Sea Glass g-2

by Maria V. Snyder

  “No,” Skippy said. “I’m still your Council-approved guardian.”

  Guardian. Interesting word choice. “What about Jon or…the other guy?”

  “They’re the relief. The responsibility is mine.” He puffed his chest a bit.

  “So if you lose me during the trip, you’ll get in trouble?” I tried to tease him, but his reaction remained cold.

  “You won’t lose me.”

  Leif snickered. “Hale always had delusions of grandeur even in school.”

  “Better than a goof-off with bizarre powers,” Skippy retorted.

  I guessed they had attended the Keep together.

  Leif grinned. “Bizarre is always better than boring. Always. However, your confidence of not losing Opal is misplaced. I’m sure you would try very hard, but if she took Quartz into the Avibian Plains, you’d lose more than her.”

  “That’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t go in there. It’s suicide.”

  “That’s a nice mare you have there, Hale. What’s her name?” Leif asked.

  Confused by the change in subject, he said, “Beryl.”

  “She’s well bred and in perfect health.” Leif ran a hand along her neck. Her brown mane and tail matched the small brown specks splashed all over her tan coat. “But she’s not a Sandseed horse like Quartz or Moonlight. They’re welcome in the plains anytime and it doesn’t matter who is on their back. They even have their own special gait while there that would leave poor Beryl behind in a cloud of dust.” Leif clucked his tongue.

  “Special gait?” Kade asked.

  “Ah, yes! Their gust-of-wind gait, which you need to experience sometime.” He poked Kade in the arm. “Maybe after I pay you back for ratting me out to Mara.”

  The Stable Master returned from the pasture. “Get moving, you’re burning daylight! And, even worse, you’re in my way.”

  Leif retrieved his saddle from the tack room and whistled for Rusalka.

  A russet-and-white horse jumped the pasture’s fence.

  “All the Sandseed horses can do that,” Leif said. “Kiki can even unlatch the door to her stall.”

  Skippy huffed in annoyance and led Beryl outside to wait for us.

  “You’re a horse snob, Leif,” I said.

  “I like messing with Mr. Perfect.” He secured his bags and put a bridle on Rusalka.

  Kade watched him. “Why don’t the Sandseed horses run away?”

  “’Cause they’re spoiled rotten. We groom them, feed them and shelter them. They can’t get that in the wild. They choose to stay with us and even give us pet names when they first meet us.”

  “Really?” I studied Quartz. She shifted her weight as if impatient to go.

  “Yeah. A first impression is very important to a Sandseed horse. Yelena is Lavender Lady. Irys is Magic Lady. General Cahil is Peppermint Boy much to his chagrin. Janco is Rabbit and Valek is Ghost.”

  “Do you know my horse name?” I asked Leif.

  “No, but Yelena should. She’s the one they talk to.”

  “What’s your horse name?” I asked Leif.

  “You’d never guess it.”

  “Silly Boy?”

  “Not even close.” Leif finished saddling Rusalka.

  “Goof-off?”

  “Nope.”

  “Irritating one?”

  “Watch it,” he warned.

  “What is it then?”

  “Sad Man.”

  “You’re right. I’d never guess that. How…Why?”

  Leif sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  Kade swung up into Moonlight’s saddle. “Well, we have seven and a half days on the road ahead of us. Plenty of time.”

  Plenty of time for Leif to embarrass me in front of Kade. And it didn’t take him long. The first night we stopped at a travel shelter located along the main western road. This route followed the border between the Krystal and Stormdance Clan lands.

  As Leif cooked dinner, we attended to the horses, settling them into the stable next to the shelter. We ate a delicious beef stew while Leif regaled us with stories. Unfortunately, most of them included me. We sat in a semicircle around the hearth. The shelter was empty except for us.

  “…remember the storm thieves?” Leif asked me.

  “I’m trying hard to forget.” I glared my displeasure at Leif.

  “Storm thieves?” Kade asked.

  I groaned as Leif launched into the tale of how a group of bandits had used storms to sneak up on unsuspecting travelers.

