A note concerning Gabriel (Project: Lodestar 1)

The heat from the workshop was a physical pressure against her skin and the furnace colored everything in russets and rosy oranges. He stood silhouetted against its maw. She chewed the inside of her cheek and said softly, “Gabriel.” It had been too long since she had last spoken that name. Her breath was quick, the acrid air tasted burnt on the back of her tongue.

“Cassandra.” The chill in his voice rooted deep within her chest. She pulled her coat tighter despite the overwhelming heat.

“It’s been some time,” nervous hands tucked errant strands of blond hair behind her ears, “When was the last time we spoke?” she asked without conviction.

“The funeral.” Gabriel pulled a long pipe from the furnace and began shaping the nascent glass vase at its end. “What do you want?”

“There’s trouble…”

“Oh?”

“Ansel is back.”

He stopped his work. The pipe rolled off the bench and clattered to the floor. Gabriel is not a large man, but Cassandra felt tiny in his presence. “What did you say?”

She shut her eyes tight as he approached, told herself it was only because of the sweat, refused to believe she was flinching, “He’s not dead.”

“I saw his fucking corpse.”

“Gabriel, it’s true. You have to believe me.”

“Have to? You lost that right a long time ago.” Gabriel turned and picked up the pipe. The tension seeped from his muscles with a long sigh. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know if this is a ploy for attention or what, but it’s not going to work. He’s dead.”

“I saw him in a dream. He’s coming back.”

“A dream, Cassandra?” his laughter was short and harsh.

“It’s not a trick, Gabriel. I came because I need…because I want your help.”

“You don’t need me. You need a shrink. Stop wasting my time.”

Tears formed slowly in the corners of her eyes and quickly evaporated in the dry, blasted air. “Gabe…”

Gabriel turned away and stared into the furnace. “Even if something was going on, I don’t do that anymore. I’m done. I’ve been done ever since the day we put Steven in the ground.”

“Gabe, listen to me…”

She reached out, but her hand was dislodged with a rough shrug of his arm. “I’m just a glassblower now. If you’re serious about this why don’t you go find Ridley or Arsiel.”

“So that’s it? This is where we’re at?”

“Do you really need to ask that?” he picked up the pipe and halfheartedly worked at salvaging the piece. “What did you expect to find here?”

“I was hoping to find my friend.”

“You should have learned your lesson about hope by now. The rest of us did.”

Heat came and sparked her fury. Cassandra fiercely yanked him around and drove her fist into his jaw. It was like punching an anvil. Gabriel did stagger, although more from the shock then any force behind the blow. “You really are miserable. Grey was right.” She shook her head slowly. “You think I need a shrink? At least I’ve moved on. All you’ve done is run away. When did you become a coward, Gabriel?”

“I think you should go now.”

Cassandra bit down on her bottom lip and tried not to think about crying. She turned and walked slowly to the door of the workshop. Something made her stop. Without turning, she asked in a quiet voice, “How’s Kyler?”

“Please leave.”

Cassandra stepped out into the pouring rain and let it wash her tears away.


The only sound in the shop for a long while was the pounding of the rain mingling with the drone of the furnace. Gabriel slumped to the floor, rested his head on the bench and stared at the ceiling. His eyes saw only painful memories. A ringing alarm brought him back to the present. The ruined glasswork was tossed into a scrap bin, the furnace banked, and the slender artisan locked up his shop. The rain outside was merciless and made for a demoralizing walk to the house. He removed his muddy boots and grabbed a towel, which he used as he moved through the dark rooms.

The air inside was heavy. It was almost as if the house itself were feeling sorrow. The only light came from under an upstairs door. Gabriel quietly opened that door and just as quietly closed it behind him. The room was warmly lit by dozens of tiny lamps. The lighting was at odds with the martial nature of the room. Weapons lined its walls. There was a circle painted on the undamaged floor.

A girl sat in a wheelchair facing the door. She was young, certainly no older than her early twenties, and had features that would be quite striking if not for the emptiness of her eyes and the slackness of her face. A gnarled scar on her right temple detracted further from her beauty. Gabriel walked over to her, squeezed her limp hand gently. He tried to watch her face, but his gaze kept wandering to the scar. Her long, black hair was pulled up into a loose bun. Gabriel seemed to struggle over something internally, then reached out to undo the bun. He arranged her hair so that it covered the scar. The girl did not respond nor make a sound. Only her soft breathing and the occasional blink indicated that she was even alive. Gabriel ran a hand through his own hair and walked to a cabinet on the other side of the room. It contained two slender swords. The scabbards seemed new. Gabriel took them and returned to the girl, gingerly placing them on her lap. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, “Ok, pup, time for your daily training.”

Kyler didn’t respond. She never did. Gabriel knelt and watched her face expectantly. He remained kneeling on the hard floor even when exhaustion took him to face his nightmares.