“It’s an oven in there,” Zitora exclaimed. “How do you stand it?”
I shrugged. “Growing up, I spent more time in the factory than the house. Probably the reason I hate the cold.” I rubbed my arms. “It gets really hot when all eight kilns are fired. Eight is too many for my family to handle, so we hired a few locals, two uncles and a bunch of cousins to work the kilns. Shifts help with heat exhaustion. My father makes us take a break after each piece we make.”
When my father came outside, his shoulders brushed the doorway. He squinted. In the sunlight, his resemblance to Ahir was unmistakable. Although only a few black strands remained in his short gray hair and Ahir still had a couple more inches to grow before catching up with Father’s height.
“Opal.” Father crushed me in a bear hug.
I suppressed a wince. Five days of hard riding had not been conducive to healing. My injuries remained tender to the touch. He released me.
“Father, I would like to introduce you to Master Cowan, Second Magician. Master Cowan, this is my father, Jaymes Cowan.”
He shook her hand, and invited us inside the house for refreshments. Heat and the smell of molten glass radiated off his body.
Zitora declined. “It’s an urgent matter. Is there a private place we can talk?”
He shot me a look of alarmed concern. A familiar situation. If I had been guilty of any misdeed, I would have burst into tears and confessed upon seeing his ire. I quickly shook my head lest he suspect me of being in trouble.
“We can talk in my lab,” he said.
We followed him to a small one-story building tucked behind the factory. He led us into his laboratory, where he experimented with various sand mixtures and chemicals to produce glass of different colors and consistencies. Metal tables lined the room. Tools and various measuring equipment hung from neat rows of hooks, and stainless steel bowls had been stacked in precise piles.
The countertops gleamed in the light. Not a speck of errant sand marred the tables or crunched under a boot. Mother used to complain of Father’s messy armoire, and would wonder out loud how he could keep his lab pristine, yet fail to hang up his clothes.
His reply had always been one word. Contamination. He didn’t want any of his experiments being contaminated by spilled ingredients. It would throw off all his results, he claimed. Contamination also included children with sticky hands and dirty clothes, but his rules hadn’t stopped Tula and me from sneaking in here on occasion. I remembered the one time we hid under his desk, shaking in fear of being discovered, which inevitably happened. Our punishment had been to clean his lab for a season. After that season, we never ventured in here again.
Father sat at his desk and gestured for us to sit in the two other chairs. “What’s so important?”
Zitora explained about the Stormdance sand and fragile orbs. We placed the samples onto his desk.
“You think one of these ingredients is bad?” my father asked, staring at me. “How did you come to this conclusion?”
I told him about the old orbs and the differences I noticed. “The new orbs aren’t as sturdy. Same thickness, just not as dense.” I handed him a shard of Indra’s orb.
He examined the glass and tapped it on his fingernails, listening to the clinking sound. “All right. I’ll work on these. See what I can find.” He sorted through his bowls. “Why don’t you go into the house? Mother will be thrilled to see you both.”
I stood. “Can I help?”
He looked at me in surprise. “It’s better if I do it myself.” He must have seen my disappointment, because he added, “Would you like to learn what I do here?”
“Yes.” I had always wanted to know more about glass, but I knew he preferred to work alone.
“Okay. When we have time, I’ll teach you.”
“Really?” My turn to be surprised.
He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for one of my children to show an interest. Ahir doesn’t have the patience and Mara…Mara is more interested in Leif than glass right now.”
We shared a laugh. Even though Mara had been pursued by every young man in the Cowan lands, only Yelena’s brother, Leif, had caught her attention. But since he was a powerful magician and worked at the Keep, they hardly had any time together. I wondered if Aydan still needed an apprentice. Mara could move to the Citadel and live near the Keep. She would be closer to Leif. And to me.
My humor leaked away. Back at the Keep, I knew no one missed me.
My mother worked in the kitchen. The delightful smell of bread stew permeated the air. Following the scent, I found my mother stirring a large pot. She greeted me with a peck on the cheek.
