Clarity

I. Blood and Salt

Blue and white, the salt flats shimmered beneath a wraith-like skein of heat waves, rendered incorporeal, almost otherworldly by that writhing veil. They were not, however, the only things that moved upon the broad, sun-hammered plain.

Beneath the opalescent dome of the desert sky, the Clarity hove forth. The quiet hum of her thaumic engines droned across the barren flats, preceding the snub-nosed skiff and sending blue-backed harva lizards darting for the cover of their rocky dwellings.

The wind was steady, though not strong, and the skiff’s sails snapped and pulled taught as it glided forwards over the hard-baked pan. Those sails had been red once, when the Clarity had been a younger vessel with fewer years of wear resting on her warped plank decking, but the constant abrasives of wind and sand and the irrepressible scourge of the sun had long since dulled the bold tones to a nondescript dun colour.

The Clarity’s hull was likewise weathered, the lightweight chemsteel plating pitted and worn, blackened in places where it had sustained fire damage, scratched and dented from a half-a-hundred minor collisions, and a few that had not been so minor. The damage portrayed clear evidence of a life hard lived, of toil and wear and, occasionally, real danger.

The fine lines surrounding Delaney Syper’s eyes grew more pronounced as he squinted against the blinding light rebounding from the salt flats, gliding by thirty feet below the Clarity’s hull. Leaning against the starboard-side rail of the vessel’s quarterdeck, the aero-Captain stared hard at the craggy hill formation that stood out against the otherwise featureless terrain ahead of him, growing incrementally larger as the skiff ate up the remaining miles between them.

One hand fumbled at the front of his leather vest, and after a moment Syper produced a battered telescope, which he extended and put to an eye. A long minute of silence passed before he lowered the scope with a non-committal grunt, which might reasonably have meant anything at all. He turned to the tall, statuesque woman patiently manning the helm at his side.

Definitely smoke, he said, and then hesitated. I think. He turned his head, ignoring the woman’s raised eyebrow, and voiced a deep-throated bellow towards the prow of the skiff. Tal! I want your eyes in the maintop, and quick about it. We’ve work for you.

The broad-shouldered fellow sprawled in a hammock slung between the forward deck rail and the foremast stirred from the depths of blissful slumber as the harsh bawl reached his ears. The aural assault invaded the outer peripheries of his unconscious mind, fermented for some time in the stew of jumbled half-thoughts and filtered sensations that remained active while the rest of him shut down, and at last triggered the desired reaction. Talibar Onchado jerked, muttered a curse, and sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

Wha’s goin’ on, he mumbled, still not entirely in the world of the wakeful. As he sat pondering this abrupt and unpleasant change, the irritating bellow reached him a second time, and he remembered what it was that had pulled him from slumber.

Talibar! Maintop! Now!

Talibar rolled his eyes, stifled a jaw-creaking yawn. Aye, Cap’n, I’m coming. Shaking his head, the muscular fellow swung his legs free of the hammock and stood, yawning and scratching. Don’t get your under-things all twisty now. He shambled towards the prow, out from under the cover of the cloth awning that had been erected over the foredeck and into the full glare of the midday sun. Near the afterpart of the middle deck, behind the mainmast, a large square hatch opened onto the sky, and from this aperture there issued a faint hum and occasional pale flashes of light. There also issued a voice, high-pitched and feminine and cheerful, as Talibar passed by.

Hey there, sleeping wonder. How was your nap? asked the disembodied voice, and Talibar glanced down at the hole and waved a hand over its opening.

All too short, Shauna. All too short.

Aye, the voice gained a sympathetic quality. Captain does seem a mite excitable today, doesn’t he?

He does that, Tal grumbled..

Syper was waiting impatiently at the foot of the mainmast when Tal arrived. I need a man in the topgallant, Sailing Master Talibar. There looks to be a column of smoke rising from the atoll yonder.

Or not, the woman behind them helpfully supplied, and Syper shot her a disparaging look before continuing.

Anyhow, I have need of your eagle eyes and clear analytical judgement in the matter. That is, he added, if you’re feeling up to it after your nap.

Well I don’t know. Talibar looked dubiously towards the horizon. It got interrupted, you see.

Yes, and for that I’m terribly sorry. But I don’t pay you to sleep in hammocks.

Talibar regarded the horizon a moment longer, as if the words had washed completely around his ears and failed entirely to penetrate. Then he grinned over at a frowning Syper and the tall woman. Aye, Captain. Right away, sir.

As Tal crossed to the mast and started up the swaying rope rigging, Syper turned back to the helmswoman, shaking his head despairingly. By the Maranth, sometimes I don’t know why I put up with the man. Would’ve been easier just to do the job myself.

Why didn’t you then, sir? Sabrin Voltana asked, correcting the skiff’s course with a fractional port-wise nudge of the wheel.

Syper looked at her. The captain shouldering all the work while the sailing master lies abed? Not bloody likely. He craned his head up towards the mast, raising his voice again. See anything, Tal?

Matron’s tits, Cap, give me a minute here, came the frustrated answer.

Syper grinned happily over at Sabrin. Of course, it’s also funny to watch other people work while you stand around doing nothing.

Rin tilted her head in acknowledgement. That’s what makes you such an excellent captain, sir. You do know how to delegate.

Twenty feet above them, Talibar had scrambled over the futtock shrouds and now balanced easily on the square maintop platform, peering in the direction of the atoll with eyes narrowed and shaded by his broad palm. After a dozen heartbeats he lowered his hand and looked down at Syper.

Aye, Captain, it does sort of look like smoke.

