Page 2 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)

Vanishing Like a Ghost

T he fly-copter hung in the sky like a giant insect, its blades screaming through the dusk haze.

Beneath it, the lake frothed in agitation, its silver-black waves heaving and roiling, caught in the fury of a passing storm.

The roar was deafening, the scent of salt, brine, and foam filling the air, and the cold spray blading the skin.

The young man, just twenty, stood at the edge of the open door, thin, barefoot, trembling.

His hands gripped the frame so hard his knuckles bled white.

Wind tore at his clothes, his hair, and his resolve.

The distance separating him and the water below appeared infinite, an abyss between this world and the next.

‘Jump.’

The voice came from somewhere to his rear.

It was glacial, commanding, and sent a chill down his spine.

‘I won’t do it,’ he choked, teeth clattering, either from fear or the frigid temperature.

He couldn’t tell which.

‘You must.’

He dared to stretch one foot forward.

Spray from the furious waters below bit into his skin.

The fly-copter banked, and he jerked back, his vertebrae pressing to a steel column, heart racing like a trapped animal.

Without warning, he was shoved from behind.

He clamped his mouth in shock as he was thrust into the firmament beyond.

The wind roared past his ears as he fell, flailing, legs kicking at nothing, arms clawing at the empty sky.

He experienced no panic, not even a hint of fear. Just the raw awareness of falling to his possible death.

If this was his time, so be it.

The water rose like a barricade of churning gray and black surf.

He hit hard, the liquid washing over him, siphoning him into itself.

Then, silence, followed by weightlessness and darkness.

He flailed, a brief, violent tumble into what seemed like a whirlpool, sucking him down, spinning him in slow, unstoppable spirals.

He fought and kicked upward, lungs on fire, limbs aching, until he broke into fresh air.

He floated on his back, heaving, starlight scattered across the lake like shattered glass.

Above him, the fly-copter shimmered, its body melting into stealth mode, engines shifting to a whipped purr before it vanished into the sky like a ghost.

Bobbing on the surface, he stared at the spot where it’d disappeared for a long time, then, with a curse, twisted around and cast out.

He had no idea of direction, yet somehow he sensed an inner compass guiding him.

Time lost all meaning.

All that mattered was the rhythmic movement of arms, the slicing of water, the ache in his chest and limbs.

Until a shoreline came into view, lit by the rising moon.

Sucking in air and tamping back tears, he dragged himself up the sand, coughing brine, trembling all over.

For a long time, he lay still in the darkness, cold earth under his thin sinews.

He didn’t even have the energy to scratch at the sting of salt on his torn skin as waves broke over his feet.

His body, battered and chilled to the bones, reclined motionless. His shirt hung in tatters, and blood oozed from a gash on one shoulder.

He wondered where it came from and raised a hand to touch his face, then his brow, and his head, with fumbling fingers.

He discovered that his skull was wrapped in a coarse and tight material.

Bandages.

Rough. Damp. Fresh, caused by a recent neural operation, a voice whispered from a place he didn’t remember.

They touched your mind, twisted it.

In time, he found a tendril of survival instinct and rose to his unsteady feet.

He kept stumbling on, driven by the need to find heat, water, and nutrition.

He pushed over sand bluffs and cliff sides.

The rocks tore at his hands as he scrabbled over them, and stones bit into his side every time he fell.

Night midges bothered him, buzzing and nipping at his salt-soaked body.

It was torture, and he was about to lose all hope when he spotted a light in the distance.

On he trudged, pulling strength from an almost supernatural source within him.

Then came a short fence which he scaled and stumbled over.

Followed by a wall of heat, the unexpected breath and snort of animals, the lack of wind, and a lamp burning in a corner.

A mound of pliable, sweet hay beckoned to him, and he collapsed onto his side, curled into himself, chest rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths.

With a sigh, he gave in to the embrace of deep, dreamless slumber.

He woke to the sound of quiet breathing and eyes on him.

Soft golden morning light filtered through the slats of rough-hewn wood.

Dust danced in lazy spirals above him, and the scent of fodder, earth, and horses filled his nose.

He tore his crusted eyes wider to blink up into the face of a girl.

She was younger than he, in her early to mid-teens.

She had brown doe eyes ringed with the longest lashes he’d ever seen.

Her brown braids were pulled back in a loose wrap, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek.

She was the prettiest thing he’d set eyes on.

‘You’re awake,’ she whispered.

He stirred, the straw beneath him rustling.

A thick ache spread through his chest, and his limbs were ponderous as though they’d been poured full of wet sand.

Nearby, horses eyed him from their stalls, ears twitching, nostrils flaring, a soft harrumph and snort coming from one of the larger ones.

His eyes sliced back to her, and he attempted to speak, but his raw and aching throat didn’t allow it.

All he managed was a groan.

She tilted her head in understanding and moved to a nearby trough.

Dipping a tin cup into it, she brought it back and held it to his lips.

He drank the cold contents greedily as she peered at him, crouched on her haunches, those appealing eyes on him.

The hydration worked its magic, washing away the brine and dirt that caked his tongue.

‘Where am I?’ he rasped in Standard.

‘You’re on my parents’ farm,’ she murmured. ‘In Rambasa Province.’

He blinked, trying to sit up as the word clicked into place.

‘Dunia?’

‘ Naam. ’

She smiled. ‘Looks like you had a rough night. I found you here asleep in the hay when I came to feed and water the horses. I thought you were dead. Till I touched you and you freakin’ groaned. I almost jumped ten feet in the air, you scared me.’

‘Sorry,’ he grunted. ‘Didn’t mean to.’

Her eyes traveled over his face and head, pausing at the bandage.

‘Where did you come from?’

He tried to remember.

