Chapter 3 #2
“Don’t even think about it.” His gaze hardens.
I’m out of time. I control my breathing, but my eyes flit to my carriage, judging the distance.
“Move and you’re dead,” he growls. “Waste of talent, really. You should have thought about joining us.”
“Joining you?” I say. Just a minute longer.
“Serving the master. We could train you up with the new recruits.” His head tilts. “Doubt you’ll survive, but seems a pity just to kill you.”
Several long seconds tick by as I pretend to agonize over the choice, biting my lip, panic flickering across my face. My fear isn’t even an illusion.
Then I grin. I can’t help myself.
He frowns.
“I won’t be joining you today,” I say, pressing my lips together to smother my smile. The other two sandsmugglers, halfway through packing away boxes into their newly appeared wagon, turn to watch.
“Very well.” His eyes narrow, and he raises his voice, calling to the other two. “Handle the book with care. The boy has already gone mad from it.”
That word—boy—burns hotter than the sun.
A swallow steels my throat as I ready myself for one final gamble. The most deadly of all.
“I didn’t think it would be so easy.” My smirk curls, and a dangling chain swings between my fingers. My pulse hammers at the danger crackling in the desert air.
The copper key glints blindingly in the sun.
He’s motionless for a moment, then snatches at his chest. I let the illusion of the key’s weight—warm metal against skin—crumble to nothing. No point wasting an ounce more magic than I need.
“You—” he spits, but the furious flick of his hand-signs to the smugglers behind him is what turns my blood cold. They disappear. I have until they confirm the shard is missing before they’re after me, if one of them isn’t already.
Insidious claws scrape at my senses, and it takes a sharp jerk on several of my amulets to fend off their hallucinations. I’m draining my stores, and fast. Adrenaline cuts through the fog.
“It’s not so much about the key itself,” I drawl, trying to goad him away from masking his reactions. “It’s more about the space around the edges. All in the periphery, you know?”
His hands clench at his sides, but he doesn’t move. Buying time for his comrades, perhaps. “You won’t find it.”
I laugh—cruel and cold—dizzy on all the power I’m drawing. “Find this?”
The triangular mirrored shard glints in my hand, wrapped in beige silk.
His eyes bulge. His entire body tenses.
Confirmation.
A rush of giddiness heightens the intoxicating rush of magic pouring through me. It floods me with the false confidence I need.
Time to get out of here.
“Your real mistake,” I say, my focus splitting in two, “is the expression on your face. This must be the real thing.”
His roar of curses is expected, and then he finally charges at me. Illusion or not, it doesn’t matter. I sidestep smoothly, dodging blows as my heart goes wild. Everything goes well until the fist of one of the other smugglers materializes from nowhere and swings clean through my head.
Oh well.
I abandon the facade. My projection-self erupts into blinding white light, misdirecting their attention.
I’m already sprinting for the carriage, leaping up the steps.
“Fucking magician!” the smuggler shrieks, whipping his head around.
But my carriage is already rolling away toward safety.
Several decoy carriages scatter across the sand in different directions.
I’m hesitant to use the additional chunk of magic, but I have to be safe.
True invisibility is out of the question after the toll of what I just pulled off.
I shrug off the borrowed face like an itchy coat, settling back into my usual features. The disguise should put them on the wrong trail when they search for me, as long as I sounded conceited enough to show them my face.
I’m not that stupid.
I’m not doing this for glory.
The buzzing high of the power rush still thrums through me, as well as the thrill of pulling off such a risky deception. I shake my arms out, then replace the amulets strapped to my skin.
The hidden latch beneath the bench clicks under my fingers. I lift the thin compartment and the ancient leather-bound book lies snug inside. Their fury will be spectacular when they discover it’s missing. But their intentions weren’t any more honorable than my own.
The double decoy was a risk. The first book had to seem illusory enough that they would notice, while still appearing like I was trying. The second book had to be flawless, so they would trust it without a doubt. I shrug off the exhilaration and exhaustion of such a show, but my smile lingers.
And the simple truth is: I need the real book more than they do. I need it more than the Head Glassmaster herself, who, with any luck, won’t discover its absence for several weeks yet.
Both the book and the shard carry the telltale blue sheen, strong enough to distinguish them as relics.
Their power hums beneath my fingers, drawing me in, and I oblige them as we roll along the sand.
No one should be able to overtake a carriage from the Halls of Glass.
Not with the desert’s guidance. Hopefully it won’t take more than a few days to reach the edge.
To be safe, I ration my water and take only careful sips from the first of my glass bottles—the taste still cool and sweet.
Some minutes pass before it hits me: I’ve been staring down at the relics in my lap, toying with the reflection of the page in the mirror, and the way the symbols shift and change. I draw my attention away and peer out the window to ensure I don’t have any pursuers.
Except, there is one.
Fucking labyrinth.
