Jana looked up Glass Hill Road. All along the hill wagons were being loaded with bodies. She turned her horse up Glass Hill toward the Glassworks at the top. As she drew closer she could see that some parts of the stone buildings of the Glassworks had tumbled during the earthquake.
She dismounted and approached a pile of large stones that had recently been the front of the Glassworks. The upper portion of the building remained largely intact. A new path cut across the face of the hill allowing her to descend to the lower level.
Through the air came the gentle rhythm of a guitar and hand drum. Jana felt it was the most beautiful music she had ever heard. Though melancholy in tone, the melody rang with sensitivity and skill.
Farther up, she could see a woman directing a group to install a two finger-thick piece of green glass, shaped like a long leaf, into an irregular archway created by the earthquake. The final touches were taking place; many in the crew stepped back to admire their work. The art glass touched the sides of the arch in only a few places along its length. The sunlight both framed the glass and illuminated it. The effect was stunning. The woman directing the effort noticed Jana and approached her.
“Welcome, Scout Jana,” she said bowing deeply, her long dark hair held in place with a red scarf. “My name is Cara Sagra. You are welcome here. Thank you for surviving the Dead Wind.”
Cara took Jana's hand and led her down the path.
Jana felt welcomed, indeed—felt comfortable with this woman. “Thank you for surviving the Dead Wind,” she replied. “That panel of glass is beautiful.”
Cara smiled. “Yes, I’m pleased. As you can see we are designing some glass and natural material creations around what the earthquake left us.” She indicated the work going on around the grounds.
They walked the lower half to a large flat patio, where Jana saw the musicians she’d heard. They were playing under a vast live oak that had somehow survived the earthquake. Cara and Jana came toward the musicians, they brought their playing to a close.
The musicians stood, and the guitar player stepped forward and bowed. “Thank you for surviving the Dead Wind, Scout Jana. I am Michael, this is Sart. You are welcome here.”
“Thank you, Michael and Sart. Your music was the most beautiful I have ever heard. What was it?”
“Just something I'm working on.” The tall, slim man rocked back and forth on his feet and looked at the ground.
Cara laughed. “He won't tell you a thing about it. He gets embarrassed. But I will tell you Michael is the best musician and composer in the City. And what you heard was part of a suite, about the Dead Wind and survival.”
Michael's cheeks grew hot. He looked at Jana and smiled, his face filled with an innocent delight that she found charming. He didn’t have Bartok’s rugged good looks, but he had a face filled with gentleness and humor.
The four of them went to a table near the overhang. As the others were sitting down, Sart disappeared for a moment and came back carrying a tray. He set out water and wine in beautiful hand-blown glass decanters along with an assortment of unique glass and pottery goblets.
Once Sart had placed the last glass on the table, he said, “I have some work to do, so I can’t stay. We are glad you are here, Jana.” He bowed and, taking his drum, headed off into the maze of the Glassworks.
“Everyone here knows my name,” Jana said. “I get the feeling you knew I was coming.”
“Well, you didn't hide that you were coming up Glass Hill,” Michael said.
“Besides,” said Cara, pouring Jana a glass of wine, “a messenger was here early this morning and told us to look for your arrival. The messenger also told us that you might be the last scout. We were truly sorry to hear that, Jana.”
Remembering her regret at crying in front of Bartok, Jana held back her tears. “I'm the only scout left in the City, true. But there may be others out in the field.” Jana thought of Big Red. She knew Big Red wasn’t dead, but she didn't know where she was. But Jana didn't want to think about that. She glanced at Cara and felt more than just welcomed—felt that perhaps there was a chance of friendship with this woman. And Michael, too, felt to her like a steady rhythm, with bursts of joy or anger or compassion flashing like melody lines. Jana was beginning to like these people. The loneliness she’d been carrying began to crack and fall away. She found herself drinking in the ease of this place and these people.
“What do you do here?” she asked Cara.
