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    Sea & Sky: Moonfire Trilogy, #2
    Sea & Sky: Moonfire Trilogy, #2
    Sea & Sky: Moonfire Trilogy, #2
    Ebook351 pages6 hours

    Sea & Sky: Moonfire Trilogy, #2

    By Patty Jansen

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    About this ebook

    Sanity is a lone voice crying in the desert.

    The world is under increasing threat from as yet undiscovered sources of icefire, but all the people who have answers are cut off from the authorities, kings or councils, with the power to mobilise the scientists and armies to keep the world safe.

    Young meteorology student Javes is stuck in the remote desert of the north. The area bristles with technology of an ancient past, but he cannot tell anyone about it because roads and telegraph lines have been cut by bad weather and invading bandits.

    Lana, a fellow student, is on her way to meet him, but Aranian soldiers raid the bus that she's travelling on. She is taken to the capital to serve at the king's court.

    King Orik of Arania seems hell-bent on destroying the two neighbouring countries that have poked fun at Arania for over forty years.

    No one is watching the skies. No one is tallying up the disasters. No one is searching for the source of icefire, even though it will kill the whole world if left unchecked.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCapricornica Publications
    Release dateSep 20, 2016
    ISBN9781533741349
    Sea & Sky: Moonfire Trilogy, #2
    Author

    Patty Jansen

    Patty lives in Sydney, Australia, and writes both Science Fiction and Fantasy. She has published over 15 novels and has sold short stories to genre magazines such as Analog Science Fiction and Fact.Patty was trained as a agricultural scientist, and if you look behind her stories, you will find bits of science sprinkled throughout.Want to keep up-to-date with Patty's fiction? Join the mailing list here: http://eepurl.com/qqlAbPatty is on Twitter (@pattyjansen), Facebook, LinkedIn, goodreads, LibraryThing, google+ and blogs at: http://pattyjansen.com/

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      Book preview

      Sea & Sky - Patty Jansen

      Chapter 1

      THE CAMEL PLODDED over the crest of the hill late in the afternoon, when the low sunlight cast long shadows over the dry fields that surrounded the town of Ysherra. At this time of day, the barren soil turned orange and the light, soft and hazy.

      After having been away for what felt like a long time, Javes was surprised how familiar this terrain looked to him. Compared to the untamed country of the windwalkers, this piece of miserable land with its stubble fields and sparse olive trees was oddly civilised.

      He had, he realised, enjoyed himself in the desert, and the objects he had taken from Karlen’s cave would help him in his research. His experience would help him return to the windwalkers later on.

      He rode past the olive groves and the white-painted house of the grumpy old fellow who lived in the valley with the goat farm. He knew the fellow would be watching from behind the curtains, but he didn’t show himself. Javes rode past the sprawling house on the top of the hill that belonged to the town administrator. This man was the only person in town who had any money at all, and he liked to flaunt it, with the house’s paved driveway and opulent gate. There were no goats to be seen here, only hideous statues of winged horses and other mythical animals. The proper name of the hill was Sooty Hill because of the dark basalt stone that broke the surface, but townspeople called it Snooty Hill.

      When he had passed that opulent house, he rode down the hill into the town of Ysherra, a loose collection of blocky houses interspersed by the odd olive tree. He passed the carpentry business on the edge of town, and the pens where donkeys and goats for sale stood quietly awaiting the early start of tomorrow’s livestock auctions. Next came a metal junkyard and then a seller of agricultural equipment. All these businesses had evidently closed for the night, because there was not a person in sight. A couple of geese crossed the road ahead.

      It was odd, because Javes had not known the townsfolk to stick to such city notions as opening times. If there was business to be done, the shops were open, regardless of the time of day.

      By the time Javes came to the grocery corner shop, which was also closed, the back of his neck was pricking with suspicion.

      The streets were never this quiet. There were never any crows fighting over scraps of food in the middle of the main street at this time. Early evening was when the people came out of their houses after the heat of the day. This was when they would go to the eating houses.

      There were no neighbours standing at front fences, watching everyone coming down the road. No children playing, no people going to the bathhouse. No one at the outdoor tables of the tea house either. The only person at the teahouse was the owner, and he was stacking the tables, giving Javes a nervous glance before ducking into the kitchen.

      Javes didn’t think that this was about him. He got on well with the teahouse’s owner. He looked over his shoulder.

      Behind him, the street was deserted. A crow cawed.

      His neck pricked. There was something very, very odd going on.

