The Glass Girl

by Kim Alexander

  “It is coming,” said Coll. He cocked his head, his eyes bright and curious. “You'll call in those from outside the Arch? There will be talk.”

  Rhuun gave a short laugh. “Oh, no. Not talk. 'The crippled drunk has done something peculiar.'“ At Coll's expression, he added, “That's me, by the way.”

  “Less crippled than you once were,” Coll observed. “And you aren't drunk right now.” He glanced over Rhuun's shoulder, at the sky. “Of course, the day is young.”

  “You will maintain a civil tongue.” Zaii had joined them and stood bristling behind Coll.

  “Pardon. The day is young, Your Grace,” murmured Coll.

  Rhuun laughed again, then caught the look on Zaii's face and cleared his throat. Despite the urgency, the danger, he felt light. Maybe it was having something to do. “We have a lot of work and not much time.” He finished the note he'd been writing and handed it to his assistant. “I need this copied and sent to every clan head in the old city and the Quarter. We must contact the household heads here inside as well and let them know what to expect.”

  Zaii looked up from the note, his face pale. “The Hand of Aa. A storm like this hasn't been seen since your grandfather's day. Rest him now.”

  “Less than two days’ time until we see another,” said Coll. “His Grace intends to bring all of his people inside the palace, those inside and outside the Arch. I was just reminding him that there are those who will make a face.”

  “They will be greatly outnumbered,” said Zaii. “Do we have the room? We do, I think. We'll need extra hands for making food and water.”

  “I leave those preparations to you,” said Rhuun. “Perhaps while you're letting the Quarter folk know what's to happen? Since they'll provide those extra hands anyway.”

  “Many of them have never been inside the Arch. Certainly most have never seen the inside of this building. And folk from the Edge . . . two days, did you say?” he asked Coll.

  “At most. I could smell the sand in the air when I rose this morning.” Then he stopped short. “The air. We have a problem. The atrium.”

  “…Is open to the sky, and the sky will be trying to kill us.” Rhuun looked at the two men. “Thoughts? Very quick thoughts? I suppose we could make bricks and try and fly them up…”

  The mage shut his eyes and fell silent. Zaii and Rhuun exchanged glances.

  “Coll? Are you—”

  His eyes snapped open and he reached into his robe, pulling out a second notebook. Rhuun wondered if he hid a library under his clothes. This one was stained and creased. He flipped through the pages, pausing at what looked to Rhuun to be a random jumble of lines and smears of rusty dirt, and said, “I believe I can create a barrier.”

  “How?” asked Zaii. “It’s a large space to cover up or glass over.”

  “It won’t be made of sand. It’ll be made of blood.”

  Rhuun knew what that meant, what the brownish marks on the page were. It meant the bowl and the knife. He sighed. “I have to see someone. It won't take long. And then I'll come to you. Zaii, do you know what to do?”

  Zaii had pulled his own notebook out and was rapidly writing and talking to himself. “…and the two, no three upper levels should be opened as well, no time to clean them, well, those folk live in the sand anyway…” He looked up. “I should go.” Rhuun nodded.

  Once Zaii was away, Rhuun said, “It'll come from there—” he indicated a range of barely-visible mountains “—and continue that way?”

  “And all imperfect things shall be swept before the Hand of Aa.” Coll closed his eyes and recited the old words. “Light, Wind, and Rain shudder and hide their faces. O perfect me, Aa, so that you may look with favor upon me.” He opened his eyes. “If we survive this, I'll loan you the book that's from. Your—ah, it was one of the volumes I carried out of the Raasth with me. I feel as if you need to brush up on your Post-Weapon period poetry.”

  “If we survive this, I'll look forward to my education. I have an errand, but I'll be back before the shadows hit the Tower.”

  Aelle greeted him at the door. “I've let the maid go,” she explained. “It's just me and Mother, after all. What brings you here? Are you going door to door apologizing to everyone in person today?”

  He began to tell her she was full of good ideas, but simply said, “I had to see you.”

