Storm Glass g-1

by Maria V. Snyder

  Not only a liar, but a coward, as well.

  I used my cloak as a blanket and managed to get a few hours of sleep before my door was unlocked. Bright morning sunlight spilled into the narrow room.

  “Time to work,” Tricky said.

  He followed me and kept watch as I helped Ash arrange the tools near his bench. The glassmaker had tied his hair back. The smoky color of his eyes matched his hair and could be the reason for his nickname. Powerful muscles sculpted his arms from a lifetime of working with molten glass.

  “Empty the annealing oven,” Ash instructed. “The items inside should be done.”

  I pulled open the hatch. The oven slowly cooled the pieces to room temperature to avoid cracking the glass. Removing a glass ball from one of the metal racks, I paused. Sir and his group had tried to make orbs before. The ball appeared to be an early attempt.

  “That batch wasn’t quite right,” Ash said. “We thought we had matched the formula, but the elasticity of the glass wouldn’t let the orbs get any bigger without breaking.”

  The weight and thickness of the orb was wrong, but yet the glass under my hands felt familiar. The odd desire to fill the orb with magic pulled at my heart. I dismissed the impulse. I couldn’t put magic into a glass piece I hadn’t made. Or could I?

  The memory of a sand woman and my connection with Kade floated in my mind. I had blown magic into Indra’s glass orb, but with Kade’s help.

  I set the pieces on a nearby table already laden with past attempts. Sir arrived to watch, but Crafty and Tal remained in the other room.

  “Gather a slug,” Ash ordered.

  Taken aback, I blinked at him for a second. He was letting me collect the molten glass. I moved to obey before he could reconsider. An idea formed in my mind. A chance to escape. I thought of a hundred reasons why it wouldn’t work before I could plan. The biggest reason loomed next to me. Tricky.

  Reaching for the blowpipe, I focused on the task at hand. I noted the craftsmanship of the kiln. The iron hatch was tight, but swung up with ease. Bright yellow light carried by waves of searing heat pulsed from the opening. I squinted into the glow, wishing I had my goggles.

  I inserted the larger end of the pipe into the mouth of the kiln, letting the metal heat. Hot glass wouldn’t stick to cold metal. The feel of the pipe in my hands and the habitual actions of warming the end calmed my mind and body. Doubts and worries disappeared, and the real possibility of never having another decent opportunity for escape dominated my thoughts. At least I should try.

  Dipping the pipe into the molten glass, I spun it. The motion gathered the slug as if I had twirled a stick in a bowl of taffy. I kept the pipe turning so the slug wouldn’t drip when I removed it from the kiln.

  Once clear of the kiln, I ceased spinning the pipe. The glowing slug sagged.

  “Keep it going,” Ash yelled. “You’re supposed to be an expert.”

  A small drop splattered on the wooden floor.

  “Hey!” Ash leaped to his feet. He grabbed a metal scraper from his row of tools and tossed it to Tricky. “Clean it up before the floor catches fire.”

  But I wanted the room to burn. When Tricky bent to clean the smoking globule, I swung the pipe.

  14

  THE END OF the blowpipe connected with Tricky’s temple. It wasn’t a hard blow, but getting molten glass on his head was worse than being knocked unconscious. Along with Tricky’s shrieks, an acrid smell of burning hair and flesh filled the room.

  I moved fast. The commotion would alert the others. Sir grasped the hilt of his sword. I rammed him in the stomach with the hot end of the pipe. His shirt caught on fire. Flesh sizzled. He yelped and hopped back.

  Ash was on his feet, reaching for me. I brandished the pipe and he backed away. A woman’s voice hollered. No time left. Wiping the rest of the slug onto the floorboards, I sprinted for a window. An odd instinct pulled at me and I grabbed one of the glass balls from the table.

  Cries and shouts followed me as I ran. Smoke fogged the room. I broke the windowpane with the blowpipe and cleared the jagged edges before diving through.

  Hitting the ground with an audible thud, I gasped for breath. At least the sandy soil softened the impact. But I wasn’t free yet. I staggered to my feet and raced to a nearby copse of pine trees. Once there, I paused in amazement, I still held the glass ball and blowpipe.

