all the goodbyes and thank yous, we led the horses up The Cliffs. The ascent felt easier. Perhaps because I tended to look up instead of down.
We reached The Flats without any problems. As soon as we were rested, Zitora mounted Sudi. “Varun, you’ll ride with me. Kade, you’re with Opal.”
When no one moved, Zitora ordered, “Let’s go. I want to get in a few more miles before we stop for the night.”
I don’t know why I thought Zitora and I would share a mount, but it appeared the men had assumed the same thing. They glanced at each other. Varun shrugged. He shouldered his pack and swung up behind Zitora.
Quartz bumped my arm with her nose. If horses could laugh, I had the feeling she would be chuckling.
Kade grabbed Quartz’s reins. “Should I?” he asked.
“No. She’s my horse. I’ll take them.”
“Suit yourself.”
I hopped into the saddle and Kade settled in behind me. It was a tight fit. I tried not to think about his legs pressed against mine, and about where my backside was nestled. Strong arms wrapped around my waist. I was suddenly glad he couldn’t see my flushed face. His chest molded to my back and the orb’s song grew louder. Its energy vibrated in my heart.
I urged Quartz into a gallop, hoping to distract myself from the hot tingle pulsing through my blood.
We aimed toward the setting sun and kept going once the light disappeared. Zitora slowed our pace, allowing the horses to find a good path in the darkness.
Kade had remained quiet, but I felt him draw a breath. “When I asked you what the orb says to you, I meant just general feelings like happy, sad or angry. Stormdancers hear the storm’s personality in the orb. I wanted to see if it was the same for you.” A pause. “You surprised me with your answer.”
Was this an apology? I searched for a reply. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know that … now.”
We rode for a while without saying anything. Finally, I asked, “Storms have personalities?”
“Yes. There’re subtle differences in the storms. A few blow big and angry, others delight in their energy, some rage with malice, while others brood. Strange, I know.”
“Not strange to me. It’s similar to my glass animals. They all call to me in different ways. If I really thought about it, I could assign emotions to them like you do with the storms.”
He huffed. “I never would have thought storms and glass could have something in common.”
“But you put the storm’s energy into glass.”
“Before I met you, I thought glass was just a container. No personality. I didn’t realize what could be done with it.”
“What do you mean?”
A grunt of frustration. “It’s like paint.”
“Paint?”
“Yes, paint. I can dip a brush and smooth paint on a canvas, but all I end up with is a smear of paint. While another can use that same paint and create a masterpiece.”
“I would hardly call my animals masterpieces.”
“Can anyone else do it?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then they are truly unique and you should be proud of them.”
I squirmed at the thought. I was proud of what they could do, but Tula’s glass creations were crafted better. More life-like in detail and sought after by collectors, especially since there would be no more. A flare of grief burned in my throat. I swallowed it down and changed the subject.
“Why do you keep the orb?” I asked.
His grip on my waist tightened for a moment before he relaxed. “I was filling the orb when my sister died. Kaya worked on another outcrop two hundred feet away during a sullen storm. I knew the instant her orb shattered. By the time I reached her, she had lost too much blood.”
I wanted to express my regret, but, after what had happened in his cave, I kept quiet.
“I keep the orb because it … comforts me. I don’t expect you to understand, but it reminds me of Kaya. She could be sullen and moody, yet when she smiled, all was forgiven.”
I understood all too well. Siblings fight. They hate each other and love each other, and there are times when one emotion is a heartbeat away from the other.
“Perhaps that’s why the orb sings her name,” I said.
“Perhaps.” A long pause, then he whispered, “But I don’t hear her name.”
Zitora finally stopped when the moon reached its zenith. We made a fire from the driftwood we had packed. After sitting on the ground for a few minutes, I wished we had taken a couple chairs, too.
“We’ll have to buy fresh supplies,” Zitora said. “How far are your stockpiles from the market?”
“Not far. The market is an hour’s ride east,” Varun answered.
I thought about the location of their stockpiles. “How do you get the glass ingredients down to the beach?” I asked Varun. “Wagons won’t fit on The Cliff’s trail.”
“There is another way to the beach. If you head northwest through the Krystal Clan’s lands, there’s a wide slope down to the coast. Then you go straight south to reach The Cliffs. It’s the long way. When we’re in a hurry, we take the loads over The Flats and lower them with ropes. An unpleasant task.”
He launched into a story about losing a whole load of lime when a rope broke. “It looked like it snowed on The Cliffs” He chuckled. Then he added—with a touch of sourness—”Being the youngest, I was assigned the task of scraping lime off the rocks and picking out impurities before my father and sister could put it into the glass mix.”
“Why make the orbs on-site? Why not make them in Thunder Valley and transport them to The Cliffs?” I asked. “It would be easier.”
“I asked my father the same thing.” Varun squirmed into a more comfortable position. “He quoted me three reasons. Tradition, secrecy and convenience in case more orbs are needed during the storm seasons. Although having to wait twelve hours for an orb seems long to me.”
“Better than two days,” Kade said. “And it could be the difference between life and death.”
Varun and I talked for a while about glassmaking in general.
At one point, Varun shook his head. “I don’t feel the same … enthusiasm you do about working with glass,” he said. “To me, it’s a job to get done so I can go do other things.”
“You have time for other activities?” I asked.
“Sure. We work for four weeks making orbs, wait out each season just in case they need more, and then have the rest of the year to ourselves.” Varun picked up a stick and poked the fire. “Usually we work other jobs.” Poke. Sparks flew. “We don’t get enough money from crafting orbs to live.” He jabbed at the embers.
“You’re well paid for a half a season of work,” Kade said. His tone held a warning note.
Varun snorted, but said nothing.
Zitora broke the awkward silence with orders for everyone to get a few hours’ rest.
“A few?” Varun asked.
“Seventeen days left,” Zitora replied.
“What about setting a watch schedule?” I asked her.
“No need. I’ll know if anyone comes close.”
“Will you let them? I’d like a little notice if I’m