Storm Glass

2

I GAPED AT Master Bloodgood. There weren’t many Stormdancers born in the clan; to lose even one could threaten the western clans of Sitia. “How many?”

“Two have died. The first time an orb failed, the clan thought it was a fluke, after the second, they stopped dancing.”

A fire of worry flared in my stomach. Just one full-strength storm could wipe out the four clans whose lands bordered the Jade Sea, leaving behind a wasteland. A huge responsibility. Problems with the glass I could probably handle, but with magic…No way.

“Go pack your saddlebags, child. You will leave as soon as you are ready. Zitora will go with you.”

“And how many guards will accompany me this time?” She sighed.

The entire population of the Keep knew Zitora’s displeasure over being accompanied by guards on her missions. Having only passed the Master-level test five years ago, most magicians still thought of her as an apprentice instead of the second-most-powerful magician. And with the horrible events that led to the death of Roze Featherstone, the former First Magician, the Councillors of Sitia were being overprotective of the three remaining Masters.

“Just the two of you this time,” Master Jewelrose said with a smile. “You can move faster.”

Zitora stood with a burst of energy. “We’ll leave within the hour.”

“Contact us if you need help. Opal, have you finished my new glass animal?”

“Yes. It’s at Aydan’s factory. I think you’ll like this one.”

“I love them all. It’s a shame they lose their spark after a while.” Master Jewelrose grew thoughtful. “But it makes sense. The magic inside is a certain quantity. Once used, it’s gone.”

“Job security for Opal.” Master Bloodgood stroked the map in front of him. His gaze settled on me. “We have been searching for another magician to apprentice to you. No luck so far. The Council’s been bugging us to share your wonderful glass…messengers.”

Right now, I made them for the Masters and for magicians who were on assignment. At least one magician carried one of my glass animals in each town.

“It would be helpful if we could find another able to duplicate her skill.” Master Jewelrose agreed.

My skill. Singular. The One-Trick Wonder. I should be content with providing those messengers for the magicians. Content with my role in life. But I’d seen the wonders magic can do and I wanted more. Magic and glass had so much in common. Both were fluid. Both held endless potential to be shaped and used in various ways. I desired to gather the magic to me and spin it into a marvel.

“Let’s go.” Zitora strode toward the door and I hurried after her.

She paused when we reached the outside. Darkness blanketed the Keep’s campus and the smell of burning wood tainted the air. The empty walkways reflected the weak moonlight. The other students were probably in their rooms, studying and preparing for tomorrow.

“We can get in a couple hours of travel tonight,” Zitora said. “Go get a change of clothes and pack a few essential supplies. We’ll buy food on the road. I’ll meet you in the barn. You have a horse, right?”

“Yes, but I just started my lessons.” Another worry.

“Which horse is yours?”

“A painted mare named Quartz.”

“The Sandseed bred horse? How did you get so lucky?”

“Yelena was visiting the Keep when the new herd of horses arrived. She told the Stable Master to save Quartz for me.”

Zitora laughed. “And Yelena is the only person the Stable Master listens to when it comes to horses. There are hidden perks when you save someone’s life.”

“But I didn’t—”

She waved my protest away with her nimble fingers. It had been thoughtful of Yelena to choose a horse for me, but once the story about her involvement flew through the campus population like sand grains in the wind, I lost the few acquaintances I had to jealousy. Again.

Liaison Yelena was the true hero of Sitia and Ixia. If she talked to a student, the gossips mulled over the implications for weeks.

“Don’t worry about not being an expert with a horse. Quartz will follow Sudi. All you need to do is stay in the saddle.” She moved to leave, then stopped. “Opal, go visit the armory before you come to the barn.”

“Why?”

“It’s time to trade in your practice sais for real ones.”

“Thirteen inches or fifteen inches?” Captain Marrok, the Keep’s new Weapons Master asked with impatience, after I’d grabbed my supplies and cleaned up.

When I didn’t respond, he yanked my right arm out and measured my forearm from wrist to elbow.

“Thirteen inches should work.” He rummaged around the armory. Swords hung on the walls and spears glinted from racks. Arrows lined up like soldiers, and the odor of metallic sweat and leather filled the air.

I rubbed my forearm, massaging the thick muscles and tracing my burn scars with a finger. One benefit of working with glass, strong arms, but they limited my flexibility when fighting. By the end of my first year, the Weapons Master had decided that, even though I could heft and move a staff of wood like a pontil iron, I was too slow. He made the same assessment of me with a sword and a spear.

I found the sais by accident when I helped clean up after a practice session. They resembled strange short swords, but instead of a flat blade, the weapon’s main shaft was thick—about half an inch wide near the hilt and a quarter of an inch at the tip—and rounded yet with eight flat sides. Octagonal, the Weapons Master had called it. Only the tip of the shaft was sharp. He was thrilled I had discovered them, claiming they were the perfect weapon for me as they needed arm strength and hand dexterity.

“Here, try these. If they’re too heavy, I’ll find you a lighter pair.” The Weapons Master handed me two sais, one for each hand. The silver metal shone as if recently polished. The U-shaped guard pointed toward the tip of the weapon so the sais resembled a three-pronged pitchfork with a very long center tine.

I executed a few blocks and strikes to get the feel of the weapons.

“These are heavier than the practice ones,” I said.

“Too heavy? I started to add weight to your practice pair, but the Masters are in a rush. That’s always the way.” He tsked.

“They’re fine.”

“Practice as often as you can. You might want to cut bigger slits in your cloak so you can grab them quicker.” He hurried over to a large chest in the corner of the armory. Lifting the lid, he sorted through the contents and removed a belt with two short scabbards. “Wear this when you carry them. Horses don’t like to be poked with the pointy ends. Not good for your legs, neither.”

