Serah glanced up at the lanterns hanging from the ceiling and pointed. “Will it become one of those?”
Machin smiled. “Eventually.”
Serah nodded, pleased her interview seemed to be going well. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. She’d had a vague understanding of Machin’s lamp making. He was better known for his work in the mechanical sciences. Young men and women from every corner of Havenbrim, a village in Llum, sought to be his apprentice. But Machin took in only one apprentice at a time.
With Machin focused on the furnace, the room grew warmer and quieter.
Serah’s eyes glistened. “What is it that your apprentices do?”
“Tend the lanterns. They’ll need to be shined and polished.”
Solemnly, Serah bobbed her head toward a footstool set against the wall. The lanterns were the only items in the cottage that weren’t covered in dust. “Is that all?”
“And let me know if any of them burn out.” He pulled the tongs from the furnace.
Serah blinked. The dark material glowed orange. Machin brought the tongs close to his lips and blew across the glow. As the object cooled, it changed from orange to a clear shade of crystal.
“So it really is glass,” Serah murmured. “Celestial Glass.”
“Look more closely. Tell me what you see.”
“Well, it’s round and smooth, like the end of a bulb.” She stuck out a finger.
With a flick of the tongs, the object flew into the air. Serah pulled her finger away.
Glass clinked against metal. Machin caught the bulb before it hit the floor.
“Go on,” he said. “What do you see when you look at it this way?”
Serah peered closer. “Well, now it’s hollow like a fishbowl.” She looked up at Machin. “There’s an opening on this end. Why?”
“Because, Serah Kettel, without an opening, there wouldn’t be a way to enter—to fill the bulb with light.”
“Light.” A flickering from the lanterns above caught her attention. “I see. This will be part of one of your lanterns, then.”
Machin neither nodded nor shrugged. Carefully, he set the bulb on a shelf with the closed end on top. He dipped the tongs inside the bucket again and pulled out another chunk of stone that was not a stone and shoved it inside the furnace. Flames rose and licked the edges of the object, heating it to a deep orange glow.
Light, thought Serah. She considered the lanterns. All were lit, but none held candles or flame. Her gaze passed back and forth between the furnace and the lanterns filled with white light. “Master Machin, where do you get the light for the insides of the lanterns?”
“That, dear Serah Kettel, is something that will be revealed to my apprentice.”
She bit her tongue, worried she’d asked too much, sadly remembering that she was not his apprentice, at least not yet. She muffled a sigh. If I don’t get this position, I’m ruined. I couldn’t go back, even if there was something to go back to. She wrapped her arms around her middle and waited, hoping she’d come up with something impressive to say to erase her mistake—something that would help Machin choose her as his next apprentice.
Once the bulb he was working on cooled, he set it on the shelf next to the first. This one, however, was more angular in shape, with edges like a cube set on its side. That will make a beautiful lantern, Serah thought.
Machin turned around and pointed the tongs at the shelf. “Which of the two bulbs do you prefer, Serah Kettel?”
She rubbed her chin. I wonder if this is a test. What do I say? If I choose the wrong one, will he turn me away?
“It’s not a difficult question, child. There is no wrong answer. I’m merely asking for an opinion, your preference.”
The flesh on Serah’s back and arms crawled with a spidery, tingly feeling. “May I take a closer look?”
Machin shrugged and stepped out of her way. The clink of metal hitting metal rang from somewhere behind her. She guessed he’d dropped the tongs back inside the bucket. Flame from the furnace reflected off the glass objects before her, both crystal clear and hollow. Though she found the diamond-shaped bulb more pleasing to look at, there was something about the round bulb—the first of the two Machin had pulled from the furnace. Her knees shook.
Serah pointed a finger at the round bulb.
“Are you sure?” Machin called from behind her.
She stepped forward. Her knees knocked together. Yes. No. I don’t know.
“Yes?”
The tip of her finger kissed the glass.
