Threshold Read Online Free Page B

with it. But all I could feel was the weight of the Magus’ eyes behind me.
    I cleared my throat. “I will need oil. Something fine.”
    Silence, then Gayomar spoke. “Kamish. There is a jug of linofer oil standing on the shelf by the inner door. And bring the cloth that is folded beside it. We do not want her to ruin the tabletop as well as the glass.”
    There was rough amusement in that voice, and, deep within me, anger stirred.
    I raised my head and twisted on the stool, staring Boaz in the eye. “What would you like me to cage?”
    “Something that will save your life, your father’s life, and that of the foolish Kamish,” he replied, then stood back a pace, arms folded, waiting.
    And so, with the slaves – now forgotten by all – the two Magi, the ashen-faced Kamish and my father watching on, I did what I could.
    For some minutes I ran my hands over the glass, feeling it, feeling for its soft voice, wondering what it would permit and what it would not. It was rough, discarded glass, a greyish and cloudy blue. Thrown away because of the myriad tiny fractures and air bubbles it contained. To try and cage it…
    I wondered what design would please the Magi, what design would save my life. I knew nothing of their culture, or of the patterns that they considered pleasant. Would one of the myths of Viland please them? No, I thought not.
    I turned the glass over and over in my hands, listening as it finally spoke to me, and I made up my mind.
    I set the glass to one side and opened the tool sack. I took out several pliers of differing sizes, a slender hammer, an even more slender chisel, a drill, two glass cutters, a wax marker and a small, pliable ball with a slender nozzle – this I half filled with linofer oil. It was not the best oil for glassworking, but it would do.
    I took the wax marker and quickly sketched a design on the face of the rectangular glass, and then on its two narrower sides.
    Boaz breathed deeply behind me, and I let myself relax slightly, relieved. This was an arid country, and the Lhyl River was the source of all life. Its culture, as Setkoth itself, was undoubtedly river-orientated, and thus I had sketched the outline of river reeds, two frogs clinging to them. It was a simple design, but pure and delightful because of it.
    Using one of the glass cutters, I scored over the wax markings, cutting thin tracings into the glass. I was careful to only barely score the surface of this delicate and fractured glass, and when I was finished, and the wax wiped away, the score marks were visible only as lines of light running over the surface.
    I breathed more easily now, and smiled, understanding the glass, knowing it would do its best for me.
    “There is no vice here,” I said, and looked at my father. “I need someone to hold the glass as I drill it. Father, will you –”
    “I will serve,” Boaz said, and Kamish scrambled to fetch another stool.
    He sat down opposite me, taking the glass between his hands. My confidence faltering again, I hesitated, then moved his hands slightly so that the glass tilted away from me.
    He made no comment at my hesitant touch, his eyes remained unblinking on my face.
    With the drill I made two score of tiny holes across the surface of the glass, avoiding the fracture lines, and praying to the glass that it would tolerate my intrusion and not shatter. When this was done I drilled more deeply, using the linofer oil to soothe the shock of the drill’s penetration, listening to the song of the glass as the drill bit ever deeper, adding more oil whenever its song swerved towards harshness.
    Then I took the hammer and chisel and tapped out the sections of glass that had been weakened by the drill holes. I held my breath as the glass closest to the most dangerous of the fault lines fell safely out, then I reached for the finest of the pliers, using them to chip and nibble at the outline of the reeds and frogs until the design stood out from the supporting glass.
    I