Metalworking order for glass molds signed and submitted, I turn my attention at last toward the most demanding of taskmasters: my stomach. I indulge in a lengthy stretch, accompanied by a satisfying pop from my back, and clap my assistant on the shoulder. “Come. We’re eating now. Follow me to the nearest restaurant.”
He sputters and tries to argue that he has responsibilities around the shop, but I’m not in the mood to be denied good food by something as mundane as a work schedule. Chuckling at the young man’s feeble protests, I grab him by the arm and drag him out the front door.
A passing cart almost takes my face off as soon as I set foot on the street.
I leap back with a yelp, shaking a fist and murmuring curses under my breath. I hope that the driver’s windows crack and crumble right out of his house. All around us, the city fairly vibrates with energy as people scurry about. The cries of street vendors and rattle of hand carts and carriages assaults my ears, while my nose twitches at the heady scent of flowers mixed with the fetid stench of unwashed bodies. I’m barely able to see a path forward through the maze of foot and wagon traffic, disoriented by the hustle and bustle of the big city.
“Well. Seems I made a mistake,” I say with a chuckle, turning to the frightened assistant in mild embarrassment. I scratch the back of my head, offering a small shrug. “I guess I’ll have to follow you, since I don't actually know the way.”
For the first time all day, he laughs, staring at me with a wide-eyed, incredulous look. “I’m not sure that we eat at the same kind of establishments. I pack a bite at home so I don’t have to waste any hard-earned coin. Gentleman like you probably think nothing of dropping a week of my salary for one meal.”
“Ha. I’m not a noble or anything,” I say, trying to set the skittish assistant at ease. “I’ve got nothing to my name. Don’t worry, I’ll pay, anyway, since the [Viceroy] is my patron at the moment,” I say cheerfully. “I want to get away from the shop for a little while and have something to eat, and you look like you could use a drink and unwind a bit. Try to enjoy yourself.”
Irritation, amazement, and concern flicker across his face in the space of a heartbeat. He shrugs, lets out a soft laugh, and beckons me onward toward a restaurant. “We’ll eat at a place I know, as long as you’re good for the coin. I hope your glass project is better thought through than your lunch plans.”
“I’m not the best planner, I admit, but my glass-work is second to none,” I boast. “Or, at least, it used to be back when I had two hands. I only have one now, so it stands to reason that I’m only half as good as I was. I’ll get back there soon. Don’t worry.”
“I, uh, wasn’t worried,” he replies, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He coughs, then looks down at his shoes in embarrassment. “I don’t even know who you are, or why you picked me to help, since you've got such high and mighty friends.”
“I’m just a fellow glass-maker. You can call me Nuri,” I say. When he doesn’t seem to recognize the name as an accused traitor, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s nice to be free of the weight of expectations; for once, no one knows who I am. Then I frown. Wait, he still knows that I’m here at the behest of the most powerful mage in the capital, possibly in the entire country, so that connection hardly helps me slip by unnoticed.
“Name’s Tanaq. I'm not a [Glassworker]. I, uh, I haven’t Classed yet. Melidandri keeps me around since he knows my Ma needs my help, but I’m more of a clerk than anything. I don’t know how to make glass,” Tanaq says. A hint of wariness seeps into his voice, as though he’s afraid of my reaction.
“Well, today you’re my assistant, Tanaq, which means you’ll make glass with me after lunch. Don’t worry about Classing, anyway. I built a career in a hot shop with only a single Skill. And now I don’t even have that. All you need is dedication and interest.”
Tanaq stuffs his hands in his pockets, shuffling along as he directs us down a side street. He goes quiet for so long that I don’t think he’s going to answer, but he surprises me by clearing his throat and glancing at me. “I could learn glass-making? You really think so?”
“I know so! I’m living proof,” I say with an impish grin.
“Pub up ahead on your left,” Tanaq says, nodding toward an open public square at the end of the street.
