Sea Glass

by Maria V. Snyder

  At least the incident hadn’t been a total disaster. Pazia and I settled our differences and now she worked in the Keep’s glass factory, creating intricate vases decorated with precious stones. Wealthy Sitians had been buying them as fast as Pazia could produce them.

  “Opal, hello? Where ja go?” Janco waved a hand, snapping me from my reverie.

  “Just thinking about the only Cloud Mist I know, and she’s not representative of the entire clan. I’ve heard they’re friendly if you’re staying in one of their towns, but they won’t let anyone visit the mines. The people who live up in the mountains tend to be very insular. They say they know a few routes across the Emerald Mountains. The Sitian Council sent an expedition with a Cloud Mist guide a few years back, but they turned around, claiming it was too cold and too hard to breathe. The high-mountain clan members also claim a vast desert is on the eastern side of the mountains. A wasteland with no end in sight. Has anyone in Ixia climbed over the...what do you call the chain in the north?”

  “The Soul Mountains.”

  “Interesting military designation,” I teased him. Not everything in Ixia had a number.

  Janco frowned. “The mines have the proper codes.” He scratched his goatee as he thought. “The Soul range is thicker in the north. We’ve had a few groups try to summit them, but they never returned. The winds are nasty in the higher elevations. Do you remember how strong an Ixian blizzard is?”

  I nodded, remembering the horrible keening and bone-shattering cold.

  “Well, it’s twenty times worse in the mountains.”

  Shivering, I pulled my cloak tight. The late-afternoon sunshine warmed the land, but I hated being cold. All those years working in my family’s glass factory had gotten me used to the heat. Eight kilns running nonstop kept the brick building steaming hot.

  “Has anyone tried skirting them to the north?” I asked.

  “Suicide. The mountains run right into the northern ice sheet. Between the icy temperatures and the snow cats you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  A finger of fear traced my spine as the image of bloodstained snow formed. Fierce, cunning and with heightened senses, a snow cat was impossible to hunt. They smelled, heard or saw a person well before the hunter spotted them. With their white coats blending into the ice sheet, the sole warning of an impending attack was movement. By then it was too late.

  One man held the honor of killing a snow cat. The Commander of Ixia. Even Valek, the Commander’s chief of security and assassin, couldn’t make that claim. Yet he’d managed to hide the Fire Warper’s glass prison in a snow cat’s den. Interesting.

  At least the prison would remain hidden. No one else would risk sneaking by seven snow cats to retrieve the Warper’s soul. It would be suicide.

  * * *

  Four days of travel with Janco proved to be an extended exercise in patience. His curiosity focused on everything and everyone. Nonstop commentary about the strangeness of Sitia flowed from his mouth, and he enjoyed arguing. He found a fault with every issue, and we even debated on the merits or lack of merits of dust.

  At least I learned a few self-defense tactics and he promised to teach me how to pick a lock in Ognap.

  We reached the edge of the Emerald Mountains on the morning of the fourth day. The rolling terrain painted with lush greenery spread out before us like a rumpled quilt. Farms dotted the mounds, and clusters of buildings occupied the cracks. One large grouping extended along a narrow valley and climbed the hills to each side. Ognap, the Cloud Mist Clan’s capital.

  The snowcapped Emerald Mountains loomed beyond the foothills, stretching toward the sky. Impressive.

  For once, Janco remained quiet. But as we drew near the town’s limits, he stopped Moonlight. “With your glass messengers in every city, the details about our escape have probably been sent to each one. So there’s a chance the town’s guards will be watching for us. We could do one of two things. Either go in via the main road separately or circle around and find another way in.” Janco glanced at the sky. “And we should go in after dark.”

  Although the thought of being alone tempted me, I decided we should stay together. My fighting skills needed to be much better for me to feel confident in them. Devlen had bypassed my sais with ease even though I had three years of lessons at the Keep. More emphasis on training and self-defense went into the final year of the curriculum. The final year I was currently missing.

  We found an isolated glade to wait for the sun to set. To help pass the time, I challenged Janco to a match.

  He jumped to his feet, his sword at the ready. “The glass warden isn’t bor...ing. Her sais may sing, but I am the king.”

  “Warden and boring don’t rhyme.” I set my feet into a fighting stance with my sais in a defensive position. The guard was U-shaped and flared toward the weapon’s point. I balanced one arm of the guard between my thumb and index finger, which lay along the hilt. The rest of my fingers curled around the other side of the guard.

  “You try and find a word that rhymes with warden.”

  I tried, but Janco attacked and all my concentration focused on his lightning-fast strikes and quick parries. He won every match. Despite his tendency to lapse into extreme smugness, he guided my efforts to defend myself and I learned quite a bit from him.

  During a break, he said, “Not bad. Not good, either. You need to practice every day for four hours.”

  “Four hours!” My arms ached and sides heaved after just an hour.

  He grinned. “The Commander’s soldiers run for two hours every morning, and practice drills every afternoon. When you’re new, practice time lasts six hours and when you’re an old soul like me, practice lasts about two hours. Keeps the skills sharp.”

  “Old soul.” I laughed. “You’re thirty.”

