[participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]
To my chagrin, after the first sweet roll, nothing happens other than quicker mana regen. My first taste of the shockingly-sweet treat gives me a tiny boost to my overall mana Capacity, but the benefits don’t continue as I stuff another of the rolls into my mouth. There’s no massive boost to my mana pool, no way to circumvent the normal growth patterns. I push the tray back to Iriye and prop my elbows up on the table. With a sigh, I rest my chin in my palms.
“Who’s the new fellow?” the proprietress asks, tilting her head toward me.
“Big shot glass maker. Helpin’ at the shop,” Iriye says around a bite of sweet roll. Her violet eyes light up when I shove the tray of remaining sweet rolls toward her, and she promptly takes another two rolls, holding one in each hand.
“Seems like an emotional chap,” the woman at the counter replies. She dusts a spare bit of sugar off her apron, clucking her tongue at me. “Looking glum after eating one of my desserts is practically against the law.”
“I thought it would do more,” I say, still staring at the wall behind her, not focusing on anything in particular. “Based on what the mana did for Iriye, I was expecting a jump in my Capacity. That’s what I need the most right now.”
The [Baker] leans forward on the counter and pats my shoulder, a grandmotherly smile turning her face into a perfect manifestation of sympathy. “Think you can cheat the rules, huh?”
“The rolls were good,” I say stiffly, not sure what she’s implying. There’s a sharp sense of perception underneath her mask of pleasantness that has me on edge around the smiling [Baker], as though she can see right through me. Mana control that precise and intricate doesn’t develop on its own. My guess is that she has a fascinating history, probably with a class other than [Baker], but I’m not about to poke my nose where it doesn’t belong.
“Insincere flattery isn’t allowed in this shop,” the [Baker] replies. “Although I accept your praise, if it’s freely given. Name’s Maire.”
I smile, hoping I look apologetic, but I’m still wrestling with disappointment from the realization that I haven’t found a magic shortcut. Maybe she’ll tell me more if I give her a stage on which to perform. Experts love to impress when they have an audience who understands their genius.
I let my shoulders slump, and indulge my curiosity just to see just how familiar she is with the terminology from the mana-control test. “Pleasure to meet you, Maire. I just got excited when I saw how your mana-infusion helped Iriye prepare a nascent mana pool even though she hasn’t developed enough potency yet to gain a Class. If I could make a similar jump, then that would help me immensely. My mediocre Capacity is holding me back in comparison with my other attributes.”
Maire raises her eyebrows, regarding me more sharply than before. “Where’d you pick up this young man, Iriye? He’s got fancy Skills if he can see how much mana you absorbed.”
“You have no idea,” Iriye says, babbling in excitement as she launches into a retelling of the show I put on earlier in the workshop. By the time she finishes her breathless recap, Maire is staring at me in a calculating way that reminds me all too much of the [Adjutant].
Ezio’s warning rings in my mind again. Many people have no scruples whatsoever about opening up a fascinating specimen to find out what makes the person tick. It’s in my best interest to remain as unobtrusive and uninteresting as possible, although in this case I don’t think it’s possible to put the cat back in the bag. That’s the problem with secrets. All it takes is one slip, and the secret isn’t a secret anymore. Maybe I should have been more circumspect about using my abilities.
“All that talent is wasted on glass,” Maire says, fretting over Iriye and straightening out the crumpled collar of the little girl’s frock. “But we’re dancing around the most important issue at hand. Let’s ask the real question: what is your lack of capacity holding you back from doing, and why does that make you so despondent?”
“It’s not really a matter of what it’s preventing me from doing. I can wait in between draining my mana, and simply finish my tasks when I regenerate. No, it’s a matter of who I am, of who I judge myself to be,” I admit, averting my eyes so I don’t have to bear up under uncomfortable scrutiny. I never asked for her opinion—why does she feel so free to butt in and offer it?