  “Hmm. Well, come in. Would you like some lunch? I can put something together—”

  “I can't stay. I just have news.”

  “Bad, I assume, or you wouldn't be here. Well, at least you're consistent.” She turned away, and without thinking, he took her by the arm. She turned back, shocked.

  “That is enough. Enough. What do you think…” his throat tightened. “What do you think I would do, to change what's happened? Or do you imagine I don't think about it at all, that I let the wind blow me to the next disaster?”

  “I didn't mean—”

  “Of course you did. You think you have to remind me? That it slipped my mind? Or is it that I simply don't care? Do you think I wouldn't burn this city to the ground if it would bring him back?”

  “Bring who back?” she asked, but her voice was gentle.

  “You know.” He dropped his hand from her sleeve. “You know who. I don't know what to do.”

  She sighed. “He can't carry it all. It's too heavy; the grief, and the anger and the guilt. And blame. Too much. So for now, since you love him, you have to carry his anger for him. Can you do that?”

  He nodded. “I would do anything. I can do that.” He paused. “What about you?”

  “I suppose it's time to take my anger back from you and carry it myself.” She cleared her throat. “I got in the habit of saying whatever came into my head from your humans. Somehow things didn't sound so sharp, over there.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  She smiled up at him. “You said you had news?”

  “News for you, and for him. I need a message sent to Ilaan.” Her eyes widened. “I know you talk to him.” He waited but she didn't bother to deny it. No one could walk away from Ilaan for too long. “Maybe he sent you to watch me. Maybe you tell him about me, I don't care. But there's something coming, and you must warn him.”

  “Coming? From where? The humans, is it the humans? Are they back” Her eyes glinted but her face was once more impassive.

  “No. It's a storm. A big one, like we haven't seen in our lives. It's coming from the hills and passing through the city, and then it'll be heading towards the tents. Tell him. Warn him.” He took a breath. “Tell him to come home. If the folk from the tents can make it in time, they are welcome here. All of them. But if they don't make it in time, they must find shelter elsewhere, or else pass right through it.”

  She looked about to say something clever, perhaps something she'd have said in Mistra, but bit it back. “What is 'in time'?” she asked instead.

  “Less than two days. Then it will be over the city. I'm calling everyone into the palace. That includes you and Siia.”

  Aelle shook her head. “We'll be fine here. We'll bring up the doors to the courtyard. The glass will be lost, but glass is easy.” She frowned. “Did you say everyone?”

  “I know, it's a change. But those people are my responsibility. I'm calling them in from the Edge, too. That's already begun.”

  She raised a brow. “Your mother would drop her wings.”

  “I’ll worry about that when—if—I see her again. I can only ask Light and Wind to not bury her too deep.” He stood; he had to get back to Coll. “You'll tell him?”

  “At once.” She rose as well. “I don't think he'll come, but at least they will be prepared. This is a good thing you're doing.”

  “It's not only him. Jaa, and Leaf, everyone out there—”

  “I don't mean that. Perhaps your mother ought not to hurry back to the High Seat.”

  He smiled grimly. “I hope she has a Seat to come back to.”

  Aelle rapped on her mother's door, and as she expe
cted, got no answer. “I'm coming in, Mother.” Nothing. She pushed the door open. The room, her parent’s room, once—now her mother's place of self-imposed exile—was dim and quiet. She could see the outline of her mother's back and her neatly coiled hair. The stones caught the low light. As usual, her mother knelt upon a fat grey and white silk cushion, and in front of her, her stones.

  “Something's happened,” she told her mother.

  “I heard Rhuun's voice,” Siia said. “So I assume it was bad news.” She never looked up from the circle of rocks laid on the mat in front of her. “Has your father come back?”

  “No,” she answered. Despite the days passing each other with no sign of Yuenne or Thayree, her mother hadn’t wavered in her conviction. Whenever Aelle came to check on her, to bring her a tray or make sure she still breathed, she asked if her husband had returned.