He seems lost in thought over my offer to teach him, so I let him be while I take in the surroundings. In the center of the square, a marble fountain topped with twin statues of carved fish at play presides over the shops and market stalls. The clear water bubbles merrily, spraying forth from the open mouths of the fish, and children whoop and splash as they frolic in the broad, shallow pool.
Across the way, a verdant flash of fluttering banners catches my eye. Acrobats turn head over heels, contorting and leaping through the air. Next to them, a band of street performers are putting on a light-hearted play outside a pub, which I assume is our lunch destination. There’s nothing particularly compelling about their performance, but I find my steps slowing as I approach the front door.
Despite the gurgle in my stomach that marks my hunger, I’m captivated by the jaunty tunes and vibrant shades of the sets and costumes. The story they’re telling is a nonsensical tale about a man who wants to run as fast as a race horse. In a comedic, exaggerated display, he nails horseshoes to his boots while still wearing them. Little red streamers ribbons unfurl from his boots, supposedly to represent his blood from hammering sharp nails into his own feet. The [Actor] stumbles around, howling in pain and cursing the dastardly [Farrier] for selling him “defective” horseshoes. All the while, the long red streamers flutter about in the wind, dancing in mockery of his foolishness.
“It ain’t the horseshoes that are the problem. More like your defective brain!” a woman walking by calls out, and I snort in amusement. She’s probably a plant, speaking up to get the audience to laugh, but it’s funny anyway.
This is ridiculous, I scoff internally. Hurry up and eat so you can get back to work. Yet I find myself unable to look away, chuckling along with the crowd as the man’s hijinks grow more and more absurd; he decides that if he can’t run like a horse, then gluing feathers to his arms will let him fly like an eagle, with predictably bad results. Their show is far from masterfully done, although the antics are amusing, but I still can’t tear myself away to go inside the pub and eat. There’s something about the silliness that speaks to me.
I can't remember the last time I did something just for fun. Finally, I make peace with my inner critic, giving myself permission to watch to the end. I’m determined to cater to my own entertainment for once. Everything over the last few months has been a blur of tension and fear, difficult days and sorrow stacked upon sorrow. I deserve some time for myself.
The longer we stand in front of the impromptu stage and watch the performance, the more acutely aware I am just how much I’ve missed laughing. I need a reminder of what life has to offer. My existence isn’t defined by displays of power or deciphering the mysteries of magic. It’s all right to just enjoy a bit of fun and relaxation. In fact, it's probably good for me to get away from the stress of learning from Scalpel, and the terror of dealing with the [Viceroy].
Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and soak it all in. I let the cheers and laughter of the audience wash over me, ignoring my rumbling stomach, the insistent thoughts about my chandelier, and the awkward way Tanaq coughs to get my attention. The demands of the world fade away, until only quiet contentment remains, and I bask in the simplicity of the moment. Yep. I needed this, I tell myself, grinning like a fool until my cheeks ache.
=+=
The shop is buzzing when we return from our extended lunch. Apparently, commissioning the molds on a rush order and then disappearing with one of the workers created a bit of a stir. The studio boss, Melidandri, shoots me a look of arch annoyance when I walk back in with Tanaq in tow. Bowing and offering genteel words no longer, Melidandri crosses his arms and glares. He must be more irritated than I anticipated; perhaps the way I challenged him came across a bit too arrogant.
Offering an apologetic grin and shrug, I stride over to an unclaimed workstation, vowing that he’ll change his tune when he sees my finished piece. I’ll win his stupid challenge and force him to teach me mana-imbuing if it’s the last thing I do.
“Tanaq, please lay out the molds,” I say, managing to sound calmer than I am. “I want to fill the molds as soon as possible. Then join me at the bench. You know how to use a blowpipe? Good. You’ll be on duty while I shape the eventual heart of the chandelier. We’ll go faster if I don’t have to fumble about with only one hand.”
Uncertainty written on his face, Tanaq nevertheless jumps to follow my instructions after only a short apology to Melidandri, who waves him off. Tanaq isn’t as skilled as Ifran, my young helper from the Peliharaon studio, but he’s eager to help, and that's good enough for me. While he arranges the cast metal molds by geometric shape, I check on my batch of glass to make sure it’s ready to go.