A lone figure trails me. I squint. Mounted on something shaped like a horse? It can’t be. Nothing truly equine would be able to withstand the harsh heat of the sun on the sand, but that doesn’t matter. The rider has won against the odds, pursuing me into the desert.
I should have checked sooner. I’d let the dizzying surge of magic distract me.
I press my lips into a line and tally the amulets left in my pocket, reluctantly including the one I can’t spend.
There are alarmingly few. Even if I vanish the entire carriage, I won’t be able to maintain it for long enough to lose the rider.
And he’s far enough away that any attack on his senses will drain the last of my stores.
But I trust the desert. It seems to sense my need.
The air thickens at my attention, heavy, raw magic rolling in with the rising tide. I turn to look ahead of the carriage.
A mountainous plume of sand pillars into the sky, taking my breath away. It writhes in the air, growing larger by the second until it’s greater even than the Halls.
The perfect sandstorm.
My grin feels wild.
Salty-sweet magic crackles on my tongue and living wind sings its way inside the carriage to caress me, humming with promises. I shiver, closing my eyes, inhaling it all. My skin prickles with the heady static that pulses and presses around me.
I don’t dare fight or flee from such power. Instead, I urge the carriage straight toward it, offering myself up to its heart. To my delight—and relief—the carriage responds to my hopes and veers into the storm. No sane pursuer will follow me.
I can’t shake the crazed smile from my face.
The hum of the wind picks up against the glass of the window, whistling ethereal harmonies. Sparks quiver anywhere my muscles are tense; I relax them one by one, popping with little bursts of ecstasy. Resisting only makes it worse.
All I can do is trust the desert.
The carriage plunges into the wall of dust and the darkness engulfs me.
Only the triumphant screech of the sand remains, the raw, feral sister to glass.
Its voices laugh and chant and call out to me, whispering secrets I can almost make out.
It’s like passing into a dream, and my eyes fall shut to hear better.
I’m pulled forward. The carriage rumbles at the same steady pace, but I lose myself to the trance. The whispers wander inside my head, rifling through thoughts and murmuring ideas that I cling to, hoping to remember. They feel so right.
Time drifts away from me.
Then I’m being jammed back to my senses with such force that it expels the air from my lungs. The roar of the wind drops to nothing, stealing back every secret that never belonged to me.
Achingly empty, I look out upon the wide sky. The deep blue darkness clears above, unveiling a vast canvas of stars.
I wrap my cloak around myself at the sudden cool. Pale light brushes the ground, just enough to silver the sand but not enough to reveal any shapes behind me. I can only hope I lost my pursuer in the storm.
Up ahead, an inky line approaches. Unease sinks into me. I don’t know how many hours have passed, but the desert usually rages for days without tiring.
I can’t deny the edge coming into view. Blurry shapes of shadowed brown take form as I approach, and my frown deepens. I’ve never arrived so soon.
The village isn’t the one I expect. The huts are tiny and battered, fragile like they might crumple under the slightest breeze. At the same time, they carry the tired permanence of structures that have endured a thousand years and mean to endure a thousand more.
I blink at this place.
It’s filthy, even in the near darkness. Stubby fence posts jut from the sand, crude and uneven, and a fresh dusting coats the grayish plants they enclose.
Brown grasses and shrubbery poke up sporadically.
The few trees look so exhausted they’ve gnarled in on themselves.
It must be high tide—the sand practically nibbles the closest hut.
Why would anyone live here? The people of this village must be tougher than leather and twice as bitter.
I scrunch my nose, not wanting to find out.
The carriage passes a haphazard pile of orange rocks—a sad excuse for a cairn—and shudders. Then it slows and stops.
I remain seated on the bench. Part of me still expects the carriage to turn around, or to suddenly see through this pitiful illusion of a village. Nothing stirs. Not even a shrub quivers.
The carriage doesn’t budge.
I exhale a long, frustrated breath. I could try turning it around manually, but disobeying the desert’s wishes is a recipe for misfortune. The sands could easily deliver the horde of sandsmugglers on my heels.
But why bring me here? I narrow my eyes. Tucking the book and the shard safely beneath the bench, I push the door open and step out. When I turn back, the door has already swung shut.
Cautiously, I reach for the latch.
Wind gusts in front of me. Sand stings the exposed skin above my gloves, and I pull my hand back. The puff dies as quickly as it started. I could push through, but it’s a warning.
I stare at the carriage, then start to laugh.
An incredulous burst that climbs into something wild.
Throwing my head back, I laugh up at the desert sky until the whispers laugh alongside me.
I stole not one but two precious artifacts, and now I’m being held hostage in some middle-of-nowhere village until I figure out why the desert sent me here.
Regaining my composure, I sharpen my focus. I have very little magic left, and I have to stay hidden until I’m certain the rider didn’t make it through the storm.
Why did the desert send me here?
The sooner I find out, the sooner the sands will let me leave.