Читать книгу Glass Collection: Storm Glass / Sea Glass / Spy Glass - Maria V. Snyder - Страница 15

Blue Eyes. But he should be incarcerated in the Thunder Valley jail with the other ambushers.

Yet there he stood. His blade poised for trouble.

I labored to keep my breathing steady. The collapsed building behind me prevented any chance to run away. In fact, the whole alley was quite deserted. A place I would normally avoid. I must have been tricked by magic. His sword was not his only weapon.

Setting my package out of the way, I pulled my sais from their sheaths, and slid my legs into a defensive position, turning my hips and feet to the right side so I made a thinner target.

I rested the sais’ weight in the crook of each hand. My forefinger lay on the hilt, pointing toward the weighted knob at the top. The rest of my fingers curled around the U-shaped guard. The metal shaft of my weapons felt icy against my hot forearms.

He advanced. My heart slammed in my chest as fear shot through my body. Sais were not cutting weapons. They blocked swords and bow staffs and could—in the hands of an expert—trap and yank those weapons from an opponent’s hands, but with a quick change in grip I could strike, knocking an attacker unconscious.

Five feet away from me he stopped. “Put your sais down,” he said. “And I will not hurt you.”

“No. Last time you wanted to finish the job, which included killing me and my companion.”

“Your companion.” His mouth twisted into a tight smile, but the humor failed to reach his cold eyes. “A Master Magician. A surprise that should not have been.” He stepped another foot closer. “I do not want to kill you.”

“Good to know.” I glanced at his blade. Sharpness gleamed from the edges. His actions didn’t match his words.

“Your life is precious to me now that I know who you are.”

“You knew I was a glassmaker before.”

“Yes, but not The Glass Magician.”

“What?”

“You will come with me.”

The desire to agree pressed on my shoulders and climbed up my throat. I bit my lip to keep the words trapped in my mouth. My muscles tensed with the need to obey, yet I resisted, knowing he used magic. He had caught me unaware before to trap me here, but now I was braced for his magical suggestions.

“No,” I said, hoping his powers were weak. Controlling the mind and/or body was an advanced skill, requiring strong magic.

His brow furrowed and the compulsion to join him flared inside me with a painful intensity. An annoyed breath huffed from his lips. “Submit or I will hurt you.” He snarled, showing his teeth.

I had done the willing victim routine before. Last time the order had been the go-with-Alea-or-my-sister-would-be-killed threat. My sister died anyway. Lesson learned. “No.”

He moved. Jabbing his sword toward my arms, he lunged.

I yelped and blocked the blade, swinging my right sais down. With a flick of his wrist he looped his weapon out of reach. The tip snaked past my upper left arm, leaving behind a burning slash. Blood brimmed and spilled, soaking the sleeve of my tunic.

I was out of my league.

“Do you submit?”

“No.”

He shrugged. In a blink, his sword thrust toward my neck. I flipped the sais into an X and deflected the blade up. The force of his blow throbbed through my wrists. The clang of metal echoed in the alley.

Blue Eyes pulled his sword back and tried another lunge. I pushed the weapon toward the ground, but again he flicked his wrist. A line of fire blazed on my right arm. Wonderful. Matching cuts.

He paused with his sword held in midair. My blood stained the tip.

I glanced past him. Didn’t anyone hear the fight? Should I scream?

“Submit? You will have so many cuts on your arms and legs, you will faint from lack of blood.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” He launched another flurry of attacks.

My breath puffed from the effort of defending myself. When he halted, blood soaked my upper thighs. The ground wobbled.

“You cannot beat me,” Blue Eyes said. “And there is no one here to help you.”

Not yet. I aimed my left sais at his temple. He blocked with ease and countered. This time he nicked both my shoulders.

A buzzing sounded in my ears as dizziness danced behind my eyes. “Okay.” I gasped. “I can’t … beat … you.” I drew in two deep breaths, trying to steady myself. “But I can … delay … you.” I sucked in a large gulp of air and yelled, “Master Cowan, over here.”