As expected from an establishment of such class and sophistication, my furnace features a thermometer on the side. I stir a steel rod through the viscous, molten mix anyway to verify that the dichroic glass I prepped in the morning is ready. It should be up to temperature, but it never hurts to confirm.
“Let’s get the additives we need to introduce some color, Tanaq. I want red squares, green pentagons, and blue hexagons. That should give us the flexibility to create any other combination we want. Think you can handle that?”
“By myself?” Tanaq squeaks, nearly dropping one of the hexagonal molds before he firms up his grip and keeps from fumbling the metal shape onto the floor.
I nod, grinning at his distress. “If you’re unsure about any of the ratios, I’ll coach you through it. Don’t fret so much! We’re experimenting. It’ll be fun.”
Tanaq seems to find his spine the longer he works. His instincts for flux are spot-on, probably since he’s helped out in the shop for years, learning more than he realized through proximity. I oversee the process for a few more minutes, then clap him on the shoulder and amble over to the regular glass selections.
Not content to simply pour molten glass of various colors into a mold during my precious time at the studio, I’m itching to work with my hands again—er, well, with my hand. Gotta start somewhere. I pick out a small rod of clear glass and bring it to the furnace, heating it up to working elasticity. Once I’m satisfied with the consistency, I use a blowpipe to scoop up a traditional gather. I trot over to the bench to work in tandem with Tanaq, who is just finishing up filling the last of the molds.
He smiles at me tentatively, puts aside the molds to allow the glass to set, and takes up the mouthpiece to the blowpipe. Handoff complete, I switch to a set of tongs and a flat, graphite paddle. He’ll work on turning the blowpipe and inflating the hot globe while I shape the glass. Not having to do everything myself is a welcome change.
“We’ll make the fiery interior first," I say, just to make small talk and set him at ease. “Slow and steady turning. No need to blow so hard; we aren’t going for size with this one.”
Tanaq eases back on the rate of turn. He spits out the mouthpiece and chuckles weakly. “Sorry, I’m still new to this. You’re the boss.” At my nod, he takes up his position again and puts the carved mouthpiece back in place. He breathes more gently this time, no longer forcing so much air into the hollow, spinning ball of molten glass.
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“Perfect. You’re a natural,” I praise Tanaq, hoping to encourage my timid assistant. Truth be told, I’m barely paying him any mind. My focus is on the ball of glass in front of me that I’m stretching and pinching with the tongs, pulling sections of the soft glass into little protrusions. I’ll thin them out after the shape is roughly in place, transforming the raw material into the likeness of tongues of fire. Soon, I lose myself in the hypnotic process of creation.
“Getting cold. Heat it back up in the glory hole,” I direct Tanaq. He hurries off to plunge the glass into the second furnace, while I take a short break to clear my mind and wipe away all the sweat building up on my face.
In my mind’s eye, I conjure up the image of a bonfire. The crackling wood and flickering flames give off no heat in my imagination, but the fire dances about too quickly for me to copy. I freeze it in place, studying the ethereal shape of the fire, still lost in a trance when Tanaq returns with the glass, which is hot and malleable again. My fingers grip the tongs, copying what I see before I even realize I’ve started moving. The tool in my hand feels like an extension of my will, following the template in my mind until the job is done.
Satisfied at last with the intricate flames, I draw out the base of the glass globe to create a narrow weak point. I tap the neck to break off the glass connected to the pipe, catching it in a soft, thick towel. Tanaq slips on a pair of heat-resistant gloves, and he picks up the glass to take it to the kiln to anneal, but I hold up my hand to stop him.
“One last thing before we’re done here. I need to open a small hole on the base of the flames before we throw this in the annealer. Tomorrow, once this is ready, I’ll fill in the clear glass shape with red-gold, molten glass imbued with the concept of fire. If all goes well, then we’ll piece together the shapes from the molds and complete the outside layers, then wrap up the glittering fire and hang it from the chain I commissioned.”
