Lucie was his older sister. She was pretty, plump, and married to Pavel at the age of eighteen. She, Tomik, and Petra used to explore the woods together when they were younger. But the trio split up after Tomik and Petra suggested that Lucie wade in a muddy creek. Though they swore that they didn’t know the creek was full of leeches, Lucie was hysterical when she discovered little black blood-sucking globs stuck to her pale legs. Wailing, she jumped from the water and rolled on the grass, shoving at her brother and Petra as they tried to peel off the leeches. They finally convinced her to let them help, but tears poured down her face and she whimpered as every torn-off leech revealed a bruise-colored mark. After this incident, Lucie decided Tomik and Petra were not so much fun to play with. Frankly, they felt the same way about her.
“I have better things to do than make her some ridiculous earrings,” Tomik continued, “but then I thought, What if I used real butterflies? That’d be pretty—but also pretty useless. Then I realized that breaking something takes energy, and I could use that energy to multiply whatever was in the shattered glass. But a hundred butterflies? That’s not so interesting.”
“A hundred times prettier and a hundred times more useless than just one.”
“Exactly,” Tomik agreed with a laugh.
“Have you considered putting water inside?” Astrophil suggested.
Tomik rubbed his chin. “There’s a thought. Smash the ball on a wall right next to somebody and they’d be completely soaked.”
“You’d have to make sure the water multiplies more than a hundred times, though,” Petra pointed out. “One hundred drops of water isn’t very much. That’s not even enough to fill a small pitcher.”
“True. Hmm …” Tomik’s eyes became unfocused as he considered how he might increase the magnifying power of the spheres. Then his gaze sharpened as he looked again at Petra. “But the concept is a good one, isn’t it? There are so many possibilities. I could multiply almost anything this way. What do you think?”
“I think I’m jealous.”
She meant this in an admiring way. Magical ability was extremely rare—that is, it was rare if you were not born into a noble family. And it was even more unusual for Tomik to be able to use his talent at a young age, since such talents did not typically begin to show themselves until about the age of fourteen. This was the age of adulthood, when the Academy tested children who were the sons and daughters of lords, high-ranking military officers, well-connected people, or those rich enough to make huge donations to the right people. Someone like Tomik would never be examined by the Academy, let alone admitted.
Tomik closed the box with a snap. “I keep trying to show Father, but he stops me dead in my tracks every time. He’s either too busy or too tired. One minute he tells me that I’m too young to do any magic. The next minute he warns me that I’d better stop fiddling around with magic. He told me that his own magical abilities have brought him nothing but trouble, that his life would be a lot easier if he were a normal glassblower. I guess he lost some friends in the Guild.”
Most cities and villages had a separate guild for each trade. Guilds were organizations that shared their trade secrets among themselves and established rules for how to craft an item and sell it. Usually, each town had a Glassblowers’ Guild, a Leatherworkers’ Guild, and so forth. But Okno was so small that if there had been a Glassblowers’ Guild, Tomik’s father would have been the only member. The same was true for many other artisans, including Petra’s father. So in this village there was only the Guild. Its members worked with one another—or mostly did. A leather shoe crafted by Mistress Chistni was cinched with a metal buckle made by Petra’s father. But Mistress Chistni’s leather was made supple by hours of labor, not magic. This was a fact that she was willing to forget when she worked with Master Kronos. Not all members of the Guild shared her attitude.
So when Tomik stowed the box back under the bed and said, “Maybe we should keep this a secret,” Petra was not surprised.
4
Earth and Sun, Sun and Earth
IT WAS DUSK when Petra left the Stakans’ home. The sun had set, and the clouds blushed pink. Above them, a dark blue nestled into the dome of the sky. One bright pinpoint of light twinkled like the lightning in Tomik’s sphere. Petra’s father had told her that bright stars like that were planets, just like earth. Just like earth? she wondered. Were the hills and valleys the same? Did people have the same problems? Maybe on that planet, things were different, and no one ever took what didn’t belong to them.
A dog barked, but then the streets of Okno were quiet. The farmers had returned from the fields, and one window—the kitchen window —glowed with firelight in almost every house. She should hurry home to supper. But she hovered by the fountain in the center of town, and dipped her hands in the cool, dark water.
Over the bubbling of the fountain, Petra heard the cries of swallows. The birds swooped in circles above her, seeking their evening meal.
Astrophil burrowed deeper into her hair.
“Scared, Astro?” Petra teased, trying to shake off her somber mood.
“Merely cautious,” he whispered.
“Do you think some skinny swallow is drooling for a tasty treat like you? Silly. Metal insects give birds indigestion.”
“I am not an insect. I am an arachnid. There is a distinct and well-observed difference between the two.”
“Astrophil, has anyone ever told you that you sound like a stuffy old schoolmaster when you’re afraid?”
“Thank you. But this is not fear. This is irritation.” A swallow flapped close to Petra’s head and Astrophil squeaked. “Now can we go home, please?”
WHEN PETRA ENTERED THE KITCHEN, Dita was standing by the fire, scooping boiled carrots with strings of thyme out of the large iron pot that hung over the logs. Josef and David were sitting at the oak table that was so thick that thudding your fist against it would make you feel the same way as striking the ground. You would only be aware of just how little an impression you were making on it.
Josef was rather like the table at which he sat. He was a big man, muscular and brown. Deep lines marked his face. Petra’s father said that you could tell how old a tree was by counting the rings in a trunk that had been cut open. One ring meant one year. But if Petra were to count the wrinkles on Josef’s face in the same way, he would be ancient. And he was not even forty years old. He glanced at Petra and continued chewing. He was about as talkative as the table, too.