Syper, his head craned awkwardly up at the platform, blinked. I already know that, Tal. That’s bloody why I sent you up there, so that I might aquire certainty as to the matter. Not so you could tell me what I already know.

The other man rolled his eyes. And I’m telling you, it’s hard to say. I’d need a telescope to see for sure.

Again, Syper blinked. I thought you had a telescope.

When have I had a bloody telescope? You don’t pay me enough to own a bloody telescope!

Based on your present performance, I clearly pay you too much!

Del, Sabrin broke in, exasperated, why don’t you just toss him your scope, and we can cut this little shouting match short—entertaining as it is.

"Toss him my scope? Syper looked at his helmswoman in consternation. He’d drop the bloody thing. Clumsy as an ox, that boy."

I won’t drop it, Tal yelled back. Besides, it’s a piece of junk anyways. I doubt dropping it would make it much worse than it already is.

Again, Syper looked at Rin in mock incredulity. Listen to the bloody mouth on that boy! Where’d he learn that kind of insubordination?

Sabrin’s face was expressionless, but her eyes shone with amusement. Honestly, sir? You tend to bring it out in people.

Do I? Couldn’t think why. Syper dug into his vest and once again removed the brass-bound telescope. Alright, Tal. Here’s the scope. But if you drop it…

It’ll be because you’re a terrible thrower, Tal interrupted with a shout.

That is…probably true. But I’m the Captain, so it will still be your fault.

Syper tossed the scope. It spun, flashing in the sunlight, and seemed to hang suspended for a moment before Talibar’s hand darted out and snagged it from the air.

Jemmy catch, Syper called up to him.

No more than two dozen heartbeats passed before Tal lowered the scope. It’s smoke alright, Cap’n, he called down. Can’t see what’s causing it yet, hidden by the island, but it’s smoke, and too much of it for any kind of cook fire or the like.

Syper returned to the rail and leaned his elbows on it, eyes on the atoll and the indistinct haze rising from it, chewing on his cheek as he always did while thinking. Though she remained staring ahead, Sabrin’s attention was fixed on her captain, waiting.

After a moment he nodded. Alright, Rin, take us over.

Aye, sir. A point and a half to larboard! The tall woman lifted her voice for the benefit of Shauna in the engine room, and spun the wheel accordingly. The manoeuvre was slight enough that it required no alterations to the thaumic propulsion radiators that were the principal means of thrust, but still it was good to let the younger woman know what was happening. A mage-mechanic’s control of the thaumic energy that powered the skiff’s engine was a delicate thing, requiring perfect coordination and level flow even under the most ideal of circumstances.

The vessel altered course beneath Rin’s deft hand, lurching but slightly as it took up its new point of sail, running nearly dead on before the wind.

Syper turned to Talibar as the big man alighted on the deck. Tal, fetch that wastrel brother of yours, and the kid too.

The alteration in course had brought the wind further aback, which meant the vessel’s yards had to be braced in more squarely with the masts. As it was, Rin had to fight to hold her steady, for the play of wind on the angled sails now threatened to throw the skiff’s head off and bring her broadside to the breeze.

The big man nodded. On it, he answered, and after tossing the captain’s telescope—gently—back to him, he turned and hurried for the crew quarters at the rear.

Syper, meanwhile, crossed the short distance to the engine room hatch, which was surrounded by a raised wooden lip. He squatted beside it and peered down into the darkened belly of the skiff.

You awake in there, Shauna?

Course, Captain.

Good. We’re nipping over to Jeliha Atoll for a spell…

Investigating the smoke, Shauna finished for him. I heard, Cap’n. I’ll hold her steady.

I’ve no doubt. Just making sure you were paying attention. He peered closer into the darkened hole. Moff still in there with you?

Aye, Captain, came a muffled voice—a man’s this time. I’m here.

You winning?

Ask me that question once we’ve made Imnay, Del, the unseen Moff replied. If this mortar was worth a half-peck of lizard spit I’d be able to give you a better answer, but as it is…

I know, Moff, I know. Once we’ve put this job under our belts we can see about new mortar, but for now, you’ll have to hold it down with what you got, savvy?

Savvy, Cap. Just making sure you ain’t forgot us down here.

Moff, how could I forget you? You’re always on my mind.

That’s…somewhat unsettling, Captain.

Isn’t it, though. Syper stood, brushing off his pants, and rejoined Sabrin at the rail. His face grew serious as he gazed towards the distant black smudge marring the horizon.

What do you make of it, Rin? he asked quietly.

The ebon-skinned woman’s answer was immediate. What else could it be but a wreck, this far along the trail? There’s been no distress buzz come in, but it’s likely their Signal’s out. Either that, she did not have to add, or there’s nobody left alive to use the Signal. I don’t like it, she finished after a moment. Doesn’t smell right.

Delaney Syper had learned through long association to trust Sabrin’s presentiments, most especially when they reinforced his own, as was the case now. No one comes here, he agreed. No one excepting folk like us, them who want to avoid the complications that come of usin’ the main trails. Well, us and flamingos, I suppose.

Not even them, not this late in the season, Rin reminded him, and Syper tilted his head in acknowledgement.

Well, I guess that rules them out as the culprits.

I’d imagine it does.

The return of Tal, accompanied by two other men, interrupted their conversation. Jhad Onchado was a somewhat younger, shorter and leaner version of his hulking brother, with tilted eyes in a swarthy, broad-nosed face, and thick black hair curling around his ears; while Kreg Intarna, the son of Moff, was square-faced and short, slightly younger-looking then his sixteen years would imply.

The Onchado brothers, Syper saw, had both armed themselves. In addition to the heavy khalsa fighting knife at his belt, Talibar carried a double-barrelled shotgun, while Jhad had a Garing rifle slung across his shoulder and a battered but well-serviced cutlass at his side.