“So, more mana in your pool will, what, make you feel better about yourself?” Maire says, and there’s something slightly pathetic about the way she puts it that makes me want to get all defensive. I wonder if she’s provoking me on purpose.
“I know, I know,” I say, hastily lifting up my hands to forestall further admonishment. “I don’t need a greater Capacity to feel a bit of self-esteem. Chasing achievements is a great way to end up feeling hollow. That’s not what I’m doing. This is a matter of legacy.”
“My, my, and I thought you were merely proud, not blindingly arrogant,” Maire says with a rueful laugh that seems more genuine than her previous cheerfulness. It makes me like her a bit more, as long as it isn’t a calculated move precisely for that reason. I don’t appreciate manipulation.
She slips off her apron and hangs it from a nearby brass hook on the wall behind the counter before turning to face me, her hands on her hips, silent for a while. She tucks a stray strand of grey hair back into the tight bun on the top of her head before she speaks up.
“A word of advice? Your kind is dangerous, my young friend. Reshaping reality to your whims the way that I think you’re talking about—in the sort of way that your great-great-grandchildren will still be sifting through the consequences—requires the right temperament. Are you prepared for that mantle of responsibility? As far as I can see, you’re not keen on picking up another burden.”
“Thank you for the pastries,” I say quickly, standing up and tugging on Iriye’s cloak. “We ought to get back to the shop, though. I will think about your advice. I appreciate it more than I know how to say. I promise.”
Maire watches me with an odd mixture of hawk-eyed predatory fascination, and something that looks uncomfortably close to pity. “You’re young, yet. Don’t rush.”
I pause, poised to sprint toward the door. Before I leave Maire’s shop, however, I turn back to the dessert counter and pull out a small, glass figurine of a woman hovering on a flying disk. The flying contraption is made out of a real silver coin, and the figure is held aloft on thin tendrils of glass so fine that they’re almost invisible. I meant to sell it in town—it took me two days of fiddling before I was happy with the result—but I haven’t found the right buyer.
I place it down next to the money Iriye left to pay for our meal and look up to meet Maire’s challenging gaze. “A tip. For your remarkable demonstration and timely wisdom. And one last thing: glass is not a waste.”
“Perhaps not. I hope it’s worth it, whatever you’re seeking,” Maire says. She lifts up the glass figurine, smiles at it faintly, and tucks it into her pocket. Her expression lightens, and she winks at me and tosses an extra roll to Iriye. “Stay sweet, child. Until next time, ‘Glass Boy.’”
=+=
When we return to the shop, my mind is still reeling from the way that the [Baker]—or perhaps Maire is actually a [Phantasmal Baker], I muse—prepares the mana lattice. The sheer level of complexity that goes into the Skill prior to suffusing the mana into the dessert is daunting. I’ve seen frosting prepared before. It’s not much more complicated than mixing powdered sugar, butter, cream, and various flavors. The ingredients go into the mixing bowl and come out gratuitously sweet. End of the story.
Yet the intricate way Maire creates the mana lattice, and then packs sugary frosting inside that lattice to a degree far beyond what should be physically possible, is playing tricks on my mind. Visions of copying a similar method and making a basic version of the lattice through freehand mana control runs wild through my imagination. Either I’ve learned something new, or I’m buzzing on a sugar high. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.
“You were kinda mean to Maire, even if you made up for it in the end. You're weird,” Iriye declares as she walks me to my borrowed workbench and kicks me in the shins, interrupting my glorious fantasy of becoming a mana maestro. She twists her fingers into the hem of her frock before returning to her front door duty. “I wish I had a little flying angel like you gave her. Could you make me one, too?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say reflexively, then kick myself for the inadvertent promise. Kids remember careless words like that. To me, it's a non-committal deflection so I can get back to work, but to her, it’s a cherished hope. A done deal. Now I have to follow through, and I'm already pressed for time.
I give her a little half-smile, and she skips back to her desk in the lobby with a big grin on her thin, severe face. Well. Change of plans. I won’t let Iriye down even if it cuts into my iteration timeline for practicing mana-imbuing. Let no one ever accuse me of not having a heart.