Blue Eyes spun. I rushed him, knocked him over and sprinted past.

In my mind, it was a great plan. If he hadn’t recovered so quickly, I would have made it out of the alley. Instead, he tripped me. I fell and rolled over in time to see Blue Eyes level his sword at my throat. I’d been here before.

“Submit.”

No other alternative at this point. He wasn’t going to kill me, but the overwhelming dread at being helpless and at his mercy made me wish he would. “All right.”

Pleased, Blue Eyes stepped back and offered a hand. “Stand,” he ordered as if commanding a pet. His sword remained pointed at the ground.

I ignored his help and summoned the energy to move. A high-pitched whistle sounded behind me before a wall of air slammed into us.

The force rolled me along the ground. Blue Eyes flew back and landed in the building’s rubble. I rubbed the grit from my eyes in time to see Kade running toward me.

He yanked me to my feet. “Let’s go,” he said.

“My vase.” I gestured to the package. It had been blown against the rubble pile. Probably broken, but I wanted it.

Kade huffed in annoyance. He sprinted over and grabbed it. Blue Eyes stirred. Kade hurried back and hustled me from the alley, only stopping when we reached the market.

I sank to the ground to catch my breath.

Kade knelt next to me. “Are you all right?”

“Dizzy.”

“You’re covered in blood.” He pulled at my clothing, searching for injuries.

I slapped his hand away. “Arms. Legs. No others.”

“Let’s get you to a healer. Come on, before your attacker finds us.”

“Why the hurry? Couldn’t you just—” I waved my hand “—blow him over again?”

He gave me a dry smile. “The air is calm today. Happy. It required a lot of effort to convince it to blow. I doubt I can do it again.”

Kade practically dragged me to the healer’s house. We met Zitora on the way and she supported his decision to take me there, claiming her healing powers could only do so much.

The tall healer led us to a room which contained the equipment needed to tend to the sick—a bed and a table loaded with supplies. After I lay on the bed, Zitora peppered me with questions, which distracted me from the healer’s ministrations. I had thought it hurt before he cleaned the cuts, but the wounds screamed with a new level of pain as the sharp sting of alcohol inflamed them.

I answered Zitora as best I could. I faded in and out of consciousness as the healer and Zitora worked on my injuries.

I woke. Lanterns blazed in the room and shadows waltzed along the stone walls. Worried I had wasted time, I sat up too fast and had to wait until the dizziness passed. Once the room stopped spinning, I found a clean set of my own clothes folded at the foot of the bed.

The cuts on my arms and legs throbbed. The injuries looked about two days old with ugly scabs forming, but they remained tender to the touch.

My abused muscles protested each movement as I dressed. I considered the discarded pile of bloodstained and tattered clothing. They were too ruined for even the Keep’s talented seamstress, so I left them there. I would have to order more of the long-sleeved tunics and linen pants that I preferred to wear. Good thing I had left my cloak with the horses.

Zitora and Kade waited in the front room of the house. Both had dark smudges under their eyes.

Exhaustion lined Zitora’s face. “Feeling better?”

“Thanks to you … and Kade. How did you find me?” I asked the Stormdancer.

“I heard you yell for Master Cowan.”

“We were supposed to meet at the horses. Why were you there?” I asked.

He exchanged a glance with Zitora. She nodded. “We were searching for you.”

I waited.

Zitora sighed. “We met with the Stormdance officials. They arrested the group of ambushers we paralyzed, and despite keeping the magicians unconscious, they escaped the first chance they got. Since we knew the ambushers were free, we wanted to warn you. When we couldn’t find you in the market, we broadened our search.”

“How did they escape?” I asked.

“There was another magician. Since he didn’t use his magic during the attack, I didn’t pick up on it.”

“Blue Eyes is a magician.” I explained about being lured away from the market.

“He could be a one-trick. Makes sense since he couldn’t force you to go with him when you knew about his magic.” Zitora rubbed her eyes.

