Storm Glass by Maria V. Snyder Page B

hands and arms were numb from holding it. I covered it with another blanket to muffle its song. Between the roar of the storm and the trill of the orb, I would soon have a headache.
      I checked on Quartz before returning to the fire. She munched her hay, appearing to be unconcerned about the weather. I scratched behind her left ear and she groaned in contentment.
      When I sat down, Raiden handed me a dull knife and a handful of clams. I wouldn’t be allowed to partake in the meal without helping. I fumbled for a while, trying to pry open a shell. It didn’t take me long to find a rhythm, discovering another use for my strong hands.
      Tal arrived soaking wet and sullen. He popped open a few clams without looking or speaking to anyone. The rest just ignored him.
      Conversation focused on the orbs. I had been reluctant to state my theories before seeing how the glass was made, but when I examined the new orb in the firelight I felt more confident.
      “Something is wrong with the mix,” I said, holding up my hand to stop the protest perched on Indra’s lips. “The recipe is right, but the sand, soda ash or lime isn’t.”
      “What’s wrong with them?” Nodin asked.
      “You could have gotten a bad batch.”
      “Not helping.” Nodin tossed a clam into the pot.
      “There is something in the mix that is causing the glass to be less dense. It can’t absorb the energy from the storm.”
      “Which ingredient is deficient?” Indra asked.
      “I don’t know. I could take samples of each to my father. He would be able to find out.”
      “What do we do in the meantime?” Raiden asked. “The storms are only going to get worse.”
      “Kade is dancing now. Why can’t you have all your Stormdancers bleeding off energy until we figure out what is wrong?”
      Tal snorted with derision. “All he’s doing is taking a small stick out of a big fire.”
      “It’s dangerous. No other Stormdancer would do it. There’s no reason for the risk.” Raiden nodded at me as if we shared a private joke.
      “The almighty Kade likes to show off,” Tal grumbled. “Rub it in.”
      “He has his own reasons.” Raiden stirred the stew.
      After we had tossed the empty shells to the beach, Nodin asked about my magic. “Tell me again how it works.”
      Zitora and I explained about the two uses of my pieces.
      “I can use this new one when my unicorn is spent,” Zitora said.
      “No.” The word sprang from my throat before logic could be applied. “I want to keep it to…to compare it to…my other works.” Weak explanation, I knew, but this orb hummed like Kade’s sphere and I was reluctant to give it away.
      “How is this different?” Nodin asked.
      “It has a different…call.”
      “Call?” Nodin cocked an eyebrow, inviting enlightenment.
      “Each of my glass pieces calls to me. I don’t hear it like sound. I feel it.” I tapped my chest. “Inside. Whenever one of my animals is close to me, I know which one it is and where it is even if I can’t see it.”
      He whistled. “You could feel this before you fell into the water and hit your head on the rocks? Right?”
      “Yes.”
      “Because it makes more sense the other way.”
      “Nodin,” Raiden warned. “That’s enough.”
      We ate our stew in relative silence. The keening of the wind echoed in the cavern and errant gusts fanned the flames. Soon a fine sea mist coated everything in the cave.

      I didn’t sleep well. My cot felt as if it bobbed on a wild sea and the wind infiltrated my dreams, moaning a name over and over in my mind. Laced with grief and loss, the wind’s cry filled my heart with sadness.
      The storm passed by daybreak. Kade arrived. Exhaustion lined his face and his clothes dripped with seawater.
      “Fall in?” Tal asked with barely concealed spite.
      If Kade noticed, he didn’t show it. He nodded. “Lost my grip for a second and was blown