I ease onto my stool at the workbench and pick up the folded-over glass blade I made in the morning before our trip to the pastry shop. I turn it over in my hands and note the composition and shape. I squint along the length of the blade, making small noises in the back of my throat as I review my day’s work. At initial inspection, all seems fine.
Fine isn't good enough for me anymore.
I open myself up to the analysis half of [Architect of Unseen Worlds], bracing myself for inevitable disappointment. I take a deep, steadying breath as I prepare to examine my efforts with more critical eyes. It’s time to see what really happened with the knife.
My analysis Skill ignites, and my consciousness flickers down, through the structure of the glass knife. My assessment of the work immediately grows less sanguine. The form is good, but not symmetrical. I got impatient folding the glass so many times, and it shows in a few of the layers where the edges don’t quite line up. Consistency is poor, as well; some of the layers are twenty to thirty percent thicker than others. Somehow, I left a thumbprint on the base, too.
Pursing my lips and letting out an exasperated sigh, I release my Artisan Skill. On their own, none of these mistakes are terrible issues, but taken as a whole, the flaws worry me. Will the imperfections inhibit the flow of mana? Am I getting sloppy from lack of practice, or is this an inordinate level of critique for the work I’m doing?
I frown. I have to start somewhere. Maybe this will be all right for my first few attempts. If I can overlay a crude approximation of the mana lattice on top of the glass knife, then maybe it will accept more mana. Will I be able to cram enough mana into the structure, even with the tiny flaws and imperfections?
Only one way to find out. I set the knife on the workbench, touch my fingers against the flat of the blade in hopes that contact will make the mana manipulation easier, and open up my channels. A flow of crude, uncontrolled mana slithers out in a gush of power, washes over the knife, and dissipates back into the ether without accomplishing anything.
“That went well,” I mutter. I sit back, rubbing my temples, suddenly glad that no one else in Vicario’s workshop possesses [Manasight] to witness my abject failure at creating my own mana lattice. “All right. Let’s try that again.”
The next few hours pass in a similar fashion, and as my failures mount, my headaches worsen. I push my stool back, cringing at the high-pitched noise it makes scraping across the floor, and go in search of some water. Vicario is missing, but the boy in the blue cap—I never did catch his name, and he doesn’t volunteer it now—directs me to a communal water bucket.
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“You’ll have to get your own glass. Maybe you can make one out of magic,” he teases.
I give him a flat look as I scoop up water in my cupped hand and tilt it down my throat. He just laughs and returns to his work.
While I’m recovering some energy and massaging the back of my neck, I go over what I’ve learned so far. When activating a Skill, my mana control is improving. I can exert a measure of influence over the mana once it leaves my body, and physical touch is no longer necessary to compress or make minor alterations to the spellform. If I try to freestyle, however, and use mana externally in new ways, it all falls apart if I try to do more than extend a single tendril.
“I guess that means I start at the very beginning,” I say aloud, not speaking to anyone in particular. I don’t like the answer, but there doesn’t seem to be a way around it. If I want to copy Maire’s exquisite formations, then I need to build a foundation first, not skip ahead and feel all frustrated when it doesn’t work. Mana control takes time. I need practice.
A clock chimes, announcing an hour left until the shop closes. I glance out the door at the lobby, where Iriye is coloring in a book and kicking her feet over the edge of her too-big seat. With an amused chuckle, I head back to my workbench, set aside the knife, and pull out a new batch of glass. It’s time to make her a gift before she leaves for the day. I’ll resume my mana control work after the [Apprentices] go home. Vicario said I could stay as long as I want.
Speaking of the man, he’s still missing. I look around for him again, but don’t see where he’s gone. He must have slipped out while we were away on our lunch break. It seems odd that he hasn’t come back for a few hours, but I put it out of mind and finish the figurine for Iriye. Now that I know how I want to craft it, and I have proper tools at my disposal, I’m able to complete the work a little before closing time.