“Sounds good, boss,” Tanaq says, throwing a goofy salute. He waits for me to finish with the tongs, and then scurries off to the annealer to deposit the fire-touched glass.
“You’ve got talent after all, young master Nuri. Apologies for my doubts.” Melidandri’s voice catches me off guard, and I startle at the sudden sound. He chuckles in quiet amusement, then tilts his head toward the clock on the wall. “You worked straight through dinner. I’ve already sent Tanaq home. Closing time, young master. You’ve been wrapped up in a creative fugue for most of the day, but there’s always tomorrow, never you fear.”
Brimming with calm contentment, I thank Melidandri and wake up the carriage driver, who’s napping in his seat while he waits for me to finish up. I suppose that I’ve subconsciously put off returning to Scalpel’s manor house for as long as I can manage, but I don’t want to push things too far. Relying on her good graces seems like a bad idea. I can’t imagine it’s good for my long-term health.
Night blankets the city by the time I arrive at Scalpel’s compound. Her guards escort me back to my room, grumbling about the late hour. I shrug off their sour glares and slam the door shut as soon as they leave, but I’m having trouble entertaining the thought of sleep. I have far too much on my mind after the first truly happy day I can remember in ages. Yet as exciting as it was to work with glass again, it’s the stupid little street show that dominates my thoughts. I’m glad I got to see their performance. At last I make myself comfortable on my little mat, and drift off to sleep with a full heart.
The next morning, I report to Scalpel’s workshop well before breakfast. She ignores me, busy with her paperwork, so I follow her lead and ignore her right back. I casually requisition the biggest mana crystal I can find, pocketing it and sauntering out the door, expecting her to snap at me at any moment, but she waves once to acknowledge me and returns to her studies.
Wonders of wonders, she let me go just like that! My mind reels at the implications of her odd behavior. Maybe my position is more secure than she let on, now that I have the [Viceroy]’s backing. We’ll see if I can push the boundaries over the coming weeks.
=+=
During the carriage ride to the glass studio, I turn the mana crystal in my hand, visualizing how I’ll use it. Higher order concepts are tricky even in the best of circumstances, but I’ll only get one go at using the mana in the crystal to power my imagined heart of fire. I wish Ember were here to use her Skill on the glass, making it sparkle and glimmer like actual burning coals. I’ll have to show her what I can do once I go back home. I hope it makes her proud.
Tanaq greets me at the door. He’s practically vibrating with enthusiasm, babbling about how Melidandri agreed to let him work with the actual [Apprentices] so that he’ll be more helpful for my visit next week. He’s so excited that he can barely get his words out in the proper order, so I tell him to go collect the geometric molds.
After a salute, Tanaq rushes off to check on the glass molds, leaving me standing in the entryway awkwardly. I feel ashamed about my judgemental thoughts toward Melidandri. Maybe I misjudged him. He seems like a decent sort, so I offer an apology for my behavior the day before, but he just waves me off and tells me that he’s looking forward to seeing what I make when all the rest of the pieces come together.
I take a seat at my workbench, waiting for Tanaq to return with the molds. Nerves are eating at me today, as doubt worms into my heart and mind. If I bungle things with the mana crystal, then I’ll ruin what I set out to do. What if I can’t pull off such an ambitious project? What if my grandiose promises amount to nothing in the end?
I take a deep breath to steady myself. “Let’s make something amazing today. You ready for this, Tanaq?”
He grins. “Sure, as long as you’re buying lunch again.”
I roll my eyes at the joke, but Tanaq’s good mood drains away some of my tension. I open the molds with him, sorting through the shapes and determining if the glass meets my specifications. We made extra, just in case, which is good since one of them cracked overnight. The edges aren’t smooth, either, so I set my assistant to work grinding and polishing, with orders to keep working until the planes of brightly-colored glass gleam in the studio’s magelight.
