Maria Snyder - Storm Glass

“Purple?” Zitora asked.

“Purple,” my father repeated. “The water reacted to the Brittle Talc, changing color. We didn’t know the name then, but when I made glass with lime that didn’t turn purple, it didn’t break. I was just happy to be back in business, but the other glassmakers who had been hit by the Brittle Talc decided to retaliate.”

“The Glass Wars,” I said, remembering my father’s stories. “You never told us about the Brittle Talc before.”

“I didn’t want you to know about it. Eventually, the man responsible for bringing the talc to Booruby was caught and the factory owners who started the whole mess were arrested. The factories that had survived the war in one piece signed an agreement to work together. Only a few of us knew about the talc and we promised to keep it quiet. There hasn’t been a problem—besides minor disagreements—since.”

Father pulled the bowl from my hands and set it on his desk. “This is a sample of the lime you brought back from the Stormdance Clan.” He tipped a glass of water into it. The lime turned purple.

“Could the talc get into the Stormdance lime by accident?” Zitora asked.

“Nope.”

“Who knows about Brittle Talc?”

“Me, my brother and two other master glassmakers.”

“Where does it come from?” I asked.

My father shot me a proud smile even though my question didn’t show any great intelligence on my part. “Ixia.”

Ixia. The northern country was named twice since I’ve been working with the Stormdancers. The old lady who sold me the glass vase at the Thunder Valley market also mentioned Ixia.

“We have a trade treaty with Ixia. All goods sent over the border either way are supposed to be recorded. Perhaps we can find out who is exporting Brittle Talc to Sitia. What is it made from?” Zitora asked.

“From the flowers of the Chudori plant. When dried, they can be crushed into a fine powder. The plant grows near the northern ice sheet and at the base of the Ixian Soul Mountains.”

“In other words, in locations where no one lives.” Zitora frowned.

“Where no one can witness the harvesting of the flowers.” He swirled the contents of the bowl.

“What about the man who was caught for bringing Brittle Talc to Booruby?” I asked. “Was he from Ixia or Sitia? Did he mention anyone who helped him make the talc?”

“Back then you could cross the border to Ixia without papers or permission. He had the pale coloring of a northerner. He claimed he worked alone, but he wouldn’t tell us anything more about himself or the talc.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No. He was killed in prison by a glassmaker’s son. The young man’s father killed himself when his business was destroyed and the son managed to get arrested and thrown into the same prison. No one in Booruby grieved.”

We sat for a while in silence. I mulled over the information my father had given us.

“Are any of the other glass ingredients from the Stormdancers tainted?” I asked.

Father gestured to the array of bowls. “Not that I could find, but there is always a chance it could be a substance I haven’t seen before.”

Zitora leaned closer to the desk. “How big of a chance?”

I answered for him. “Tiny. He’s been working with glass for over thirty years.”

“Opal, now don’t go making me sound so smart. But I will say the Brittle Talc is the only substance I found that affects the density of the glass. If there was another problem with the orbs, then I would tell the Stormdancers to buy all new ingredients for their glass.”

But all they needed to buy was clean lime. “So the spiked lime was sabotaged. Who would do it?” No one spoke for a moment. I listed suspects in my mind, including the Stormdancers and the glassmakers. “Do you think the ambushers had anything to do with the tainted lime?”

“It’s possible. They planned to stop us from helping the Stormdancers. I would like to know who told them we were coming,” Zitora said.

“What’s next?” I asked her.

“I’ll contact Kade and tell him to order clean lime. We can question the glassmakers who knew about Brittle Talc before we leave.”

“I’ll talk to my brother,” my father said. “See if he heard anything.”

While Zitora returned to the house to pack, I stayed and helped my father clean his lab. As he handed me bottles of chemicals to put away, he explained the purpose of each one.

“When you add this white sand to the mix, it helps reduce seeds in your glass,” Father said.

His comment reminded me about the vase I had bought at Thunder Valley. It had many seeds or bubbles. When we finished, I ran to the house to retrieve my vase and met him in the kitchen.

“Missed dinner,” he said between bites.

I unwrapped the package, hoping the glass was still in one piece. The vase had been well cushioned and survived being blown by Kade’s wind.

My father held the piece up to the lantern light to examine it. The green bubbles refracted the light, casting splashes of color along the walls. “Interesting use of seeds.”

“How does it feel?” I asked.

“Light yet sturdy. Smooth. Well crafted.”

He misunderstood my question. I searched for the right words. “Do you feel any popping or throbbing through your…?” My words died in my mouth. His bewilderment told me all I needed to know.

“Throbbing? As in magic?”

A glimmer of hope. Perhaps he did know. “Yes.”

“No. I never felt anything from glass. It feels like a cold piece of crystal in my hands.”

I masked my disappointment.

“However, I recognize the craftsmanship and can tell you who made this.”

“Who?” Perhaps another magician like me!

“Ulrick, Cesca’s youngest son. Do you remember him?”

“Vaguely. Didn’t you work with Cesca on a big project?”

“Yep. I had an order for a hundred jars I couldn’t fill in time. She offered to help and we’ve worked together on a number of projects since then. In fact, she’s one of the glassmakers who was around during the Glass Wars and knows about the Brittle Talc.”

The coincidence seemed too easy, but it made sense. Cesca reminded me of my father. She was dedicated to her craft; she experimented with different recipes and tried new methods of glassmaking. Her children probably learned from her.

The only memory I have of Ulrick was his complete disregard for Ahir, Tula and me. He had followed Mara as if she held him on a leash.

Zitora came into the kitchen, dragging her saddlebag. My mother followed, carrying my bags.

“Mother,” I admonished, rushing to relieve her of the heavy burden. “You should be in bed. Dawn’s not for another hour.”

“Who can sleep with all the ruckus?” she said. “Besides you’re not leaving my house without something hot in your stomachs.” She held a hand up. “I don’t want to hear it. Opal, stir the fire to life and heat up the teakettle. Jaymes, take Master Cowan’s bag and saddle the horses.”

I laughed at Zitora’s chagrin as we hurried to complete our assigned tasks. “You might as well sit down and enjoy the attention,” I told her. “Next time you visit, you’ll be considered a member of the family and she’ll order you around, too.”

A slight wistful tone crept into the Master Magician’s voice. “I would like that very much.”

With stomachs full of Mother’s special sweet cakes, Zitora and I said our goodbyes to my family, and headed into the heart of Booruby. It was about an hour past dawn. The streets hummed with early-morning activity. Citizens bustled along the sidewalks as wagons rumbled over the cobblestones, making deliveries.

“Wicent’s factory is down Morgan Street.” I pointed to the curl of gray smoke hanging above a stone building. “Where do you want to meet?” Wicent was the other glassmaker who knew about Brittle Talc.