  Logic insisted I leave the ball there—I would need two hands to defend myself. But the little orb wanted to come, so I cradled it in the crook of my arm.

  Bushy green branches thwacked me as I maneuvered through the forest. I increased my speed when the trees thinned. A rustling noise sounded behind me. I glanced back. Nothing. The sound increased.

  I stopped, listening. Surrounded by the pitter-patter of movement, I scanned the forest. A brown melon-sized shape dropped from a tree branch. Suddenly the trees around me were filled with these shapes. They rained down to the ground and advanced toward me. Spiders.

  Panicked, I searched for a clear path. None.

  Magic, my logical mind told me. Illusions. Keep moving. Get out of the magician’s range.

  My body refused to heed the advice. The glass orb in my hand began to vibrate. Momentarily distracted from the encroaching spiders, I peered at the ball. Ordinary. No flaws or bubbles. No humming of power, yet I sensed potential. As if it waited for me.

  I closed my eyes, blocking the vision of a mass of spiders mere feet away. Having nothing to lose, I concentrated on the glass in my hands. I imagined myself working with this piece and reaching a critical point in the process.

  Summoning my energy, I channeled magic into the glass ball. A clink sounded. I peeked at the orb in my hands; a tiny brown glass spider was inside. Without thought, I continued. The clatter of the orb filling with spiders rang in my ears. The creatures on the ground disappeared one by one. When the clearing emptied, I held the orb up to the sunlight.

  It was full.

  The rest of the day passed by in a blur. I kept moving, and alternated running with walking. With no idea where I was or where I was going. I just went, hoping I would find something—a house, a business, people—anything that could help me.

  I may have escaped Sir, but with no food, water, money or warm cloak, my troubles were far from over. All I had was a blowpipe and a heavy glass orb loaded with spiders. Spurring me on was my fear of being recaptured, which switched at times to the paranoid belief that one of Sir’s group tracked me.

  When the sun set, the air cooled fast. The prospect of spending the night outdoors seemed certain. I debated the merits of continuing my journey or finding a place to sleep. My body decided when I tripped over an exposed root and used my remaining energy to stand.

  I found a group of pine trees and broke off a handful of branches with my pipe. Not easy considering the lack of a sharp edge. Under one of the bigger trees, I scooped out the sandy soil, making a shallow depression. Wedged below the tree, I used the branches as a blanket.

  The thought of predators kept me awake for a while. Before falling asleep, I allowed myself one satisfied smile. I was free.

  A cold wetness pressed against my temple. Snuffing sounds tickled my ear. Groggy, I swiped at the annoyance and tried to turn over. But the annoyer persisted and whined.

  “Go away,” Is aid to the dog before I realized the implication.

  Scrambling from under the tree, I studied the yellow canine. She ran circles around me, wanting to play. Her short coat gleamed in the morning sunlight and her clear brown eyes were alight. Happy. Healthy. Well cared for. Not a stray. Or at least not a recent stray.

  I searched for the dog’s owner. The dog followed me, but tended to get distracted by various smells and objects.

  “Home?” I asked the young dog, hoping she would lead me there.

  No luck. She spotted a rabbit and dashed off. Her stocky body wasn’t built for speed, though, and she soon loped back.

  My stomach grumbled and I wished the dog had caught the rabbit. I m
used over the possibility of making an animal trap, but decided to keep walking. The dog stayed with me.

  After a couple of minutes, she paused and cocked her head to the side. She spun around and darted through the trees. I followed as fast as I could. Hearing a voice call out, I aimed for the source.

  “There you are!”

  I froze. Sir had found me. I waited for the inevitable rush, but none came.

  “Where have you been?” the same voice asked, but with a playful tone.

  Relaxing with relief, I realized the man was the dog’s owner. Just past the next tree, an older man petted the yellow dog. She rushed to me with her tail wagging. Excited to see me, she danced around as if I’d been gone for years instead of minutes.