Sipping her wine, Cara said, “I'm a designer, mostly. I work in stone and wood, glass and metal.”
“Everything!” Jana said.
“She is brilliant!” Michael interjected. “All of this is her design.” He indicated the patio itself, and Jana saw how integrated it looked with the fallen portion of the Glassworks.
“Very beautiful,” she said. “What a project! The Glassworks is big. Now it's even on separate levels. I look forward to seeing everything finished.”
“I’m able to try out some ideas,” Cara nodded. “I would like to have a hand in the rebuilding of the City. What we do here at the Glassworks will let people see what I have to offer in the way of design and craft.”
“She's looking for the big coin,” teased Michael.
Playfully, Cara stuck out her tongue at him. “We have many stone masons and sculptors, woodworkers, artists of all kind. We would all have work.”
“Even the caretakers,” Michael commented.
“Who are the caretakers?” Jana asked.
“Two old master glass makers employed at the Glassworks before the Dead Wind. We believe they are the only glass workers left. When we arrived, they had already appointed themselves as caretakers and began addressing the earthquake damage.
“You’ll recognize them,” Michael added “One has a mop, and the other has a broom. They are very possessive of the glass-making equipment, especially the kilns. They were living in the area with the kilns when we got here. We helped them make the space more habitable by moving out the earthquake damage. They tolerate the rest of us, but they tend to be grumpy. Get too close, and you stand a chance of being chased away—but only with a cleaning tool!”
Cara laughed. “They gave us the idea of using mops and brooms when we staged our protest at Speakers Gate. We needed to do something to bring attention to what the resident City Troop had become after the Dead Wind. These so-called “troopers” were like thugs, beating and looting. One of the caretakers said that if it was up to him, he would just mop them up!”
Jana was surprised and amused. “So it was you storming the City buildings when we rode to the rescue! I thought it odd to see so many mops and brooms out. But you were all gone so fast I couldn’t tell what was going on.”
Cara's face flushed with momentary anger. “The City Troops were getting to be just like the gangs of looters they were supposed to stop.” Then she smiled. “We had great fun, but Bartok’s appearance foiled the entrance of the marching band we had waiting in the wings.”
“Jana, you know Bartok,” Cara said, pouring them both more wine. “What do you think of him?”
Jana’s face colored and she said, quickly, “No, you tell me what you think. Truthfully, I would appreciate hearing how he appears to other people.”
Cara was silent for a moment. She seemed to be choosing her words. “His plan for dealing with the City’s dead is working. His speech was rousing and well received, the people cheered.”
“He seems to have a knack for knowing what people want to hear,” Michael said. “The dead are being taken care of, but Bartok is too good to be true, by my way of thinking.”
“We don't know anything of Bartok beyond rumor and impression,” Cara said. “You, on the other hand, seem to have personal knowledge.” She took Jana's hand. “Would you rather not talk about it?”
“It’s not what you think,” Jana said, patting Cara's hand atop her own. “I'm embarrassed because I let myself cry in front of him. I had just found all of the scouts dead, and I felt so alone.”
“Oh, that's not bad. It’s quite understandable.”
“He seems like he is intent on doing a good job,” Jana went on. “He is ambitious, I'm sure he wants to be speaker. The troopers love him. I had dinner with him, and he was willing to take some suggestions concerning the situation at Wind Point Plateau, but …”
“But what?” Michael prompted.
“I don't know. Somehow I feel uncomfortable around him.”
“Well, he’s an attractive man,” Cara said. “There’s that.”
“No, other than that. Something is not quite right, I just can't pin it down.”
Michael stood, his guitar now in hand. “Let’s take you on a tour of the Glassworks. For that matter, why don't you just stay here with us?”
“That's a grand idea,” Cara said. “We have plenty of room. We could fix you up with a space of your own.”
“Thank you. It’s very kind of you to invite me, but I am a scout and I have that responsibility.”