The bulb filled with smoke. A blue spark formed in its center, and then stretched to a finger-sized lightning bolt that crackled and reached out to her. When it zapped her finger, she fell back.
Serah stared at the ceiling, her finger still pointing—not to the lanterns, but to the round bulb on the shelf.
She lifted her head. Her mouth opened wide in horror. The bulb was empty, as if she’d imagined everything.
Warmth surrounded her outstretched hand and pointed finger. Large eyes blinked down at her from behind goggles.
“Serah Kettel,” Machin said, pulling her to her feet. “You must go now. If you wish to accept the position, return here in two weeks’ time.”
Chapter 2
The doorplate jangled when the door shut. Serah was on the porch again, alone. Tears spilled and splashed across her cheeks. Those of relief were few compared to the droplets of sadness with which they mixed. What do I do for the next two weeks? And where do I go?
Stomach grumblings preceded a torrent of fresh tears. Serah untied her headscarf and pulled it loose, freeing the dark braids underneath. She sobbed into the headscarf, soaking every inch of tattered cloth as she stepped across the forest’s fringe. Hiking through the snarl of underbrush and trees was difficult during the daytime, but she’d fought her way to Machin’s cottage with sunshine reaching through the canopy of trees. Now, the last beams of daylight dappled tree trunks, and great horned owls hooted to their mates. Serah trembled, imagining what else hid in the forest that didn’t sleep at night.
Leaves, browned and decayed, crunched underfoot. Serah pressed lightly, avoiding roots and sinkholes hidden beneath the leaves. Focus overrode fear, leaving room for a renewed awareness of hunger.
In an attempt to smother the twisting and cramping of her stomach, she tightened the scrap of apron around her middle. The pressure on her stomach did nothing to soothe the dryness of her lips and throat. How stupid of me to think it rude to ask Machin for a mug of water. There’s no stream or surface water anywhere. But, maybe…
Serah snapped a dry, low limb from a tree and poked the ground. She repeated the motion as she walked, searching for a soft spot in the soil. The stick crunched through leaves and struck dry ground and roots. After many failed attempts, Serah’s stride shortened. She staggered, depending on the limb for its support as a walking stick. Her cheeks flushed and body temperature rose despite the evening chill, but she was too weak to notice.
The edge of a rock caught the front of Serah’s foot. She stumbled forward. Both hands grabbed for the walking stick. Ragged breath scratched her lips as the stick hit the forest floor, and then kept going. Her knees met the ground with a squishing, sucking sound.
Serah shook the dizziness that clouded her sight and smiled as if awoken from a dream. Still kneeling, she cleared the surrounding leaves and pulled the stick from a gooey puddle of mud. A half-crazed cry echoed from her lips. “Groundwater!”
She dug a hole next to the mud puddle, rounding out the edges until the opening was too large for her hand to cover. Slowly, moisture seeped through the soil and filled the hole. Cupping her hands, she scooped out as much of the muddy water as she could. She licked her lips and waited for the hole to fill again.
Serah dipped her hands in the tiny, homemade well and scooped out another handful of liquid. She watched carefully as it trickled through her fingers beneath the light of the moon. Frowning, she resisted the urge to taste what she knew was still
too cloudy to drink.
Gray-brown water and chunks of mud splashed as she emptied the hole a second time. The insides of her mouth and throat itched. She swallowed back a dry cough. Having water so close, but not quite ready, burned her tongue more than not having found any at all.
The next collection resulted in a clearer liquid, and the next clearer still. Unable to wait any longer, Serah scooped a double handful and pressed it to her lips. She drank hungrily, sighing when the well was empty. After drinking through a second helping, Serah sat back against a tree to rest. Eyelids half closed. She would have smiled had her stomach not chosen that moment to rumble and twist in a knot. She rubbed the cramp from her middle and narrowed her eyes. Shapes blurred and blended in the darkness.
