"When I find Baker Hollis, there will be justice."
Chapter 13
In the absence of drive and purpose, talent can remain forever undiscovered.
The reality of her mother's murder settled in slowly, inexorably, like the measured beat of a chisel being driven into her soul. How could anyone be so wicked? What had her mother and aunt done to deserve such hatred? Deep down, though, other questions haunted her. Was it because of her, because of something she did? Was she to blame for their deaths? Perhaps if she had done something differently, her mother and aunt would still be alive.
Nothing could bring them back; she knew that, but the pain was now fresh, as if the loss had been only yesterday. She wept for the hole in her world, the place they should have filled. Then she felt a feeling of peace wash over her, as if they were safe and happy-and with her. She wondered if it was her imagination that conjured the smell of roses, but then she decided it didn't matter; it brought her joy and absolution.
Covered in sweat and grime, Strom ran the file along the last tooth of the final gear. Finally, they were ready to assemble his machine, and all he could do was hope it would work. Nagging fears of failure made his stomach ache. Hard work helped keep his mind from worry, and he poured himself into the task. If his boiling machine did not pour glass, then it would not be due to a lack of effort.
Milo hovered nearby, always silent but always watching. He knew they were nearing completion, and Strom thought he might not be able to stand the anticipation any longer.
"I think it's ready to go on the shaft," Gustad said. "You've done an excellent job. Now it's time to put your idea to the test. Are you ready?"
"I'm ready," Strom replied after he secured the final gear in place. With dread, he grabbed the handle and started to crank. Slowly the crucible began to turn. After cranking the crucible back to the upright position, Strom filled it with sand and placed a bowl beneath it. Trying to be as smooth as he could, he cranked the handle and simulated the pour.
"Just a little too fast," Milo said. "It accelerates the pour too soon."
"I can't believe it works at all," Osbourne said.
Strom ignored Osbourne's comment, determined to find a way to slow the initial part of the pour. "What if we cut off the first part of the strap and stitch on something thinner; then it won't accelerate much until it reaches the thick strap," he said.
Milo produced a sack made of strong but thin material, and he cut a length from it. After a few more tests pouring sand, Milo calculated the length of strap to be replaced. Stitching the light material and leather proved to be difficult, but Gustad showed Strom how to use an awl to make holes in the leather.
After a few more test pours, Milo declared the pouring machine ready for a test with real glass. They were running out of sand, and Strom felt the pressure.
When Osbourne pulled the crucible from the furnace, he performed his practiced movements and placed the rod on Strom's machine. When he went to secure the strap, though, the heat was too much, despite his thick, leather gloves. By the time the strap was attached, the glass had already cooled too much.
"Don't despair, young Strom. No one designs machines without flaws; the real challenge is to overcome those flaws. We'll just find a way to fix it and try again. Eventually we will succeed."
"How much sand do we have left?" Osbourne asked.
The modest room Catrin had been provided within the Inner Sanctuary offered little in the way of distraction. She was glad when Mother Gwendolin arrived, if only for something new to think about.
"I hope the morning has greeted you kindly," Mother Gwendolin said as she led Catrin through a maze of corridors.
"I've had a great deal to consider, but I'm feeling a bit better about things. Thank you."
"I'm sorry to burden you further, but time rushes away from us, and there is much we must learn," Mother Gwendolin said, and Catrin nodded. "Much of the information we have regarding ancient times is isolated and without context, which makes it exceedingly difficult to give any of it credence. But there is something I've benefited from personally, and I would like to share it with you. I think, perhaps, it will help you to see more clearly."
"Please, go on," Catrin said, eager for anything that might give her direction. She felt lost in a sea of critical decisions she wasn't prepared to make.
"It's called a viewing ceremony, and I find it helps me focus when I'm unable to resolve a debate or conflict. Would you like to try?"
"What does it involve-I mean, it's not painful, is it?" Catrin asked, feeling silly, and Mother Gwendolin laughed. Her laugh was like the tinkling of fine chimes, and it set Catrin's heart at ease.
"No, child, it's not painful. The viewing chamber is a very special room with two adjoining chambers. A group of specially trained monks will gather in each of the chambers, and they will perform an ancient melody. It's actually quite enchanting."
"Yes, I think I would like that. Thank you," Catrin said, and she wondered what she was getting herself into. The opportunity was certainly too good to pass up, but the Cathurans had already proven full of surprises, and she wondered what the viewing ceremony would reveal.
When they arrived at their destination, a hallway with three elaborately painted doors, they were greeted by a large gathering of robed and hooded monks standing in silence. Catrin smiled, realizing Mother Gwendolin had assumed she would say yes. With a simple nod, Mother Gwendolin sent the monks to their respective chambers. As they filed through the outer doors that bore images of colorful birds, Mother Gwendolin led Catrin through the center door. This door was painted to resemble the night sky, which Catrin noted contained no comets.
Within the chamber stood a large, thronelike chair that was made of a glossy, umber stone streaked with veins of silver and obsidian. Directly across from it, at eye level, was a round hole in the stone wall, beyond which lay open sky. On either side of the chair were twisted orifices that presumably led to the outer chambers where the monks awaited. Mother Gwendolin led her to the seat. Catrin climbed atop the cold, hard stone, doubting she would be able to get comfortable enough to meditate.
"Try to clear your mind of all things. The old writings say, 'Ride the vibrations and you will be free.' I don't think I've ever achieved the desired effect, but it has been helpful nonetheless. When you feel you are finished, just ring this bell," Mother Gwendolin said, and she produced a delicate pewter bell from her robes. It bore the figure of a fairy clinging to the bell, and its ring seemed impossibly loud and clear. Catrin placed the bell on the arm of the throne.
Icy wind gusted through the opening in the wall, and Catrin shivered, wishing she had worn something more substantial than her leather jacket over a homespun top and leggings. Removing the heavy shawl from her shoulders, Mother Gwendolin wrapped it around Catrin with a benevolent smile.
Pulling the shawl tighter, Catrin soaked in its warmth.
"I will leave you now. May you find that which you seek," Mother Gwendolin said, and she left the room, shutting the door behind herself.