“That makes no difference.” Cara stood and took Jana by the shoulders. “The space would be yours, even if your duties kept you away and allowed for only brief visits.”
“You can be a part of our Artists' Loan Program,” smiled Michael. “You, Scout Jana, would be on loan to the rest of the world, but you have your home here.”
“Thank you!” Jana brushed away the tears that had started down her cheek. “I accept.”
Nine
Woodside Mill
When she awoke, for a brief moment, Bell forgot who she was with and where she was. She was with Shell and Big Red, and they were in Uncle Salt's house. Then she got up and looked in on Shell, who was sleeping soundly. Big Red's bed was empty and made. Big Red was nowhere in the house, so Bell threw on her clothes and ran outside.
Trotting down the path, she saw Big Red ahead of her. Bell sped up, but she couldn’t catch the scout. Big Red entered the forge, and Bell crept up to the window to watch and listen.
Grandfather Lute was at the forge stoking the fire. Big Red found him preparing to make a long blade.
“Good morning, Grandfather Lute. You’re up early.”
He smiled. “I must try my new hammer,” he said. “Working the steel helps me to think. We need to find a way to deal with Rude.”
Big Red spotted a table full of knives and a rack of finished blades against the wall. She picked up a knife with a blade as long as her forearm.
“This would be the perfect knife for the City Scouts,” she said, “Well balanced and strong, suitable as a weapon or a work tool.”
“I call that the large camp knife.” Handing her a sheath, he added, “Take that knife with you to the City and show the first scout. If he approves, I would be pleased to supply knives to the scouts. The new hammer allows me to step up my production.”
“Thank you. I’ll take the knife when I go.” Big Red returned the sheathed knife to the table and reached into the sword rack, pulling a gently curved sword from the dowels. Inspecting the blade closely she said, “I have never seen such quality work.” She swung the sword checking the balance.
Grandfather Lute watched her go through a series of moves from a sword set. “That sword is too short for you,” he observed. “It puts off your balance. Let me see the sword you carry.”
Big Red handed him her sword. “Here is the best blade the City has to offer.”
The sword was big and heavy. The workmanship was adequate but far beneath what was made by Grandfather Lute's hand. He inspected the blade, not speaking until he’d handed back the sword.
“Let me make you a blade, one that will fit you perfectly. This first blade off the new hammer will be yours—the first blade since the Dead Wind.”
“I am truly honored, Grandfather Lute, but I couldn’t afford a blade of this quality.”
“A gift, Big Red. A gift. Frankly, that sword of yours is an embarrassment. My principles won’t allow me to let you carry that piece of slag.”
“Thank you for that.”
“So, do you think you can locate the children Rude is holding?”
“I don't know the land around here,” the scout said. “I'll have to take someone with me who does. I'm sure Rude and his bunch have left plenty of signs of their passing. Once we locate his base, we’ll come up with a plan.”
“Take Harp or Shell,” Grandfather Lute said. “I'd like Mark and Matt to be with me while I test the hammer. Oh, yes … and you’ll want to get away before the twins know you are going.” He was smiling now.
As Big Red made her exit, Bell popped out from hiding and joined her on the walk to the bunkhouse. No one spoke until, finally, Bell could contain herself no longer. “Grandfather's making you a sword! He makes the best blades.”
“I am deeply honored, Bell. I have never seen such superior work. But”—now the scout smiled—“if you are going to gather information by hiding under the window, you shouldn’t repeat it, especially to the very people you spied on.”
“I see what you mean,” Bell said. “But are you going to find the hostage children? When are you going? And can I come?”
“Yes, I'm going to find the children. I'll leave just as soon as I can get Harp or Shell to guide me. And, no, you cannot come.”
“But I want to! I know the land around here. Let me help you!”
“You can help, Bell. Your job will be to keep the twins from knowing that I'm going.”
Bell thought for a moment and nodded her head. “I think I can do that.”