Reaching the helm, Jhad hitched his rifle sling higher on his shoulder and squinted towards the atoll. Trouble afoot, Cap’n? he asked nonchalantly. Syper glanced at him, lifted a shoulder.

Maybe. Can’t be certain until we scope the situation, so best we stay chary.

I’m the very soul o’ chary, Cap’n.

Mm-hmm, Syper grunted. So you’ve proven in the past. He saw that Kreg had also armed himself with a cutlass and a chemsteel compound bow from the weapon’s locker, and he had with him Syper’s own Garing rifle and shot-bag, which he handed across to the captain.

Thank you, young Kreg. Syper slung the bag over his shoulder and ran a cursory check of the weapon, noting that it was loaded but not primed. Rin, take us up to fifty feet. Let’s get some vantage here. Rest of you see to those braces.

While the sailors ran to comply, Sabrin reached out a gloved hand to activate the Signal obelisk mounted beside the wheel, thereby opening a line of communication directly to Shauna in the engine room, but Syper stalled her.

Not so hasty, Rin. Talking the old-fashioned way works just as well, and doesn’t waste any auxiliary power in the doing, sides a bit of breath from the lungs. I mean, she’s only twenty feet away.

Sabrin was turned away from him, and so he could not see her face, but he could well imagine the look that flashed across it at his words. Of course, she was too much the good soldier to argue…this time.

As you say, sir. Her reply was carefully neutral, betraying no hint of the words she actually wanted to say, which went something along the lines of, Why don’t you shove it up your ass, sir.

Grinning slightly, Syper crossed to the engine room hatch on the lower deck. MM Shauna, altitude jump fifty feet.

Aye, Cap’n, came the muffled response. Altitude jump fifty feet. Boosting power to for’ard and aft prop rads…now.

The whine of the engine increased, and the fore-and aft-mounted propulsion radiators slung beneath the hull glowed momentarily brighter as additional power was fed into them. At the helm, Sabrin gripped the wheel tightly, holding the ship to a smooth, steady ascent.

A half-dozen heartbeats passed, and then Shauna’s voice floated once more from the engine room. Altitude fifty and holding.

Good. Syper nodded his satisfaction and returned to the rail, squinting ahead towards the looming bulk of the atoll. Now, let’s see what this is all about.

Jeliha Atoll was one of several such islands, that rose from the otherwise flat, featureless sea of the salt wastes, and were formed, according to scholars of natural philosophy, by the tops of long-extinct volcanoes thrusting through the hard-baked pan. At its peak, the atoll stood one hundred feet above the plain. A harsh, stony mound of jumbled boulders, projecting rock outcrops and giant purple and green cacti, it stood in blatant contrast to the flat white salts that stretched away from it in all directions.

On the north-east flank of the island, they came upon the source of the smoke. The wreck was a blackened, oily scar amidst the brown and green slope of the hill. The fires that had consumed the small skiff had died out hours before, the smoke reduced to a slender greasy plume whipped and scattered by the ceaseless wind. Wreckage lay strewn about the downed craft for yards around, and the only sign of movement came from an opportunistic salt-jack who was sniffing about the ruins. The big, hare-like rodent loosed an indignant snarling chirp and darted into the cover of the rocks when the Clarity approached.

The crew slowly scanned the slopes of the atoll as they drew near, looking for any sign of survivors or perpetrators, if indeed the skiff had not crashed due to some internal failure or the error of the pilot. They saw nothing, though, and together Sabrin and Shauna guided the craft to land. The ungainly landing struts were unlashed and set into place, and Clarity settled onto the flats fifty yards from the burnt-out skiff.

Leaving Moff, Shauna, and Kreg (his father’s insistence that he stay aboard winning out over his protestations that he accompany the party) aboard the skiff, the Onchado brothers, Syper, and Rin cautiously disembarked and started across the salt, all four of them bearing loaded weapons. They approached the vessel cautiously, not expecting trouble but prepared to deal with it if it arose. This far Inside, with hundreds of miles between them and the nearest outpost of civilization, caution was an instinctual part of life, and those who did not live by it soon learned to do so, or died before their time.

It did not take long to find the skiff’s former occupants. The first body was sprawled a dozen yards from the vessel’s scorched, canted hull, face down in the dusty scrub. It was a man, clad in rough but new-looking and relatively unworn Interior wear, one hand flung out before him as if reaching for some unseen salvation that had, obviously, never materialized. The back of the luckless fellow’s head was caked in blood, and the stub of an arrow jutted from his lower back. A quick examination revealed that he had been of middle years, clean-shaven and regular-featured, and that in addition to his other wounds, his throat had been slit.

The party from the Clarity did not speak after their rough examination of the body. There was no need. Warily they continued forwards, spreading out to either side of the skiff, weapons ready. It was quickly discovered that the man was not alone. Amidst the scattered bundles of foodstuffs and personal belongings that had been thrown from the skiff when it made its unscheduled landing, a woman and a young girl lay upon the rocky soil.

Both were blonde, both pretty, and both clad in the wide, flowing trousers common to Interior women, with long vests tucked into wide belts. The resemblance between the two was remarkable; almost certainly mother and daughter, which made the man, if Syper was any judge, the husband and father. Sabrin reached the women first and knelt down, checking both for pulses. Her fingers encountered only cold, still flesh, and at Syper’s enquiring glance, she gave a brief shake of her head.

For a moment there was no sound but that of the wind whispering across the stirring salts. Four sets of eyes studied the bodies; swept uneasily across the rocky, seemingly empty flank of the hill. Sweat ran in rivulets down heat-reddened foreheads, itched beneath cotton undertunics.