All he got were rushes of images tumbling into each other; the fall from an immense height, the iciness of the water, the chilling darkness.

His mind gave him nothing more.

Until an agonizing pain burst behind his eyes.

A pulse of light flared in the corner of his vision as a quiet ping sounded within his skull.

As if written in mid-air, but only appearing in his mind’s eye, came a series of commands:

COORDINATES LOCKED.

RENDEZVOUS: 07:00 LOCAL.

OBJECTIVE: PHASE ONE INITIATION, ACTIVE.

PROCEED IMMEDIATELY.

He flinched.

How the hell did he have a neural interface buried inside his head?

As if by instinct, his hand flew to his head, to the bandage, and he understood.

There was no escaping his present reality.

He tried to rise, but his limbs refused to cooperate with him.

The pain was instant. His arms trembled. His legs gave out. He collapsed back into the hay with a hiss of frustration.

‘You’re too weak,’ she murmured, kneeling beside him. ‘You need food and rest. Then you can go on.’

He shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. I have to get going.’

‘I do understand,’ she muttered, her don’t-mess-with-me tone unbending.

‘You’re not OK. You might think you are, but your body says otherwise.

I’m not letting someone die in my family’s barn, and certainly not an Iccythrian.

Your folks are notorious for disappearing people just for glancing at them. ’

He stared at her, marveled at the fierceness, the conviction, and a wall inside him cracked, just a little.

‘Wait here,’ she murmured.

‘Where the heck else will I go?’

He watched as she flew out of the barn and into the night.

She made him eat slices of warmed buttered toast, preserved fruit, and a bit of cured meat.

While he shoved sustenance into his mouth, she busied herself, creating a sleeping area on a bed of old hay and thick canvas sacks.

When he was done, she helped him to it, topped up his water, and tucked a blanket over his shivering form.

When he tried to ask her to leave again, she rolled her eyes and sat cross-legged beside him.

‘Not a chance,’ she declared. ‘I’ve a barn to muck out.’

He scoffed, then lay back in surrender, too weak and cold to fight back.

The quilt wafted with soap and lavender root, and of her, floral, clean, and earthy.

The kindness of it all swelled in his throat.

He almost wept.

He sensed her eyes glide over his face, taking in the embedded gem and wearable tech indents, before returning to the medical bandages.

‘Your eyes glow. You must be a meta.’

He was something , for sure, but he didn’t reply, deciding to say nothing.

‘Who hurt you?’

‘Can’t say,’ he grumbled.

‘Can’t or won’t?’

He narrowed his eyes at her as his brain tried to parse her meaning.

He found nothing, nor any clue who had operated on him and implanted the neural node he sensed throbbing behind his right eye.

‘How come you’re so far away from home?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

He really had no idea.

She must have gotten the message because her questions ceased.

She got busy mucking out stalls in the barn, and his eyes followed her as she strutted past with shovels, then buckets to water the animals.

She was hardworking, he surmised, with a touch of respect.

After a beat, she excused herself.

‘I’d better go. My parents will be wondering where I’ve gone, even though it is the holidays. I’ll be back this evening.’

She shoved a retro comm tab at him. ‘It’s my classic Comm Tab 3VG model. Read or watch a show on Sysnet. Relax. You’re safe here.’

She placed the device by him, then rose and smiled.

Those doe brown eyes gazed down on him, and he lost himself in them until she darted away.

Later, when the light dimmed and the barn shifted into the quiet of nightfall, and he drifted in and out of sleep, she returned.

He opened one drowsy eye and jerked a chin to acknowledge her.

She had more food, this time a generous beef pie.

Its flaky pastry and tender pieces of meat in a sauce that was spiced with such a delicate hand, it had him groaning as he ate.

She’d also brought a carafe of refreshing watermelon juice, which he scoffed down.

After muttering his thanks, slumber called once more, and as soon as he eased back down, she curled up beside him, her breath steady, her lashes fluttering against her cheek.

They lay on the hay bed, a makeshift mattress of straw and old blankets, staring at each other for a long time, their eyes locked in the soft, dusty light of the barn.

It was more than just a look; it was a conversation without words, a silent sharing of a thousand unspoken feelings.

In that moment, the world outside, with its secrets and dangers, faded into a distant hum.

All that existed was the space between them, thick with an emotion so raw and powerful it felt like a physical weight on his chest.

It took away any heartache he’d ever had, and at the same time, it was a terrifying vulnerability, a surrender he hadn’t known he was capable of.

It scared him more than any of his tragic experiences ever could.

Damn, but how it made him feel righteous and seen.

In time, she fell asleep, and he remained staring at her.

This barn, the mares and stallions, the tranquility, her essence , was the most at peace he’d ever experienced in his wretched life.

It was then that he realized he didn’t want to move on.

He wanted to stay here, with her.

Damn, she was a beauty, but with a groan, he turned away before he threw his arms around her.

Regardless, he had more severe problems to deal with.

He tried to close his eyes, but seconds later, the pulses returned.

PHASE ONE: YOU ARE LATE.

DELAY DETECTED.

RE-CALIbrATING ROUTE, MINIMIZE CONTACT, AVOID PURSUIT.

LEAVE. NOW.

His jaw clenched.

He knifed up, and this time, his limbs let him.

Moving with as much care as possible, he shifted and rose from the hay.

The girl didn’t stir.

The horses tracked him, silent sentinels in the dark.

He opened the rustic comm tab and, using its digital pen, scrawled a note in uneven handwriting:

Sante . For everything. You saved me. I’ll remember. Always.

He left it by her hand, patted the nearest horse’s warm flank, and stepped barefoot into the early light of morning.

Vanishing like a ghost into the mist beyond the paddocks.