  “…Opal’s turn to guard us and the horses, but the wind blew the rain sideways, masking all sounds and smells.”

  “Speaking of guarding,” I interrupted, “should we set a watch schedule for tonight?”

  “No need,” Leif said. “There’s no danger this time. No one is after you.”

  When I failed to look reassured, he added, “Rusalka will sound a warning if she smells anything. You know how loud she can be.”

  I couldn’t forget the shrill sound.

  “Of course, with the storm, Rusalka was as surprised as Opal…” Leif resumed his story.

  I ceased listening, having no desire to remember my failure to warn Leif and Ulrick. Instead, I gazed at the fire and tried to think of events with happier endings.

  “…she almost killed me!” Leif cried, snapping me from my musings. “I thought she didn’t pick up on my hint to crush her spiders and bees. The leader—”

  “I’m going to bed.” I stood with sudden purpose. “Good night.” Heading to the row of bunk beds that occupied the bulk of the shelter, I found a decent mattress in a lower bunk and unrolled my sleeping mat. Using my cloak as a blanket, I lay down and palmed two glass spiders just in case. A couple of glass rats nestled inside my cloak’s pockets within easy reach.

  Why would Leif think that story was funny? I had released a Greenblade bee from glass and it stung the leader, killing him. My actions caused his death. He was the first. A few men had died when Kade released the energy from Kaya’s orb, but their demise seemed unavoidable, while the leader…If I had been smarter, his death could have been avoided.

  Kade’s dark silhouette appeared in the semigloom as he walked toward me. He sat on the edge of my bed. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. I just didn’t want to hear any more.”

  “You’ve certainly encountered a wide range of trouble.” His voice held concern.

  “Now do you understand why I’ve been training so hard?”

  “Yes. Please keep it up. At least, for Leif’s sake.”

  “Leif?”

  “He enjoys telling stories, and they’re even better when they have happy endings.”

  Aside from spending one night in the open, the next five nights on the road resembled the first. We arrived in Thunder Valley around midafternoon on our sixth day. By this time I was sick of Leif’s stories and looking forward to spending a night alone with Kade. We paid for one night’s lodging at the Sea Breeze Inn on Kade’s recommendation.

  Disdain pulled at the corners of Skippy’s mouth. He didn’t voice his objection to rooming with Leif, but he insisted on conjoining rooms.

  Kade needed to contact the other Stormdancers and the new glassmakers. He ran errands while Leif, Skippy and I shopped in the market. With only a day and a half left of our journey, we didn’t need much. Though that didn’t stop Leif from drooling over the food vendors.

  “As long as you like seafood, you won’t starve,” I said with a laugh.

  Leif grimaced. “I’m not big with that slimy, smelly stuff. I’ll take travel rations over fish any day.”

  “Then you better buy a pound or two of jerky.”

  “How long will we be there?”

  “A day or two at most,” Skippy said. He glanced at the sky with a worried frown.

  I copied him, seeking storm clouds but finding only a wide expanse of brilliant blue. “Six or seven days at least, and a month at most.”

  “You don’t need that much time to teach the glassmakers,”
Skippy said with a surly tone.

  Taking a deep breath, I counted to ten, containing the desire to send one of my spiders to bite him.

  Skippy hadn’t said much during our trip, preferring to sit at the edges of our conversation as if he wanted to distance himself from us common folk. His snide comments still aimed to provoke me. I remembered his remark after the test about not being able to annoy me enough to lash out at him. Perhaps the Council had ordered him to continue his unpleasant behavior.

  “You’re showing your ignorance about glassmaking and storm-dancing,” I said to Skippy. “We’ll need to wait for a storm to make sure the orbs have been properly made before we can leave.”

  His gaze shot to the sky again, giving me an idea.

  “And it needs to be a big storm.” I threw my arms wide. “One that produces giant waves and howling winds. Where the seawater crashes into The Cliffs and we have to evacuate up to the storm cave.”

  The color in his face whitened with each sentence, leaving behind a pale mask of fear. “What about the horses?”