It was Syper who spoke first, slowly and distantly, as if a part of his mind was detached from the present, looking backwards upon some unknown window of history. Well, we can be sure of one thing. The others looked at him. It wasn’t no bloody flamingo who did this.

Shifters. Tal moved closer to the bodies and knelt down beside Sabrin, biting off the word like he was tearing into tough jerky. Bloody sand-shifters. These arrows are Haano arrows, I’d swear by the Maranth.

The Captain briefly cut his eyes towards the other man. You ever know the Haano to come this far north? he asked Talibar. Ever?

The big mercenary sat back, then stood. He shrugged. Seems they did this time.

Seems so, aye. Syper stared at the younger of the two females. She couldn’t have been more then thirteen, delicate-featured, slender, her hair falling in sun-coloured ringlets past her shoulders. Despite the blood, her face was peaceful, as if she merely lay in repose and might yet awaken at any moment. But the arrow that sprouted from the middle of her chest spoke of a different, colder truth, and Syper felt something stir deep within him as he stood there against the blinding white salt flats, looking down upon the girl. Something white-hot and seething with rage.

Tal, his voice was carefully expressionless as he began issuing orders. Cast about a deal, see if you can’t get eyes on any tracks, going or coming. Hopefully we didn’t blunder all over ’em when we came up. As the elder Onchado moved off to comply, Syper turned to Jhad. Take a look inside the skiff; see how bad the damage is and what might be worth salvaging.

Aye, Cap’n. Jhad seemed abnormally subdued, and there was a hint of paleness suffusing his usually swarthy features. He hesitated before turning away from Syper. You think them shifters might still be around?

Syper tilted his head. Could be. Crash only looks to be a half-day old, little more maybe, so if the ones that did this are on foot, they won’t be too far. Jhad nodded tightly and turned away.

Still crouched in the sand, Sabrin Voltana reached out and carefully slid shut the eyes of the older woman, who, unlike her daughter, had been staring with glassy indifference towards the blue vault of the sky.

We don’t think they are on foot though, do we, sir? she asked grimly.

They’re on a skiff halfway to Imnay, or to Tarneshan or Obroj or wherever the hell they came from, Syper agreed. I’d wager on it, anyhow.

I’m inclined to agree, Sabrin said softly. Sir, you should take a look at this.

Frowning, Syper moved forwards and leaned over Sabrin, staring down at the dead woman beside her. After a moment he breathed a soft curse.

Nailek’s black balls. The right ear, too. Ain’t seen that since…

The war, Sabrin finished grimly. I know. The girl’s the same. Her hair was hiding it at first, but they did her too. The fellow wasn’t touched, though. Mayhap they didn’t have time for him.

Or someone thought better of it, Syper agreed. Like hell this was shifter work. Haano might eat the heart out of an enemy they got hard respect for, but this type of mutilation isn’t them.

Neither are military-issue rifle rounds, which are what killed the lady here. Sabrin was probing at the front of the woman’s shirt, where blood from a deep puncture wound had spilled freely to pool in her lap.

Syper squinted closer, and after a moment nodded. Good eyes. Same as the man. That arrow stickin’ out of him is just for show, the throat wound too. Nothing makes a hole in the skull like what he had, but for a rifle bullet. ’Sides, shifters wouldn’t waste perfectly good arrows like was done here, leavin’ ’em behind like this.

The child…the arrow’s her only wound, Sabrin said quietly. They must have killed Ma and Pa first and then… She broke off, feeling neither the need nor the desire to elaborate.

Jhad returned at that moment, studiously avoiding looking at the bodies sprawled in the wilting sun. Engine looks pretty well shot to hell, Cap’n, he reported, though you can have Shauna take a look if you want. Looks like the shifters went at it with axes or some such, before they lit the whole damn mess on fire.

What of the contents? What were these folks carrying? Syper asked him.

Jhad shrugged. Not a lot. Hardly anything in the skiff’s storage lockers at all. Most of what they had got thrown out in the crash—dry preserves, a few clothes, and not much else. I suppose the ’shifters made off with most of it, but then, why didn’t they take the sundries on the ground? He waved a hand to encompass the baggage scattered across the flank of the hill.

Sabrin stood, dusting off her leggings. She cut her eyes briefly towards the captain before speaking. Because it wasn’t shifters, Jhad.

He stared at her, eyes narrowed. What? Take another look at those arrows. You ever known anyone else to use arrows like that?

No. Which is awful convenient for the folks who actually did the killing. Nice easy way to pin the blame elsewheres, Sabrin continued, and when Jhad looked to Syper for confirmation, the captain nodded.

Course, they botched the job from the get-go, usin’ rifles like they did.

I reckon you’re right, came a voice from behind, and they turned to find Talibar picking his way upslope towards them. I found tracks leading onto the salts, at least three sets. No sign of any rawar prints or moccasins, just boots. And I’d swear before Balaak that they had their own aero. The prints just disappear about sixty yards that away, he waved a hand north-eastward, and the sand’s fused there like it got doused by prop thrusters. But, I found this. He held up an angled piece of metal the length of his forearm, obviously a weapon and in appearance lying somewhere between a sword and an axe. It had been broken; the blade ended in a jagged stump above the cord-wrapped hilt, and presumably this was to have been the reason for its abandonment. It was undeniably a Haano weapon, just as the arrows were undeniably Haano.

Syper nodded. Fits with everything else we’ve seen here. Whoever did this had a powerful concern for covering their tracks, though they did a less than breathtaking job of it. He glanced at Rin. Those two didn’t have Fed Ident cards, did they?