“Mara told me you were here. What took you so long? Your mother isn’t important enough to say hello to?”
I rushed to apologize. “We had—”
“Urgent business with Jaymes,” Zitora said.
Before she could lay on the guilt about not introducing her, I said, “Master Cowan, this is my mother, Vyncenza.”
My mother perked up at hearing Zitora’s title and launched into gracious host mode. “Opal, go get the good dishes from the cupboard and set the table. Use the fancy Jewelrose tablecloth, and make sure to put out enough silverware.” She clucked over my appearance. “Better get washed first and put on decent clothes!” She shooed me from the kitchen.
Her offers of every liquid beverage to Zitora reached me as I ascended the stairs. My mother wouldn’t be happy until the magician was seated with a drink and snack in hand.
The house had four bedrooms. Tula and I had shared a room. Only seven seasons apart in age, most who met us for the first time had thought we were twins. I entered the room. Tula’s grief flag hung suspended over her bed and I wondered how long Mother would keep it there.
Zitora and Yelena had sewn the white silk banner. They decorated it with animal shapes surrounding a single blade of grass with a drop of dew hanging from the tip. Honeysuckles were sewn along the border of the flag. It was a representation of Tula’s life and personality. A customary endeavor, making a flag for the deceased and flying it from the highest pole, to release the person’s soul to the sky. Then the flag was used to cover the soul’s most precious possessions in order to keep them from returning to earth to retrieve them. After a few years, most people removed the flag and gifted the items.
I had missed Tula’s flag-raising ceremony while a prisoner of Alea. Sitting on her bed, I ran my hand over the quilt. Last time I had seen my sister, she was in the Keep’s infirmary, recovering from being raped and tortured by Ferde Daviian. Alea—another one of those cursed Daviians—had promised Tula would live if I cooperated with her.
Curling up on Tula’s bed, I shuddered as a fresh wave of grief crashed into me. Alea had taken me to the Daviian Plateau, pricked me with Curare and left me paralyzed and alone for hours in her tent. And then he came.
No. I would not think about him.
I concentrated on Tula. My ordeal was nothing compared to hers. When I had finally been freed, I learned Ferde strangled her to death and stole her soul. Two weeks gone before I even knew about it. Two weeks a captive for nothing. She died anyway.
“Opal, are you done? The table won’t set itself,” my mother’s voice called.
I wiped tears from my cheeks as I hurried to wash and change. My thoughts turned to Kade’s grief over his sister, and I remembered thinking about how time would dull his pain. Which was true, but I had forgotten about the occasional knife of grief that stabbed you without warning.
I was mortified during most of dinner. Ahir and my mother were intent on telling embarrassing stories about me to Zitora. The Magician seemed to enjoy them and laughed, but I wanted to hide under the table.
“…naked and soapy from a bath, Opal goes streaking toward the factory, intent on telling her father about her toy duck. Well…” Mother paused for maximum impact. “She crashes right into him and he spills a bowlful of sand on her head! I cleaned sand from every nook and cranny in her body. For month
s!”
I cut through the peals of laughter. “Do you think I should check on Father? Won’t his dinner get cold?”
“Leave your father alone for now. You know how he gets when he’s working in his lab. Dinner will keep.”
I sighed. One avenue of escape thwarted.
Before my mother could launch into another humiliating story, I asked Zitora about her family.
Her humor faded. “I don’t remember my parents. My older sister raised me. We are ten years apart.”
Mara made sympathetic noises. “Sisters are great. I wish I saw mine more often.” She gave me a pointed stare.
Perhaps I would tell her about Aydan’s glass factory in the Citadel.
“Sometimes I wish mine would get lost,” Ahir joked.
“Mine is lost,” Zitora said in a quiet voice.
“What do you mean?” Mother asked.
