EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

Was that where the killer waited?

Sikara approached the darkened staircase, gazing upward at a square of light. Shadows danced from her vision.

Was that the destroyer of her dreams?

Climbing the steps by twos, she whispered, “Keep close to the wall. The stone may not hold you.”

Behind her. the boys’ bold taunts fell to heavy breathing. Even Fantad ceased his endless prattle.

Fantad’s name, as he was quick to remind her, meant ‘bright vision,’ as he was born of two rival clans. He spoke as if he’d ended the war himself, but Sikara knew her mother had united the barrows. Her mother kept the peace in Prajna.

Sikara reached the landing. Phantom marauders receded. Hazy sunlight sifted through ornate metal shutters. Heat plastered her tunic to her back.

She glanced down the staircase. The boys’ eyes glowed gold in the darkness. Pebbles tapped along the steps.

Turning, she continued down the passage. She ran her fingers through her heavy hair, lifting it away from her neck, allowing the silvery mane to sway. She knew the image she projected - knew the other children called her ‘ghost.’

Sikara didn’t care. In fact, she often pretended she was a ghost as she walked the secret halls, imagining she lived here when the city was new.

Leading the three boys, she followed a rubble-strewn hallway. Footfalls scuffed the silence, kicking up puffs of dust more tasted than seen. Fissures patterned the walls.

She stopped before a doorway. “This is where I found it. The diary is written in Rafa-Ja’s own hand, depicting her plot to destroy the sacred city.”

Fantad’s eyes widened, staring into the dim room. “You went in there?”

“Are you afraid?” Sikara asked.

He stuck out his chest. “Not me,” he said, but he moved forward hesitantly.

Sikara herded the other two boys inside. Their fear and awe were palpable. They shuffled their feet, standing close together.

“Where is this ancient diary you claim to have found?” Fantad said, his voice cracking.

“There.” Sikara pointed, moving deeper into the dwelling.

The far wall held a shadowed bookshelf. Before she could reach the shelf, a book rose into the air, pivoting slowly as if grasped by an unseen hand. It glided toward Sikara then stopped.

Suddenly it dropped, striking the floor with a bang. The boys screamed, bolting toward the door, scrambling over each other in their effort to get out of the room. Sikara would have smiled.

But light flared against the darkness, momentarily blinding her. Sikara straightened her shoulders, turning to face her mother, Anneliese-Thielman, the Prophet.

Holding a lantern, Anneliese stepped into the room. She also had silver hair, making her stand out among the Llaird. Her bodyguard, Jolen-Wai, remained at the door. In the hallway outside, Sikara heard Myetrae’s voice rise over those of the boys. Myetrae was Fantad’s mother. She was the daughter of Sikara’s father as well, and for that reason, Sikara was supposed to treat her like family. Sikara didn’t like to think of Myetrae as family.

Anneliese said, “Sikara, what happened here? Why did the boys run?”

Sikara jutted out her chin and pulled herself to her full height. She was nearly as tall as her mother. She said, “They didn’t like what I had to show them.”

Anneliese cocked her brow. “And what was that?”

“Ghosts,” said Sikara.

Her mother rolled her eyes, and Sikara knew she would have gotten another lecture had Jolen-Wai not been watching.

Anneliese stooped, her face a breath away. “What have you been told about wandering off from school? Do you know how upset I’ve been?”

“I did not mean to worry you,” Sikara said. “I’d planned to be back.”

“That’s not the point. These portions of the city are dangerous. They are restricted to everyone, not just to you.”

“I understand, Mother,” Sikara said.

Anneliese looked at her a moment longer. Then she straightened, taking Sikara’s hand. “I don’t know why you can’t play nicely with the other children.”

Sikara walked peaceably with her mother, but as she reached the door she glanced back into the shadowed room at a ghostly image hovering near the bookcase.

* * *

Anneliese paced the living room of her tower residence, walking between the stone benches and around the wrought iron table. A gust of hot air swept the room, setting the wind chimes dancing and stirring the line of small tapestries tacked to the wall.

Sikara’s handiwork, Anneliese thought, reaching to smooth the fabric. The artwork was uneven, depicting vague waterfalls and trees—images drawn from bedtime stories Anneliese told about her youth. She’d grown up in a palace, the only child of a man rich enough to own a moon. Sikara seemed more intrigued by Anneliese’s recollections than by the passionate history of her own world.

“There you are,” Sayer said from the entryway, hanging his robe upon a clothes tree inside the door. He was older than Anneliese and his golden reflective eyes were lined. His cheeks were scarred by Rites of Passage, making his face appear gaunt and tired, but he smiled as he approached his wife. “Have you found her then?”

“She was in the restricted area again,” Anneliese said. “Sayer, I don’t know what we’re going to do with her. That area is dangerous. She could fall or get lost—”

“Was she alone this time?”

“She had the boys with her. She was showing them her ghosts.”

Sayer laughed, wrapping his arm about Anneliese’s shoulder. “She tells stories with the knack of a chiliarch, that one.”

