t know…sign of the alien mana. Something that can help us with the Aedynar Artifact.” Ember walked up to the pumping unit. The smell of sulfur stung her nostrils and she sneezed.
“I don’t think we’re going to find anything here, Ember,” Alarik said after they’d walked around the location for twenty minutes.
Ember kicked a small stone with her toe. “Let’s go sit up on that little hill. I need to breathe fresh air and think.”
They climbed the earthen berm on the edge of the wellsite. It was a mound of topsoil, set aside when the site was built and intended for future reclamation when the well would stop producing in 20 or 30 years. Ember stood atop the berm and looked down at the man-made plateau and the equipment upon it.
“This is where it all started, those nine years ago. Ensign 77, drilling into that tiny sliver of Ley Line and bursting through the shell that encased it. Releasing the monsters of Aedynar into our world and contaminating our people—your brother and the others.” Ember ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. “All it would have taken was their drill bit to be to the side by a few inches, and none of this would have ever happened. Arnie would be fine, Peggy, Kenny, Roland—all those guys would be healthy and happy.”
Alarik watched the Malvern woman. “We can’t change the past. It’s only the future we can affect.”
She turned away from the wellsite to face south. The contours of the land were rough, eroded into steep ravines and sharp cliffs. Juniper and cedar clutched at the north faces of the buttes, and thickets of red-fruiting bullberry blanketed the land. The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows from which deer emerged to graze. “Could you imagine hiking this? Not just hiking it, but running through it, like Nick and Kat said they did.”
“It’s beautiful,” Alarik said, though he was still watching Ember.
“It’s treacherous,” she corrected. “If I tried running over that land, I’d cartwheel down. I’d be lucky to claim that nothing’s broken, then. Everything about the Mandaree Incident was treacherous. The event itself, the cover-up by Higginbotham and who-knows-who-else.” Ember bit her lower lip and shook her head as her voice quavered. “It’s just too much, Rik.”
“Hey, what’s all this about? Where’s this coming from?” Alarik stepped up to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Everything is going great. You’ve done so much for Arnie and the others. This is cause for celebration, isn’t it?”
She leaned into him and shook her head. “It’s not enough. I’m sorry, I’m just tired I guess. There’s this situation, then a case I’m working on—of two changelings who were murdered. We have no leads whatsoever. I fear their killer is going to walk away, never to be heard from. Their families will never get justice. The victims will never get justice.”
“I don’t know much about your job, I know that. But it’s not like you’re the only Investigator, right? And if it doesn’t get solved, it’s not like this would be the first unsolved murder, right?�
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“I promised them, Rik.” Ember felt her eyes burn. “I promised their families I would find their sons’ murderer. What if I can’t? Why did I do that? Why did I make a promise I can’t keep? Bloody hell, now I’m crying. Brilliant.”
Alarik produced a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her. He held her shoulders in his callused hands and looked down at her as she dabbed her cheeks. “Ember, you’re trying to take on the world by yourself. But you aren’t alone. There are a lot of people who’re cheering you on, ready to step up to help. You’ve got my family. You’ve got the other changeling scouts and their families. You’ve got me.”
In the fading light, she looked up and studied his face. The shaggy hair, the stubbled cheeks, his brow furrowed with concern. She saw her reflection in his umber eyes and it reminded her of when he had broken her free from danger before. He was on her side then, as now.
Ember cradled his face with her hands. The stubble tickled her palm but she didn’t mind. He hadn’t showered after working all day and he smelled of spent welding rods and burnt slag. She didn’t mind that, either. She pulled at him and he responded, leaning low to meet her. Ember closed her eyes and touched her lips to his.
The kiss lasted mere seconds, but her heart raced for many minutes after. Neither of them said anything, embracing as ruddy orange dusk settled in around them.
When she felt like she could control herself enough to speak, Ember told him what had been gnawing on her subconscious. “I don’t know what to do next, Rik. Gloria tells me that there’s nothing more she can do with the Aedynar Artifact. She wants to take it to the clinic at the Parker Building, to expose it to the Ley Line. She thinks she might be able to leverage the magic, to force her will to unlock the alien mana within the artifact.”
Alarik held her close to him and listened. “That seems reasonable, doesn’t it?”
She shook her head, her face against his chest. She breathed in and somewhere beneath the industrial smells she found his scent. “No, it’s too risky, I can’t allow that. The artifact is the only hope we have of helping the scouts. It’s potent magic, and if Higginbotham got his hands on it—if he was able to figure out how to access that magic—he would use it for evil. I know it.”
“So, what is your other option?”
“Gloria wants me to steal a Leystone. To smuggle one out of the spa and bring it to Plaza, so she can try to use it to enhance her energy in an attempt to unlock the artifact. But that’s illegal. It goes against the Investigator’s Creed. Against the oath I took to uphold the Council’s Law.”
“There’s a third option, isn’t there?
She frowned. “I don’t see a third option.”
“You could just…do nothing. Arnie and the others are better because of the artifact, just as it is. Their conditions are improved. Stabilized.”
“But they aren’t cured, Rik. This just masks their symptoms. Sure, it’s an improvement, but they still can’t shift. And they’re dependent on the artifact. How long can they be expected to live like that? What if something happens to the Aedynar Artifact someday? They’d be back to where they were. Living in a state of purgatory.”
“It sounds to me, then, that you’ve only got one choice to make.” He held his hand against the back of her head, his fingers gently caressing her hair. “Whether or not you’re willing to break your oath to the Investigator’s Creed.”
