The next time I meet with [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote, I’m a relatively free man. Scalpel has once again removed the warding runes etched on my bones for the day, grumbling all the while about how high-maintenance I am. She escorted me outside her mansion and turned me over to the [Chief Inquisitor]’s guards for my mandatory visit with Xharrote. Instead of a carriage ride, this time I enjoyed a brisk walk across the city, flanked by a quartet of [Inquisitors], and my mood is at an all time high.
Now, I find myself climbing a concrete set of stairs in the headquarters tower, barely lit in an apparent effort to promote an ominous, moody environment. I wonder if they make every visitor walk all the way up to the top floor of the ten-storey building? As intimidation tactics go, I have definitely seen worse.
My legs are burning by the time I reach the tenth floor, which reminds me that I need to work on my conditioning again. I don’t intend to remain in my pseudo imprisonment forever, and if I’m left in the dust by my old friends because I neglected my training, then I’ll never hear the end of it.
The stairs terminate in a long, slightly less dim hallway, but it’s far from welcoming. In fact, the oppressiveness factor is ratched up a notch, since the hallway is lined with arrow slits. I don’t enjoy the knowledge that I could die at any moment, but it reinforces my need to stay on guard. The theater of the approach serves as a stark and necessary reminder that I am most certainly not among friends. I need to keep alert, I tell myself as I’m ushered up to the doorway of Xharrote’s office. Stern-faced [Inquisitors] with slender blades strapped to their hips unlock and open the iron-reinforced door that’s barring our entry, and I slip inside at their urging.
Xharrote stands by a massive window that’s twice as tall as I am, his stance wide and ready for action, his back military-straight. His old, gnarled hands are clasped behind him, and he cuts a daunting, heroic figure against the backlit window. His command office overlooks downtown Modilaraon, and though it’s less extravagant than Tapirs’ palatial house, the single glass pane alone is worth a fortune. The trappings of luxury have been traded in for an austere authority, but it’s no less imposing by virtue of sheer scale.
“You look well,” Xharrote says with a smirk, meeting my eyes in the reflection of the window. He does not turn to greet me. “I never thought I’d see the day when Scalpel took an actual interest in another person, but I suppose wonders will never cease.”
I shrug one shoulder. “She sees me as a useful tool. Her research is picking up speed, and we’re on the cusp of some breakthroughs. I think that’s all that matters to her. Keeping me fat and happy is a means to an end.”
“Perhaps. She’s had colleagues before. None like you, though. I think she admires you. After all, not many people have the wherewithal to continue on after shattering a core. In fact, I can't think of any example in recent history. You are officially in uncharted territory. Oh, some people have certainly recovered thanks to miraculous interventions, but they waited until after the restoration of their core and channels to continue practicing their craft.”
I hold in a snort, but perhaps there’s some truth to his observations. "Does that mean she'll treat me differently if I'm no longer useful to her? Somehow I don't think I can count on her goodwill extending very far, even if I am an oddity.”
“Welcome to the top of the world. What do you think?” Xharrote asks, gesturing around the city as though he didn't hear my question. I suppose he hasn't answered because there's no point to it; we both know that Scalpel's nature won't change just because I'm intriguing to her.
“The glass is certainly impressive. The view ain't half bad, either. I'd love to see the facility capable of producing this pane of glass. It's a marvel of production. The consistency and evenness is impeccable. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'm not sure I would have believed it was even possible.”
"For a man of such varied interests and unusual accomplishments, you certainly have a one track mind,” Xharrote remarks dryly, finally shifting to face me.
“The entire world fascinates me,” I say, not sure what he’s getting at. “Glass is simply what I know best. Is it really any wonder that I gravitate towards something familiar? I’m way out of my depth here in the capital. Let me have this one thing I’m comfortable with, if you please.”
