Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

in a deep crouch as she was, the low-slung leather leggings of her Hand’s uniform rode down so far that she could see the crack of the older woman’s flat, sagging butt. It was not a sight to inspire men to the worship of Gaia. Not that she could ever say it out loud, but she privately relished the shred of power the thought gave her over the domineering priestess.

Careful not to let her shadow fall across the sleeping guard’s face, Renna inched forward and blew a handful of grayish dust into the man’s eyes and nose. He gave a rumbling snort, roused ever so slightly, and then drooped even lower in his seat. The Weaver priestess stood upright, dusting her hand carefully on the man’s pants. Strangely, she grimaced as she did so and then wiped her hands again on her own leggings, stepping away from the insensate guard. She waved to Nira, and she snuck forward until she reached the older woman.

“Now,” said Renna with grim satisfaction, “we give the Governor his wake-up call.” She shoved a warning finger in her companion’s face. “Not a word. Not one. I’ll tell you when to touch him. Nothing until then.”

Nira’s heart raced. “What if I can’t – what if nothing…?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said the older woman irritably, waving away her concern. “Here we go, then.” She turned the knob of carved ivory and burst into the bedroom. “Mattias!” she grated into the dark. “Get up!”

Nira hesitated outside the door, not wanting to break into the chambers of the most powerful man for two hundred kilometers in any direction. She heard quiet scuffling within, the sound of ruffling bedsheets, and then Renna stormed back into the hallway, cursing under her breath.

“He’s not here. Has he got a mistress? Of course he has a mistress; she stays in the east wing. He wouldn’t be there at this hour. Stupid man. Where is he?” She was speaking to herself, ignoring Nira entirely. She wrenched the glowpod from its sconce on the wall and stomped back into the bedroom. The nervous young woman followed.

But for the prowling priestess, the room was unoccupied. Somehow the luxury here was even greater. The empty, rumpled bed was piled high with satin sheets dyed a deep, sultry red that looked softer than anything she had ever touched. The massive four-poster bed appeared to have been custom-grown from a single bone-white tree, smoothly barked, fancifully whorled and curved. It was still alive; soft green leaves the size of dinner plates created a canopy overhead and filled the room with the fresh, comforting smell of spring.

Nira saw movement on the far side of the room and jerked in fright. Less than a second later she saw that it was her own reflection cast true and perfect back at her. I’m so sick of jumping at everything. I’ve got to take charge of myself. Fascinated, she approached the reflective surface. It was bound in a polished wooden frame and stood taller than her hand held high over her head. It was wide enough for three people to stand abreast in its reflection. She had never seen such a beautiful thing.

In her village, no one ever saw themselves except by looking in a bowl of water in a well-lit room or when the stream that ran out to the ocean was flowing smooth. There had been a couple of families that could afford to pane their windows with vidrin, but it was rough-surfaced and only translucent. You could see your shape in it if it was dark inside the house and you stood outside, but it wasn’t a clear image. This, though, was like looking through a doorway into another world where a perfect copy of Nira was staring back. She was entranced. She’d never realized how thick and dark her eyelashes were. It made her eyes look almost painted.

She touched the surface and it smudged with the dirt and oil of her hands, marring the effect. “How…? What is this?” she asked the gaunt Weaver as she poked about the chamber.

Grimacing, she came over and tapped at the reflective pane, grunting in surprise as it gave off a clear, bell-like note. “What a waste of wealth,” she sneered. “It’s glass.”

Nira gaped at her. “Glass? But it’s so big!”

The woman shrugged. “Unmistakable. He’s layered something reflective behind it. Polished silica? No, wrong color. Oyster linings, perhaps? It’s a clever trick, if you want to stare at yourself all the time. A piece of glass this large and ground down even must have cost, oh, I don’t know… fifty emeralds? Uncut. At least that.” Uninterested, she moved away, and Nira shook her head, unbelieving.

Nira had never even seen an emerald; they were the highest denomination of money that existed. Usually, gems were cut carefully into round or oblong slices that laid nicely in a money pouch and made for smaller payments, but the very wealthy used uncut stones for large payments. When she’d left Canton Bend, Nira had nine pearl slices – flats, they called them. She had never seen an emerald flat, much less a whole gem. With fifty green roundies… her mind spun. How much could you buy? Three Seafarer ships? Five? And their crews, most likely. Or a big shiny thing to look at yourself with, apparently. Glass. I just touched glass. Fi wouldn’t believe me if I said it. Speculators went digging for the illegal material, she knew, but she’d never heard of anyone finding any.

Glass only formed when Pure Light shone on sand – nothing else was hot enough to fuse and change the impervious little grains. She imagined she could see the immense shaft of Light that must have created a piece of glass this large. The image was a vivid one, and the searing flash of the light reminded her of when she had seen it in the flesh. Here’s something else that survived the Light, just like me. The