“When the magicians came, they said I had strong magical powers and should be Keep trained. She escorted me to the Keep and left. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”
Gasps of horror ringed the table. Zitora shook her head through the barrage of questions from my mother and sister, and waved away Ahir’s apology.
“I searched for years,” Zitora said. “Chased every possible lead, visited every infirmary in Sitia, and viewed every unidentified corpse. Either she doesn’t want to be found or she’s dead and buried.” The Magician said the words with a flat tone as if she could no longer produce any emotions about her sister’s fate. Or she had exhausted her emotions.
“Why wouldn’t she want to be found?” Mother asked.
“Perhaps she wanted to start a new life,” Mara said. She rose from her seat and cleared the table.
“Perhaps someone is holding her against her will.” I suppressed a shudder; better to be dead and buried.
“Perhaps she was jealous of me. I don’t know anymore. I’ve thought about it for the last ten years and nothing feels right.” Zitora stood. Her chair scraped along the floor with a loud squeal. “Here.” She grabbed the dirty plates from Mara. “I’ll wash.”
Mother jumped from her seat with amazing speed. “Oh, no you don’t.” She hurried after Zitora, disappearing into the kitchen.
Mara, Ahir and I looked at each other.
“Who do you think will win?” Mara asked. “A Master Magician or Mother?”
I considered. “If you could call washing dishes winning, I’d bet money on Mother.”
“As much as it pains me to say this, I’d have to agree with Opal.” Ahir wrinkled his nose in mock distaste.
Sure enough Zitora returned from the kitchen. “Your mother—”
“A force of nature. We know,” Ahir said. “Come on, Mara, let’s go help her while Opal entertains her guest.”
My father woke me in the middle of the night. The bright glow from his lantern seared my eyes. Already awake, Zitora sat on the edge of her bed—my bed, actually. I had slept in Tula’s bed under her flag.
His words finally sank into my sleep-fogged mind.
“…found the cause of the weak glass,” he said. “Come.”
9
I GRABBED MY cloak and hurried after my father. The sky glittered with stars and the half-moon cast a weak light over our compound. Father led Zitora and me to his lab.
Torches blazed and crackled. The air smelled of camphor and honey. Bowls filled with sand and water rested on the countertops along with opened jars and spilled ingredients. It was the first time I’d seen his lab messy.
“I had forgotten all about it,” he said, picking up a small porcelain bowl. “Hoped never to see the cursed substance again.” He thrust the container at Zitora.
Confused, she handed it to me. The contents appeared to be lime. I grabbed a pinch, and rubbed the white substance between my fingertips. Lime.
“Jaymes, what are you talking about?” she asked.
“What’s wrong with the lime, Father?”
He drew in a deep breath and settled into his chair. “Thirty years ago, well before the Commander’s takeover of Ixia, we used to import sand and other glass compounds from the north. There were a number of glass factories in Booruby back then—twice as many as today—and competition was fierce.” My father’s gaze was unfocused as he stared into the past.
“I only had two kilns then, but my wares were different and I was new. Business boomed and I ordered another two kilns.”
Zitora opened her mouth, but I placed my hand on her shoulder, warning her to keep quiet with a slight shake of my head. He would get to the point of his story eventually, interrupting or hurrying him would only prolong the tale. We sat in the other two chairs and listened.
“Unfortunately my rivals took exception to my newfound success and plotted ways to discredit me. They started what’s now known as the Glass Wars. My factory was hit first. They contaminated my lime with Brittle Talc. It looks like lime, feels like lime, but if it gets into your molten mix, the talc affects the quality of your piece.”
“Makes it less dense?” I asked.
“Exactly. Drove me crazy, wondering why my glass broke so easily. Almost drove me out of business, too. Soon only a few glass factories remained. We suspected sabotage, but had no proof. I discovered the contaminant by accident. While shoveling my lime into bags to sell to the farmers because I was desperate for money, I spilled a bucket of water onto the pile. The lime turned purple.”
“Purple?” Zitora asked.
