Glasswrights' Test

by Mindy L. Klasky

  “That was all wrong!” the woman snapped. “Modu, if you take that much time to complete the circuit on the upper bars, Shareni will be stranded at the bottom. She needs the snap from your arms to send her back up to the top.” Modu nodded, his handsome face dark as he stared at the iron stand. “And Shareni, you can’t reach for the third bar on the last circuit. You won’t leave any room for Robit’s foot.”

  “But—”

  “No argument. This is a matter of safety.” Shareni swallowed further protest and nodded.

  Rani felt sorry for the girl. Even she, untrained as a player, could see that there had been no other place for Shareni to rest her hand; she needed the third bar. Perhaps Robit should be asked to change his position. Or maybe they should add another beat to the rotation, give Shareni more time to find her place. Rani cleared her throat and stepped forward. “I thought that the balance was stunning. I thought that the piece was very well executed.”

  Takela looked up, as if she had only seen Rani for the first time. The player bowed deeply, crossing both arms across her chest in a theatrical flourish. The woman’s blue-black hair rippled in the summer sunshine. “Ranita Glasswright. We are honored that you’ve come to watch our humble practice.”

  Takela’s use of the title brought back all the import of the parchment that still curled inside Rani’s hand. It also served to drive a wedge between Rani and the players, to remind them that she was their sponsor. Sighing as she watched the friendly players transform into respectful professionals, Rani reminded herself that she hardly had time for their diversions. She needed to speak with Tovin.

  “Alas, Takela,” she said, forcing her tone to be light. “I fear I don’t have time to watch your other routines. Is Tovin here in the practice yard?”

  “Aye, glasswright. He’s in the work shed.” Takela nodded to the building that stood at the far end of the courtyard. Rani offered her thanks and hurried across the flagstones. As she reached the doorway of the shed, she looked back to the players, noting that they had taken their places at the corners of the cube once more. Takela was ready to start the count again, to run them through the entire routine.

  Before she could initiate the program, the sun passed behind a cloud, lending a sudden chill to the afternoon air. Rani blinked, and the iron cube stood out in the new light, harsh against the creamy flagstones. Rani was reminded of the funeral pyre that had stood in the cathedral close, of the bitter iron poles that stretched toward the Heavenly Gates. She shuddered and thought a quick prayer for the dead princes, the image of the funeral flames still fresh in her mind after only four short days. Rani ducked through the door of the shed.

  Tovin was hunched over a table, peering closely at a beaded mask. A brazier burned beside him, the contents of an iron pot bubbling slowly atop the flame. He looked up as she closed the door.

  Rani heard Takela’s steady clapping begin again, and she said to Tovin, “Do you think the players are wise to create a piece based on iron bars?”

  He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “We cannot spend our lives afraid of iron.”

  “But it’s so soon. The ashes have scarcely been raked.”

  “If the pyre had not burned for the princes, you would not question us. There are other mothers, other fathers who lose their children every day.”

  He was right, of course. But the princes were different. Their loss belonged to more than just Hal and Mareka. All of Morenia suffered. She tried again. “But so many people saw this last pyre. So many came to honor the princes.”

  “And those are all the ones who will need assistance returning to their ordinary lives. They’re the ones who must go back to the cathedral without fear, who must hear a child’s cry without regret.”

  “But didn’t you see the queen? She was destroyed by the princes’ deaths.”

  “And you think that our players’ roles will hurt her more? You think that we could add to the pain of a woman determined to feel guilt, determined to embrace responsibility for a foolish, terrible accident?”

  “I think it would hurt her to see the production you plan.”

  “And since when do you live your life by what will hurt Mareka?”

  She bristled at the coldness behind his words. “Queen Mareka.”

  “Aye. She bears that title.”

  “And King Halaravilli.”

  Tovin leaned his brush against the side of the boiling pot. “Then that is your concern? You fear that we players will hurt the man?”

  Rani heard the transparent jealousy in Tovin’s voice. How could she explain to him? How could she tell him that he had no reason to fear, that there was nothing, could never be anything between the king and her? She had recognized that hard truth three years before; she had built her life around that fact after Hal and Mareka had wed. Rani had chosen Tovin, but the player still did not trust her.