  “We let them loose on the beach. Beryl can swim, can’t she?” I asked.

  “Swim? I don’t know.” He laced and unlaced his fingers. “Is that a Sandseed-breed skill?”

  At this point, Leif lost it. He laughed so hard tears flooded his cheeks. “Some…magician,” he said between gulps. “Can’t…even tell…when she’s…pulling your leg.”

  Skippy snapped his mouth shut and glared at Leif. The color rushed back, pooling in a bright red flush on Skippy’s cheeks.

  “It’s hard to be rational when you’re afraid,” I said in Skippy’s defense, feeling bad about teasing him.

  “You should know. You’re the expert on being irrational and afraid,” Skippy said.

  “What do you mean?” I stepped closer to him.

  “How rational were you when you stole those magicians’ magic? How logical were you when your own boyfriend managed to confuse you so bad, you still believe he’s a Daviian Warper in disguise?”

  I drew my arm back, preparing to punch him. It wouldn’t be a sucker punch. Oh no. I wanted him to know my intentions.

  “That’s enough.” Leif wedged himself between us. “Let’s finish our shopping.” He hooked his arm around mine.

  I fumed in silence as we searched for a jerky vendor. Weaving through the stalls, I scanned the tables of goods. Leif spotted a smoky pit and hurried off. Skippy stayed with me.

  Sparks of sunlight drew me to a stand selling glassware. The colored drinking glasses and bowls had a simple yet elegant design. They appeared sturdy and functional, too.

  The stand’s owner noticed my interest. I peered at the woman, remembering when I had been falsely accused of theft and arrested. She wasn’t the same woman who had helped frame me.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” the owner asked. “Just two silvers each. Perfect for newlyweds.”

  I laughed as Skippy stiffened. She probably thought he was being protective instead of wary.

  “Here…” She handed me a plate. “Feel how light they are. And they’re all handcrafted.”

  Tiny silver diamond shapes decorated the blue-green glass. “Isn’t all glass handcrafted?” I asked.

  She pulled her long brown hair behind her shoulders with a dismissive flick. “No. A few factories have molds now. They just pour in the molten glass and wait. It’s cheating.” The woman’s hands moved as she talked.

  “You’re the artist,” I said.

  She nodded. “Which is why I can guarantee they’re genuine.”

  “Do you have any vases or sculptures?”

  “Yes, but they don’t sell as well. The local customers are usually looking for practical.” She rummaged under her table and pulled out several vases, then disappeared again. Muffled sounds emanated from below.

  I reached for a red bud vase, but Skippy laid a hand on my arm.

  “You can’t be serious,” I said. “Do you really think I’m going to do something?”

  He hesitated, then released his grip. I picked the vase up and examined it. The thin neck widened into a series of three round shapes as if they were beads on a necklace. She would have had to blow into the glass, then pinch it tight with her jacks before blowing again. Well crafted but still under my fingers—no magical potential.

  “Skippy, lift the null shield,” I said.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “So I can siphon all your magic.” When he flinched, I wanted to punch him again. “So I can assess her skills. She might be a prospective glass magician.”

  “Oh.”

  The glass throbbed, waiting for me. I concentrated on the vase. It didn’t pop like Ulrick’s. The woman reappeared with her hair mussed and dirt on her tunic. She placed a small crate on the table and opened the lid.

  Skippy jerked when she unwrapped a bundle, revealing a miniature person. I almost dropped the vase. She set the statue down and dug in her crate for another. With care, I picked the girl up. The exquisite and exact details made the piece lifelike as if the young girl would hop with glee. Created with colored glass, the four-inch-high statue was a true work of art.

  The glassmaker lined up six more people. She sighed. “I can’t sell these.”

  “Why not? They’re gorgeous.” I passed the girl to Skippy and examined a swordsman.

  “They’re expensive. In order to be compensated for my time and the materials, I need to sell them for half a gold each. Most folks around here can’t afford to spend that much on trinkets.”

  “Trinkets! They’re collectibles,” I said. “How did you manage to work with these? Even the thinnest pontil iron would be too big.”