The tall woman shook her head. Nope. Nothing personal on either of them.

Jhad, check the fellow over yonder for the same. Tal, Rin, start gathering whatever foodstuffs you can find, anything else of value. Then we’re getting the hell out of here.

Jhad turned away and began making for the first body, while Talibar started to shift through some of the scattered wreckage.

Rin turned to Syper. Sir, she began carefully, these folk need buryin’.

He looked at her, his eyes bleak. But then, surprisingly, he jerked his head in a curt nod. Aye. Guess the poor bastards deserve that much. But it’ll be short and sweet. I don’t like hanging around here over-longer than we need to. If them as did the killing decide to come back, I doubt they’d appreciate our prowlin’ about.

Of course it took longer than Syper would have liked, as such things always did. He went back to Clarity to retrieve shovels, and was accompanied on his return by the rest of the crew. When Shauna saw the bodies, she gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. Moff muttered something under his breath that might have been prayer or a curse, while Kreg stood beside his father with wide eyes, struck dumb by what was probably his first encounter with the aftermath of violent death.

Their ears, Shauna said, her voice small, horrified. Oh, God. They took their ears, just like in… she swallowed. In the war.

Rin gave the girl’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Moff was staring at the mutilations in disgust. Maranth grant them peace, he said quietly.

Oh, I’m sure It will, Syper said. Moff, I want you to have a look-see inside that boat, see what’s salvageable in terms of working components.

The older mechanic’s eyes narrowed. We’re just going to take it?

Syper lifted an eyebrow. "It’s not like these folk’ll be needing it. Not now that they’re, as you say, at peace and all. But don’t take nothing too big, and nothing that’ll take over long to remove and haul onto Clarity. I want us out of here as fast as can be arranged, savvy?"

Moff scratched at his wiry grey beard, blue eyes locked on Syper’s own dark ones, then nodded curtly and turned away. Aye aye, Skipper. Kreg, lend a hand here, would you?

Shauna had been standing to one side, gazing at the blackened and perforated lower hull of the skiff. Now she turned to Syper, still shaken. Del, whoever…you know, did this…they had thaumic weapons. Syper’s head came up sharply at that, and he looked hard at the young mage.

I can sense the kyne energy radiating from the damage, Shauna said quietly. A large release. Likely it was some type of blast cannon that knocked the boat out of the air.

This keeps gettin’ better and better, Syper muttered. After a moment he plunged the blade of his shovel into the stony earth and lifted a spadeful to one side, beginning the first of the graves. Well, changes nothing. It is what it is, and the sooner we’re gone, the better.

Talibar glanced over from where he was starting on the the second grave. One of these dead folk must have been a mage, too. Either that, or there was a mage flyin’ the boat up till the ambush.

Shauna? Syper asked as he slammed a boot down on the rim of his spade, thrusting it into the stony soil. What do you reckon?

But Shauna shook her head. No, none of them were kyne-wielders. Like you say, Tal, there must have been at least one other on the skiff with them.

So the question is, Talibar said, where are they now? Were they part of the set up, working with the ambuscaders, or are they captured somewhere, or dead themselves?

Who’s to say, Syper answered. Mages are valuable commodities. Maybe they sold him to the Federal Guilds.

That’s not how it works, Captain. Shauna frowned at him, exasperation showing through her shock. "You can’t sell mages like cattle." Syper could almost see the racing of her thoughts behind her tilted dark eyes.

After a moment she turned back to look once more at the bodies, the strewn wreckage. Who would’a did this to ’em, Del? Why? They were just…just a settler family, right? Just trying to make a new life for themselves Inside.

I don’t know, Shauna. Syper paused in his digging, wiping rivulets of sweat from his dark forehead. Don’t know the who or the why of it, and frankly it ain’t our concern.

Shauna looked at him with eyes still wide with horror. But it ain’t no one else’s, she protested. No one else is like to do anything, are they?

Syper sighed. When we reach Imnay, we’ll turn it over to the Federals. After that, it’s out of our hands.

Federals won’t concern themselves with the likes of these, not if they were Inward bound. Shauna maintained.

Syper worked crumbling soil from the walls of the square hole he was digging, then scooped it up and tossed it out onto the growing pile adjacent to the grave.

Why don’t you take a look at that engine? he said instead of answering, in a voice that brooked no argument. See if she’s still flight-worthy.

She ain’t. The mulish cast of Shauna’s voice told Syper that she was not going to drop this subject easily.

But he refused to yield. Well take a look anyhow, he shot back, and, reluctantly and with a parting huff, the mage-mechanic strode over to the canted bulk of the skiff resting on the sand.

It took over an hour to finish the graves, each member of the crew taking their turn to work the stony, reluctantly yielding soil with pick and spade. Two small graves, and a third even smaller; none of them more than a single arm span deep and no longer than was absolutely necessary. And yet, Syper told himself as they lowered the bodies into their respective holes, it was more than they’d needed to do. They could just as easily have picked over the wreckage for anything of value and then high-tailed it without a backwards glance. It was probably what he would have done, truth be told, if not for Shauna and the Intarnas. And Rin too, he supposed. Life in the Interior was hard and close to the bone. Men like Delaney Syper, like Jhad and Talibar Onchado, were not given to undue ceremony when it came to treating the death of strangers. Practical? Certainly. Callous? Maybe. But there would be time to ponder such moral quandaries when they were safely away.

Rin and Moff had wrapped the bodies carefully in sheets brought from the Clarity. Syper noted the solemn reverence with which Moff carried out this duty, echoed by Sabrin. Kreg watched in silence, face wan, and Syper felt a sudden stab of pity for the boy. You wanted a life on the edge, lad, a life of adventure? Well, this is how it is out here. This is how it ends out here, often enough.

