In the Shadow of Lightning

11

Thessa was loaded unceremoniously into a cart and bundled off north by her Ossan captors, taking the exact highway around Ossa that she had intended to use in the first place. She watched forlornly while they passed by the road she would have followed down into the city.

She couldn’t stop thinking of Serres and his family. The adults and teens impressed into naval service; the elderly and the children chucked off to one side, robbed of all their possessions. Would they even survive the cold winter night? Would they find help or succor? All she could do was hope that they managed to reach their relations and scrape together enough of a bribe to get their family back from the navy. If she wasn’t thinking of them, she was thinking of Ekhi. She tried to reason to herself that he’d gotten away, but she’d heard that pained screech. Even if he survived the shot, an injured falcon was as good as dead in the wild.

She did not have much hope for Ekhi, but perhaps Kastora had gotten through unharmed. Palua too, and all the other apprentices.

Thessa’s captors handed her off to a pair of Magna enforcers – a man and a woman in their mid-forties, heavily armed and silent, with pinkie nails painted red to show their guild-family allegiance. They did not mistreat her, but they made it very clear that an escape attempt would result in broken bones. All three of them slept crowded together in the back of the cart that night. Thessa dreamed of fires and screaming once more, but this time she saw the solemn little figure of Leone standing in the muddy streets, holding his toys, staring at her unblinking.

In the morning they continued their journey. Thessa wrestled with her despair, trying her best not to give in to the abject terror swirling in the back of her head. This was just a hiccup, she told herself; a side trip on the way to her ultimate goal. She would escape. She had to escape. The future of silic science was stuffed in her boot.

It was mid-afternoon when they trundled into a smoky, downtrodden town on the edge of a dark forest. Thessa was pulled from the back of the cart and marched through the front gate in a high wall. She instantly recognized the type of place: it was a large glassmaking compound, much bigger than the Grent Royal Glassworks, with proper streets and dozens of buildings spewing black smoke into the air. Everything was coated with soot, and the streets were packed with hundreds of people – laborers, siliceers, assistants – all heading in different directions.

There were also enforcers carrying bayoneted muskets, and they watched the crowded streets in a way that made it clear that they weren’t a normal garrison. These were prison guards.

Thessa’s escort pushed her into a small room just inside the gate and closed the door behind her before she could ask any questions. She found herself staring at the door in frustration, a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue, worry, anger, and fear causing a maelstrom of emotions that made her want to cry or punch someone.

“Thessa?”

She whirled, reaching for a belt knife that had been taken away from her, but her hand immediately fell away from the empty spot. Sitting on a little wooden bench in the corner of the room was Axio. The young assistant looked exhausted, his face streaked with tears, expression wide-eyed. He leapt to his feet and ran to her, catching her up in a hug before she could respond.

Thessa hugged back, a wave of relief rushing through her. A familiar face, even in a place like this, was as refreshing as a sip of cold beer. Her raging thoughts calmed instantly and she took a deep breath.

“Axio, what are you doing here?” She broke the hug, pushing him out at arm’s length and looking him over. His left eye and right cheek were both blackened from a beating but he seemed otherwise unhurt. She wasn’t sure if it was some kind of motherly instinct, or just her position as an authority figure at the Grent Royal Glassworks, but she felt instantly protective. She wanted to know who had done that to him and then make them hurt. As she had with the thoughts of that family who helped her yesterday, she forced herself to let go of her fury as pointless.

Axio shook his head. “That soldier gave me a bit of a beating, but they were soon calling for a retreat. I tried to get away, but they dragged me with them when they withdrew.”

“And Master Kastora?” Thessa couldn’t imagine the sweet old master fighting enemy soldiers, but it seemed he had rallied the garrison. She wished she’d listened to her instincts and returned.

“I didn’t see.”

Thessa pulled him back into a hug. “You did well. Thank you for distracting that soldier. Master Kastora sent me…” She paused, considering her story. Best not to mention the schematics in her boot to anyone, even Axio. “He told me to flee to some Ossan allies of his, but there were soldiers guarding the border.”