“Purple,” my father repeated. “The water reacted to the Brittle Talc, changing color. We didn’t know the name then, but when I made glass with lime that didn’t turn purple, it didn’t break. I was just happy to be back in business, but the other glassmakers who had been hit by the Brittle Talc decided to retaliate.”
“The Glass Wars,” I said, remembering my father’s stories. “You never told us about the Brittle Talc before.”
“I didn’t want you to know about it. Eventually, the man responsible for bringing the talc to Booruby was caught and the factory owners who started the whole mess were arrested. The factories that had survived the war in one piece signed an agreement to work together. Only a few of us knew about the talc and we promised to keep it quiet. There hasn’t been a problem—besides minor disagreements—since.”
Father pulled the bowl from my hands and set it on his desk. “This is a sample of the lime you brought back from the Stormdance Clan.” He tipped a glass of water into it. The lime turned purple.
“Could the talc get into the Stormdance lime by accident?” Zitora asked.
“Nope.”
“Who knows about Brittle Talc?”
“Me, my brother and two other master glassmakers.”
“Where does it come from?” I asked.
My father shot me a proud smile even though my question didn’t show any great intelligence on my part. “Ixia.”
Ixia. The northern country was named twice since I’ve been working with the Stormdancers. The old lady who sold me the glass vase at the Thunder Valley market also mentioned Ixia.
“We have a trade treaty with Ixia. All goods sent over the border either way are supposed to be recorded. Perhaps we can find out who is exporting Brittle Talc to Sitia. What is it made from?” Zitora asked.
“From the flowers of the Chudori plant. When dried, they can be crushed into a fine powder. The plant grows near the northern ice sheet and at the base of the Ixian Soul Mountains.”
“In other words, in locations where no one lives.” Zitora frowned.
“Where no one can witness the harvesting of the flowers.” He swirled the contents of the bowl.
“What about the man who was caught for bringing Brittle Talc to Booruby?” I asked. “Was he from Ixia or Sitia? Did he mention anyone who helped him make the talc?”
“Back then you could cross the border to Ixia without papers or permission. He had the pale coloring of a northerner. He claimed he worked alone, but he wouldn’t tell us anything more about himself or the talc.
”
“Is he still alive?”
“No. He was killed in prison by a glassmaker’s son. The young man’s father killed himself when his business was destroyed and the son managed to get arrested and thrown into the same prison. No one in Booruby grieved.”
We sat for a while in silence. I mulled over the information my father had given us.
“Are any of the other glass ingredients from the Stormdancers tainted?” I asked.
Father gestured to the array of bowls. “Not that I could find, but there is always a chance it could be a substance I haven’t seen before.”
Zitora leaned closer to the desk. “How big of a chance?”
I answered for him. “Tiny. He’s been working with glass for over thirty years.”
“Opal, now don’t go making me sound so smart. But I will say the Brittle Talc is the only substance I found that affects the density of the glass. If there was another problem with the orbs, then I would tell the Stormdancers to buy all new ingredients for their glass.”
But all they needed to buy was clean lime. “So the spiked lime was sabotaged. Who would do it?” No one spoke for a moment. I listed suspects in my mind, including the Stormdancers and the glassmakers. “Do you think the ambushers had anything to do with the tainted lime?”
“It’s possible. They planned to stop us from helping the Stormdancers. I would like to know who told them we were coming,” Zitora said.
“What’s next?” I asked her.
“I’ll contact Kade and tell him to order clean lime. We can question the glassmakers who knew about Brittle Talc before we leave.”
“I’ll talk to my brother,” my father said. “See if he heard anything.”
While Zitora returned to the house to pack, I stayed and helped my father clean his lab. As he handed me bottles of chemicals to put away, he explained the purpose of each one.
“When you add this white sand to the mix, it helps reduce seeds in your glass,” Father said.
His comment reminded me about the vase I had bought at Thunder Valley. It had many seeds or bubbles. When we finished, I ran to the house to retrieve my vase and met him in the kitchen.
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