“Do the guards know who the members of the group are?” I asked.

“Not really,” Zitora said. “After tending your wounds, I returned to talk to the administrator. Seems they are from the Krystal Clan. But we don’t know whether they’re sanctioned by the main government or a separate group. I’ve contacted Irys and she will detour to the Krystal Clan’s capital to investigate.”

“Irys?” Kade asked.

“Master Jewelrose. What about the other magicians?” I asked Zitora. “The woman and man. Are they Keep trained?”

“No. I’ve never seen them before.”

Apprehension coiled in my stomach. “Warpers?”

Zitora shook her head. “No. There are no more Warpers. After General Cahil captured them all, they were executed.”

I relaxed.

“I feel like I’ve come late to the party. What are Warpers?” Kade asked.

I almost groaned out loud. An explanation could take days to tell. “Have you heard of the Daviians?”

“The group of rogue Sandseed Clan members who formed their own clan on the Daviian Plateau?”

“Right. The Daviian magicians, who used to be Sandseed Story Weavers, were the Warpers. They used blood magic to enhance their powers and tried to take control of the Sitian Council.”

“And control the Master Magicians,” Zitora added with a bitter tone. “They almost succeeded, too, because of Roze.”

“Roze Featherstone,” I added for Kade’s benefit. “She was First Magician and the leader of the Daviian Clan.”

“Yes, but Yelena Zaltana stopped them—that part I know. Could this be another group of rogue magicians?” Kade looked at Zitora.

“I don’t know if they’re organized as a group or are just a couple of dissatisfied magicians. Not all magicians in Sitia have to be Keep trained. You’ve learned how to control your power from other Stormdancers. Same with the Sandseed Story Weavers. The Masters can detect uncontrolled power and we find the person before they can flame out, which will kill the person and damage the power source. Once a magician has control of their power, the danger of a flameout is little to none.”

Zitora stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her pants. “I wish I could stay and investigate more, but we need to go. And—” she smiled “—it seems I can’t leave Opal alone without her getting into trouble.”

Her words reminded me. “Did the city guards find Blue Eyes in the alley?”

Zitora sobered. “When we returned, he was gone. And they haven’t found any trace of him.”

My skin crawled with the feeling of being watched by Blue Eyes. I crossed my arms and rubbed my hands along my upper arms. The pain reminded me of how close I had come to being captured and of my inexperience with fighting. “All the more reason to practice with my sais.”

“And more reason for me to ask around. See if I can discover any helpful information,” Kade said. “I’m sure Varun will be fine for another day.”

“Be careful,” Zitora said. “He’s armed.”

“I’m a Stormdancer! Mere metal is nothing compared with the power of a storm.” Kade made his voice boom and spread his arms wide. His eyes sparked with humor. “I. Am. Invincible.”

“Until a happy wind blows,” I said.

“Curse those sunny days.”

“The bane of your existence.”

“The scourge of society.”

“The downfall of decency.”

“And boring, too. Nothing like a good gale to put a spring in your step.” Kade grinned.

It was the first real smile I’d seen from him. His stern demeanor disappeared; replaced by a carefree mischievousness. There was an inner fire in his soul. Muted by grief and loss, but there all the same.

“All right, that’s enough,” Zitora said. “Kade, send us a message if you learn anything.”

“Yes, sir,” he snapped and probably would have saluted if Zitora hadn’t pushed him out the door.

Zitora and I raced to Booruby. She was determined to get there as quickly as possible without exhausting the horses. At different times during the five-day journey, I wished I were a horse, wished I was back at the Keep and even wished for a day of rain to slow our brutal pace. The Barbasco yams only helped with aches and pains, not bone-deep fatigue.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, I caught sight of the brick smokestack from my family’s glass factory. I cried out and urged Quartz faster through the busy streets of Booruby. Located on the far east side of the city, our buildings were the last ones before the Avibian Plains. Funny how I never considered the flat grasslands of the Plains to be so welcoming before.