Axio sniffed and wiped a grimy sleeve across his nose. Like her, he was still wearing the same clothes from the previous morning. She paused at that thought, shocked. That was only yesterday morning? It felt like weeks had passed. She laughed out of horror more than anything else.

“It’s okay,” she reassured Axio again. She looked back at the door, then around at the featureless little room. She was a journeyman, a proud siliceer, and she now had the extra responsibility of protecting someone beneath her. That felt far more concrete than simply delivering important schematics. Another deep breath. She could do both. “I don’t know how long we have alone,” she said in a low voice. “Tell me what you know.”

Axio seemed to also take some courage in her presence. “Not much,” he said, his voice growing more steady. “Just that we’re at the Ivory Forest Glassworks.”

“I see.” She recognized the name and tried to remember what she knew of this place, though it wasn’t much. “It’s a big glassworks,” she told Axio. “They specialize in mass-produced low-resonance godglass. Based on what I saw just now, this is a labor camp. Explains a lot, I suppose. The quality coming out of here has never been good.” She paused to think for a moment. “If it’s a labor camp, they’re going to put us to work. They’ll give me daily quotas and a set schedule. They’ll give you … What’s wrong?”

At the mention of quotas, Axio looked like Thessa had just kicked him between the legs. “I, uh … told them I was a siliceer apprentice.”

“You’re shitting me.” It didn’t take half a second for Thessa to realize what that entailed. A siliceer, even an apprentice, was a first-rate commodity. Skilled labor. A siliceer’s assistant, however, was only a step above a common laborer. Axio had claimed to be an apprentice for better treatment, not thinking ahead to when someone asked for work out of him.

He looked ill. “Sorry, Thessa.”

“Piss and shit. Fine. We can deal with this. I’ll … I’ll think of something.” She could hear people talking just outside the door and lowered her voice even further. “If anyone asks, my name is Teala. We’re both apprentices at the Grent Royal Glassworks. You can claim to be new, maybe that will help keep your quota low.”

“You won’t use your real name?”

“No. Don’t tell them who I am or my rank. It’s very important! Follow my lead, and we’ll both get through this.”

As she finished speaking, the door opened to reveal a small, squirrel-faced man. The man’s apron was stitched with an inverted triangle covered in wavy lines emanating from a single point. Within a glassworks it was the symbol for cureglass, but in Ossan society it was the sigil of the Magna guild-family. The man had a small matching sigil tattooed on the back of his right hand. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, with long black hair, a pointed face, and sharp, nervous eyes.

He had a tiny piece of auraglass in his ear – a common godglass that enhanced the wearer’s natural charisma. Auraglass, in Thessa’s experience, was worn only by those who lacked confidence. His arms bore no scars, reminding Thessa of one of Kastora’s sayings: Scars are the true reflection of a siliceer. Too many and she is an oaf. Too few and she’s never truly worked the furnaces. None of this boded well.

The man stared at Thessa and Axio for a few moments, his expression bored. “These are the new arrivals from Grent?” he asked the enforcer standing just behind his right shoulder.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do we have a file on them?”

“No, sir.”

The man sniffed and looked from Axio to Thessa. Thessa met his eye, hoping that some confidence would divert his attention to her. It worked. He settled his gaze on her and said, “I am Craftsman Filur Magna. You may call me Sir, or Craftsman, or Craftsman Magna. I am the overseer of this compound.”

“Is this a labor camp, sir?” Thessa asked.

A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “This is a workshop for undesirable siliceers; convicts, hostages, debtors. Enemies of the state. You are both prisoners of war, and this will be your home until your ransom is paid or the war has ended.”

“Sir,” Thessa said, trying her best to conceal this sudden avenue of hope, “what is our ransom?”

He glared back at her, and Thessa got the distinct feeling that Craftsman Magna wasn’t accustomed to being questioned by his wards. He removed a board from under his arm, to which were clipped several pieces of paper. He flipped through them, and his eyes settled on one. “Ah. No ransom being allowed. Too early in the war, you see. We need you working for our war effort. Not the enemy’s.” A cruel little smile cracked his face. “No one knows you’re here. You will be allowed no visitors or contact with the outside world.” He turned to the enforcer behind him. “Search them.”