“Make sure this goes in the annealer,” I remind Iriye, presenting her with the little figure of a dancing girl with wings. I made the eyes violet, just like hers, and she gasps when she sees the little detail. She flings her arms around my waist, squeezes tight, and scampers off to put the little keepsake in the kiln to anneal overnight.
Shame I don’t have Melina’s glass Skills. She and Avelina would have fun bringing the kids here up to speed. They’d have this place sorted out in a snap!
I choke up a bit at the hug. Getting back to work for the last few minutes of the day after the unexpected emotional ride proves more difficult than I imagine. My preliminary attempts at lattice-work, simpler this time, still looks erratic. My spellforms balloon out of control. Mana flows in starts and stops—sudden spurts rather than a steady stream. I finally get things under control and work on laying down wavering, criss-crossing lines to create the first layer of the lattice, but my momentum has dissipated. No breakthroughs today.
All too soon, it's time to pack up for the day. The [Apprentices] are hungry, and Vicario is reportedly on dinner duty back at their apartment. It doesn’t surprise me to find out that he gives them all food and shelter in addition to teaching them a trade. He’s a good man, although it still makes me a little uneasy that he’s been gone all afternoon on some unknown errand.
I make the rounds through the shop, shaking hands with my new friends and promising not to forget them. A few ask for pointers with glass, or suggestions for how to gain better Skills, and I do my best to pass along the advice I’ve received from Ezio and Tem. I hope they don’t hit a bottleneck like I did, although I assume Vicario will keep them moving in the right direction.
Before they leave, a few of the older boys cluster around to see the small glass knife that I've made. They admire its cutting prowess—I trim the extra length off my new leather belt with hardly any effort—and tell me that I should stay and teach them. I wave them off, although the compliments are flattering. Weapons aren’t my usual go to glass creations. I’ve already sold off the matching plates, bowls, and cups, however, and I feel like I need a way to defend myself on the road. A knife is practical.
The clock chimes again with the closing bell. The [Apprentices] pack up and bound out of the shop, rushing about with whoops and hollers. One of the older girls takes Iriye under her arm and escorts her out, leaving me alone in the shop. I wave farewell again to my new friends, surprised that they’d entrust me to stay here with all the goods and equipment unattended, and turn back to my knife project with a soft chuckle at their exuberance. Time to make progress now that I have some peace and quiet.
I open my [Manasight], surveying the slow progress from the day’s work. The extra mana I’ve managed to stuff into the rough lattice, following the frosting inspiration, is largely gone. A small remnant of the mana is still there, however, caught in the framework I made. Despite missing the bulk of what I poured into the knife, the trapped mana seems to have strengthened the blade considerably. I’m not sure I could do it without the extra mana draughts, though, since my limited capacity is a real problem. Nonetheless, it’s progress.
Right now the mana lattice is shoddy and incomplete, allowing the mana to dissipate. I frown, annoyed at the wasteful process. I know I’m losing an incredible amount of efficiency with this approach, but the added durability and sharpness of the blade is encouraging that I’m on the right track. I’ve got a long way to go, but the path is becoming clearer to me.
“They’re good kids,” Vicario’s voice rasps from behind me.
I startle, knocking the knife off the workbench as my hands flinch. It hits the floor with a clatter and slides underneath a nearby workbench. Where did he come from? How long has he been standing there, watching me?
“Er, yes,” I stammer, hopping out of my seat. I nod in greeting, sidestep to the workbench where the knife disappeared, and crouch down to peek underneath. I can’t make out anything in the shadows, so I reach my arm underneath the bench and grope for the knife, hunting around until my fingers close over the hilt.
Vicario holds out a hand when I stand back up. “May I?”
I nod, passing him the knife handle first, and he holds it with the delicacy of a painter about to create a masterpiece. He twirls it across his fingers, testing its balance, and touches the edge against a slender rod of mundane glass. The blade shears through without resistance, which fills me with a burst of pride. There’s no proper mana-imbuing or enchantment, but it can almost pass for a superior blade to the uninitiated.