      He stopped the camel and looked around. Everything in town appeared normal, except for there being no people.

      He could get off the camel and go into the teahouse to ask the owner what was going on, but he was afraid of becoming involved in yet another problem that wasn’t his, because he already had more problems than he could deal with.

      He was tired. He’d just go to Pashtan’s house, which had been his home in Ysherra, and decide what to do tomorrow, after he’d slept. So he kicked the camel’s flanks and it continued walking, even if he sensed he was being followed or observed, and he had no idea who could be watching.

      Yet on his way through town, he saw no signs of violence, just closed shops, deserted streets and puzzling emptiness.

      Then he turned the corner to the street that led out of town and he could see Pashtan’s house with the familiar olive tree in the front yard.

      But what had happened to the neighbour Arukat’s house? The sloping roof was stained with streaks of soot. The front veranda sagged, because the posts that supported the roof had been burned. The side of the house was entirely black, and the shed that formed one boundary of Arukat’s property, and where he stored his metal wares, had fallen in.

      Pashtan’s house looked fine, but the side gate was smashed.

      Heart thudding, Javes led the camel into the back yard. The goats were all gone. Half the hay bales were missing from the barn and the roof of the shed sagged ominously. Some words were scrawled on the back fence in white paint, but he couldn’t read them. That blocky script was Aranian, wasn’t it?

      His heart was thudding.

      He tied the camel to the post, righted the water trough, went to the tank—it was empty, because someone had made a large hole in the side.

      Well . . . damn it.

      There was still a good amount of water in the water bags, but the trough was too big to waste it, so Javes ventured into the shed to find a bucket—and someone had trashed the inside of the shed and left a big, stinking turd in the middle of the floor.

      Ugh. What sort of barbarians had been here?

      Aranians. Whatever they were doing here. Even in Tiverius, people knew there were no border patrols in this area.

      What was the point of this destruction? Where were all the people?

      A dark feeling came over him.

      What to do? Was this place still safe?

      First, he needed to rest and feed the camel. Reorganise himself and decide the best path to take. He needed a bucket to let the camel drink.

      Pashtan’s tools had been ripped from their hooks on the walls and lay on the ground. The broom handle was broken. Spare lampshades and glass jars for preservatives lay in shards on the floor. The buckets, though, were metal and unscathed except for a few dents.

      Javes picked one up and went back outside. From the step to the door of the shed, he could see over the fence into Arukat’s yard. All his sheds along the back and side fence had been burned. Any scrap metal that had not burned and twisted into useless heaps had been flung everywhere. The sand cart was gone, and so were the donkeys. The veranda at the back of the house sagged, and the chairs where Arukat and his wife would sit at night had been slashed so that the stuffing came out of the cushions. The door stood open and the windows were broken.

      Arukat’s water tank lay on its side. It normally stood in the corner of the yard.

      There was no sign of life. No donkeys, no chickens, no goats, no geese.

      With a sick feeling in his stomach, Javes wondered what had happened to the family.

      He brought water to the camel, took all the packs off the saddle and carried them to the back door—and when he put down the water bags, he could hear the bleating of a kid. Inside the house?

      He carefully opened the door. Something leaned against it that made a scraping sound over the floor as he pushed it aside. It sounded like the table. Before the door was far enough open for him to go in, a goat squeezed itself out. It ran into the yard, bucking, leaping and kicking its back legs. Two more hairy heads stuck out of the door.

      He recognised the brown- and black-spotted goat and the grey one as Pashtan’s. The third was white and had to be someone else’s. How had they ended up locked inside? Unless . . . someone had deliberately locked them in.

      He called at the door. Hello? Hello, anyone there?

      There was no reply, so he pushed the door further. The rest of Pashtan’s goats, or at least most of them as far as he could see, also ran out, accompanied by two more white goats.

      And then, nothing.

      The door gaped like a dark maw. In the waning light, Javes could only see a small portion of the floor, strewn with goat droppings.

      He grabbed the bottom half of the broken broom: a short stick with the broom head on one end, and on the other a jagged, splintered piece of wood. He wasn’t sure what end to hold in front. The broom head would be most effective against an irate goat, but if there was something else, he might want the sharp end of the stick.

      Carefully, he advanced into the house.

      He could see next to nothing in the darkness. The air smelled of goat and fire. The thing that had been behind the door was indeed the table, and he almost tripped over the chair that went with it.

      He stopped, waiting for his eyes to get used to the dark.

      A small sound came from the left side of the room.

      Who’s there?

      No reply.