  “I see you found a friend,” the man said. He scanned my bedraggled clothes covered with pine needles. “Child, you’re a long way from anywhere. Do you need help?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He led me to his farm, and introduced me to his wife, Judi. She immediately brought me inside. Only when I was fed and settled with a mug of hot tea in my hands did the couple ask questions. I hesitated. They lived close to Sir’s workshop. What if they knew about him and were helping him?

  The kindness and concern on both their faces didn’t appear to be faked. I could invent a story of getting lost just in case. But what if Sir and Tricky tracked me here after I left? These people should know about the potential danger. I sighed. Being mistrustful and suspicious was hard work, and opposite of my nature. In the end, I told them a brief version of what had happened.

  Horrified gasps followed my story. Judi bustled about the kitchen as if needing action.

  The man named Riks reclined in his chair with his dog sleeping at his feet. A thoughtful frown pressed his lips together. “Thought I saw smoke. I’d better take you into Mica to talk to the guards.”

  The half-day trip to Mica, the long process of explaining about my kidnapping to the Mican authorities and the wait for the town’s magician to arrive mixed together into one exhausting day. Riks offered to lead a few soldiers back to his farm and point them in the direction of Sir’s glass shop, since I had no idea where I had escaped from.

  Finally the town’s Captain led me to a small guest room and I collapsed on the bed.

  After all was said and done, Zitora confirmed my story through the town’s magician, who used one of my glass messengers to speak with the Master. I felt a brief welling of pride to be responsible for increasing the speed of messages, which caused me to smile, thinking about Kade’s pep talk on confidence.

  Although a wonderful invention, there were difficulties involved with my animals. Setting up a Sitia-wide network and choosing who should be allowed to communicate what type of information had become a problem. The Sitian Council still debated the issue. Currently, I made them for the Keep’s magicians stationed throughout Sitia.

  Through the magician, Zitora instructed me to return to Thunder Valley. My arrest warrant had been voided—the two witnesses and the stand owner had been paid by Sir to lie, and the stolen vase had been planted in my saddlebags—yet the authorities still needed to complete the proper protocols for my official release.

  Zitora requested an armed escort for me, so I had to wait until the soldiers returned from their mission with Riks.

  They arrived the next day, reporting the discovery of the charred remains of Sir’s building. The kiln survived the fire, but little else. There was no sign of Sir or his gang.

  No other problems occurred during the two-day trip south. I arrived at the administration building and waded through what seemed like a mountain of paperwork. By the time I finished, the sun had set and Zitora wanted to wait until morning to leave for the Keep.

  I followed Zitora to the inn where she’d been staying since my disappearance.

  “My room has two beds, you can share with me,” she said.

  We sat at an empty table in the busy common room and ordered dinner. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Questions filled Zitora’s eyes. We hadn’t had time to discuss the details of my kidnapping. But before she could voice any, Kade arrived.

  Strands of his golden-brown hair had sprung from a leather tie, and his clothes were torn and wrinkled. His frown deepened when he spotted us. Zitora and I exchanged surprised glances as he strode toward us. This time of the year was the height of the storm season.

  “Kade, what—” Zitora started.

  “Are you all right? What’s going on?” he demanded, staring at me.

  I stuttered, appealing to Zitora.

  “I told you she was fine,” she said.

  “But little else.” He rolled my small orb onto the table. “I can’t use this to contact you. It only works when you’re sending to me.” Yanking a chair out, he dropped down, crossing his arms. “I want more details. Now.”

  I waited for her to bristle, to give him the cold Master Magician stare of affront.

  Although she stiffened with displeasure, she kept her comments about his behavior to herself. “I told you to wait. I haven’t discussed all the details with Opal yet.”

  “You haven’t?” Outrage filled his voice. “Why not? My dancers could be in danger. I can’t just wait for your information.”

  Ice crystals could have formed in the air around Zitora. “Opal’s been through a difficult time.” Her voice sliced with the sharpness of a sword’s blade. “Since she kept the Stormdancer’s orb recipe a secret despite being physically harmed, I would think you’d be a little more patient regarding this matter.”

  If I were to describe his reaction in storm terms, I’d say the hurricane just fizzled into a light mist. I tried to suppress my smile when he sought my forgiveness.