The enforcer stepped into the room. Before Thessa could react, she found herself shoved face-forward against the wall. Thick fingers probed her in places they shouldn’t, running up under her tunic, through her hair, touching her everywhere, making her stomach flip. It was blessedly brief and about as professional as she could have hoped. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, though her heart was beating hard as she could tell what was coming.

“Boots off,” the enforcer commanded.

Thessa tried to come up with an excuse not to follow his instructions, but nothing came to hand. Reluctantly, she pulled her boots off. The enforcer picked them up one at a time, shoving his hand inside. He came away with the rolled-up schematics, which he handed over to the overseer without comment.

The overseer unrolled the vellum sheets, frowning as he flipped through them. “Well, well, what have we here? This looks interesting.” He peered at Thessa. “Where did you get these?”

Thessa stared at the ground, speaking the first good lie that came to mind. “I … took them when I fled the glassworks, sir.”

“A thief, eh?”

“I didn’t know–”

“Don’t try to explain yourself!” he cut her off. “I’m not going to listen to excuses. What are they?”

“I’m not really sure, sir. I just snatched them from the furnace room. I thought maybe I could sell them.” Better to be thought a thief than Kastora’s protégé. She let her gaze flick to the overseer’s face. He was looking at the schematics again, turning them this way and that with a frown on his face. Finally, he rolled them back up and put them in his pocket. He did not seem bothered by her explanation.

Thessa glanced at Axio, hoping that her message to keep quiet had gotten through to him. He knew she’d never steal from Master Kastora. At a nod from the overseer, the enforcer grabbed Axio and submitted him to the same quick, thorough search. It came up with nothing. Thessa forced herself to watch. Seeing Axio’s hands tremble and the look of fear on his face gave her strength. She was his superior. She needed to be confident for both of them. With no ransom being allowed, she was glad she’d decided on a fake name. She and Axio might have to be here a long time. Without knowing who she was, the overseer would expect less of her. She might even be able to get away with sabotaging their operations in some way. Grit in the molten cindersand? Impurities in the fires of the furnace?

She forced herself to focus, formulating a quick plan. First, learn to navigate this place. Second, plan an escape. Third, get the schematics back. Fourth – if escape was impossible – figure out how to fight back.

The overseer studied his papers again. He produced a nub of pencil from behind his ear and looked directly at her. “Name?”

“Teala.” His eyes narrowed, so Thessa added, “Sir.”

“Last name?”

“None, sir. I was an orphan.”

“Rank?”

“Senior apprentice, sir.”

He nodded along with her answers, firing off a number of basic questions about who she was, her role under Master Kastora, and what kind of work she did at the Grent Royal Glassworks. She replied with half-truths and a few outright lies, presenting herself as a lowly cog at her old glassworks, someone who barely saw Master Kastora and rarely spoke to him. By the time Craftsman Magna finished, Thessa felt like she had learned more about him than he had her. She knew his type precisely: an administrator who played at silic knowledge; half competent in an office, uncomfortable in front of the furnace. He was small-minded, probably petty, more concerned about his ledgers than about any of the people under him. She would have to figure out a way to use that.

He turned to Axio. “Name?”

“Axio Darnasus, sir.” Axio’s voice was unsteady.

“Rank?”

Thessa cut in, “Junior apprentice, sir.”

“I did not ask you,” Craftsman Magna snapped. The overseer’s patience with her had clearly worn thin.

“I’m sorry, sir. He’s just very new.”

“If you speak out of turn again, I will have you flogged before the entire compound.”

Thessa heard her own teeth click shut. She nodded sharply, looking at her feet in what she hoped was a subservient gesture and hoping that Axio didn’t give himself away. Much to her relief, he went through the rest of the questions without arousing the overseer’s suspicions.

Craftsman Magna finished the questions and put the papers and board back under one arm. “Follow me,” he said sharply, turning on his heel. They followed close, their enforcer escort hovering ominously just behind them as they were marched down the street. Thessa remained alert, counting the buildings, examining the walls, trying to gauge the people they passed.