The commotion from our arrival was loud enough to draw Ahir from the factory. I never thought I would be so happy to see my brother. I slid off Quartz in time to be knocked over by Ahir.

“Ugh … you’re heavy. Do you have sand in your pockets?” I asked.

“You wish, big sister.” Ahir helped me to my feet.

The top of my head reached his nose. He had grown at least six inches since I had visited during the hot season, towering over my own five-foot seven-inch height.

“Now you can’t call me your little brother anymore.” He smirked.

“Sure I can, Ahir. No matter how big and fat you get, you’ll always have a little brain.”

“You wish, snake spit,” he countered.

“I know, fly breath.”

“Opal, that’s enough. We’re on a time schedule,” Zitora said in exasperation. “Ahir, where is your father?”

His eyes lit up. “Is Opal in trouble?” Ahir ignored her annoyed frown, relishing the possibility that I might be in trouble.

“Ahir, you don’t want to keep Master Cowan waiting,” I said.

“Oh boy! You must be in big trouble.” He rubbed his hands together. “He’s in the factory, working with Mara.”

Ahir trailed behind us like a dog hoping for treats. Zitora hesitated on the threshold of the building. The heat and roar from the eight kilns presented a physical force, but she pushed through. To me, the thick air and pulsing growl wrapped around me like a favorite blanket. Home.

My father worked at a gaffer’s bench with my sister assisting him. His wide, adept hands pulled and plucked at the molten glass with ease. Hunching over his work, he didn’t notice us. The familiar sight of his broad shoulders and strong back tugged at my bruised body. I wanted to hop into his embrace so he could make everything all right again.

Instead, I signaled to Mara. She paused in her duties and sent me a welcoming smile. Her perfectly shaped features and wide tawny-colored eyes attracted men to her like snakes to the heat. She had gotten Tula’s and my share of beauty. With her long golden curls and curvy figure, she had the complete opposite of my, with my straight hair and athletic build. While all of us had brown eyes, hers were light and interesting; Tula’s and mine were dark brown and ordinary.

Ahir’s were almost black, which matched the color of his short moppy hair.

I let Mara know we would wait for Father outside. Ahir tried to come with us, but Mara snapped her fingers at him and pointed to another kiln. He hung his head and slouched back to work.

“It’s an oven in there,” Zitora exclaimed. “How do you stand it?”

I shrugged. “Growing up, I spent more time in the factory than the house. Probably the reason I hate the cold.” I rubbed my arms. “It gets really hot when all eight kilns are fired. Eight is too many for my family to handle, so we hired a few locals, two uncles and a bunch of cousins to work the kilns. Shifts help with heat exhaustion. My father makes us take a break after each piece we make.”

When my father came outside, his shoulders brushed the doorway. He squinted. In the sunlight, his resemblance to Ahir was unmistakable. Although only a few black strands remained in his short gray hair and Ahir still had a couple more inches to grow before catching up with Father’s height.

“Opal.” Father crushed me in a bear hug.

I suppressed a wince. Five days of hard riding had not been conducive to healing. My injuries remained tender to the touch. He released me.

“Father, I would like to introduce you to Master Cowan, Second Magician. Master Cowan, this is my father, Jaymes Cowan.”

He shook her hand, and invited us inside the house for refreshments. Heat and the smell of molten glass radiated off his body.

Zitora declined. “It’s an urgent matter. Is there a private place we can talk?”

He shot me a look of alarmed concern. A familiar situation. If I had been guilty of any misdeed, I would have burst into tears and confessed upon seeing his ire. I quickly shook my head lest he suspect me of being in trouble.

“We can talk in my lab,” he said.

We followed him to a small one-story building tucked behind the factory. He led us into his laboratory, where he experimented with various sand mixtures and chemicals to produce glass of different colors and consistencies. Metal tables lined the room. Tools and various measuring equipment hung from neat rows of hooks, and stainless steel bowls had been stacked in precise piles.