Shaking his head in admiration, the self-professed [Foreman] lets out a low whistle. The way he sneaked up on me in the shadows, utterly suppressing his mana, further casts doubt in my mind on his actual Class, but I’m not going to pry. “Pretty little blade. I wouldn’t mind a few of these, truth be told. If you ever pass back through town, then look me up.”
“Take it,” I insist. “I can make more. This is just a prototype, anyway. It’s incomplete and lacking refinement. I’ll do a better job next time I iterate.”
“Ha! I don’t doubt your word, but maybe keep that sort of thing to yourself, my friend.” Vicario’s eyes flash. “Boasting like that will get you shanked someday. You make the rest of us look bad with that kind of talent, you know?”
“Sounds like you’ve just been slacking,” I tease, trying to divert attention away from me.
Vicario hums to himself thoughtfully. “You may be right about that, my friend. Iriye and I have settled into a comfortable pattern. But comfort breeds weakness, or so I’ve heard. Maybe it’s time to push our Skills forward.”
I shrug and say, “You seem to be doing pretty well as it is.”
“I’m doing something that matters to me,” Vicario replies. “But I’m not going to reach the second Threshold at this rate of progress. That’s a young man’s game, I’m afraid. If nothing else, though, you’ve certainly inspired Iriye to dream bigger. Thank you for that. She’s never seen anything like what you did today.”
“Sure she has,” I protest. “That [Baker] is incredible. Why doesn’t Iriye want to follow Maire's career path, if window-making isn’t Iriye’s thing? The sheer level of mana-control on display today—mind-boggling! I haven’t seen much like that below the second Threshold before. She reminds me of . . . of a friend of mine.”
“Rub shoulders with a lot of people above the second, eh?” Vicario says. “Might want to keep that to yourself. Some friendly advice.”
I blush furiously and go quiet. Me and my big mouth. He doesn’t push the matter, for which I’m grateful, but he looks surprisingly solemn. We’ve both got secrets to keep, unless I miss my mark.
Vicario stares into space for a long while, silent and brooding. He finally gives me a hollow smile. “Hmph. Maire is retired, and she keeps a low profile despite the bright paint job at the shop. I’m not sure Iriye has more than an inkling that her friendly grandmother-figure ranks among the most talented people I’ve ever met.”
“You want to keep it that way,” I guess.
“For as long as I can, yes,” Vicario confirms. “She’s so young and innocent, for all she likes to act tough. I’d like to keep her that way.”
“You’re a good father to them,” I say awkwardly. Encouragement isn’t my forte.
“I try,” Vicario says, smiling softly. “Thank you for saying so. You know, Iriye never wanted to work with glass like her old dad. I guess I just don’t impress her.”
“She doesn’t see behind the scenes. You—”
Vicario bursts out laughing, cutting me off. “Don’t be a boot-licker. I know the score.”
“I mean it,” I insist, meeting his intense, searching gaze. “A family took me in when I didn’t have anyone else, either. I appreciate what you’re doing for these kids.”
The hard lines on Vicario’s face soften a little, and he nods at me. “Likewise. Iriye might take an adjacent Class to yours after what you did today. I’ve never met anyone on the creator path, even if it’s still early in the process for you. Impressive stuff!”
“I wasn’t always like this,” I confide. “A year ago, I had only a single, lesser Skill to my name. I was whiny and lazy, and it took people calling me out on my immaturity to wake me up to just how hard I have to work if I want to reach the pinnacle. I’m not some supreme talent or anything. I simply started applying myself more rigorously.”
“Ha! Is that all it takes?” Vicario says, his violet eyes twinkling. “I’ll make sure to wake up half an hour earlier tomorrow and not slack off after a pleasant lunch.”
