“Oh, come on, you can do it.” Again, Sylah flicked her wrists.
This time the eru lurched forward, propelling them out of the stables and into the courtyard. A few Abosoms still doted around the joba tree, and she had to steer Boey away from them sharply before an offering of a life was given unintentionally.
They loped toward the gates of the Keep that were opening ahead of them. The officer waved, presumably assuming it was Anoor at the reins. There weren’t any other blue erus in the stable.
Sylah waved back and galloped toward the Tongue.
—
Hassa was scouting the tunnels in preparation for the night’s escape. As usual, they’d go during a tidewind, though it had gotten increasingly risky with the Warden of Crime’s Gummers inching ever closer to Ghosting territory. But the tunnels were theirs, they always had been.
A light flickered up ahead, and Hassa paused. The red glow got brighter, and she slipped into a sewage pipe that, thankfully, hadn’t been used in some time. Ghostings didn’t use runelights in the passages; it was too dangerous, and they knew their way by touch alone.
Hassa knew they were below the northernmost point of the city, where the ruins of Ghosting homes deteriorated more and more the farther you got toward the Farsai Desert, until there was no differentiation between the crumbled remains and the sand. It was all dust.
She couldn’t imagine a time when the Dredge was the Ghosting Quarter, an area where they all lived, handing out wares in the market and talking with tongues. Four hundred years ago never seemed so far away.
The runelight got closer, words along with it.
“But if the Sandstorm can’t get him in, what will they do then?”
“I’m sure they’ll figure out a way of bribing the winner.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Two faces passed by Hassa. It was Loot’s husband, Fayl. She recognized him by the size of his shadow. The other Gummer was just out of sight.
“And the Zalaam? They’ll have control of the court. What then?”
“What then indeed,” Fayl said with a sigh.
They disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels, their words obscuring, then the light faded out.
Hassa slipped her shoulders out of the sewage pipe first, her feet following. She’d never heard the word “Zalaam” spoken, though they had a sign for it in the Ghosting language.
Zalaam. Her lips moved, fumbling over the shapes of the letters. She should report the conversation to the elders.
Hassa made her way quickly through the passages toward the Nest, where the Ghostings met and the elders lived. Deep beneath the city, where the world was theirs.
—
The haven was somewhere under the Ruta River. Every now and then wet sand oozed through the walls, plopping to the ground in clumps. The Ruta River, like the tidewind, had been churning more ferociously of late. The elders were concerned.
The tunnel toward the Nest was lit with torches, the orange glow warmer and cheaper than runelights. Hassa could smell the flatbread cooking on the stove at the back, which was always manned and ready to provide sustenance.
The Nest twinkled and shone with trinkets and treasures piled high. Old books, mugs, toys, plates, pots, anything the Ghostings had found from before. Before the empire became what it now was. The relics were the real reason Ghostings traded. Too many of their ancestors’ belongings had been pillaged, so over the centuries Ghostings began to trade goods recovered from the ruins.
Hassa hummed a happy sound as she moved in and out of the musty artifacts of a world long gone. The Nest itself was carved out of the same whitestone the tunnels had been built into. It was a large space, large enough for the four elders and their families to live comfortably, while also holding meetings. It was part home, part war chamber.
Hassa glanced at the carvings on the floor as she made her way through the piles of relics. After the spoken and written word were stolen from the Ghostings, they turned to a new form of history. The Nest now housed their secrets in swirls on the floor and walls, carved into the surface of the rocks. Their story, told in knife strokes.
At the moment there was only one Ghosting in the back corner near the stove. Many of the others had been sent on errands like Hassa. Tonight was a big night, after all.
Elder Dew.Hassa greeted the baker who was flipping flatbread on a hot stone. The spatula was hooked under their elbow with a horizontal handle. They set it down before signing.
Hassa, how went the scout?Elder Dew’s eyes were a light brown, so light they were almost gray. Dew still wore a Ghosting servant uniform, even though they hadn’t worked above ground for over two decades.
I heard Fayl and another Gummer talking in the tunnel. They spoke of the Zalaam.