  She grinned. “I knew it. You work with glass, too.” Then a shrewd look replaced the smile. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Don’t worry. I couldn’t reproduce your level of detail.”

  “She can’t. Opal’s animals are crude, a child’s effort compared to these,” Skippy said with a touch of awe in his voice. He twirled the little girl as if willing her puffy skirt to spin around her.

  The woman’s face lit up, so I swallowed my nasty comment. Skippy was right, although I wished he’d used another descriptor than “child’s effort.”

  “I make colored glass sticks, then melt them over a flame instead of using a kiln. I use small tweezers and hold the glass on with a thin metal stick.”

  “How do you make a single flame hot enough?” I asked.

  “Trade secret,” she said. “And with working that small, I can craft glass beads and other miniature figures.”

  “You shouldn’t have trouble selling the beads.”

  “I don’t. They go to the jeweler’s for necklaces and bracelets.”

  Her enthusiasm was contagious and rekindled my love for the craft. All too soon, Leif arrived with a heavy package of supplies.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said with exasperation. “Let’s go before my arms break.”

  Disappointment filled the woman’s face. I would have loved to purchase the statue of the little girl, but my purse contained only a few silvers of my own. The other coins would be needed to pay for lodging on the way back to the Citadel.

  “What’s your name?” I asked her. “I’ll make sure to recommend you to others.”

  “Helen Stormdance.” She held out a hand.

  “Opal Cowan.” I shook it.

  Helen gazed at me for a moment. “The glass magician?”

  My normal reaction would have been to flinch. For someone in this remote town to have heard of me would have caused me discomfort or even fear. But she was my peer. “Yes.”

  She gazed at me with frank appraisal as if judging the quality of a glass vase. “Are you here to teach the new orb makers?”

  “Yes.”

  Helen waved me closer and leaned toward me. “Keep an eye on them,” she whispered in my ear. “They claim to be experts, but we don’t know them. I’m willing to help if needed. As you can see—” she swep
t a hand over her wares “—I’m highly qualified.”

  By the way she emphasized the “we,” I knew she meant the glassmaking industry. Most tradesmen exchanged information and kept up with the competition.

  “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” I considered her information and wondered how the Stormdancers chose their new glassmakers.

  Skippy handed Helen a gold coin. “I’ll take these two.” He pointed to the little girl statue and one of a farmer.

  She wrapped them with care as I recovered from my shock over his sudden purchase. I didn’t know Skippy at all and suspected his nasty disposition toward me could all be an act.

  That evening, when we were alone in our room, I asked Kade about the new glassmakers.

  “The orb makers were a family business for…ever,” Kade said. “The parents would pass the knowledge and skills down to their children, who pass it on to their children. This is the first time since the very beginning we had to select a new family. Raiden was in charge of picking them. I trust him.”

  Raiden was the camp manager at The Cliffs, making sure the Stormdancers had enough supplies and food to last through the storm season.

  “Do you know how he selected them?” I asked.

  “No. Why?”

  I explained about Helen’s comments. “It could be sour grapes because she wasn’t picked to make the orbs, but then again she might have a genuine concern. In my hometown of Booruby, I either know of or have heard of all the glassmakers.”

  “We should keep an open mind and see how they do,” Kade said. He pulled me close.

  “Think the best until proven otherwise?”

  “Exactly. You should adopt it as your motto.”

  I liked my way better. Assume danger and be pleasantly surprised when proven wrong.

  Our last night of the trip started bad and ended bad. No travel shelters had ever been built on The Flats. The wide expanse of shale spread out for miles before stopping at The Cliffs’ edge. Sheets and sheets of the stuff, sometimes smooth, more often broken into uneven steps or ground into gravel. Uncomfortable to ride on and sleep on despite a mat.

  Kade stood with the breeze in his face. He inhaled. “Smells like home.”

  Leif tried to light a fire. “Smells more like a cold supper,” he grumped.

  Skippy glanced at the sky. “Does it smell like a storm?”