Xharrote nods reasonably, and offers me a cup of tea that seems to materialize in his hands. He must have produced it somehow while I wasn’t concentrating on him, although I’m guessing that he simply faded the cup out of my consciousness. He’s using a more advanced form of illusion or concealment than Mbukhe ever demonstrated, but it seems to work on similar principles. His mastery is on an entirely different level, however, which concerns me. I’d rather not make such a formidable enemy if I can help it.
“You're refreshingly straightforward to speak with, Nuri,” Xharrote says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He sips his tea slowly, gazing out the window at the bustling city far below. “I corroborated as much of your story as I could. The last time we spoke you asked me about the glass competition, but I was petty about the rather innocent information. Instead of telling you how the competition shook out, I accused you of withholding details and offered a trade.”
“Understandable. No hard feelings,” I say as graciously as I can manage.
Xharrote barks out a laugh. “This is not an apology, Nuri. I’m telling you that you missed your opportunity to barter while your information still held value. Now you’ve missed your chance. I’m fairly confident that I figured out what you kept back, as well as your motivation for hiding. Thus, your bargaining chip is worthless.”
“Thank you for the pointers,” I say, forcing the words out even though I’m gritting my teeth.
He waves off my insincere thanks. “Since you seem to care so much for your friends, I suppose I can let your omissions slide this time.” He grimaces. “Besides, I've been instructed to leave you alone since you’re a valuable asset. I don’t rightly know why. Now that we have the astral navigator in our possession, there’s nothing you can offer us that our specialists aren’t better equipped to handle, but not even I can argue a word from on high. That means something else must be in play, and unknowns always make me nervous. It’s my job to know things, after all.”
We stand side by side, staring out of the window in uncomfortable stillness. There’s no sense of tranquility to our repose; this is the calm of an impending storm. The tension builds the longer he looms nearby, brooding and silent, and I wonder if this is part of his Class. Maybe Xharrote is weaponizing the quietness, leveraging my own sense of unease against me.
“Do you want me to hazard a guess?” I eventually ask, mostly to break the oppressive silence. His taciturn glower is as suffocating as anything I’ve ever felt.
“Please do,” he murmurs in his gravelly voice.
“First of all, I don't buy that you don't know what's going on. Even if you didn't have an inkling, then you wouldn't tell me. You're far too calculating for that. Second, I'm fairly certain that my current value is related to my proximity to Scalpel. The [Viceroy] already intimated that you suspect she’s holding back notes. You want me to spy on her for you in exchange for a full pardon? That’s the only logical conclusion, given that you went to such great lengths to make sure that I understood both the dangers of lying to you and the benefits of using my bargaining chips.“
The teacups disappear, and Xharrote goes with them, fading from view. His disembodied voice floats through the office, echoing from all directions and making it impossible to pinpoint his location. “I suppose a pardon could be arranged, Nuri. It all depends on how useful the information you provide actually is to us.”
“You people really know how to motivate your underlings,” I say with a dramatic sigh. “All right, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Excellent. Devyn, one of Scalpel’s many guards, is in the employ of the [Inquisitors]. He will be your contact. You’ve never met him before, but he knows who you are. Rest assured that Devyn will reach out to you when I need to get in touch.”
I study the tiny forms of the people rushing about in the streets far below us, too annoyed at the manipulations to answer. I’m tired of playing the part of a puppet, but I need to bide my time before I’m strong enough to cut my strings and make a proper escape.
“Why hold back an astral navigator! You would have been handsomely rewarded, you know,” Xharrote says, his voice sounding even fainter and farther away. “You could have ended this war months ago if we could find where the dimensional membranes thin. We still ought to charge you with treason for that reason alone.”
Sweat breaks out on my back, cold and clammy, before I realize he’s probably joking. As grim as his words sound, he would have acted against me already if he truly thought I harbored malicious intent. His mocking laughter follows me on the long march down the stairs and all the way out of the building, where I stand awkwardly on the sidewalk, wrestling with my guilt. Maybe I should have told them about everything, and avoided all this mess in the first place.