“Stop it. You’re part of the problem, you know. You’re too lenient with her. Too indulgent.”

“I have never encouraged her into those portions of the city.”

“I mean the stories. There is no such thing as ghosts.” Anneliese looked away. She remembered several years ago when she thought Syoney, a homeless girl who died because of Anneliese’s inaction, was haunting her. She shuddered, hugging her chest.

Quietly, Sayer said, “The Llaird religion is based upon spirits and visions.”

“Is that so? Well, no advanced culture believes in ghosts or hobgoblins, and I’ll not have my daughter entertaining such notions.”

Sayer stared at her.

“Oh, Sayer, I’m sorry.” Anneliese didn’t think she could have said anything more hurtful. As chiliarch of his people, it was her husband’s responsibility to keep alive such beliefs. She reached for him.

He avoided her touch. “Where is my daughter now?”

“Cyla is putting her to bed. She never sleeps through the day anymore. She rarely smiles, never laughs with the other children. The parents think she’s strange. . .” Anneliese rubbed her face tiredly, unable to voice her concerns about her eight-year-old. She looked again at the lopsided tapestries.

Another burst of air circled the room, spiraling to the vaulted ceiling. Suspended by chains, a group of storage baskets creaked and the arms of a spindly houseplant fluttered.

Crossing the room, Anneliese gazed out the tall windows. She saw an endless stretch of bleached stone. Reaching through bands of scorching sunlight, she pulled the shutters closed. A final breeze lifted her platinum hair.

Sayer stepped behind her, enveloping her in his arms, and she sighed, leaning against him.

“It is easier running a city than raising one small child,” she said, and then turned, hearing a sound at the entryway.

Beht-Ransoon-Pariah stood at the door, face twitching as if he had something distasteful to say.

Anneliese stepped forward. “Beht, if this is about the spat Myetrae and I had this morning—”

“The fact that you and my wife argue so often proves only how deeply you care about each other.” Beht shook his head. “No, Prophet, I have another matter to discuss.”

“Come in.” Anneliese offered a chair at the ornate table then sat opposite him.

Beht cleared his throat, his gaze flitting away.

Sayer stood behind Anneliese. “Is this Council business?”

“No, else I would have approached the subject at the last meeting,” Beht said. “I hesitate now as I am unsure of the veracity—”

“Beht, just tell me,” Anneliese said.

“My contacts in Enceinte claim that the Resort Debauch is evicting the city dwellers.”

“Evicting?” Sayer said.

“But why?” asked Anneliese.

“I know only that they are told to leave and that their homes are struck to rubble.” Beht looked up. “They have nowhere to go.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Anneliese got to her feet. “Enceinte has always been a part of the Resort’s tourist attraction.”

Sayer frowned as if examining a memory. “On my last sojourn to Enceinte I noted that the marketplace suffered for lack of sales. The city dwellers said the tourist trade had turned toward other venues.”

“But would they destroy the city?” Beht asked.

Anneliese crossed the room, snapping her robe from the clothes tree. “I’ll take the skip-chaser and see for myself.”

“Now?” Beht said.

She shrugged. “It’s the only way to be sure.”

Sayer laughed. “Now who avoids sleep during the heat of day?”

She gave him a wry smile then hurried toward the staircase.

* * *

Sikara sat cross-legged upon her bedroom floor, staring at the shuttered window. The metal plate was imprinted with the likeness of an animal, and the daylight beyond made its eyes appear to glow. She imagined living in a time when animals roamed the foothills, imagined the beast was a monster waiting to pounce on unwary children.

A hot breeze hissed through the animal’s teeth, and the heavy tapestry across the door swelled as if breathing. Then the tapestry moved and her father peered inside. Sikara jumped.

“Daughter,” Sayer said. “It is the middle of the day. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I don’t want to sleep,” Sikara said, “because of the dream.”

Stepping into the room, Sayer knelt at her side. He brushed damp hair from her forehead. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to bed. The pillowed hammock swayed.

Sayer kissed her cheek. “Now, what dream could be as bad as that?”

Sikara hesitated. “Someone wants to hurt my mother.”

In the dimness, she saw his face fall and thought for a moment he might turn away. But then he stroked her forehead once more.

“I’ve had dreams like that,” he said gently, “about the devil threatening to steal all we love.”

“Not a devil. Warriors,” she told him.

* * *

Anneliese and Jolen-Wai walked across the park at the top of the towers. The white-hot sun bleached the sky and the mountaintops were blinding. A few teenaged boys loitered about benches.

Jolen-Wai called to them. “There is work in the mines if you’ve nothing to do.”

The boys glanced up then scattered. Anneliese gave her bodyguard a sidelong smile.

Jolen-Wai said, “Youngsters. They have too much idle time. In my barrow, they either worked or slept.”

“I think someone else could use some sleep,” Anneliese said.

“I am not tired.” Jolen-Wai lengthened her stride. “I go where you go.”

They angled toward a group of trees growing in tubs—a wedding gift from Anneliese’s father. The scent of dark mulch seemed exotic on a planet with more dust than soil. Anneliese thought ruefully that when she received them the trees had been laden with fruit. She’d expected by now to have a small grove.

