Titan Song Dan Stout (top 20 books to read txt) 📖

stink of fire and destruction still saturated the air. Every breath grated the nose and throat, watering our eyes and making us all spit constantly, as we tried to exorcise the lingering taste of smoke and singed plastic from the back of our tongues. During a pause, as jugs of water were passed up and down the line for relief, the worker to our right turned to face me. He breathed heavily, hands on his knees as he eyed us carefully.

“You’re the manna strike guy, ain’t you? Parker.”

“That’s him,” said Jax. “Detective Parker.”

I glared, but didn’t correct my partner.

“You oughta be more careful,” the breathless guy said. “The ground seems to open up when you’re around, don’t it?” He guffawed, pleased with his joke.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” I slipped off my hard hat and wiped sweat from my brow. “You know what caused it?”

“Nah,” he said. “Sinkholes aren’t normally caused by anything. A cavity in the planet’s tooth, you know?”

“So it just collapsed. Nothing unnatural, no . . . I don’t know, explosives or anything?”

“No evidence of it, least not that I’ve heard.” He accepted the water jug from the woman behind him, and took a long swig before passing it to me. “Your bomb squad people were all over the place, and eventually they just sulked away. If they’d found something, they’d be making a stink, right?”

He was right. Though why the Hells would anyone plant a badge on a corpse unless they knew it was going to be found? I took a drink of water, relishing the feel even if it was lukewarm and tasted of whatever plastic the jug was made of. I passed the communal water on to Jax, who drank and passed it on in turn.

I looked up, the spring sun playing across my brow. We were two weeks past Titan’s Day, and the nights had loosened their grip, growing shorter and heading toward summer days of almost ceaseless light. I shaded my eyes, and saw hairy figures on the hill, standing where the caravan had camped. I pointed them out to Jax.

“Are they watching us work?” I asked, panting slightly.

Jax looked from the hill to the sidewalk overhead. “No. They’re watching them.”

I crawled up the ledge, and managed to see a small parade of legs. It looked like a gaggle of reporters following a group of Barekusu walking beside humans in fatigues. I described the scene to Jax.

“Probably Serrow, the sorcerer who arrived before the caravan, and maybe Weylan himself. I don’t know about the soldiers.”

“AFS engineering corps,” grumbled the man to our right. “They’ve been swarming the place. Showing no respect for the vents.”

He didn’t need to explain. The ground held the warmth that kept us alive and the oil that fueled our economy. It had even provided the next gen manna so many hoped would bring new jobs. In Titanshade, underground was a source of life and wealth. No one from outside would understand the way we did.

The group drew closer, almost directly above us, and we could hear the low, resonant voice of the Barekusu.

“The Titan is an old faith, something that existed outside the Path, and was embraced by our ancestors’ teachings.”

Jax stared upward. “I think that’s Weylan,” he whispered.

Like most people in the city, I grew up celebrating the Titan. Observing Titan’s Day and reciting the prayer of thanks when I left the warmth of the geo-vents. Schoolbooks depicted him as a bound, muscular human—or Mollenkampi, depending on the edition. But always he was shown tormented by the Imps, his screams generating the heat that kept us alive in this frigid climate. I suppose it’s important to let kids know what life has in store for them.

I pulled myself up a little higher, but still couldn’t see more than the legs. Boots and shoes, camouflaged trouser cuffs, and hairy padded paws. One in a notable black and green pattern. The one who’d stared at me during the parade into town.

“I believe we can be of assistance,” one of the Barekusu said, voice deep and resonant. “We can work with Titanshade’s institutions of learning. To explore and document what lies beneath the city. Perhaps to learn more about local customs and beliefs that predate the Path.”

The voices faded as they moved away.

“Joke’s on him,” I said. “We don’t have much in the way of learning around here.”

“Yeah.” Jax seemed thoughtful. “That was a very . . . different take on folk tradition than we were taught at Trelaheda.”

“So your college didn’t teach the Path the same way that guy does. There’s no one way to walk the Path, right?”

“No. But it’s . . .” He whistled under his breath. “That Barekusu is showing much more interest in older beliefs than is normal. It was nice, is all.”

Ajax was delighted. And that was good. Personally, I was confused. In his speech, Weylan showed less concern about wounded Barekusu, and more interest in using the sinkhole to make diplomatic gains. Had the caravan truly come for altruistic reasons, or were they here to snatch a piece of the manna strike for themselves?

The Barekusu departed, the foreman blew the whistle, signaling it was time for us to begin again. We put our backs to it, and the hours fell away.

Rock by rock, one bucket at a time, the debris was being removed. It was far too big a project to get done in one day, and the cars and larger pieces of rubble would need to be craned out. It felt simultaneously awful and good to work that hard, like I was doing penance through physical labor. Away from our line, there were engineers working ahead, checking the debris for stability, working to reconnect the intricate honeycombing of vents that provided the city with warmth. It was one of those teams that let out a shout, and the three shrill whistles that called a halt to the operation.

But instead of calling for a rescue squad, the engineers called, “Get some redbacks down here!”

Everyone in our group craned their