The compound appeared entirely secure. There was one main entrance, but there were several service hatches through which laborers brought firewood, cindersand, and other necessities. Every exit was heavily guarded by armed enforcers. While the siliceers were all wearing drab, matching tunics and aprons in a sort of prison uniform, it appeared that support staff was all hired – they wore their own clothes, talked freely. Some wore forgeglass to help them carry loads. Perhaps Thessa could get a message out through one of them.

But to whom? Adriana was dead. Kastora was besieged. The former would have been the better option, since they were already in Ossa, but the latter might be able to smuggle them out or arrange the proper bribes. Of course, anyone she might contact might very well be unable to help them. Thessa needed to assume that, for the moment, she and Axio were on their own.

As they were escorted across the compound courtyard, Thessa’s gaze turned to a young man being dragged in the opposite direction. He wept violently, held under each arm by an enforcer, and Thessa found herself following his journey with morbid fascination. The back of the young man’s tunic was ripped and bloody from a horrible flogging.

“Ah,” Craftsman Magna explained, “a failure. He didn’t meet his quotas, and I’m afraid I have very little patience for laziness.”

Thessa risked speaking out of turn to ask, “What will happen to him?”

“He’s going to the lumber camps. If he can’t make godglass, then we’ll put him to work in some other way. This way, please.” Thessa was careful to keep her expression neutral, but she caught Axio’s worried eye. She shook her head, hoping the gesture gave him some reassurance.

The young man’s weeping echoed in the back of her head as they were escorted to a door marked clearly as FURNACE NUMBER THREE, where the room inside was instantly recognizable. An immense furnace took up the center of the room, workstations radiating from it like spokes on a wheel. There was space for fourteen siliceers – far larger than any workshop in Grent. Most of the workstations were occupied, with a variety of men and women of all ages sweating badly as they navigated the heat. A few glanced up, eyeballing Thessa and Axio as the overseer led them around to the other side of the room to a pair of empty workstations. Each station was neatly prepared: tools set out, blowtubes and bit irons on an overhead rack, and a bedraggled, plain apron hanging from a hook.

Thessa breathed a sigh of relief when Craftsman Magna directed them to the two workstations. Working immediately next to Axio meant she could look out for him, instruct him – perhaps even cover for him. Craftsman Magna paused, glancing at them both, his eyes lingering briefly on Axio. Thessa hoped he could not see just how uncomfortable Axio looked standing in front of the workstation. He was, after all, accustomed to running and fetching. Not to making godglass.

“Are these our workstations, sir?” Thessa asked to bring the overseer’s attention back to her once more.

“Indeed. Get to know them well, for you will be at them six days a week until the war is over.”

Craftsman Magna went on, droning through dozens of small rules and telling them where to find their mess hall and dormitory. Thessa half listened as she examined the rest of the furnace room, trying to get a feel for the people here. Their body language spoke of exhaustion and fear. No wonder. How far could they fall behind before they could expect a flogging? Or being sent to the camps? Lumber camps were notoriously dangerous places. An accident in the glassworks might end your career, but an accident at a lumber camp would take a limb or kill you outright.

No one met her gaze. Shoulders remained hunched, eyes downcast. No one wanted to attract Craftsman Magna’s ire.

She brought her full attention back to the overseer as he said, “Your daily quotas will be enforced. Finish them quickly and you will be allowed to rest. Fail, and you will work all night. Fail continuously, and you will be sent to the lumber camps.” As he said this last part, he looked directly at Axio.

Thessa swore silently to herself. Sweat poured from Axio’s brow, and probably wasn’t just from the heat.

“I’m sure we’ll keep up, sir,” she said.

That cruel little smile flickered across his face again. “See that you do.” He inhaled sharply and checked one of the papers under his arm. Without another word, he turned on his heel once more and marched out of the furnace, leaving Thessa and Axio at their workstations, staring after him.

She forced herself to focus, glancing surreptitiously around the room. Several of the siliceers seemed to have relaxed the moment the overseer was gone. A few glanced in her direction with varying amounts of interest. Most kept themselves bent to their work. Aside from the shuffle of feet, the creak of furnace doors, and the roar of the flames, there was very little sound. Only a handful of the siliceers spoke to each other. The usual furnace banter, it seemed, did not exist.