Frowning, Serah returned to the mud puddle. She pressed her hands to the soggy ground and brushed back more leaves to measure its reach. The puddle led to trees and bushes, roots, and more trees. Boughs drooped from a pair of bushes that had intertwined. Each bough was filled with clusters of dark berries. Serah puckered her lips. If Machin knew my situation, maybe he’d take me in early. Or, maybe I could wait here and live on berries and water. She plucked a berry, brought it to her lips, and stopped. But if they are poisonous—
Her lower lip quivered. Tears fell, accompanied by ugly sobs.
The bough she’d plucked the berry from rustled.
“Who’s there?” she squeaked.
After more rustling and a yawn, a male voice called out, “When are you goin’ to learn to stop with the blubberin’? The blotches dwarf your eyes.”
She rubbed her face and squinted at the bush.
The bough shook with laughter. “That’s even worse!” A youth stepped out from a hollow space within the bushes. His scrawny build made him appear more boyish.
“Graham, what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to know if you got the ’prenticeship.” The darkness wasn’t strong enough to hide the pink in his cheeks. “If not, I thought I might apply.”
He popped a handful of berries in his mouth.
“Wait! How do you know those are edible?”
“They’re elderberries.” He shrugged. “I’d know them anywhere.”
Serah scowled at him until she was convinced he wasn’t lying. Then, she tucked as many berries as she could in the folds of her apron.
“At least you could have washed them first,” she muttered. “Have you been hiding in there all this time?”
Graham cracked a smile, eying the mud on her hands and dress. “Yes. You woke me from my nap, but I’m hurtin’ to know what’s happened to you.”
“Fine then, come on,” said Serah, leading him to the well.
Minutes later, Graham knelt for a long draft of water. “Nice work. Explains the mud, too.” He sat back and wiped his lips with his sleeve, watching Serah intently.
She washed the elderberries by the handful and stuffed them in her mouth.
“You know,” she said, once her stomach pangs settled and began to fade. “You could have saved yourself the trek out here.”
Graham raised a rust-colored brow. “So, you got it—the ’prenticeship?”
Serah curtly nodded.
“Then why were you cryin’?”
Not wanting to admit that she was upset about not being able to identify the berries, Serah remained silent for a moment before stating another truth—one that led to where she was now. “I was hoping Machin would let me start right away.”
“Did you ask him to?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I wanted to leave him with a good impression of me.”
Graham snorted. “From what I’ve heard, no one who applies for Machin’s ’prenticeships is known for leavin’ good impressions.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes grew large. “What have you heard?”
“Happy people keep livin’ their lives as they are. Those of us who aren’t go knockin’ at Machin’s door, lookin’ for somethin’ better.”
Chapter 3
“Seein’ as you got the position, I guess I’ll head back home.” Graham jumped from the ground and reached inside a mud-soaked pocket.
A scratching noise preceded three clicks. Sulfurous smoke seeped into the air. Serah guarded her nose against a stench that stung her nostrils.
One end of the object Graham held produced a blue flame. The smelly neon light spread, illuminating a small area of forest surrounding them, including the mysterious device.
Serah’s hand fell away from her face. “Graham, why didn’t you say you had a mechanical torch?”
He rubbed a smudge from the torch’s brassy exterior, and shrugged. “Guess I didn’t need it till now.”
“Where did you get an instrument like that?”
Grinning, Graham passed her by, and continued walking. He glanced over his shoulder. “It was a gift.”
“From whom?” Serah said, shuffling to catch up.
The blue glow darkened tree trunks and lightened the dried-up leaves. Shadows cast peculiar shapes across the forest floor.
Serah huffed as she pulled her dress from the jagged end of a log. “Who sent you the torch, Graham?”
He chuckled. “What would you say if I told you Machin gave it to me?”
“I’d say hogwash. I found you halfway through the forest, on your way to his cottage.”
“Yes, you did, but he gave it to me yesterday.”
Serah crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you.”
“I wasn’t thinkin’ you would, which is why I kept proof.”
“What proof?”