=+=
My meeting with Xharrote takes less time than anticipated. Scalpel is expecting me, but without the tracking runes etched on the bones in my forearm, she can’t enforce her will. So, after a bit of wheedling, I convince the four [Inquisitors] guarding me to escort me to Melidandri’s shop for a brief visit. I’m not scheduled to arrive back at Scalpel’s until evening. I may as well put my free time to good use.
Alarm flashes across Melidandri’s face when he sees me, but the illustrious master of the glass studio squashes his unguarded expression almost instantly. He offers my guards food and drink, and thanks them for displaying such flexibility and going far above and beyond the expectations of duty, etc, etc, all while herding them toward a break room where they can wait for us to finish our work.
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When he returns to the lobby, Melidandri gestures for me to follow him up the stairs to his office. He closes the door behind us, activates a privacy rune, and crosses his arms. “What in the abyss are you doing here, Nuri?”
“What do you mean? I was hoping to get in some practice before my visit next week. Is that a problem?” I ask him, mirroring his standoff posture.
“What are you really doing?” he hisses.
“I just told you,” I say, confusion washing over me as I start to repeat myself.
Before I can get another word edgewise, however, Melidandri cuts me off. He bristles with tightly held indignation. “What’s your real game? Why are the [Inquisitors] at my door? The [Viceroy] gave me clear assurances that they weren’t involved, which is the only reason I was willing to entangle myself with matters far above my station. What changed? I will not take the endangerment of my staff lightly.”
"Ah, I see your confusion,” I say, putting the pieces together at last. “I had a meeting with [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote, and his guards were kind enough to escort me here at the conclusion of our business. They only came to your shop by happenstance, not by design. I wanted to get in extra practice before I had to return to my—that is, return home.”
Melidandri seems unconvinced, but his hostile stance relaxes slightly. I suppose I don't blame him for his reluctance to believe me. No one wants to run afoul of the law, particularly not when the big boss of the infamous [Inquisitors] is personally involved. Searching my mind for a solution, I hit on a possible peace offering. “Have you ever tested your mana attributes to see how you score? You seem to have an exceptional foundation, but only average Capacity as far as I can tell. Does that sound accurate?”
The abrupt shift in subject seems to catch him by surprise. He nods fractionally. “I’m a shade above average Capacity, but you have the main thrust correct. What’s that got to do with anything?” he asks with wariness in his voice.
“That will become clear eventually. In the meantime, I think I have a solution to offer. But I want some assurances from you before I tell you my plans.”
“Funny, I was going to extract assurances from you, Nuri,” Melidandri says, and his good humor slowly seeps back in. “It seems neither of us quite trust the other, yet each of us seem to believe that we need something. Does that mean neither of us are arguing from a position of strength here? Ha. Fascinating to consider. You struck me like you’re the kind of person who has everything well in hand, so this reversal of fortunes has me uneasy.”
Bitter laughter bursts out of me. I shuffle over to one of Melidandri’s overstuffed chairs and slump into the plush fabric seat, suddenly feeling drained. “You have no idea how desperately I wish that were the case. I’m not in control of anything these days.”
Sighing in resignation, Melidandri bustles about making tea for us. He’s nothing if not an impeccable host. “Well, well, master Nuri. We find ourselves in a predicament. I won’t presume to tell you that I have any answers, but if you are in a spot of bother, then I am willing to listen if you feel the need to unburden yourself.”
I shake my head. “As much as I truly appreciate the offer, telling you what's going on would only complicate matters. I don’t want to implicate you with my problems. I’d like to think that I’m not such a poor guest as to repay your continued kindness so poorly. Can I count on you for discretion?”
He nods slowly, as if he’s worried about the implications of saying either yes or no. They both likely have consequences.