This place was a stifling, heartless labor camp, and was clearly meant to be. Thessa bent to scratch at her ankle. The schematics in her boot had been chafing her skin for the last day and a half, but now that they were gone she felt the emptiness acutely.

“Thessa,” Axio hissed. “What do I do?”

Thessa took a deep breath and turned her attention on her workstation. Her tools were cheap and well-worn, but everything was here. Each workstation had clear access to the furnace, including a reheating chamber and a godfunnel, used to direct heat at tiny pieces of godglass. There was already molten cindersand in a crucible in the furnace, and on the workstation was a piece of paper with the day’s date and her quota. She showed it to Axio, and he showed her his. They were the same.

So much for getting him a lighter quota.

“I’m going to teach you to make godglass,” she told him.

“How?”

“The same I teach any apprentice. We can do this. Forgeglass is the easiest thing to make. You’ve seen it done hundreds of times.”

“I’ve never actually paid attention,” Axio replied. His eyes were a little wild, his face pale.

“Then pay attention now!” Thessa kept her tone calm, quiet, but firm. She took down bit iron – a four-foot rod – and set the end into the reheating chamber. “Always heat the iron first,” she told Axio, “then dip like this.” Once the iron was cherry red, she used it to gather molten cindersand from the crucible inside the furnace. It was just a tiny dab, and she brought it to the steel plate on her workbench, where she began to manipulate it with a pair of heavy tweezers.

Her movements were easy and fluid. These circumstances might be terrible, the equipment subpar and the workstation unfamiliar, but Thessa could do this kind of work blindfolded. Axio’s nerves, on the other hand, seemed entirely shot. He was trembling, sweating, his eyes looking everywhere at once. If Thessa couldn’t get him to focus, this wasn’t going to work. “Watch closely,” she instructed.

Axio shuddered deeply. He snatched down his bit iron, clutching it with both hands, still facing away from his own workstation. Thessa continued the task in front of her, rolling the small gather of godglass across the steel plate, adjusting it with her tweezers. She stopped once to hold the molten glass in front of the godglass funnel, operating a foot pedal to blow hot air up through the furnace and keep the godglass glowing.

Back on her workbench she bent over the tiny piece of molten cindersand, listening for the soft resonance of sorcery. “You do it like this. It might take you a few days, but you’ll get the hang of it. Twirl, crimp, shape. Move the molten cindersand around until you start to hear the hum of the sorcery, then slowly try and make that hum louder. If it goes away, undo the last thing you just did. If it fails, have no shame in giving up and starting over. You can reheat the piece at the funnel here, or discard it for a new one.”

Looking up to make sure Axio was paying attention, she saw silent tears streaming down his face. “I can’t do it,” he whispered.

“You can,” she shot back quietly. “You’re strong, Axio. You were strong enough to fight an Ossan soldier to give me time to escape.” Lowering her voice even further, she reached deep down, steeling herself, digging around in the anger and indignation she felt at her treatment. “They attacked our home. They killed Ekhi. They shot Captain Jero. Now they’re going to steal our labor and I will not stand for that. Understand? We’re going to survive this place and escape. We’re going to get through this together.”

Axio took a shaky breath. “You really think we can?”

“I know we can. But I need your help. I need you to be the strong man I know you are.”

Axio hesitated for a few moments and then gave her an uncertain nod.

It would have to be good enough.

“Practice,” she ordered him. “You need to look like you’re working. I’ll try to cover for you until you can do these on your own.” That meant twice as much work for her, and then sneaking finished pieces onto his tray. It wasn’t going to be easy, and she had no idea how terrible the consequences would be if she was caught.

She tried to keep all her uncertainties off her face. Escape did seem impossible. With Adriana Grappo dead, they had nowhere to go even if they did manage to flee the prison walls. She stopped herself. She couldn’t afford to despair. She had to figure out how to get those schematics back from the overseer, and now she had the extra burden of Axio. She couldn’t abandon either of these duties, nor would she. One step at a time.