      His heart was thudding. That noise sounded too big to be made by a goat.

      He took a step to the right, and another one, hoping to give whoever or whatever hid in the room a way to escape. He waited.

      Nothing moved or made a sound for a long time. Javes was tired and hungry. He wanted this intruder out of the house. He took a few steps further into the room, stepped in something soft, which was probably goat

      poo—

      And someone shot out of the darkness, brushing past him on the way to the open door. In a reflex, he grabbed a hand full of the person’s clothing. The intruder screamed. Judging by the voice, it was a woman, and she was quite small.

      Stop, stop, shut up. I live here. If you’re honest with me, I won’t harm you.

      She turned towards him, and by the feeble light from outside, he could see the glittering of her eyes. She was not a woman, but she was only a young girl. Arukat’s daughter. Her lips trembled. You’re a ghost.

      It’s me, Javes.

      Can’t! You’re a ghost. You’re tricking me! You’re dead! They said so.

      I’m certainly not dead. Who told you that?

      The men in the bath house. Yoshi at the telegraph office. The neighbours. They all said it.

      What do they know about me? I never told anyone where I was going.

      They said you disappeared and you got what you deserved because you didn’t want to work here anyway.

      Trust a child to be painfully honest. Not only that, it was true, and it was a sign of how much loyalty the town had towards him. Just as much as it had shown towards Pashtan. He hadn’t been a local either, and many years of trudging down local weather stations did not change that.

      Ouch.

      Javes blew out a breath through his nostrils. Well, let’s make a light and get my things inside. Then we’ll see what we can do.

      Then again, he dreaded looking at the state of the house. He’d already stepped in a few goat droppings, so he could only figure out what the room must look like.

      In fact, once he’d lit a light, that estimate proved optimistic. Not only were there goat droppings everywhere—including on the bed—but someone had made a fire in the middle of the room, and had used pages of Pashtan’s books to light it. The books were all over the desk, ripped apart. One of the table legs had broken. The cushions on the couch had been slashed. Stuffing was coming out and there were dark brown stains all over the fabric.

      Great.

      Just great.

      He looked around, a feeling of despair creeping over him. Up there, on the shelf, the slate with his list of aims still stood. In neat writing, it said,

      Retrieve cart and bodies. Funeral.

      Appoint someone to take care of goats

      Train someone to take measurements

      Compared to the situation he faced here, those aims were almost laughable.

      Is there any food in the house? he asked.

      There is milk, the girl said.

      Javes went to the cold box. The cover cloth that kept the inside cool was dry as the desert. The box itself was made out of earthenware in a rattan basket. Normally, the terracotta felt moist and cool because you had to keep it wet, but it was completely dry. The goats had eaten part of the basket. They had also nosed aside the cloth and eaten some of the cheese, which, without any cooling, didn’t smell very good anyway. In the corner stood a jug with milk. He lifted it out.

      Ugh. The smell of the rank cheese spread through the stuffy space.

      Maybe we should go outside.

      No! The men will come back!

      Which men?

      The big ones with the red faces. Her eyes were wide. They burned everything. I ran away from them. Please, please don’t make me go outside. She shrank away from him.

      All right, all right, calm down.

      Have they been back since they . . . He gestured helplessly in the direction of Arukat’s house. He should probably have asked a whole raft of other questions first, but he’d been too preoccupied with his own needs. But what had happened to her parents?

      They come into town and steal people’s things. If people try to defend themselves, they’re killed.

      They come every day? It unsettled him to hear a young girl like that talk about death.

      Most days. Usually in the morning or at night. I hide in here.

      My, she was dirty. Had she lived in here with the goats since he left?

      Javes found a mug that was relatively clean, and poured milk. Any bread left?

      She shook her head. The goats ate it.

      Not the only thing the goats had eaten, by the look of things.

      Javes drank. The milk was on the verge of going off and he had to hold his breath in order to get it down. Ugh, ugh, ugh. He had some leftover salt meat in his packs, but he’d get it later. Tomorrow, when he could see enough to find it without having to carry a light into the yard.

      He pulled the blankets off the bed, sending goat poo bouncing over the floor. The mattress was reasonably clean, he thought. He sat down.

      What’s your name again? Pashtan had introduced her when he first came, but he’d forgotten.

      Tali. She sat with her arms clamped around her pulled-up knees.

      Well then, Tali. Tell me exactly what happened, when it started and where everyone went.

