The Final Strife

The sand of the Farsai Desert is made up of four main elements: silica, magnetite, saphridiam, and limestone. Saphridiam is what gives the sand its blue hue. When melted into glass, the majority of the color burns away, leaving a sheen of its previous color. If the Glasskeeper is skilled enough, a secondary forging can leach away the color completely, though this increases the price of the products.

—Extract from Shards and Sand by Glasskeeper Runa

“Where are you taking me?” Sylah held Anoor’s hand as she dragged her through the gardens.

“Remember when we were training for aerofield? There was that tower that faced the Marion Sea.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I went exploring, and I think it’s a better space for us to train.”

“Really?”

“I moved our stuff in yesterday.”

Anoor clapped her hands together, her eyes lighting. It had been three days since their fight. Three days of Sylah patching up what she had broken but admitting their friendship had brought a lightness to their days. It eased the tension of guilt and shame that surrounded them both.

“We’re going to be training in an abandoned tower. How spooky.”

“Not really, I cleaned it out.”

“You cleaned something? Gorn will be scandalized.” Anoor’s grin was wolfish.

The forest at the back of the gardens was peaceful. Even the foreboding gray legs of the arena disappeared once they walked under the canopy of leaves.

The tower was surrounded by a small moat of moss. The whitestone hadn’t been washed in some time, and the blue sand dragged in from the tidewind coated the walls. One windowpane had been sanded down completely, the glass shards filed away to join their family as grains on the wind.

“It doesn’t look…great.” Anoor chewed her bottom lip.

“It’s fine. The door locks, the floorboards are sound. It’ll protect us from the tidewind too. I chased away a rat nest or two…which brings the total number down to eleven, but what can you do?”

Anoor laughed.

“Go on, after you.” Sylah pushed open the door. It creaked with the sound of old knees bending.

Anoor jutted her chin and marched forward. A loose floorboard caught her unaware, but she stabilized herself and kept on going. Sylah didn’t realize grace could be taught until that moment. Her movements were surer, elegant.

Stairs led them to a circular room. It had been heaped with sand when Sylah first entered it, but she had painstakingly swept it away until her hands were raw. The window and shutters on this floor were still intact but open.

Sylah drew a charcoal ring in the center of the room. It replicated the combat trial in size.

Blue sand fell on Sylah’s shaved head as Anoor jumped up and down.

“Argh, stop it. I didn’t get around to dusting the beams.”

“But it’s so great. We can properly train here. Like properly.”

“I know, I know.”

“Look at that jambiya, it’s not blunt at all!” She swung her head to Sylah. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me later.” Sylah looked at the jambiya hanging on the wall. She had asked Jond to procure it for her, and though he grumbled about it, he’d come through.

“Sylah, have you thought about the trial of stealth?”

“Of course I have. Don’t worry, I’m working on it.”

Sylah had nothing. She’d stayed up all strikes of the night trying to figure out a way to enter the tower.