Ducking beneath the branches, she moved toward the skip-chaser. The small craft was shiny silver, not black like the Resort’s ‘chasers, and almost invisible when flying—which was lucky because since the exodus to Prajna, the Resort secured its area by shooting down unregistered ships. Tugging heavily, Anneliese wheeled back a potted tree. Jolen-Wai did the same—then sat on the edge of the pot, yawning.

Anneliese shook her head. She knew she would not persuade her bodyguard to remain behind—the woman thrived on self-denial. In the years they’d been together, Jolen-Wai continued to dress as a warrior in jerkin and leggings. The exposed flesh of her arms and face was as leathery as hide. She refused to braid her hair as did the women of Sayer’s barrow, but left it loose in a tangled mass of red curls. Her sense of humor was as rare as Wathe’s.

The memory brought a pang of guilt. Wathe-Taln, her former bodyguard, had been her steadfast friend during the massacre of Enceinte. But his friendship became a love she could not return. His presence became painful. Now, Wathe worked for her father off world.

Anneliese opened a hatch on the side of the flyer. “Why don’t you take us out today?”

Jolen-Wai stood quickly, circling around to the hatch, and Anneliese thought she saw the woman smile.

They climbed into the skip-chaser. The slanted window screened out much of the glare. Anneliese removed her goggles then pulled the flight harness over her head. Jolen-Wai completed the control checks. She inched the ship forward until it cleared the trees. Suddenly, the ship shot straight up, leaving the spires of Prajna behind. The mountains shone stark white against the pale sky.

“Look there,” Anneliese said, pointing toward a valley dotted with lumbering shapes.

“Yllib.” Jolen-Wai nodded. “The herdsmen are moving the flock.”

“Each year they are less. I don’t understand.” Anneliese gnawed her lip, gazing at the shaggy goat-like creatures.

They left the mountain range, gliding across the plains. Anneliese thrilled anew at the beauty of the land, like an ocean of stone stretching before them. She saw islands of boulders, currents of dust. Farther, she made out the shifting glow of lava flats, more prevalent than ever.

Then the ebony towers of the Resort Debauch came into view. Anneliese felt a flash of hatred. For over a hundred years, the Resort had exploited the inhabitants of the city that had grown in its shadow.

“What are they planning now?” she whispered.

Her bodyguard grunted. “I have often wondered what transpires within those walls.”

A shudder struck Anneliese. Memories assailed her: children sold into slavery, women caged to pay the debts of their men. A place where all your fantasies are real. “You don’t want to know,” she said.

Jolen-Wai slowed the ship. She pulled beneath an outcropping of rock as near to the Resort as they dared. Anneliese climbed out the port hatch. Sudden heat stole her breath.

“Does it seem to you that the days are hotter?” she asked, tightening her goggles.

“The days have always been warm.”

“Not like this,” Anneliese said. “Bring the viewers for me, will you?”

Jolen-Wai circled about the edge of the ship, carrying the field glasses. “We dare not go nearer than that ridge.”

“I know,” Anneliese said quietly.

Pulling her hood to shade her face, she stepped across the stretch of stone. But as she approached the ridge, she slowed, overwhelmed by memories. The last time she’d stood there, she witnessed the massacre of thousands of people—city dwellers who put their faith in her. She still had nightmares, still saw the skip-chasers sweeping down like dark birds, children rent apart by sonic blasters. She knew she wasn’t at fault, but knew also that had she not interfered those people might still be alive.

“Ready?” Jolen-Wai asked.

“Go,” Anneliese said, gazing up the wall of stone.

The sun stood high overhead, and pockets of shadow mottled the rock. Anneliese pulled herself up the surface. Immediately, her arms felt overworked and her legs trembled. The heavy glasses weighted her neck. Sweat rolled down her face, and for a moment, her stinging eyes refused to open. Then her bodyguard latched onto her wrist, pulling her over the edge.

Anneliese panted. “I must have been much younger when I climbed up here last.”

Pulling a flask of water from her sash, Anneliese took a long drink. She offered the flask to Jolen-Wai, but she refused.

“Can we be seen here?” the woman asked, glancing about.

“They won’t be looking for us.” Anneliese rose to a crouch.

Keeping low, they followed the ridge. The black towers of the Resort stood like an affront, defying the solemn land. A needle-shaped craft slid slowly toward the spaceport.

Anneliese stopped opposite the enclosed city, looking out upon the Wall of Enceinte. Peering through the photopic viewers, she noticed groups of people standing in a clearing. She saw a child crying, clinging to his mother’s hand. A breeze carried the faint rattle of pushcarts.

Then Anneliese heard the roar of machinery. Looking toward a plume of dust, she watched a bulldozer level a stone hut. A section of the wall crumbled, toppling the arch above the gates. The people in the clearing ran.

“What horror is this?” Jolen-Wai asked.

“Banished to the wastelands.” Anneliese lowered her glasses. “We must act quickly, or hundreds will die.”