  He stroked his goatee. White whiskers peppered the black. “It’s not the years, it’s the experience.” He paused. His eyes held a distant gleam as if seeing into his past. “My first practice was a shock. I was a cocky smart aleck—”

  “Was?”

  “Be quiet. I’m telling a story here. I easily bested my fellow trainees, but the trainers unarmed me in record time. And the Weapons Master was impossible to beat. He would just look at me, and my practice sword would fly from my hand.”

  I stifled my dubiousness over Janco’s exaggerations.

  He inspected the blade of his sword. “It irked me. Big-time. I started to practice eight hours a day and learned counterstrikes, attacks and strategies from anyone who would teach me. I trained with every sword we had. Broadswords, rapiers, short swords and sabers. Plus, I learned how to use a knife and unarmed combat.”

  “And?”

  “He kept winning, but each match lasted a little bit longer. Until...”

  He waited for me to prompt him. “Until?”

  “I discovered my rhythm. My footwork was horrible, but one day it clicked and I started letting my instincts guide my actions. You know those little clues an opponent makes before they move?”

  “No. I’m usually too focused on the weapon.”

  “A mistake. Here.” He slid his feet into a fighting stance and pointed his rapier toward me. “Get ready. Now watch my blade.”

  I concentrated on the silver shaft. He lunged. The tip of his blade stopped an inch from my chest before I reacted.

  “Now watch my eyes.”

  I met his light brown gaze. Once again he shot past my defenses.

  “Now watch my hips.”

  A slight hitch of movement alerted me and I stepped back. Countering, I blocked his blade with a clang and deflected it past my body.

  “See?” he asked.

  “Yes! Are there more?”

  “A few. Those clues allowed me to concentrate more on my opponent’s strategy and find their fighting cadence. Beginners are eas
y because they’ll do the same series of moves over and over, while experts will keep changing it or will lull you into a rhythm and bang! Switch it up.” Appreciation gleamed on his face as he stabbed the air. “It took me well over a year to discover the Weapon Master’s dance. I had been making up rhymes in my mind to help me with my footwork, but for that last match with the Master, I recited them aloud. He hated that! Especially since my rhymes harmonized to his attacks. And anger makes you sloppy.”

  “You beat him?”

  “Yep.” He danced a victory jig.

  “What happened after?”

  He stopped. “I was transferred to the Commander’s guard, where I met Ari.” Huffing in amusement, he continued, “Since I beat the Weapons Master, I arrived with a cocky confidence.” Janco held up a hand before I could comment. “I know, I know. Hard to believe. One match with the big brute knocked the swagger from my step as well as knocking me unconscious.” He rubbed his jaw. “Then there was Valek with his super assassin skills and Maren with her bow staff. I had much more to learn. Endless practice ensued, and now here I am, just a humble average guy.”

  “Your humility is inspiring.”

  He ignored my sarcasm. “I endeavor to be a good role model.”

  “Shame your training didn’t include fighting a big man named Ox armed with a horsewhip.”

  “Those are fighting words.” He launched an attack and I scrambled to counter.

  6

  After the sun set, Janco and I packed our supplies and headed for Ognap. We found a small goat path south of the town and entered the city through a side street. About half the size of Fulgor, the town’s business centered on gemstones. Once mined from underneath the mountains, the stones arrived in Ognap to be cleaned, faceted, categorized and polished before being sold or traded for goods.

  Armed guards accompanied the caravans and watched the gemstone factories. Large barracks had been built on the east side of town to house them.

  Torches blazed along the main boulevard as loud groups of citizens hustled between pubs under the watchful gaze of the town’s security force. Shops and market stands buzzed with commerce. By the hum in the air, I guessed the evening’s activities had just begun. Miners arrived for a few days’ rest, bringing stories of rich veins and huge stones. They spent their wages, then returned to work.

  Janco and I avoided the more popular areas and checked into the Tourmaline Inn. The innkeeper, Carleen, rented us two single rooms—all she had left—and served us a wonderful beef stew and sweet berry pie. The explanation for the inn’s name hung around her neck. A beautiful heart-shaped pink tourmaline rested on her broad chest.

  She stroked the stone often, especially when speaking of her late husband.

  “Pink.” Janco spat in disgust when she left to help another customer. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  The common room’s decorations tended toward fluffy pink and soft. Hearts crafted from wood, stone and glass lined the shelves, and bright paintings of flowers hung on the walls.

  I stifled a chuckle when Janco entered his room. His polite smile strained to hide his dismay at the mountain of pillows heaped on his bed.

  “One of my favorite rooms,” Carleen said. “It has a wonderful view of the mountains.” Her fingertips brushed her pendant. She wrinkled her petite nose when she glanced at Janco. “There’s a bathhouse across the street—you need to make use of it before retiring for the evening.”

  Carleen ignored his reaction and unlocked the next door for me. “It has my best mattress, sweetie.” It was identical to Janco’s. “Make sure you go along with your friend to the bathhouse.” She waggled her fingers in farewell, and hustled back downstairs.

  Janco leaned on the threshold of my door with his face creased in annoyance. “Did she just—”

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “Yes. You do. We both stink.”