Once he’s set to his task, I turn my attention to the delicate, ghostly flames I made the day before. Still slower than I want to be with only one hand, I’m nonetheless able to fall into a rhythm as the familiar work helps me relax. Working with glass again is a soothing balm to my soul. I’ve been hurting more than I realized, but it fades away now that I’ve returned to the hot shop.
My confidence grows throughout the day as I make a few simple shapes, taking the time to show Tanaq how to do the basics. Lunch break sneaks up on me, and after a hearty meal at the same pub, I finally feel ready to put my plan into action.
My hand slips into the pocket where I’m keeping the mana crystal. It’s larger than the ones I usually work with, almost as broad as my hand, but less bulky. I breathe a word of thanks for Scalpel’s uncaring attitude toward money; this crystal is probably worth a fortune. Without her help, I wouldn’t be able to keep pursuing my proto mana-imbuing.
Tanaq’s eyes bulge at the sight of the crystal, but he keeps his mouth shut even though I can tell he’s brimming with questions. “Lay out the pattern we discussed, and look lively. We’ll need to move quickly once I start to draw on the mana, since I can’t hold very much at a time.”
He nods in acknowledgement of my request, but the way he’s staring at me tells me that he’s left with more questions than answers. Welcome to the club, I think wryly, and then purge the errant thoughts from my mind as I begin the work.
No more stalling. Time to put all my practice with runes and Intent to good use.
I sink inward, drawing on my connections to both [The Eternal Glass Forge] and [The Architect of Unseen Worlds], parsing their meanings as best I can. My head spins under the onslaught of complexities too vast for me to comprehend. The simple runes we learned as children are drawn on paper, two dimensional and inert. They’re nothing like the beautiful Skill structures in my core space, however, which seem to inhabit multiple dimensions. The complex sigils shift and thrum with power that I can’t understand, but I draw in a trickle of mana and feed it into the Skills anyway, searching for resonance in the runes.
Trusting that my study with Scalpel hasn’t been completely in vain, I rely on feeling more than anything. Puzzling out the intricacies of the Skills is a fool’s errand, anyway. She’s pointed me in the right direction, but now it’s time to intuit the rest. I abandon the impossible task of solving all the mysteries of the universe before dinner time, and instead focus on making glass and listening to my instincts.
I siphon off tiny sips of power from the mana crystal as I go, ignoring the burn and focusing on watching the mana flow through the half-functioning runes. I allow my body to act automatically, my hand shaping the glass while my mind meditates on the specific higher order concept I want to imbue into the chandelier heart: namely, fire.
I cast my mind back to the last round in Grand Ile, trying desperately to recapture the memory of what I did. Fire and flames dominated my mind when I created the glowing heart at the center of the chandelier, which makes sense. It was my heartfelt tribute to my mentor and first master in the craft, Ember. Surely I can duplicate that again today.
An idea strikes me, and I stop pulling the mana into my channels and core. Instead, I hold the mana crystal to my chest so I can draw the energy straight into the Skill structures to power the runes directly. I’m not sure at first if it will work, but soon warmth ripples through me like a soft breeze on a midsummer day. My body relaxes, and a smile softly steals across my face. For the first time in forever, the mana doesn’t burn in my channels, but instead hums in vibrant harmony as it pours through the channel cut into my chest. The pain is not entirely absent, but the sharp, jagged edge of agony is muted. Tolerable. The rush of energy bypasses the normal channels altogether and soaks directly into my Skills, suffusing them with power and song and a dizzying, mesmerizing pattern.
My hand grows still. I stop moving, freezing in the hot shop—a distant part of my brain notes how absurd that sounds—as a rush of power spools out of me, igniting an inscrutable firestorm of runic working.
Reflexively, I sink deeper into my inner self to observe what's happening to me, then I break out of the delve and snatch up my notepad to start writing down my findings. I etch the memory on my mind, recording it as quickly as I can in the odd shorthand that Scalpel is teaching me. Mere words aren’t enough to contain the profundity of the Skill runes, since they interface with more planes of existence than I can fathom, so I can only pray that my efforts at playing scribe will pass muster.