  “No one has come back, yet. But Rhuun says there's a storm coming. He wants me to tell Ilaan, to tell him he should leave the tents and come home. It's not safe out there.”

  “Safe?” Siia said. “I thought this house was safe until there was no one in it.”

  “Mother, did you hear me? I said Ilaan can come home. Tell him.” She wrung her hands in frustration as her mother slowly adjusted the circle. She couldn't see any difference in the ring of stones, but Siia went back three or more times to move them this way or that until Aelle wanted to scream. “The storm is coming in two days, and they have to leave the tents now if they want to get here in time. It may already be too late. Mother, are you listening to me?”

  Aelle had only been shocked for a moment the day she walked in on her mother in conversation with one of Jaa's women, a perfect, tiny image above the mat and the stones. Siia herself was the source of the news traveling to and from the city and the tents. She knew Siia spent many hours talking to her stones. It only followed that they would somehow answer.

  Siia looked around at her daughter. “It is already far too late, but I'll call them.” She raised her hands and chanted softly. Aelle did not recognize the words or the language, but the combination of hand and word created a skein of silver threads that wove themselves in the air above the stone circle. Like a fist uncurling to show an open hand, an image of the women weavers at the tents filled the silver web. One of them looked up.

  “Siia, sister,” one of the women said. “You call on us for news of your son? He is well in body.”

  “But shattered in spirit, I know,” Siia replied. “No, sister. Today I have news for you.” She motioned for Aelle to sit at her side. “Go ahead.”

  Aelle thought she recognized the calm-faced woman as one of those who had tended to Ilaan. “It's bad,” she said. “There is a storm coming.” The woman leaned out of the image to speak to someone nearby, then reappeared and bade Aelle continue. “The prince has called on all his people of Eriis—not just those inside the Arch—everyone to find shelter in the palace.” There were glances back and forth, but the women did not reply. “He means for you at the tents to come back—”

  There was some jostling among the women in the circle, and Ilaan appeared. Aelle caught her breath and reached out a hand. The silver threads shivered as she reached through them.

  “Put your hand down, it doesn't work that way,” he said.

  “You look dreadful,” she said. She blinked away tears. “But it's nice to see you, and not just leave a message.” Despite what Rhuun assumed, she hadn't seen her brother's face since she'd left him stone-faced and vacant at the tents.

  “Nice to see you, too.” He smiled, and for an instant she saw someone she recognized. Then the blank mask returned. “What's our prince up to?”

  “He says there's a storm coming. A big one. He says if you all leave the tents now you have hope of making it to the palace in time.”

  Ilaan gnawed the inside of his cheek. “He's predicting the weather now?”

  “He wants you to come home.”

  “I think you know how I feel about what he wants.” He shook his head. “I don't believe it. It's a trick.” He smiled again, and this time she didn't know him at all. “He just misses having me follow behind.” He cocked his head at her. “Are you tagging around after him, now? Doing his little errands? That used to be my job.”

  “Light and Wind,” she snapped, “I miss Niico too.” Ilaan jerked his head as if slapped. “I do. I miss him. But he's gone. If you don't trust Rhuun, trust me. Come home.”

  Ilaan narrowed his eyes and for a moment she thought he might say yes. “I'll talk with Mother Jaa. Of course, anyone who wants to can leave. But I'm sure it won't be necessary. Thanks for the warning.” He looked at Siia. “Mother, I imagine we'll talk again in three days’ time.” He had a genuine smile for Siia, a nod for Aelle, and then the silver threads withered and fell apart.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Eriis

  It was time.

  Everyone who was going to take shelter in the palace was huddled in the long corridors or tucked into one of the many empty rooms. If nothing else, Zaii told himself, they'd learned just how much extra space there was. He made a note to talk to the prince about rewarding families who bred extra children.

  But before they could increase their number, or elevate the station of those clever, theoretical fledglings, they had to survive the Hand of Aa. Even now, the leading edge could be seen—a wall of black laced with firewhirls and coming towards them fast.