  “Now that you’re here, you might as well stay and hear the information firsthand. Opal?”

  Reluctance knotted around my throat. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything from the beginning.”

  “But you already know—”

  She held up a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Go on.”

  Despite her orders, I didn’t tell them everything. The incident with the spiders and the fact I had followed Tricky while well aware of his illusion, I planned to tell Zitora in private. The story sounded more heroic without those details. Was I trying to impress Kade?

  “Odd,” Zitora said after I finished. “This group of rogues wants to make orbs, but they don’t have the power to harvest energy from a storm. I wonder what they’re planning to do with them.”

  “Tal was with them. Maybe he told them he can fill the orbs,” I guessed.

  Kade had listened to my tale in stony silence. “I hope Sir doesn’t kill Tal when he discovers the boy has no powers. I’d like to do the honors.”

  By his intent demeanor, I had no doubt he meant it.

  “Justice will be served, not revenge.” Zitora frowned as she contemplated. “What would Sir do once he finds out Tal has no power?”

  I mulled over her question. The memory of being eaten alive by beetles came to mind. Tal would suffer, and I couldn’t produce any sympathy for him. “If they’re planning to harvest storms, then they would have to find another Stormdancer.”

  “Impossible,” Kade said.

  Zitora and I shared a smile.

  “Nothing’s impossible,” I said, repeating Zitora’s advice to me at the start of this whole mess.

  “My Stormdancers wouldn’t work for Sir.”

  “Are you sure?” Zitora asked.

  Kade refused to back down.

  “Sir could coerce or bribe a Stormdancer to work for him.” I squirmed in my chair, thinking how easy it had been for Sir to force me to help him. If he had discovered my deception with the sand recipe and punished me again, I knew I would have given him the right numbers.

  “A valid point,” she agreed.

  My thoughts turned to Tricky. Sir had two magicians working for him, could there be others?

  “Could they have their own
Stormdancers?” I asked.

  “No,” Kade said.

  Zitora shot him an annoyed frown. “If a Master Magician can be corrupted, I’ve no doubt a Stormdancer can be, too. If you have nothing helpful to add, then be quiet.” When she seemed satisfied, she asked me, “What did you mean about the Stormdancers?”

  “You said before that not all magicians are Keep trained. Does the Stormdancer power only manifest in the Stormdance Clan members?” I paused, glancing at Kade.

  “As far as we know,” he said with a stiff tone.

  “Then what if one of the clan married a Krystal Clan member? Say they live in Mica and raised a family. Could one of their offspring have the ability to capture a storm’s energy?”

  “Possible. But who would teach the child?” Kade leaned forward, finally getting into the spirit of the discussion.

  I turned my thoughts back to the problem. “There could be a Stormdancer with a grudge.”

  Kade made a sound, but kept silent.

  “Go on,” Zitora urged.

  “A rogue who decided to leave and start his own group of dancers. But he can’t make the orbs so he hires Sir to help him get the recipe. No.” I shook my head. “Sir wanted to stop us from helping the Stormdancers with their orbs. Why would the rogue sabotage their orbs?” Wheels turned in my head as I followed the logic. “To make them give up the recipe!”

  “Why would the Stormdancers tell the rogue the recipe?” Kade asked.

  “They wouldn’t, but the glassmakers would. Their orbs are shattering and killing people. They’re desperate to make them right. Sir shows up with an offer they can’t refuse. Tell him the recipe in exchange for the reason their orbs are so brittle. Except we’re called to help and ruin the rogue’s plans. He sets Sir on us and when that doesn’t work, he captures me.”

  “A possible scenario,” Zitora said.

  “It’s pure conjecture,” Kade said.

  “It’s an exercise in logic, thinking past the facts. The Masters and I do it all the time. Opal speculated a possible reason for Sir’s actions by making an assumption. The rogue. Now, let’s assume it’s not a rogue dancer but an owner of a factory who wants the orb’s energy to power his equipment. There is a lot of jealousy over the orbs. The other clans believe the Stormdance Clan should share.”