      She told him that one morning when she was milking the goats, there was a lot of noise in the town, and when she went to have a look, a lot of men in black leather were running through the streets. They had horses and carts. They stopped in front of her house and went into her father’s junkyard. I couldn’t see them, but I heard them yelling at my father and smashing everything up. They asked him where something was, and he said he didn’t know what they were talking about, and each time he said he didn’t know, they smashed more things to bits. They said my father wasn’t allowed to sell to anyone else.

      Do you know what they were talking about?

      She shrugged, and gave him a shifty look.

      Did your father tell you not to talk about it? He was selling windwalker artefacts, wasn’t he?

      I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t know what those weird things are. They scare me. My father should never have started buying from the windwalkers.

      Do you know who he was selling to?

      People from out of town. I don’t know. He always tells me to go inside when they come to the yard.

      So, these men, what did they do?

      They smashed the house, and then they set fire to it. They put my parents in a cart and rode out of town. No one knows where they are.

      Did you see the men?

      She nodded, her eyes wide. They were very big. They wore black and a couple of them had shaved heads and had red paint in their faces.

      Did they write the letters on the fence?

      They did. I don’t know why they did that. No one can read it.

      Knowing Aranians, and especially the high-class ones who bore the red tattoos on their faces, Javes figured that the words were probably some obscene insult, like the turd in the shed. What he couldn’t figure was what they were doing here and why they had singled out Arukat’s shed. He shouldn’t have sold to someone else? Did Arukat sell to Aranians? He’d never seen Aranians in town. The border—if one could speak of borders in this desert—was a least a full day’s ride away.

      Did they go to other people’s houses?

      Oh, yes. They smashed the telegraph office, pulled down the wires. They wrote all over the town hall and inside the bathhouse. They stole all the grocery shop’s food.

      Are there any guards in town?

      She gave him a blank look.

      In Tiverius, the town guards were employed by the doga’s local arm. He had definitely never seen any guards since coming to town, and Ysherra had no doga office, so he guessed that answered the question. What were the men doing in the rest of town?

      She didn’t know. In fact, the detached way in which she told her story disturbed him. He would have expected a girl whose parents were taken away to cry or be upset, but she seemed numb more than anything.

      So while this was happening, you hid here all the time?

      She nodded. Yes, with the goats. You should have seen what they did to my father’s donkeys. The goats saw that, too, and they wanted to come inside.

      Javes shuddered, seeing ribs and chunks of meat in the desert. Where did the men go?

      I don’t know. I couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other.

      How many of them were there?

      She shrugged. Many. Maybe a hundred, maybe more.

      And they have been back since?

      A few times.

      It worried him. Aranians in town. What for?

      Well, the goats would have to stay outside for the time being, but Javes did worry about his camel. It was a silly and sometimes stroppy beast, but he liked it and would hate for something to happen to it. Unfortunately, camels didn’t fit inside the house.

      Javes attempted to clean the smell of goat from the bed. He turned over the mattress, only to find that the fabric on other side was badly worn. He put a blanket over the top, but the straw still stuck through the rips in the cover. The fact that he used the blanket meant he had no blanket to sleep underneath. There were additional blankets for winter, but he needed light to find them in the cupboard, and the goats had probably eaten them. He also had a blanket in his packs, but again he couldn’t be bothered to rummage around in the dark.

      Tali insisted on sleeping on the floor. There was the couch which had served him as a bed, but no matter what he said, she wouldn’t go anywhere near it. On closer inspection, there were wet patches on the cushions, and they smelled funny—probably goat’s piss.

      Javes was too tired to worry about it. He slept.

      *     *     *

      Javes woke up when it was still mostly dark. He stared into the darkness until he remembered where he was: Pashtan’s house, the devastation of Arukat’s house, and Tali, who lay sleeping on the floor.

      His stomach rumbled and gurgled. He’d hardly eaten anything last night. The sky through the little window next to the door showed a faint blue tinge. The back of the house looked out to the west and so if the sky was blue there, the sun must be about to come up.

      He rose, walked around Tali and stumbled through the dark to where he had left his packs near the door. He was rummaging through his bags for some raisins or anything to eat when there was a sound from outside. Footsteps?

      Heart thudding, he froze and listened.

      Some shuffling and thumping sounded very much like a camel. He fumbled around for some sort of weapon, found the broken broom and went outside. No one was getting his hands on his camel or his goats.

      He opened the door, looking into the yard in the pale predawn light.

      The camel stood in the pen, curiously looking past the side of the house in the direction of the street. The goats were all asleep in the shade of the broken shed.