Graham pulled from his pocket a square paper stitched through with a loop of twine, and handed it to her. “I found this yesterday mornin’. It was attached to the torch. That word at the end—I know it says Machin ’cause it looks just like the signature at the end of the sign. The one you read to me about the ’prenticeship.”
He hovered the torch above the paper.
Words sounded carefully from Serah’s lips. “This torch will light the way from your end of the forest to mine. I wish you the best, Machin.” Her lips pulled back in horror. What could this mean? Did Machin intend for Graham to be his apprentice? Or was the torch meant for me?
“Machin must have known I’ve been livin’ in the trees that border the edge of the village proper,” said Graham.
Life drained from Serah’s face, accompanied by a sick feeling in her stomach. Unsure what to say, she handed Machin’s message back to him.
“You believe me now, yeah?”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” she said.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s a useful gift, and I don’t blame Machin one bit for wantin’ you as his ’prentice instead of me.”
Serah turned her head to the side to hide the tear that slid down her cheek. After swiftly wiping the droplet away, she followed in silence.
Once their footsteps touched the edge of the forest, Graham paused near a stream. He bent down to rinse a metal cup, filled it with water, and offered it to Serah.
“I can walk you the rest of the way to your home,” he said.
Serah accepted the cup. As the cool, sweet water trickled down her throat, she took in the hammock of woven rags tied between two trees. Her glance fell to the ground, to a pile of additional metal cups and bowls.
“No, that’s not necessary,” she said. “I can find my way there.”
Graham pushed out his lower lip. “You never know who’s out at night. There are probably more people wanderin’ the village than hidin’ behind the trees. I’ll walk you anyway.”
“No, really.” She thought quickly. “I wouldn’t want you to run out of fuel for your torch.”
“That’s the funny thing, Serah. It never does. I click this switch and it lights. I click it again and it snuffs. I’ve looked it all over—there’s no place to add sulfur.”
Serah sucked in a breath. The torch glowed as brightly as when it was first lit. Had there
been any doubt, or hope, that this was not a gift from Machin, it evaporated.
Graham took her arm in his. “Come on. Your parents will be expectin’ you. They’ll want to know all about your new position.”
“No, I—” Guilt stirred her insides, but she couldn’t bring herself to finish her explanation. It was bad enough that she had a home—a house with a real bed, and clothes, and parents—whereas Graham did not. She closed her eyes, letting Graham lead the way.
They stepped out into the village. The canopy of trees receded under a sky that glittered with stars. Houses, their lights extinguished for the night, slumbered by a street that ran alongside a narrowed section of the stream.
Moonlight mixed with the torch’s blue glow. Hounds and goats looked up from beds of dust and grass as the pair walked by. Foraging felines raised their noses to the air and mewed at the trail of sulfur left behind. Graham shooed one of the cats, a brave shorthair, who’d begun to follow. Its eyes shined sapphire-gray before it turned and sprang for the shadows.
At the end of the street, the stream poured into a river and disappeared beneath a cart bridge. A wooden sign pointed across the bridge, to farmlands and a town with a market and an inn.
Graham’s footsteps slowed to a halt. He freed his arm from Serah’s, dipped the torch nearer the ground and smiled. Several holes, each slightly larger than Serah’s hand, rested between the edge of the stream and a house. Water inside the holes gleamed under the blue light.
“If I hadn’t been watchin’ my step in the dark, I might have missed those,” he said. “Is that more of your handicraft?”
A blush spread across Serah’s cheeks. She squeezed her hands together behind her back and nodded, hoping he wouldn’t ask more on the subject.
“There’s no shame in knowin’ a useful skill.” When this didn’t prompt a response, he glanced up at the house. “Here you are, safely home.”
Serah’s attention flashed back and forth between Graham and the door. “Thank you for walking me.”
He moved to shove his hands in his pockets but only managed to bury the one that was wasn’t holding the torch. “It was nothin’. Cheers again on the ’prenticeship.”
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