They had found no identification on the body of the man, nor in any of the belongings strewn about the wreck. No Federal cards, no travel papers nor ownership documents for the skiff, which also remained unnamed. If its hull had been marked, it had been obscured by the fire-damage. The victims would go to their last resting unbeknownst to, and un-mourned by, kith or kin.

The seven of them stood silently about the graves after the last of the little family—presumably they were a family, even this was uncertain—was lowered down. Shauna had taken hold of Kreg’s hand, and there were tears in her eyes as she gazed downwards. The younger Intarna’s face was drawn and sombre. Moff was on his son’s other side, a yard separating them, his hands folded in front of him, eyes closed. Jhad, Syper noted, was not looking at the bodies at all, but rather staring across the circle at Shauna, his eyes uncharacteristically soft. A slight frown creased Syper’s forehead.

Likewise, the elder Onchado’s attention was only peripherally focused on the graves. He had taken up a position where he could watch both the salt flats and the island, and his eyes intermittently scanned both. Like Syper, Talibar was clearly ill-at-ease, and wanted nothing more than to put as many miles between themselves and this rock as they could.

Rin was also watchful, and her shotgun remained cradled in the crook of one arm, but the captain saw how she had pulled the kidah prayer thong from beneath her cotton tunic and placed her free hand upon its moonstone pendant, now lying on her breast. Before the Federation of Saeloum had united the colonists under one vast, encompassing banner, its people had hailed from dozens of countries and practised near as many different religions, and a few here and there still clung to their beliefs and rituals of old.

It was Moff who intoned the prayer. This delegation had not been decided upon beforehand, but Syper realised that he—probably all of them, truth be told—had been waiting for the ship’s crafter to speak.

Here lie three unknown to us, Moff began, save as fellow travellers on the path of life. They were a family it seems, likely headed Inside for reasons known only to themselves. To build a better life, to put aside a past that was perhaps painful, perhaps harsh. To make something new, find something better. He paused, and the words seemed to hang in the air, echoing in Syper’s head. The captain found his eyes pulled from the surrounding hills to fix upon the graves as Moff continued. They met a cruel and untimely end, and perhaps one day this crime will be addressed. However, we leave that over to the Maranth, for life is a wheel and those of us who turn upon it will reap as we have sown. Let Nailek shelter and ferry their souls, and may the Maranth grant them peace Beyond.

Moff reached into the pocket of his mud-stained work tunic and pulled forth a small tin of sulphur matches. He removed one, lit it, and held it out over the graves. For that moment, all eyes were fixed on the tiny, flickering flame. Fire represented both Life and Chaos, and the blurred line that so frailly separated the two. Fire, nurtured and tendered with care and consideration, would bring life. But if treated incautiously or with contempt, it could easily spring into a destroying inferno. Such it was with life, with the human soul. Moff let the match burn down to his callused fingers, then dropped it to the ground at his feet, where it sputtered out upon the rocks.

Syper picked up his shovel, but before he began filling the nearest grave, Shauna, sniffling, stepped forwards and knelt before the smallest hole. In her hand was a diminutive charm of blue-glass worked into the shape of a lily-moth. Traditionally, such trinkets were given to loved ones about to undertake a long journey, so that the travellers might know that they were missed and thought of. Kreg had found it in one of the small bundles scattered about the wreck.

Someone, somewhere, is missing you and loving you, the mage said softly. And…and I won’t forget, either, though I don’t know your names.

She stood back, wiping her eyes, and those with shovels bent to their task. Before very long, all that remained of husband, wife, and daughter were three mounds of stone-covered earth lost in the vastness of the plain, and the burnt-out skiff lying pathetic and broken nearby.

II. The Jebali

Eager to be gone from the death-haunted atoll, Syper pressed the Clarity hard across the shimmering salts. The wind blew steady across their starboard quarter, and with yards braced accordingly and the goosewing sails slung out over the the hull and filled taut, they made good time across the plain. Even so, the nervous tension he had felt since they’d landed stayed with him. Once a skiff was in the air, there was really no way of tracking it, not across level ground unvarying in altitude like this. So the perpetrators of the brutal massacre might theoretically be anywhere, including just ahead of them.

From Jeliha Atoll, there were several practical routes a vessel might take to Imnay. North-east to Shimmering Lake was the longest, but also the most favoured, the land being more hospitable and easier to negotiate. Heading over the Telifa Pass shaved eighty miles from the journey, but negotiating the pass, even by aero, put additional strain on both a ship and its crew, and more often than not wasn’t felt to be worth the effort. Lying south of the Telifa was the old Smuggler’s Road, which led through a chain of mountain valleys and was the oldest route over the mountains, and still prized by certain folk for its isolation. The murderers might have chosen any one of the three, or they might be headed Inside towards Regret, or to Obroj, or any point between.

In the end Syper determined to take the Lake passage. They were already late for their rendezvous in Imnay, and the Lake was a surer road than the other two. If they ran into the murderers…Well, more than likely they would both go their respective ways, and that was more than fine with Delaney Syper.

Even as he thought it, the image of the girl flashed through his mind—truthfully it had scarcely left him these last hours— and again he felt that white-hot anger boiling up within him. The mother and father might have been killed for any number of reasons, some of them valid. But a thirteen-year-old girl, there was no justification for that. Syper remembered another, older scene, similar to the one they had just departed, but there there had been dozens of bodies, not three, and the little girl with the glassy eyes and the hole in her head had been black-haired, not blonde. There, like today, some of the bodies had been missing ears. He put the image from his head and concentrated on flying.