As they approached the bunkhouse, they could hear laughing and banging from inside. Big Red knocked on the door. Matt opened it and then closed it immediately. “Females outside!” he yelled. “Get presentable!”
Bell and Big Red heard running and thumping inside, and after a time a fully-dressed Matt opened the door. The others were mostly dressed.
“Good morning, Big Red, Bell,” Matt smiled sheepishly. “Sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“Not to worry, Matt. I've seen plenty of naked men.” Big Red stepped into the bunkhouse.
“Plenty?” Matt asked, taken aback. Big Red wasn’t much older than he, and he had seen hardly any unclothed girls—actually, none.
“Troopers, mostly, around the barracks,” Big Red clarified, “after all I am a scout.”
Matt, still confused, was afraid to comment.
The twins had climbed the rope and spent the night in the loft. One was armed with a pillow. He was bashing his brother, who was hanging from a rope he had hold of just below the rim of the loft. “Back! Evil spawn of Noster!” He swung, and the pillow bounced off his brother's head.
Bell ran over to the rope. “What are you trying to do, kill one another?”
Page slid down the rope, Book followed.
“Hi, Bell. We're playing scout. Want to play?”
“Sounds like fun,” she said. “I know of a secret mission we can go on.”
“A secret mission. Let's go!”
“Breakfast!” called Mark from the kitchen.
The twins and Bell went to the table and hopped onto the chairs. Big Red bent to Bell's ear. “Good work. A secret mission should keep the twins occupied.”
Bell smiled. Now if she could only think of a secret mission. Then she remembered the night her uncles had come to look at the red mushroom. Hadn’t they said the old Wizen who stayed at the mill that summer had a secret place in the hills behind the forge? The Grotto? She couldn't remember the details, but she’d improvise as she went along.
Shell came in. “Good morning.” She found a chair between Harp and Big Red.
The twins were shoveling scrambled eggs into their mouths. “What's the mission?”
Bell took a bite of eggs to buy a little time. “We're scouts. And I'm the Lead Scout…”
“Why are you the Lead Scout?” from one.
“I want to be the Lead Scout,” from the other.
“I’m the one with the secret mission. Besides, everyone knows girls are better scouts.”
&nb
sp; “Are not,” came the dual response.
Bell glanced down the table to see if they were being watched. They weren’t. The three drew their heads together. She whispered, “There was this great Wizen, who had great powers and lived long ago. This Wizen had a secret place, the Grotto, filled with wonderful things up behind Grandfather's forge. Our mission is to find this Grotto and learn the secrets of power.”
The twins were paying close attention. “Is this true? Is this a real place?”
“Yes. Family stories describe such a place, lost somewhere around here. We'll have to get clues from Grandfather.”
They finished their breakfast and headed for the door. Big Red caught Bell's eye and winked.
Grandfather Lute was at the forge when they burst in. He looked up from his contemplation of the glowing coals. “Good morning, young ones.”
“We're not young ones, we're scouts!” Book said with a salute.
“Reporting for clues!” Page also saluted.
Bell stepped in front of the twins. “We're going on a secret mission, Grandfather. We're going to find Old Wizen's lost Grotto.”
“All right, scouts, line up. You need some equipment if your mission is to be successful.” Grandfather Lute went to a wooden knife case and withdrew three sheathed knives. He placed them on the workbench.
“Every scout needs a good knife.” He drew one of the knives from the sheath: a hand-length drop-point blade with a polished walnut handle. Grandfather Lute held the knife up. “Treat this knife as a tool and with great respect. These knives are very sharp and should be kept that way. Do not try to cut things that cannot be cut, like rocks and such. Be cautious if you use it for prying, as you may break off the tip”
Grandfather Lute gave each of them a knife. He taught them how to handle the knives, instructing them on various grips that could be used as the task dictated. He watched their respect for the blades grow.
“You, Scouts, will turn in your knives at the end of the day.”
The Dead Wind Page 7