  “Well, I’m not—”

  “Yes. You are.”

  He huffed. “You won’t let—”

  “No. No complaining. Let’s go.” I grabbed a clean shirt and pants from my saddlebags.

  “Well, she could have handled it better,” he grumped.

  “No. She couldn’t.”

  He settled into a sulky silence as we visited the bathhouse.

  * * *

  Janco might not’ve appreciated the inn’s excessive pillows, but after so many nights spent on the hard ground, I luxuriated in the bed, sleeping well past dawn. I snuggled deeper into the mattress until someone knocked on the door. Covering my ears failed to block the insistent rapping.

  “Come on, Opal! We’re burning daylight,” Janco called through the wood.

  I yelled for him to go away and the noise stopped. A moment of peace before the door swung open.

  “Holy snow cats, did you sleep with all those pillows?” Janco asked.

  Despite my cries of protest, he pulled them away and swept the blankets back. “Let’s go.”

  With the utmost reluctance, I followed Janco outside. We walked from inn to inn, asking if anyone had seen Ulrick or the two Warpers that Devlen spoke of. No one recognized the descriptions. We tried the pubs and taverns next and then the stables. Nothing.

  “What’s next?” Janco asked.

  “The barracks. The Warpers could have gotten jobs guarding the gemstone caravans or even be working in the mines.”

  “They could. And Devlen could have lied and there is no one here to find.”

  I agreed. “Or they could have left. We need to make sure either way.”

  Janco rubbed his scar. “Asking questions won’t work in the barracks. Guards for hire are usually ex-soldiers. They tend to stick together and protect each other. I’ll wait until dark and do a little reconnaissance.”

  “And I can visit the pubs again and see if they show up.”

  “What if we don’t find them?”

  Good question. “We should check the mines, but they’re off-limits and the security is impossible to breach.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” Janco said. He practically drooled with gleeful anticipation.

  “The Cloud Mist Clan has been mining precious stones for ages. Thieves and their own workers have been trying to steal them for ages. They have a complicated network of security. You can’t just go in there and have a look around.”

  “Ah! A challenge.”

  Nothing I said dimmed his enthusiasm. In fact, it had the opposite effect. I hoped we found the Warpers before then.

  * * *

  After dinner, I suffered through Janco’s lecture on safety.

  “Make sure you have your spiders with you,” he said.

  “Janco, I—”

  “Stay in well-lit areas, and, if you see the Warpers, don’t confront them. Just follow them and we’ll talk to them together. If you run into trouble, go to the town’s guards. Better to be arrested than killed. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He remained stern.

  “What? I agreed.”

  “Next time try it without the sarcasm.”

  We left the inn together. Wearing all black, Janco melted into the shadows. I continued along the main street. Torches blazed and groups of people strolled. Even at this hour merchants called prices and the rapid exchange of haggling filled the air.

  Scanning faces, I wandered in the busy downtown area. I stopped to peruse one seller’s glasswares, looking for Ulrick’s unique style. He would need money to support himself. None of the vases popped with his magic. However, I found a beautiful statue of a Sandseed horse. A red heart nestled within its clear glass chest.

  I held the horse in my hand. A faint throbbing pulsed through my fingertips as if the heart beat inside. The cause of the vibration could be from
magic or from my imagination.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” the merchant asked.

  “Yes. Do you know how the artist managed to keep the red glass’s shape?” The first gather of molten glass could be shaped and colored, but, when another layer of glass is gathered around the shape, the heat would melt the shape, leaving the color behind.

  “It isn’t glass. It’s a ruby.”

  That could explain the pulse. When I touched diamonds, they would either flash hot or cold and a vision of where they were mined filled my head. Perhaps rubies vibrated.

  The merchant continued, “And not just any ordinary ruby. It’s a Vasko ruby. The best of the best. Each stone comes with an authenticity seal from Vasko Cloud Mist himself!”

  Perhaps only Vasko rubies throbbed. I thought of Pazia. Her family owned the Vasko mine. I would have to ask her if I could touch one.

  “The horse is eight golds, but, for you, I’ll sell it for six.”

  I shook my head. Too expensive for me. I only had one gold and a few silvers left in my pocket. “Do you have any more?”

  “A few.” The merchant bent under his table and brought out a swan, a dog and a cat. All with ruby hearts. All crafted by the same hand.

  I examined the dog and felt its pulse. “Vasko rubies?”

  “Of course. And since you seem so enchanted, I’ll sell you the dog for five golds.”

  “Do you know who made these?”

  A furtive expression settled on the merchant’s face. “No.”

  “I don’t want to bypass your business. I can’t afford any of them. I’m a glassmaker.” I pulled a few of my spiders from my pocket and showed him them. “I just wanted to see if I know the artist.”

  He scrutinized the spiders with reluctance. “I don’t know his name or know if he is the artist. I buy the statues and the seals from him, then resell them. I’ll give you one silver for each of your spiders. They’re very lifelike.”

  “They’re not for sale.” I returned them to my pocket. So far, they broke open only for me, but there could be another magician with my skills. “Does the man come every day?”