They made another hundred miles that day, and at dusk settled the Clarity down on the very edge of the flats. Nights grew cold there on the high plateau, and with the sails furled and the engine quiet save for the faint humming of its auxiliary power systems, the crew retreated to the belowdecks lounge at the rear of the vessel.

The quarters here were tight but adequate, and reasonably comfortable in terms of what could be expected from a cargo ship like Clarity. The curved chemsteel walls at the rear of the vessel enclosed lounge and galley, while two ladders led to sleeping cells in the raised stern cabin above. Beyond the galley was the engine room, and the cargo hold, now largely empty.

Warmed by a huge, black-iron cook stove and lit by a half-dozen alchemical globes set into fixed wall sconces, the lounge featured a central dining table of rough hewn sandwood, next to a small enclosure where off-duty crew members could take their ease in stuffed armchairs or couches.

The crew often took their meals together, as was the case tonight, but where usually the room was filled with talk and laughter, now a brooding silence dominated. Thoughts of the massacre still loomed large in most of their minds, and the atmosphere was tense, stifling. Outside, the wind whistled eerily as it raced itself around the pitted hull¸ like the moaning of tormented ghosts denied their justice.

The food was standard shipboard fare; desiccated vegetables mixed into meat broth and leavened with spices and the last of the awidos snake-meat fetched some days ago on the edge of Jhad’s khalsa knife; and tonight, in light of what they had seen earlier, a bottle of whisky passed around the silent congregation like the holy imbibement of Tyraki monks at a Rejuvenation Ceremony.

Typically, it was Shauna who first broke the silence. She dropped her spoon to the table, the utensil emitting a dull clink as it struck the pitted wood. We should have taken them bodies with us, she said, staring around at them. To return them to the rest of their family. Or at least so that they could get themselves a proper funeral and all. Not that your words weren’t nice, Moff, she added, ‘cause they were. Right fitting, I thought. But them all alone on the salts like that, it—it just ain’t right.

Rin leaned over the tabletop towards the younger woman, her voice gentle. Shauna, we don’t even know if they had family in Imnay. Or anywhere, for that matter. Could be they were actually heading Outside from Taralora or Regret, stead of the other way around.

That’s it, though. We have no way of telling who them folk are—were—and this way we never will, and neither will anybody else. We should have at least returned them to civilization.

We’re still two days out from Imnay, Jhad said. And them three would be pretty ripe by the time we made Port.

Syper could tell he meant it as a justifiable explanation, to put the girl’s mind at rest, but Shauna glared at him. There are ways, she said stubbornly, and looked from Jhad to the captain. It would have been the right thing.

Syper swallowed some of his whisky-laced tea, feeling its welcoming burn course down his throat, enjoying the warmth that spread through his body. He set the cup down slowly, and looked around at all of them, meeting each set of eyes in turn. At last he spoke. Here’s the truth. I’ll set it out for you plain. There’s a whole host of questions surrounding what we saw back there, and I don’t like the look of the answers to any of them. We played our part, did what we could, and now we’re moved on, and that’s how it’s going to stay. When we reach Imnay, I’ll spread the word to the right people, see that it gets out there. The rest of you won’t say a damn thing on it, savvy? No loose palaver in the local watering holes. Keep this business to yourselves.

The right people? Moff asked, rubbing at his beard. From across the table Jhad passed him the whisky bottle, but the crafter waved it by with a touch of irritation. I take it by that you ain’t referring to the local constabulary?

Syper looked at him levelly. Local constabulary’s controlled by the Federals, like ’most every damn thing in Imnay these days. And the day I run to the Federals for help is the day I…well, it’s just not gonna happen.

You said you would, Cap’n, Shauna interjected, sounding hurt. You told me you’d talk to the law about it.

Syper looked at her, then sighed. I’m sorry, Shauna. I shouldn’t have never said that. But I ain’t gonna go putting this ship, this crew, under Federal sights. Feds are nosy and meddlesome and good for only one thing, and that’s bringing trouble into a man’s life. Trouble’s something I generally work to avoid, not run about searching for. Now, need I remind you, we’re running on a schedule here. We’ve got cargo waiting to be took on in Imnay, and plenty of other ships who’ll be glad to carry it if we can’t. Cargo is what we’re about, ladies and gentlemen, not bodies.

Or decency, Shauna muttered, but she said it low enough that only Rin and Moff, sitting to either side of her, could hear.

Is that settled then? Syper asked, looking about. No one raised any more objections, though one or two faces still wore looks of evident displeasure. The captain nodded in satisfaction. Jemmy. Now, I’m going up on deck, tuck this old girl in.

He downed the last of his tea and stood, chair legs scraping on the wooden decking. At the hatch to the cargo bay he removed a heavy woollen overcoat from its hook, shrugged into it, and ducked out of the lounge. The door closed behind him with a metallic clank that momentarily filled the silent cabin.

Cap’n’s doing what he thinks is best, Rin said to the table at large. She took a sip of her tea—whisky-free—and then also stood. Come on, people, let’s get these plates cleared and away. And Tal, she smiled sweetly, I believe it’s your night to do the dishes.

Nailek! the big man swore. I forgot. Reluctantly he stood and seized the kettle of stew by its cast-iron edges. How is it the sailing master has to do the dishes like a bloody…servant or somesuch?

Seem to remember you sleeping half the afternoon, Rin countered. You have to earn your pay somehow.

I climbed all the way up the mast! Talibar protested as he ducked into the galley, and a few smiles appeared on the faces of those left at the table, even a brief chuckle.