A brief, brittle smile is all I can offer him as reassurance. “If you're willing to keep details to yourself, then I believe we can come to an understanding. My current master”—I fight to keep the grimace off my face—“greatly admires your talent with mana imbuing. She would like to join us next week to observe your skills in action. I promise that I have not told her of your ability to combine multiple concepts, but she’s intrigued nonetheless and demands an audience. I must warn you, however: her methods of observation are far more intimate than most people will ever be comfortable allowing.”
I can tell by the furrowed brow that the glass smith doesn't understand what I’m referring to. Cursing my ill luck, I venture to say her name, watching closely for a glimmer of recognition. He doesn’t seem to know who Scalpel is, however, which makes me feel even worse about the thought of introducing him.
Melidandri seems to pick up on my discomfort. He pours me another cup of tea and sits down, leaning back in the chair opposite me with his fingers interlaced over his belly. He props up his feet on the ottoman and crosses his ankles, settling into a comfortable position while he waits for me to continue speaking.
“Scalpel is not a pleasant woman,” I say, though there’s nothing I can tell him to prepare him for the unnerving experience of someone hitching a ride on your soul. “She has a peculiar and disturbing ability to delve into your core while you activate your Skills. Scalpel is attempting to unravel the secrets of skills and classes, and my brief recitation of your talents seems to have caught her eye and left us in this unenviable situation. I apologize, but I am not in a position to refuse her anything. I must insist on this meeting, but I’ll try to remunerate you in kind.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And you wish to keep secrets from this sort of person? That hardly sounds good for your working relationship, Nuri.”
“Unfortunately, we are master and apprentice by virtue of circumstance, not by choice. If it were up to me, then I would move to your studio to work full-time and focus solely on glass. That’s a luxury I’m afraid I can’t afford, however. We must all make sacrifices.”
I offer Meledandri my empty teacup. He takes it to his counter with a sad, knowing look in his eyes, and brings me back another refill. “I’m not sure how much use I can be to you, but if keeping my mouth shut about what you want to tell me is helpful in any way, then I’m glad to be of service.”
“I am in your debt,” I say simply, my voice thick and husky with gratitude. “Now, let’s go make some glass. I have a theory I want to put to the test. If it works out, then I think you’ll be very pleased with the result.”
“I’ll follow your lead,” Melidandri says. His tall, elegant frame seems to sag a bit, but he gamely accompanies me down to the hot shop floor.
The awkward tension hangs over our heads like a darkening stormcloud throughout the afternoon. Thankfully, working with glass has always been therapeutic for me, and I’m carried away on a soothing wave of inspiration. I concentrate on the creative process, giving myself over to the task at hand, and as a small, multi-layered ball of different colored glass types come together, I’m hit with a touch of nostalgia for the training globes that I created a year ago. They did their job well, and paid the ultimate sacrifice to keep me safe. Gone, but not forgotten.
While I work, I siphon mana from the air and coax it into the folded lattice structure within the glass, imparting a sense of belonging and inertia. It hurts less than drawing mana into my core and then trying to power Skills or activate a runic array, but it’s still an agonizing burn that never leaves my chest. If Melidandri notices, he doesn’t mention my discomfort.
While my ability to retain mana is poor, I am moderately proud of my efficiency. Creating the proto mana crystals in the Rift blazed a trail in my mind, and now I walk a broad, paved road instead of a scant dirt path. The mana is mine to command. No longer does it drift about like the feckless sea; now it’s driven by the current of my resolute purpose.
My gaze wanders toward the break room, where the [Inquisitors] await the conclusion of my efforts. At the thought of their presence hovering around the shop, my focus wavers for a split second. Instantly, I clamp down on the errant thoughts, returning to the work at hand and imposing my iron will on the operation. I direct the mana imbuing while burning through my last mana crystal, striving to regain control, but it’s too late. In that moment of inattention, less than the space of a single heartbeat, the mana diffuses back into the ether.
The sudden, precipitous drop in pressure is too much for the overtaxed glass bead. With a sharp report, like ice floes breaking up, or a frozen tree exploding in winter, the glass cracks in half. I growl in frustration, then instinctively flinch as the compressed glass shatters in a spray of razor-sharp shards, cutting up my hand and slicing the soft flesh under my right eye.
