Dust of Dreams

stomach. Not a single cloud in the sky to give them a moment’s respite. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen a bird.
    Noon passed, the afternoon stretching as listless as the wasteland spreading out on all sides. The track had finally straightened out on an easterly setting. Even the twins were slowing down. All of their shadows had pitched round and were lengthening when Storii cried out and pointed.
    A lone horse. South of the trail by two hundred or so paces. Remnants of traces dangled down from its head. It stood on weak legs, nuzzling the lifeless ground, and its ebon flanks were white with crusted lather.
    Setoc hesitated, and then said, ‘Keep Baaljagg here. I want to see if I can catch it.’
    For once the twins had no complaint.
    The animal was facing away but it caught some noise or scent when Setoc was still a hundred paces off and it shifted round to regard her. Its eyes, she saw, werestrange, as if swallowed in something both lurid and dark. At least the animal didn’t bolt.
    Ghost wolves, stay away from me now. We need this beast.
    Cautiously, she edged closer.
    The horse watched. It had been eating cactus, she saw, and scores of spines were embedded in its muzzle, dripping blood.
    Hungry. Starving.
She spoke in low, soothing tones: ‘How long have you been out here, friend? All alone, your companions gone. Do you welcome our company? I’m sure you do. As for those spines, we’ll do something about that. I promise.’
    And then she was close enough to reach out and touch the animal. But its eyes held her back. They didn’t belong to a horse. They looked . . .
demonic.
    It’s been eating cactus—how much?
She looked to where she had seen it cropping the ground.
Oh, spirits below. If all that is now in your stomach, you are in trouble.
Did it look to be in pain? How could she tell? It was clearly weary, yes, but it drew a steady and deep breath, ears flicking curiously as it in turn studied her. Finally, Setoc slowly reached out to take the frayed leather traces. When she gathered them up the animal lifted its head, as if about to prod her with its wounded muzzle.
    Setoc wrapped the reins about her left hand and gingerly took hold of one of the spines. She tugged it loose. The horse flinched. That and nothing more. Sighing, she began plucking.
    If she licked the blood from the spines? What would the beast think of that? She decided not to find out.
Oh, but I dearly do want to lick this blood. My mouth yearns for that taste. I can smell its warm life.
    Old man, give me your skin.
    When she’d removed the last spine she reached up and settled a hand on its blazoned brow. ‘Better? I hope so, friend.’
    ‘Mercy,’ said a thin voice in accented trader tongue, ‘I’d forgotten about that.’
    Setoc stepped round the horse and saw, lying in a careless sprawl on the ground, a corpse. For an instant her breath caught—‘Toc?’
    ‘Who? No. Saw him, though, once. Funny eyes.’
    ‘Does nothing dead ever go away around here?’ Setoc demanded, fear giving way to anger.
    ‘I don’t know, but can you even hope to imagine the anguish people like me feel when seeing one such as you? Young, flush, with such clear and bright eyes. You make me miserable.’
    Setoc drew the horse round.
    ‘Wait! Help me up—I’m snagged on something. I don’t mind being miserable, so long as I have someone to talk to. Being miserable without anyone to talk to is far worse.’
    Really.
Setoc walked over. Studied the corpse. ‘You have a stake through your chest,’ she said.
    ‘A stake? Oh, a spoke, you mean. That explains it.’
    ‘Does it?’
    ‘Well, no. Things got confused. I believe, however, I am lying on a fragment of the hub, with perhaps another fragment of spoke buried deep in the earth. This is what happens when a carriage gets picked up and then dropped back down. I wonder if horses have much memory. Probably not, else this one would still be running. So, beautiful child, will you help me?’
    She reached down. ‘Take my arm, then—can you manage that much? Good, now hold tight while I try and lift you clear.’
    It was easier than she’d expected.
Skin and bones don’t weigh much, do they?
    ‘I am named Cartographer,’ said the corpse, ineffectually trying to brush dust from his rags.
    ‘Setoc.’
    ‘So very pleased to meet you.’
    ‘I thought I made you miserable.’
    ‘I delight in misery.’
    She grunted. ‘You’ll fit right in. Come with me.’
    ‘Wonderful, where