      Javes patted the camel’s neck and walked along the side of the house as quietly as he could.

      An unfamiliar cart with two horses stood in front of Arukat’s house. People in town didn’t use horses. The cart was a flatbed vehicle with a simple wooden bench for the driver. The back was filled with various metal junk.

      The sound of soft voices came from the back yard, and the clinking of metal.

      Javes went back into the back yard of Pashtan’s house and peeped through a hole in the fence into Arukat’s yard. He could see two men, but there might be others, who were collecting bits of metal in a heap. A third man came into view.

      These were not Aranians, but peddlers who came to scavenge. He dragged a bucket to the fence, turned it upside down and climbed on top of it so that he could see over the fence.

      Oy!

      The men looked up. One had a face with deep canyons, dry and engrained with dust like the desert , hidden under a cloak with a cowl. The other two were larger, younger, possibly his sons.

      What are you doing here?

      Getting the stuff, the old man said. It’s not that he’d be needing it.

      His mouth was missing several teeth.

      His daughter lives with me. You’re stealing from her.

      Well I’ve never seen no one here.

      That’s because she’s afraid and hiding.

      The two younger men gave their father uncertain looks. One had been carrying an armful of metal junk that he put down.

      The old man nodded. They collected their empty baskets and made their way back to the cart. Javes followed them on his side of the fence and met them in the street.

      Nice horses.

      Don’t worry about us. We’re going already. He jerked his head at his sons.

      I was just wondering if you knew any more about the Aranians who did this. He glanced at the burned house.

      The old man shrugged. They’re Aranians. What other explanation do you need?

      What’re they doing here? Is it common for Aranians to come here?

      You’re not from here, are you?

      Neither are you.

      The man gave him a blank look.

      People here don’t use horses. Too hot for them.

      Aw, all right. We’re from out Watya-way.

      All the way out there? What are you doing here?

      You know, looking for stuff.

      What sort of stuff?

      Mostly metal. Things that people find.

      People. Like, windwalkers?

      He cast a shifty glance to the side. What do you know about those?

      In other words: yes. Not much, not much, but saw one, once. At the Field of Bones.

      The old man snorted. Robbers of the dead, that’s what they are.

      You’re selling this ‘stuff’ to the Aranians, right?

      Why are you asking if you know it already?

      What do they do with it? Why do they pay so much money for it?

      There’s smart people who can make it rain, more than can be said about the loafers in Tiverius, who are still talking about whether or not they’ll build the railway they promised ten years ago. Tell you what, the railway will never happen because we haven’t the people to use it, because it doesn’t rain so no one wants to live out here. Make it rain, and it solves all the problems. The people can grow their crops, they can eat, the towns will fill up and the railway will be built. That’s my view on things anyway.

      And these Aranians can make it rain?

      Sure can. They got all kinds of magic.

      A chill crept over Javes’ spine. Magic was what the meteorology department measured as sonorics. It was related to low pressure cells and rain. The dust devils caused sonorics spikes. Were these artificial phenomena?

      The man continued, Anyway, we best be out of here. He flicked the reins and the horses started moving.

      Javes watched them leave, his hand over the pocket where he still kept the globe that Karlen had given him in the graveyard. He couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was looking for artefacts like this, maybe even this particular one, and that the Aranians were looking for Karlen. Not that Javes knew where Karlen was, or even who he was. Karlen had been wrapped up in cloth like all windwalkers, and Javes had not even seen his eyes.

      Chapter 2

      LANA HAD ALWAYS BEEN adamant that she would never become one of those vain girls who agonised for hours about what to wear in front of the mirror before going out, but she spent all day going through her wardrobe deciding what to pack for her trip to Ysherra with Viki.

      Because, though she might not be concerned with what she looked like, she didn’t want to be dressed inadequately on the trip. Ysherra was hot, so she packed cool chemises, and wide skirts. Also some trousers, despite Dad’s belief that she shouldn’t be wearing any. She packed sandals, but didn’t want to wear them for the first part of the journey—the train ride to Watya—because sandals weren’t appropriate wear for a lady; so she put the sandals in her bag and would wear closed shoes on the train.

      What books should she take? Her notebook, for one, but books were heavy. Would there be any libraries where she could use the books she needed? Should she take any instruments? What about her spyglass? It came off the stand, and the tube and stand separately fitted snugly in a neat little box. There was a place called Red Hill to the north of Ysherra where people came to observe the stars, where it was said that the night sky was lit up with them even if there was no moon. The moon had vanished to a

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