Glory Season Read Online Free Page A

used their clever hands as premier mechanics. They were a young matriarchy, a summer-stock offshoot that had taken root but a few generations ago. Though still numbering but two score, the pudgy, nimble “Grossies” were already a clan to be reckoned with. Every one of them was clone-descended from a single, half-Poeskie summerling who had seized a niche by luck and talent, thereby winning a posterity. It was a dream all var-kids shared—to dig in, prosper, and establish a new line. Once in a thousand times, it happened.
    Passing a Groeskie workshop, the twins looked on as ball bearings were slipped into axles by robust, contented redheads, each an inheritor of that clever forbear who won a place in Port Sanger’s tough social pyramid. Maia felt Leie nudge her elbow. Her sister grinned. “Don’t forget, we’ve got an edge.”
    Maia nodded. “Yeah.” Under her breath, she added, “I hope.”
    Below the market district, under the sign of a rearing tricorn, stood a shop selling sweets imported from faraway Vorthos. Chocolate was one vice the twins knew they must warn their daughter-heirs about, if ever they had any. The shopkeeper, a doe-eyed Mizora, stood hopefully, though she knew they weren’t buyers. The Mizora were in decline, reduced to selling once-rich holdings in order to host sailors in the manner of their foremothers. They still coiffed their hair in a style suited to a great clan, though most were now small merchants, less good at it than up-start Usisi or Oeshi. The Mizora shopkeeper sadly watchedMaia and Leie turn away, continuing their stroll down a street of smaller clanholds.
    Many establishments bore emblems and badges featuring extinct beasts such as firedrakes and tricorns—Stratoin creatures that long ago failed to adapt to the coming of Earth life. Lysos and the Founders had urged preservation of native forms, yet even now, centuries later, tele screens occasionally broadcast melancholy ceremonies from the Great Temple in faroff Caria City, enrolling another species on the list to be formally mourned each Farsun Day.
    Maia wondered if guilt caused so many clans to choose as symbols native beasts that were no more. Or was it a way of saying, “
See? We continue. We wear emblems of the defeated past, and thrive.
”
    In a few generations, Mizora might be as common as tricorns.
    Lysos never promised an end to change, only to slow it down to a bearable pace.
    Rounding a corner, the twins nearly plowed into a tall Sheldon, hurrying downhill from the upper-class neighborhood. Her guard uniform was damp, open at the collar. “Excuse me,” the dark-skinned officer muttered, dodging by the two sisters. A few paces onward, however, she suddenly stopped, whirling to peer at them.
    “
There
you are. I almost didn’t recognize you!”
    “Bright mornin’, Cap’n Jounine.” Leie greeted with a mocking half-salute. “You were looking for us?”
    Jounine’s keen Sheldon features were softened by years of town life. The captain wiped her brow with a satin kerchief. “I was late catching you at Lamatia clanhold. Do you know you missed your leave-taking ceremony? Of course you know. Was that on purpose?”
    Maia and Leie shared brief smiles. No slipping anything by Captain Jounine.
    “Never mind.” The Sheldon waved a hand. “I just wanted to ask if you’d reconsidered—”
    “Signing up for the Guard?” Leie interrupted. “You’ve got to be—”
    “I’m sure we’re flattered by the offer, Captain,” Maia cut in. “But we have tickets—”
    “You’ll not find anything out there”—Jounine waved toward the sea—“that’s more secure and steady—”
    “And boring …” Leie muttered.
    “—than a contract with the city of your birth. It’s a smart move, I tell you!”
    Maia knew the arguments. Steady meals and a bed, plus slow advancement in hopes of saving enough for one child. A winter child—on a soldier’s salary? Mother Claire’s derision about “founding a microclan