The countertops gleamed in the light. Not a speck of errant sand marred the tables or crunched under a boot. Mother used to complain of Father’s messy armoire, and would wonder out loud how he could keep his lab pristine, yet fail to hang up his clothes.

His reply had always been one word. Contamination. He didn’t want any of his experiments being contaminated by spilled ingredients. It would throw off all his results, he claimed. Contamination also included children with sticky hands and dirty clothes, but his rules hadn’t stopped Tula and me from sneaking in here on occasion. I remembered the one time we hid under his desk, shaking in fear of being discovered, which inevitably happened. Our punishment had been to clean his lab for a season. After that season, we never ventured in here again.

Father sat at his desk and gestured for us to sit in the two other chairs. “What’s so important?”

Zitora explained about the Stormdance sand and fragile orbs. We placed the samples onto his desk.

“You think one of these ingredients is bad?” my father asked, staring at me. “How did you come to this conclusion?”

I told him about the old orbs and the differences I noticed. “The new orbs aren’t as sturdy. Same thickness, just not as dense.” I handed him a shard of Indra’s orb.

He examined the glass and tapped it on his fingernails, listening to the clinking sound. “All right. I’ll work on these. See what I can find.” He sorted through his bowls. “Why don’t you go into the house? Mother will be thrilled to see you both.”

I stood. “Can I help?”

He looked at me in surprise. “It’s better if I do it myself.” He must have seen my disappointment, because he added, “Would you like to learn what I do here?”

“Yes.” I had always wanted to know more about glass, but I knew he preferred to work alone.

“Okay. When we have time, I’ll teach you.”

“Really?” My turn to be surprised.

He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for one of my children to show an interest. Ahir doesn’t have the patience and Mara … Mara is more interested in Leif than glass right now.”

We shared a laugh. Even though Mara had been pursued by every young man in the Cowan lands, only Yelena’s brother, Leif, had caught her attention. But since he was a powerful magician and worked at the Keep, they hardly had any time together. I wondered if Aydan still needed an apprentice. Mara could move to the Citadel and live near the Keep. She would be closer to Leif. And to me.

My humor leaked away. Back at the Keep, I knew no one missed me.

My mother worked in the kitchen. The delightful smell of bread stew permeated the air. Following the scent, I found my mother stirring a large pot. She greeted me with a peck on the cheek.

“Mara told me you were here. What took you so long? Your mother isn’t important enough to say hello to?”

I rushed to apologize. “We had—”

“Urgent business with Jaymes,” Zitora said.

Before she could lay on the guilt about not introducing her, I said, “Master Cowan, this is my mother, Vyncenza.”

My mother perked up at hearing Zitora’s title and launched into gracious host mode. “Opal, go get the good dishes from the cupboard and set the table. Use the fancy Jewelrose tablecloth, and make sure to put out enough silverware.” She clucked over my appearance.

“Better get washed first and put on decent clothes!” She shooed me from the kitchen.

Her offers of every liquid beverage to Zitora reached me as I ascended the stairs. My mother wouldn’t be happy until the magician was seated with a drink and snack in hand.

The house had four bedrooms. Tula and I had shared a room. Only seven seasons apart in age, most who met us for the first time had thought we were twins. I entered the room. Tula’s grief flag hung suspended over her bed and I wondered how long Mother would keep it there.

Zitora and Yelena had sewn the white silk banner. They decorated it with animal shapes surrounding a single blade of grass with a drop of dew hanging from the tip. Honeysuckles were sewn along the border of the flag. It was a representation of Tula’s life and personality. A customary endeavor, making a flag for the deceased and flying it from the highest pole, to release the person’s soul to the sky. Then the flag was used to cover the soul’s most precious possessions in order to keep them from returning to earth to retrieve them. After a few years, most people removed the flag and gifted the items.

I had missed Tula’s flag-raising ceremony while a prisoner of Alea. Sitting on her bed, I ran my hand over the quilt. Last time I had seen my sister, she was in the Keep’s infirmary, recovering from being raped and tortured by Ferde Daviian. Alea—another one of those cursed Daviians—had promised Tula would live if I cooperated with her.