The whole world seems to sing in harmony. Sounds and sensation and scent grow far away, muted in comparison to the vibrancy of mana. Power gathers around me, so thick and palpable that I can practically taste it on my tongue. I put down the notebook, and my hand deftly guides the glass pieces into place. I yearn to harvest the mana, draw it in through my damaged core and use it to manipulate the glass with my Skills, but I know they’re not in working order. Instead, I delve deeper inward once again, searching for the correct runes and combinations to accomplish my task in a more free-form manner.
Something about the Skill structure sings in my mind as I work with the glass, calling out to me and resonating with meaning. I close my eyes briefly, tracing each runic element one by one as they vibrate with hidden potential. I don’t recognize many of them, but perhaps I don’t have to know what I’m doing. Ezio would be proud of how much work I’ve put into studying with Scalpel over the past month, but budding scholar or not, I'm not equipped to unravel this puzzle with facts and logic. Acting on instinct rather than relying on any comprehensive knowledge of the process, I usher the energy flows toward the runes that feel right.
The glass-making process itself seems to guide me. I draw in the latent energy of the mana crystal, threading the energy of the world through the proper runes in the structures and bypassing my cracked channels. With a surge of power, my Intent manifests in the world around me, illuminating the glass heart of stylized flames as it glows with incandescent splendor. With a mere thought, I seize the glass in an iron grip, bending and shaping it to my will.
Clutching the mana crystal tight to my chest, I orchestrate the movements of glass with my mind like a conductor directing a symphony. The mana surges through me and spills over into my channels, despite my efforts to avoid them. The agonizing burn is significantly reduced, however, and this time I don’t even grunt or grimace as I face the pain. Instead, I watch in wide-eyed wonder as the chandelier assembles itself in front of me, encasing the heart of glass I made yesterday through more traditional means.
Meaning and mystery clash in my mind. I’m torn between the desire to write everything down in my notepad to share with Scalpel, and intense longing to simply be. How often have I gotten a chance to let existence wash over me, luxuriating in life’s unexpected joys? Yesterday’s mediocre street show springs to mind, and again I find myself smiling at all the preposterous shenanigans. I haven’t had much cause for smiling lately, but working with glass and seeing my creations take shape in front of me goes a long way to healing my frayed nerves and soothing my worn-down spirit.
Like a drop of water in a bucket already filled up to the brim, the feeling of belonging and satisfaction wells up, overflowing and spilling the bucket across the floor. The gush of power hits the room and seems to have a qualitative, transformative effect. The glass in front of me molds itself to my desire, springing into existence and taking on the proper shapes and color I want with barely a thought. The entire chandelier is fully assembled, spinning in the air in all its glittering glory.
“Hook up the chain before I run dry and drop the glass on the floor,” I call out, panting and feeling light-headed. I don’t want to shatter this one, too.
Tanaq dashes over with the chain I ordered, fastening it to the chandelier as quickly as he can. He hangs it securely on a wall hook, where the entire studio can admire it, with scant seconds to spare.
Then the mana runs out, and the overwhelming feelings of warmth and satisfaction and rightness disappear. Nonetheless, for a brief moment, I felt like I was once more using [The Eternal Glass Forge] and [Architect of Unseen Worlds]—my beloved artisan Skills—to make a masterpiece. I miss that feeling more than ever, but my enthusiasm for what I just accomplished is undimmed.
I’m slick with sweat, and each breath rattles in my chest, but the strain is worth it. I savor Melidandri and Tanaq’s shocked expressions, knowing that my chandelier will demand attention in the studio showroom. The promised prize is practically mine already.
Today, I took a step toward recovery. Tomorrow, I will pursue mastery. Whatever the future holds, I will face it with all the dignity and joy I can muster. By various turns, I’ve been an adventurer, a fugitive, a runic researcher, and an explorer of Rifts. Above all, however, I am a [Glassworker]—and proud of it.