  She made her voice steady. “I fear that you will hurt the king of all Morenia. I fear that you will cause him pain, when it is not necessary to do so.”

  Tovin’s eyes were copper pools as he studied her face. “Are you ordering your players not to practice this piece?”

  “Of course not!”

  “You are our patron here, Ranita. You have that power.”

  “I am not invoking that power. I am not speaking to you as the players’ sponsor. I’m speaking to you as a Morenian. I’m speaking to you as a friend.”

  Tovin studied her earnest gaze, and then he nodded. “I’ll think about your concerns.”

  “That is all I ask,” Rani said. “That you consider the impact of what you do.”

  “The piece might not carry past the king’s ban. We might tire of it by fall, or winter.”

  Consciously setting aside the debate, Rani stepped up to the table and peered at the brazier. She wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell. “What is that? What are you doing?”

  Tovin smiled at her tone and waved at the viscous liquid. “That’s glue. From rabbit skins. It has to be applied hot, but it will set fast and dry clear.”

  “And the mask?”

  “We’ll use them next summer. There will be four—one for each of the cardinal points.”

  “Then you’ve decided not to use panels any longer?” Rani could not keep the surprise from her voice.

  “You have no need to worry about that,” Tovin said. “We’ll have glass. Glass and costumes and music, too. The masks will only add to the production.” He stirred the glue and sat back on his stool. “What is it, Ranita? You aren’t usually so fearful about your status with the players. You’re not afraid that I’ll abandon you, are you?” His smiled wolfishly.

  “I—” she started. “Don’t look at me that way!”

  “What way?”

  “Stop!” She grimaced, and Tovin laughed.

  “All right. I’ll stop. What have you got there?” She started to hand him the parchment roll, but he shrugged and indicated his hands. “Glue.”

  She wrinkled her nose and unrolled the document. Her heart was pounding as she saw the bold letters once again, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. She cleared her throat and read, “From Parion, master of the Glasswrights’ Guild, to Ranita, who once counted herself among our number.”

  She stopped and looked at Tovin, checking to see if he understood the import of the greeting. He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as if he were going to whistle. Satisfied that he knew what the letter meant to her, Rani continued: “The Glasswrights’ Guild will count its masters in its home of exile. We are told that you claim the appellation journeyman. We therefore summon you to spend the summer in Brianta, demonstrating the skills that you have gained. Your test for entry to the rank of master must be completed in one day, on the feast day of our patron, Clain. Join us for the glasswrights’ test, or be forever banished from the guild you once called home.”

  Rani looked up from the parchment, and she scarcely managed to take a full breath. “Tovin, do you understand? They want me to test for master! The
y want to recognize my rank within the guild!”

  The player fumbled for a rag, wiping the glue off his fingers before he reached for the notice. He read the message, his copper eyes narrowing. “You ‘claim the appellation’ then.”

  “Yes!”

  “But they’ve never seen any need to take notice of you before.”

  “There’s been no reason to.” Rani sighed in exasperation. “Tovin, you aren’t paying attention. This isn’t about my being journeyman! This is about being declared a master!”

  “This is about your traveling to Brianta.”

  “And what is wrong with that?” He looked at her sharply, and she swallowed hard, softening the tone of her voice, explaining, pleading. “The guild is in Brianta, now. They were forced there because of me.”

  Tovin sighed and rested his hands upon his thighs. “You still insist that you wronged them.”

  “I did, Tovin. I’ve told you many times. The guild was destroyed because of me.”

  “The guild was destroyed because of a mistake, a mistake made by your old King Shanoranvilli. The guild was destroyed because the Brotherhood murdered Prince Tuvashanoran. The guild was destroyed because Instructor Morada refused to come forward and confess her involvement.”

  Rani started to argue, to remind him that she had been the one to summon Tuvashanoran to his death, but then she realized that she could use Tovin’s words against him. “Yes,” she said. “All that is true. And Parion Glasswright must now recognize what truly happened. That must be why he has written to me. He wants to make amends for all the past mistakes, for all our former misunderstandings.”