19
Mighty Powerful
“In the event I am misinterpreting your request, I shall restate it.” The ghost’s voice sounded like coarse sand poured over aluminum foil. He held up a transparent blue hand, extending a digit to tick off each point. “Your incompetence as an Investigator has yielded no information as to the demise of Billy Colton, the man who murdered me. You wish to unlock the mana contained within an alien object—the Aedynar Artifact, as you name it. You wish to counter the prevarication of three hostile spirits. And, you wish to learn about defending yourself and others against Deference Spells.”
The ghost turned four extended fingers and pointed them at her. “Even as you arrive with empty hands, you so boldly beg to learn my wisdom of the supernatural.”
“I wouldn’t say beg, Barnaby. But…that about sums it, yeah.” Ember zipped up her black leather jacket to protect against the chilly air. It was late Saturday morning and the July sun was blazing, but she shivered all the same. “While we’re at it, maybe you can tell me why the air gets so bloody cold whenever I speak with the deceased.”
The ghost of Barnaby Harrison scoffed. “Why should I help you, foolish girl? You have proven yourself of negligible value to me thus far.”
Ember gritted her teeth. “Right. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to find anything out about Billy Colton. I’ll continue searching. If there are any records of his life after 1898, they will be found. The Druwish bureaucracy has a fondness of keeping detailed records.” She chose not to tell him that she had limited access to those records; there was no need to muddy the waters with details.
The ghost crossed his arms and glared at her through vacant eye sockets.
“Who else am I going to turn to, Barnaby?” Ember combed her fingers through her long, blonde hair. “It’s not like there are any other Inquisitors around—dead or alive. I’m trying to figure things out as I go, but I know I’m making mistakes. I’ve got to fix these problems. The injustice. The corruption.”
“Cease your pitiable moaning.” Barnaby shook his head. The pheasant feather tucked in the band of his beaver skin hat was unresponsive to the breeze. “If your strategy is to torture me with your incessant whining, it is working.”
“Then you’ll help me?” Ember clapped her hands together. “Thank you, Grand Inquisitor Harrison. You’re a lifesaver. No pun intended.”
“You may celebrate your victory another time when I am unable to bear witness to it.” He held up four boney fingers and curled one down. “I shall be expecting progress on your pursuit of Mr. Colton’s remains. Wherever he is interred, I should like to know his fate.”
“Right. Got it.”
“Compelling the cooperation of the hostile spirits,” Barnaby continued. He folded down a second finger. “What you require is their full names. With that, you may control them rather easily. It would be like leading an ox by its nose.”
“I’ve never tried leading any oxen by their noses before,” Ember kicked a pine cone with her shoe. “I knew about the value of a full name where magic is concerned, especially with respect to dealing with ghosts.”
“See? Then you already had your answer.”
“Well, not exactly. The problem is, I don’t know their full names, and I’m not going to be able to acquire them without raising the attention of their employer…or employers.” Ember bent over and picked up the pine cone. “See, we have these things called computers. And in those computers, we have databases. They’re like filing cabinets, filled with records, such as information on people. These records are being watched by the Department of Information, and presumably Elton Higginbotham and his co-conspirators.”
“The Director of Wellness,” Barnaby said.
“Right. And I don’t know who all he is working with just yet. I have to tread carefully.”
“That sounds very much like a problem for you to deal with.” Barnaby canted his head at her. “Not something a deceased man can resolve for you, little girl.”
“But…can’t you just…I don’t know, apply pressure to them? Being a fellow ghost and all?”
Barnaby growled. “Do not think to equate me with those scoundrels, fool.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Ember held up a hand. “My apologies. I only meant that you share a commonality.”
“So, you presume all spirits know one another?”
She bit her lower lip and shrugged. “Um…sort of, yeah?”
“No. It does not work that way. While we may exist in a state between the physical world and the spiritual, as they and I have no connection t
o one another, it would be impossible to interact.” Barnaby stepped around his headstone. “Additionally, it pains me to admit that you hold far more sway than I would.”
“Because I’m alive?”
Barnaby turned his head. His empty eye sockets looked over his shoulder at her. “Because, Ember Wright, you have mastery over Boundary Transcendence beyond what I ever obtained while alive.”
She noticed that he used her name, rather than his usual condescending insults. “Boundary Transcendence? But I don’t even know that term. How could I be better at it than you?”
“Such visionary capability wasted on the blind,” the ghost muttered.
“Look who’s talking. Mister Invisible Glowing Eyeballs.”
When Barnaby turned and faced her, Ember thought she had invited his anger. She squinted at him, bracing herself by planting her right foot behind her as she raised her fists. It would have been useless as a defense against a ghost, but training with Debra each morning had instilled the defensive posture in her to the point where it was reflexive.
“Tell me, as you look upon my visage, what do you see?” The ghost’s gritty voice had an uncharacteristically curious tone.
Ember frowned. She studied the figure before her. “It’s sunny out, so it’s hard to see you well. It’s easier to see your shape at night.”
“My shape?”
“Right. You’re as coalesced as you’ll be, but even so, you are transparent. Light blue-silver. There’s a sort of…mist around you. You’re dressed in a nice suit and a vest with brass buttons, a fancy hat with a feather. You look like you’re wearing formal attire, appropriate for your time.”
“It is as I saw myself before I was killed.” The texture in Barnaby’s vocals was softer, as though the grade of sand poured over foil had become fine. “My eyes. You said they are invisible?”
“They are. Your eye sockets are empty. They glow, but I can see through them. I can see the trees behind you, through your skull.” Ember shrugged. “It’s like that with all ghosts, Barnaby.”