  Many of the rooms traditionally assigned to the royal family had no exterior walls, opening instead onto private courtyards. Those that were unoccupied would be left unprotected. Those, like the suite the prince used, that needed protecting, were busy with clans who could quickly spin bricks and stone out of soft sand. He spotted Hollen for once passing something other than useful gossip, helping a large group with translating water and food, bedding and clothing. Buckets of sand passed from hand to hand and piled up in every corner. Since many of the folk of the Quarter had come with nothing but their children, the need was great.

  Jobs for every hand, as Yuenne used to say, thought Zaii. Rest him possibly.

  “Are you ready?” Coll had that disgusting knife and the equally repulsive bowl on the desk in the prince's now-bricked up room. The Mage sat on the edge of the desk and looked around with undisguised curiosity. Zaii supposed he had never been invited. Although the mage and the prince were certainly allies and maintained a sort of arch camaraderie, the prince still held the mage at arm's length, so to speak—and who could blame him? It was only necessity that forced them so close, here, today. “We have a lot of ground to cover. Air, I suppose I ought to say.”

  “Will it hold?” asked Rhuun.

  The mage had shrugged. “That depends on you.”

  As in so many others, the charm that Coll proposed needed the ingredient only the prince could provide. Zaii wondered sometimes if Coll was still aligned with his missing master the Zaal, and intended on murdering the prince at his own, leisurely pace.

  “Well, let's have at it.” Rhuun shrugged out of his coat and laid his arm on the desk. Zaii wondered how much blood a man could lose and still remain upright, and whether it was the human part of the prince that enabled him to be Coll's ever-available spigot. He was certain he personally would have long since blown away. He watched as Rhuun carefully held his face still as Coll sawed through layers of scar tissue. Perhaps it was the human part of him that trusted the man who now, again, held the knife.

  He'd heard from the prince's own lips the story of how the Mages—Coll included—had nearly killed him, and how The Glass Girl had changed her face and saved his life. Of course, the prince had been most of the way through a bottle of sarave at the time, otherwise he would not have told Zaii how she had simply vanished. Something to do with a candle, seeing something in a candle. Something about it was like sand in Zaii's boot. But if questions were to be asked, he'd have to be discreet. Other than that one evening, Rhuun preferred not to speak of the past, and never spoke of the girl. Despite that, there wa
s a picture of Maaya wearing her own face on the prince's desk, a marvel of reproduction, despite the bizarre appearance of the subject. He surreptitiously looked at the picture every chance he got; the huge, yawning mouth, the round little eyes—the resemblance to the prince himself was striking, despite the woman’s odd, pale color. He would have to ask how the artist had done it, assuming they all survived. Maybe that would be a good way to learn a little more about her mysterious departure.

  As the mage lidded the now-filled bowl, the prince buttoned his coat and leaned back with a sigh, closing his eyes. Zaii pushed a cup of water into his hand.

  “Don't hover, Zaii. I'm fine.” Zaii wondered what their prince considered 'fine', and if he'd gotten that, along with all the clutter in his room, from his humans. “Well, Coll, I hope that will suffice.”

  Coll squinted at the bowl, weighing it in his hands. “It should.”

  “It had better,” said Zaii. “He has work to do and it requires him on his feet.”

  “What?” Coll looked at him blankly. “He's fine. He just said so. He'll make more.”

  Rhuun pushed himself out of the chair. “I should go make sure everyone has what they need, stones are lit and so on. It'll be dark.”

  “Don't frighten the children,” said Coll. Rhuun merely smiled at the mage over his shoulder. Zaii shook his head at the mage's impertinence. “He is grotesque,” Coll remarked, “and yet one cannot help but admire him.”

  Zaii started to ask if the mage had come to admire the prince during the time he had stubbornly refused to die, but bit it back. He knew the man must have a strange and lonely life, here above ground. He watched Coll pour out some of the blood onto the now-cleared desk, trailing his fingers through it and muttering over the mess.