“That, and a few fortuitous encounters in a Greater Rift,” I say with a straight face. It’s such an absurd statement, though, that it makes my new friend laugh. He doesn’t know that I’m back to my old tricks: lying with the truth.
“Listen, it doesn’t take a genius to know you’re hiding something,” Vicario says. “So I got you something. Enjoy your fresh start.”
I shift half a step back, my hand instinctively reaching for my knife, but I’ve already given it to Vicario. He holds up his hands, palms out to show they’re empty, and the light of sympathy and understanding in his gaze makes me relax.
“I thought you were going to shank me with my own glass knife,” I say with a wink.
He snorts. “Nothing like that.” He hands me an envelope stuffed full of papers.
I start to lift the flap to peek inside, and he slaps my hand with a hiss. “Don’t open that in here, and don't tell me what it says. I don’t know and I don’t want to know.”
My shock must be written all over my face, because in the next moment he relents and gives me an explanation. “New name and credentials. Something tells me you need them.”
In that moment, I realize that my brief partnership with Vicario is turning out to be far more important than I realized at first. My mouth flaps open and shut, but no words come out.
His face crinkles into a slow grin. He seems to intuitively understand me. I haven't told him where I’m off to next, or why I can only stay in the city a day, and I’m keeping my identity hidden by not offering him my name. Yet he doesn’t hold it against me.
“You’ve got a bright future. Make the new start count,” he says, voice thick with emotion.
I can’t believe that I thought he was gone so long because he was worried that I’m a mole or a spy. I had trouble focusing because I worried he was making arrangements to take care of me permanently. Now I’m numb with gratitude, too overwhelmed to say anything.
“Surely this is too much. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay you,” I protest when I finally find my voice.
Vicario pats my shoulder and smiles. “You’re in some sort of trouble. No need to tell me. I ain’t interested; I’ve got enough of my own. But I’ve been where you are, and I didn’t have anyone to help when I could have used a hand. Just promise me one thing. If you never come back to our town, then find a way to pay my help forward. Find someone else in desperate straights, and make it right. I know I can count on you for that.”
I tuck the envelope into a pocket inside my cloak for safekeeping, taking my time so that I can compose myself. “I promise that I’ll see things through. You have my word.”
I’ve never really given much thought to other orphans before, on account of growing up with Mikko and his doting parents, but Vicario’s workshop inspires me.
He seems to trust my sincerity. He shakes my hand and goes back to deposit some of the day’s glass work into his safe, a whistle on his lips.
I linger at the exit to the shop with my hand on the door. A part of me wants to ask if I can stay. Life with Vicario seems fun. I could help teach the [Apprentices], watch them grow into their Skills, and celebrate with Iriye when she Classes. Pride makes the corner of my mouth twitch up into a smile. It’s not often that I’m an inspirational figure to others. It feels good.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I wave goodbye to Vicario, push open the door, and drag myself back to my inn. I have too much else to do, too many tasks to complete. I can’t afford a distraction right now. Still. It would be nice to stay somewhere where I’m wanted.
As I lie in bed that night, tossing and turning, I run through my checklist for saving the realm: Enter—no, win—the glass competition in Grand Ile; impress the judges with my proposal for the second stage of the competition; earn an Inheritance, if it exists; advance my Skills and begin to plan for my first Masterwork; recover the PPP and explore Rifts until I can find where in the world Tem disappeared to; avert the war with the wraiths. . . .
I wake up groggy the next morning, my list unfinished. I scarf down a hasty breakfast in the inn's common room and leave town as soon as the gates open, eager to be on the road. I have a long way to go to reach Grand Ile, and I want to make sure I have time in the evening to work on more attempts at mana imbuing—if that’s actually what I’m doing—so that I have another tool at my disposal for the competition.
I’ll miss Vicario, Iriye, Maire, and the various [Apprentices], but I don’t look back. I might lose my nerve if I do, and settle down here. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and lengthen my stride. Grand Ile awaits. Adventure is calling me. Onward. Ever onward.