Before Rin cleared her plate away, she gave Shauna’s shoulder a supportive squeeze.

Shauna smiled, but it was a pale, strained attempt, and it didn’t reach her eyes.

Though the sun had sunk beneath the horizon several hours before, the salt pan still shimmered beneath an otherworldly glow, this time cast by the pale light of a million glittering stars. There was nothing quite like a night on the flats, Sabrin reflected as she climbed through the midship’s hatchway leading to the deck. Looking west she could see for miles across the arid plain, the white salt glowing faintly luminescent in the starlight while weird, half-seen shapes twisted and danced at the very edge of the panorama.

The Haano believed that the salt flats were repositories for the ghosts of the ancient Qazai, an unknown race who had built their strange, alien dwellings on Saeloum thousands of years before the first Ryshi colonists set foot upon the vast continent. Repositories, or perhaps doorways to the Underworld, and here, now, it was easy to see why, and to feel a prickle of trepidation, of awe, creep along one’s spine as you were enveloped by the vastness of the night. As she paused at the top of the hatchway, Sabrin’s hand went briefly to the kidah pendant beneath her leather jerkin.

She found Syper leaning against the larboard rail near the prow of the skiff, a black, bulky figure beneath the hunched shoulders of his overcoat. He was staring south-eastwards and in his mind, she knew, loomed the dark bulk of Jeliha Atoll with a twisting pillar of smoke rising from its flank. She knew her captain, and despite his hard words, the situation weighed on him more than he would ever acknowledge aloud.

She did not need to announce her presence, nor did he acknowledge it when she stepped softly up and leaned on the rail beside him. For a time there was silence, the utter silence which envelops a land that knows almost no inhabitation, human or otherwise. The soft creak of cordage, the lonely sigh of the wind, served to emphasize rather than lessen that silence.

The captain broke it with a low clearing of his throat. You come to tell me I made the wrong choice? he asked. His eyes, glittering in the starlight, stared out at the desert from deep pools of shadow.

No. You made the only choice that’s right by us, given the circumstances. I think the others know it, too, but for some, Shauna in particular, it’s a hard thing to digest.

It’s a hard world, the captain said softly, and Rin tilted her head in acknowledgement.

The choice that’s right by us, he continued after a moment, and looked over at her, meeting her eyes in the starlit darkness. Don’t mean its right for those folk back there. Again a silent, affirming tilt of the head, and Syper let out a dark chuckle. "Damn it, Rin, you did come out here to tell me I did the wrong thing, in that twisty underhanded way of yours."

Captain, I don’t want the Feds down on us any more than you do, she replied. You know that. You’re the captain, and you made a decision. I stand by that decision.

Syper turned back to the shimmering salts. It twists in the gut, though, don’t it, he said. That kid, and the mother too…brings back a passel of bad memories.

Tarnez, Sabrin said quietly. Candaloria. The Akron Kal.

Aye. Could be this thing’s unrelated, that whoever did this had no connection to Tyrak, but…

But you doubt it, Sabrin finished for him, and he nodded.

But that ain’t even the worst part, Rin, and you know it. It’s the thing everybody knows, if they’ve stopped to think about it long enough, but no one’s been saying. Thaumic weapons, Rin. Shauna was sure of it, and she generally ain’t wrong when it comes to those things. ’Sides, you saw the damage to the hull; we all did. Weren’t no sling shot made that hole. The captain drew a breath. So who do we know with access to thaumic weapons?

It was a rhetorical question, but she answered him anyways. Federals.

Aye, Federals. He opened his mouth as if to say more but then, just as abruptly, closed it and shrugged, the woollen fabric of the great coat rubbing against his shoulders. It’s outta our hands, though, ain’t it? We did our part and we’re moved on.

Rin nodded. Moved on, Cap’n.

Delaney Syper drew a deep breath of the cold night air, held it in his lungs, and let it out slowly. The exhalation plumed crystalline in the blackness before dispersing, lost amidst the vastness of the night.

Well, that’s it then, he said.

Sabrin stood with him for a time, there at the rail beneath the cold glimmer of faraway stars. When the second moon appeared, a slim blue crescent faint against the southern sky, she bid him goodnight and made her way aft to her bunk. Syper remained at the rail, staring into the darkness, alone with the night and his memories.

In their own small cabin between the workshop and the cargo hold, the Intarnas were already bedding down. Kreg lay on his back on the upper bunk, thin coverlet pulled up over his chest, eyes open and staring at the dark ceiling overhead. Below, his father sat on the edge of the lower cot, reading a copy of the Maranthata by the light of a small alchemical globe, which cast a pale yellow glow across the room.

Moff was familiar with the works in his hand but, by his own admission, only intermittently devout. He dug the tome out maybe once or twice a month, each time vowing to do so more often, each time failing. Today’s events, however, seemed to warrant spiritual reflection, and he had removed the book from his small library and flipped it open to the chapters dealing with rebirth and evolution of the soul.

His attention wandered, however. Before his eyes the lines of text blurred, and he found himself once more staring down at the bodies. The man; the woman; the child. The blood that crusted slack features, the flies crawling over cold flesh.

Moff Intarna had seen violent death before, firsthand. Two years as crafter aboard a privateer vessel in the Tuiplahan Sea, a further three spent within the harsh walls of a Federal prison—he was no stranger to lives ended with brutal abruptness. Today, however, had hit him particularly hard. Perhaps it was because the victims included a woman and a child. Perhaps it was the apparent senselessness of it, or the fact that their passing would go unnoticed, un-mourned. If they had kin in Imnay, word might trickle to them eventually, but if not, their graves would stand lonely and untended upon the flats for years, before at last the salts reclaimed them and they