Tebbs had pulled her brown hair into an intricate knot on top of her head. Her gaze swept us with sharp interest, but she glanced away as if bored when I tried to make eye contact. She appeared to be near Heli’s age of sixteen, but she acted like an older woman, copying Prin’s mannerisms and gestures.
“Where’s Heli?” I asked Raiden. Heli’s youth and enthusiasm tended to energize those around her.
“Out searching the beach for treasure,” he said.
“Treasure?” Leif asked.
“What Heli considers treasure.” Raiden sighed. “Shells, odd driftwood shapes, stones and coral. Her cave is full of junk.”
“She has a few beautiful pieces,” I said in her defense.
Raiden snorted and returned to his stew. The smell of steamed clams wafted from the pot. Leif wrinkled his nose, but couldn’t resist following Raiden to peek under the lid.
The glassmakers talked to Kade. I joined them, much to Zetta’s dismay. She shot me an annoyed frown and a warning flared in her brown eyes. Kade, however, made room for me.
“…just need the sand recipe and we should have melt by tomorrow,” Ziven said. His black hair had been twisted into long ropes that hung over his shoulders and back.
“Then the kiln is hot?” I asked.
He glanced at Kade as if seeking approval.
“Opal is our glass-and-orb expert,” Kade said. “She knows the proper sand mixture and will instruct you on how to proceed.”
Zetta’s ill humor deepened into outrage. “She’s not a Stormdance Clan member. It violates all traditions that she knows the secret recipe.”
Zetta’s hair matched the length of her brother’s except she had small braids instead of ropes. Colorful beads decorated the ends of the braids. The beads clicked together when she jerked her head.
Kade stared at her until she calmed. “Opal figured out the sand recipe just by examining the mix. Can either of you do that?”
They hemmed and shuffled their feet.
“I didn’t think so. As I said before, she’s in charge. I won’t use any orbs unless she approves them first. Now, I believe Opal asked you a question.”
“Yes, the kiln is hot,” Zetta said. She kept her voice even, but she clutched her arms.
“Is the cart near the stockpiles?” I asked.
“No. We used it to bring coal up to the kiln,” Ziven said.
More tradition. To keep the kiln safe from the water and weather, it had been installed in a high cave with a natural chimney to vent the smoke. It was also far away from the stockpiles on the beach. Crafting the orbs off-site and sending them to the coast just wasn’t done, either.
“Get the cart. I’ll meet you at the piles.”
They left but not without Zetta treating me to another glare when she thought Kade wasn’t looking. How childish. I suppressed the urge to stick my tongue out in response.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said to Kade.
“Do you need my help with the orbs?” Kade asked, but his gaze sought the sea.
“No. You go.”
“Go where?”
“Out onto the sea rocks.”
“How did—”
“You’re swaying with the surf. Go commune with the waves and air currents.” I shooed him toward the beach.
“I get a better sense of approaching storms when I’m near the water,” he said in defense.
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“You made it sound…absurd.”
“I didn’t mean to. That’s important, unlike surfing the waves. That’s ridiculous.”
“Not once you try it.”
I shivered, thinking about the cold water. “No, thanks.”
“It’s going to be fun changing your mind.” Kade waved and ran down the beach with an unconscious grace and hopped onto the black rocks. He stepped from one to another, traveling farther out. As the waves crashed into them, spray and foam erupted around him, but didn’t slow him down.
My attempt to cross them had ended with a wipeout and a gash on the head. When Kade reached the final rock, I waited for the glassmakers near the stockpiles.
Four wagons covered with tarps rested along the back wall of the stables. I uncovered them, checking their contents. Glittering in the sunlight, the bright white sand from the Krystal lands filled the first wagon. Both the black lava flakes and the grains from Bloodgood’s red beach were in the second wagon. A wooden divider separated them. Lime packed the next wagon and the last contained soda ash. All the ingredients needed to make glass.
I found shovels and trowels, but couldn’t locate a few important items. Ziven joined me, pushing the wheelbarrow.
“Where’s Zetta?” I asked.
“She’s waiting back at the kiln.” He grabbed a shovel. “What’s the recipe?”
“I could tell you, but it won’t do you any good.”
“What?”
I gestured. “The scale isn’t here, or the drum mixer. How are you going to weigh out the ingredients and blend them together?”
He considered. “We brought them to the cave. It doesn’t matter. We can mix and weigh up there.”
“What if you don’t bring enough of one ingredient? You would need to make another trip. It’s better to have those down here.”
Ziven grumbled and complained about transferring the scale and mixer. When he returned, he and Zetta made a big production out of moving the heavy equipment. I ignored them by examining the glass ingredients for any foreign substances or contaminants. Dipping a trowel full of lime into the water, I checked for Brittle Talc. It would turned purple if tainted. No change.
When the glassmakers finished, I told them the sand recipe. “Forty percent Krystal’s white sand, forty percent local sand…” I scooped a handful of coarse yellow-and-brown grains from the beach. Compared to the tiny white granules, the beach sand appeared oversize. “Fifteen percent Bloodgood red sand and five percent lava flakes.”
Ziven and Zetta didn’t move. I handed a shovel to each.
“How do we measure out percentages?” Ziven asked.
I blinked at him. He asked about a fundamental skill. “By weight. The kiln can hold one hundred pounds of mix. After you put in the lime and soda ash, the sand ingredients will balance out the rest.”
Comprehension failed to light their faces.
“You’ll need eleven pounds of lime and fourteen pounds of ash, which is twenty-five pounds. So to figure out how much Krystal sand, you’ll need to take forty percent of seventy-five pounds, which is thirty pounds.”
“Why didn’t you just say thirty pounds of white in the first place?” Ziven asked.
“She’s showing off,” Zetta said.
As they shoveled and weighed the sand, I calculated the rest. “Eleven and a quarter pounds of Bloodgood red and three and three-quarters pounds of lava flakes.” I pressed my lips together before I could say more. My father taught me how to calculate percentages into weights before I could read. All his recipes used percentages, as did most glassmakers’, since kilns were built in different sizes, depending on the need. If the Stormdancers bought a kiln that could hold a hundred and fifty pounds, then the ingredient weights would all change.
I worried about their qualifications, remembering Helen’s comments about these two. At least they knew to mix the substances together. The drum mixer resembled a metal barrel laid on its side. Inside the container were fins to help stir. After securing the lid, a handle turned the drum to blend everything.
But when they began pulling the wheeled cart, I couldn’t conceal my amusement. By their fury, I knew any chance for a civil relationship was gone.
“You could help. Or are you too valuable?” Ziven asked.
“Experts don’t get their hands dirty,” Zetta said.
She’d pushed me too far. I’d had enough verbal abuse.
“Do you want to keep your jobs?” I asked them.
They shared a glance.
“It’s an easy question even for you. Either yes or no.”
“Yes,” Ziven said.
“Then shut your mouths and listen to me. Making the orbs is vital. Screwing up means killing Stormdancers. Right now, I’m the only person in the world who knows how they’re made.” I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “I don’t care if you like me or not. But if you utter one more snide comment, you’re both fired.”