“Steady, lad!” Melidandri calls out, lifting up his hands and stopping the glass in the air. Jagged edges pull back together as time seems to reverse, and he steps forward just in time to catch the little glass globe, now inert, as it falls into his palm. “A narrow escape, master Nuri. I would hate for your friends to have to report a visit to the [Healers].”
Gawking at his casual display of mastery, I murmur my thanks and wipe the blood from my cheek. The glass scored a shallow groove, barely worth mentioning now that I feel at it with my fingertips. Salve and a few hours will probably be enough to keep Scalpel from commenting on it at all, if I’m lucky.
“Interesting attempt,” Melidandri says, sidling up to me and speaking softly. I note that he is careful to shield us from the break room, obscuring the view with his body. “Try again, but this time don’t force it. Your will reigns supreme while imbuing, but you don’t need to strongarm the mana to act through sheer strength of will. Instead, you need to envision an outcome so rich and compelling, so thoroughly convincing, that the mana gleefully complies.”
“You make it sound like it’s alive,” I say. The chuckle that rises up dies on my lips as his words rattle about in my head. For all I know, the mana has its own mind and volition. I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him, no matter how ludicrous it seems at first.
“Some say it is.” He shrugs. “Who knows? All I can say with any certainty is that imbuing works best when the mana responds willingly, for lack of a better term. Remember: just like with poetry, compress the experience. The more expressive your ‘language’ is, the better the results. You don’t need to wrestle with it for hours on end. You need conviction.”
When he says the last word, the world hums around us. For a moment, the shop seems to shimmer and thrum with power, and I let out a soft gasp of wonder at the incredible display. With only a single word, Melidandri imbued the air around us with his conviction. It dissipates now, drifting away since the air is impossible to contain. After all, who can grasp the wind? It’s wild and untamed, and belongs to no one.
Yet it obeyed Melidandri’s voice.
My heart burns with the golden fire of wonder and determination. I latch on to the awe and admiration at what I just witnessed, and return to the furnace for a new gather of glass to begin anew. This time, the work flies by in a flash as I paint a picture of comfort and belonging in my mind that’s so alluring that the energy of the world sings and dances in joy. Mana rushes into the glass like a tidal wave, or perhaps the power of a river breaking through a dam, unleashed and no longer restrained. The glass is the new home where the mana belongs; I believe it with all my heart, and therefore the mana believes, too.
In the end, each of the small glass globes hold relatively little mana on their own, but when they’re all strung together like a pearl necklace, they collectively hold nearly half of my old Capacity. The best part is that I can fill them up passively on my own, although it still takes me half of the day to fill a single one. By using mana crystals, or borrowing the skills of a kindly master of his craft like Melidandri, I can cheat, however.
When I finish, I slump against the workbench. My legs are jelly. My mind feels like an old, shriveled piece of wood that’s crumbling into dry rot and not even fit for the fire anymore. Tanaq is there to catch me before I fall, bracing me up with an arm slung around my back. His eyes are shining with the same excitement and esteem that I felt when Melidandri imbued the air, and it’s both an honor and a shock when I realize that he’s looking at me with the same veneration.
“Keep these safe. Secret,” I slur, pressing the beaded necklace into Melidandri’s hands. “Sorry they’re small. So small. I’ll try to—no, I will. I’ll do it. I’ll do better. Next week. Better.”
“Please, stop talking. You still have eyes on you,” Melidandri whispers gently to me. He pockets the necklace, and I’m confident that my first attempt at creating an external reservoir to replace my shattered core is in good hands. He pats me on the shoulder. “Go rest now. You’ve done it. Excellent mana-imbuing, Nuri. You’ve earned the right to call yourself a master now. I’m deeply honored I got to witness your ascension.”
Master. A crooked smile snakes across my face. Maybe that word isn’t so bad, after all.