I thanked him and ran toward the stables. The weight of the weapons hanging from my waist seemed heavier. Would I need to use them? Could I defend myself? This whole mission felt as if I’d been wrenched from a kiln before I could reach the perfect temperature.

In the stables, Zitora helped the Stable Master saddle Quartz. The Stable Master muttered and fussed to no one in particular as he yanked straps and adjusted the reins. In the weak lantern light, Quartz’s reddish-brown areas appeared black and the white parts looked gray. She nickered at me in greeting and I stroked her nose. Her face was brown except for a white patch between her eyes.

Already saddled, Sudi, Zitora’s roan-colored mare shuffled with impatience.

When the Stable Master handed me Quartz’s reins, he said, “You’re going to be sore tomorrow and in outright pain by the next day. Stop often to stretch your muscles and rest your back.”

“There won’t be time,” Zitora said as she mounted Sudi.

“Why am I not surprised? Dashing off before she’s properly trained is becoming standard procedure around here.” The Stable Master shook his head and ranted under his breath. He ambled past the horse stalls, checking water buckets.

“Do you have a Barbasco yam?” Zitora asked. “That’ll help with the pain.”

“I don’t need it. How bad can it be?”

It was bad. And not just regular bad. After three days, the pain was back-wrenching, legs-burning, mind-numbing bad.

Zitora set a killer pace. We only stopped for food, to rest and care for the horses, and to sleep a few hours. Not long enough to wring out the exhaustion soaked into my bones.

Memories of a similar trip threatened my sleep and nagged at me. The night Master Jewelrose had startled me from a deep slumber and hustled me onto her horse before I knew what was happening. I’d clung to her as we bolted for the Citadel. All I had known during that frantic five-day trip, was my sister needed me. Enough knowledge to ignore the pain.

I focused on the Stormdancers’ troubles to distract myself. We had left the Citadel through the south gate, headed southwest for a day to reach the border of the Stormdance lands, then turned west. Zitora hoped to arrive at the coast in another three days.

At various times throughout the trip, my worries over the mission had flared, and doubts jabbed my thoughts. If magic was involved, I wouldn’t be able to solve the problem and precious time would be wasted.

On the night of our fourth day, we stopped at a market in Thunder Valley. Zitora bought a Barbasco yam for me and managed to hand it over without any gloating. Impressive. My brother would have done an “I told you so” dance for weeks.

The market buzzed with activity. Vendors sold the usual fruits, vegetables and meats, but a strange shrub was heaped on a couple of tables. About three feet tall, the plant’s leaves were hairy and separated into leaflets.

“That’s indigo,” Zitora said when I asked. “It’s used to make ink, one of the Stormdance industries. They also make metal goods like those sais you carry.”

And they harvested storms. Busy clan.

I chewed on the yam as we hurried through our shopping. I would have enjoyed lingering over the glasswares, but suppressed my disappointment. No sense complaining when exhaustion lined Zitora’s heart-shaped face, reminding me this wasn’t a pleasure trip. Perhaps we could stop on the way home.

After we secured our fresh supplies to the saddles, we mounted. I braced for the now-familiar jolt of protest from my abused muscles, but was surprised when none came. The yam worked fast.

Amusement lit her pale yellow eyes.

“Thanks for the yam, Zit…er…Master Cowan.”

Her humor faded and I berated myself for my slip of the tongue. She had been adamant about the students calling her Master Cowan. We all knew her frustration caused by everyone’s casual attitude toward her. But she was so sweet. When she noticed me and remembered details about my life, I wanted to confide in her and become her best friend.

She sighed. “Call me Zitora. I shouldn’t expect respect if I haven’t earned it.”

“That’s not it.”

“What do you mean?”

Feeling as though I’d melted more glass than I could handle, I cast about for the right words. “You’ll always be Zitora to the students. You’re not…intimidating enough. You don’t have the stern demeanor of Master Jewelrose or the walking textbook wisdom of Master Bloodgood. You can require us to call you Master, but we don’t feel the title in our hearts.” Her annoyance deepened toward anger, so I hurried on. “But you’re…approachable. You’re someone to confide in, to go to when in trouble. I think if all the Masters were unapproachable, the campus environment would be stilted. Uncomfortable.”

When she didn’t say anything, I added, “But that’s my impression. I could be wrong.” I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut. The One-Trick Wonder telling a Master Magician about how she was perceived was as ill-advised as the Masters sending me to the Stormdance Clan to fix their orbs.

Without a word, Zitora spurred Sudi into a gallop. See? She was too nice to chastise me. Master Jewelrose would have sent me to scrub the kitchen floors for a week.

But, when we finally stopped to sleep in the early-morning hours, and as I tried to get comfortable on the hard shale covering the ground, I thought her choice of a stop-over site could be in retaliation for my comment.

Zitora remained by our small fire, but noticed me squirming in my blankets. “It’s all like this.” She gestured to the ground. “From here on out.”

“Like what?”

“Shale. Sheets and sheets of it. A few smooth places, others riddled with grooves or broken into gravel. All you’ll see under your feet is an ugly gray until we reach the coast. It’s called The Flats. No trees. A few bushes. Then…Well, The Cliffs before the sea are spectacular. Carved by wind and water, the piles of shale have been sculpted into beautiful shapes and bridges.”

She returned to staring at the fire. “Go to sleep, Opal. You need the rest.”

I was unable to keep my eyes open and too tired to question if she used magic on me.

For once, my overactive imagination and past memories didn’t invade my dreams.

My sleep remained blissful until a sharp point pricked my throat, waking me. Alarmed, I stared at a sword’s blade hovering mere inches from my chin. My gaze followed the long sharp weapon to its owner.

A person wearing a gray mask loomed over me.