Curling up on Tula’s bed, I shuddered as a fresh wave of grief crashed into me. Alea had taken me to the Daviian Plateau, pricked me with Curare and left me paralyzed and alone for hours in her tent. And then he came.

No. I would not think about him.

I concentrated on Tula. My ordeal was nothing compared to hers. When I had finally been freed, I learned Ferde strangled her to death and stole her soul. Two weeks gone before I even knew about it. Two weeks a captive for nothing. She died anyway.

“Opal, are you done? The table won’t set itself,” my mother’s voice called.

I wiped tears from my cheeks as I hurried to wash and change. My thoughts turned to Kade’s grief over his sister, and I remembered thinking about how time would dull his pain. Which was true, but I had forgotten about the occasional knife of grief that stabbed you without warning.

I was mortified during most of dinner. Ahir and my mother were intent on telling embarrassing stories about me to Zitora. The Magician seemed to enjoy them and laughed, but I wanted to hide under the table.

“… naked and soapy from a bath, Opal goes streaking toward the factory, intent on telling her father about her toy duck. Well …” Mother paused for maximum impact. “She crashes right into him and he spills a bowlful of sand on her head! I cleaned sand from every nook and cranny in her body. For months!”

I cut through the peals of laughter. “Do you think I should check on Father? Won’t his dinner get cold?”

“Leave your father alone for now. You know how he gets when he’s working in his lab. Dinner will keep.”

I sighed. One avenue of escape thwarted.

Before my mother could launch into another humiliating story, I asked Zitora about her family.

Her humor faded. “I don’t remember my parents. My older sister raised me. We are ten years apart.”

Mara made sympathetic noises. “Sisters are great. I wish I saw mine more often.” She gave me a pointed stare.

Perhaps I would tell her about Aydan’s glass factory in the Citadel.

“Sometimes I wish mine would get lost,” Ahir joked.

“Mine is lost,” Zitora said in a quiet voice.

“What do you mean?” Mother asked.

“When the magicians came, they said I had strong magical powers and should be Keep trained. She escorted me to the Keep and left. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”

Gasps of horror ringed the table. Zitora shook her head through the barrage of questions from my mother and sister, and waved away Ahir’s apology.

“I searched for years,” Zitora said. “Chased every possible lead, visited every infirmary in Sitia, and viewed every unidentified corpse. Either she doesn’t want to be found or she’s dead and buried.” The Magician said the words with a flat tone as if she could no longer produce any emotions about her sister’s fate. Or she had exhausted her emotions.

“Why wouldn’t she want to be found?” Mother asked.

“Perhaps she wanted to start a new life,” Mara said. She rose from her seat and cleared the table.

“Perhaps someone is holding her against her will.” I suppressed a shudder; better to be dead and buried.

“Perhaps she was jealous of me. I don’t know anymore. I’ve thought about it for the last ten years and nothing feels right.” Zitora stood. Her chair scraped along the floor with a loud squeal. “Here.” She grabbed the dirty plates from Mara. “I’ll wash.”

Mother jumped from her seat with amazing speed. “Oh, no you don’t.” She hurried after Zitora, disappearing into the kitchen.

Mara, Ahir and I looked at each other.

“Who do you think will win?” Mara asked. “A Master Magician or Mother?”

I considered. “If you could call washing dishes winning, I’d bet money on Mother.”

“As much as it pains me to say this, I’d have to agree with Opal.” Ahir wrinkled his nose in mock distaste.

Sure enough Zitora returned from the kitchen. “Your mother—”

“A force of nature. We know,” Ahir said. “Come on, Mara, let’s go help her while Opal entertains her guest.”

My father woke me in the middle of the night. The bright glow from his lantern seared my eyes. Already awake, Zitora sat on the edge of her bed—my bed, actually. I had slept in Tula’s bed under her flag.

His words finally sank into my sleep-fogged mind.

“… found the cause of the weak glass,” he said. “Come.”