  “I wonder. …”

  “You wonder what?”

  “I wonder why he contacts you now. When Berylina plans to travel to Brianta.”

  “What could a glasswright master thousands of leagues away possibly know about the plans of a fugitive princess in Morenia?”

  “What indeed. …” Tovin twisted his question into a sigh. “Would you listen to me if I said this note holds danger?”

  “How could it?”

  “Would you listen if I begged you not to go to the guild?”

  “Tovin, I—”

  “What if I said that I’d come with you? That I’d enter the guildhall with you to keep you safe from harm?”

  “Would you?” Surprising herself with the rush of relief that flooded her body, Rani realized that she had been denying her own fear. “You’d travel all the way to Brianta?”

  Tovin reached out to the boiling pot, taking a long moment to stir his glue. “I might as well,” he sighed. “As long as I’m already pledged to accompany you and Berylina.”

  Rani barely restrained herself until he had drawn back from the hot glue, and then she threw her arms around him. “Thank you! I’ll be able to succeed now, knowing you’ll be with me.”

  He folded his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head for just an instant. Then, he pushed her back and cupped his palm against her jaw. “You understand that this will not be easy, don’t you? They won’t take kindly to the instruction you’ve gained from me. They’ll treat every one of my glasswork lessons as suspect, challenge every method that I’ve taught you.”

  “We must convince them.”

  “They will not want to make you master in the guild.”

  “When they see my work, they’ll have no choice.”

  “They will, though. Ranita, they have all the choices.”

  She laughed, refusing to acknowledge the warning behind his words. “Do you doubt your own skills, Tovin Player? Are you questioning if you’ve taught me well?”

  He shook his head, but smiled at her taunting. “I know just what I’ve taught you, girl. I know you’ll pass any fair test that is set for you.”

  “Any one?” She took a step closer to his work table.

  “Any one at all.”

  Rani’s laugh was lost against the linen of his tunic.

  * * *

  “Ye think ye’ll meet up wi’ th’ glasswright guild fer what?” Mair’s shriek awakened Laranifarso, who had been sleeping comfortably in his mother’s arms. The child began to wail, clutching his hands into tight fists and squeezing his eyes closed. Mair clucked to him apologetically, raising him to her shoulder. “Now look wha’ ye’ve made me do!”

  “I haven’t made you do anything, Mair.” Rani shook her head, fighting the urge to laugh at her friend.

  “At least this bairn ’as th’ sense th’ Thousand Gods gave ’im, t’ stay safe ’n’ warm i’ th’ city o’ ’is birth.” Laranifarso seemed determined to prove his mother a liar; he continued to wail as if he had no sense at all, no concept of any world beyond his own sorrow.

  “I have sense, Mair. I have sense enough to know that this is the chance I’ve been waiting for.” Rani paced beside the garden bench, oblivious to the roses that bloomed behind her friend. She watched as Mair stroked her son’s cheek, saw that the baby was beginning to calm. She took advantage of the quieter moment to fumble for words. “It was one thing for Hal to declare me a journeyman, in Liantine. The technical knowledge for that rank is important, but everyone knows that journeyman is truly a financial status. I made my donation to the crown, as expected, and so Hal had the authority to raise me in the guild.”

  “And if you give the crown enough gold now, he’ll raise you up again. There’s no reason for you to see the guild in Brianta.” Mair had calmed down enough that she abandoned the Touched patois of her youth. Her relative peace seemed to extend to her son, who snuffled for a few more breaths and then stuffed one fat fist into his mouth, sucking industriously on his knuckles.

  Rani closed her fingers in her skirts, clenching them tight as she tried to form her argument. “I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t expect you to place the same value on the guild that I do. I know that you grew up as a Touched girl. You think that our rankings and status are absurd.”

  “You were raised as a merchant girl, Rai.”

  “But my merchant family paid to see me enter the guild. My parents hoarded their silver to see me advance. My own brother passed up the opportunity to make his pilgrimage so that I could join the guild. I have to make that sacrifice worthwhile. I have to give it meaning.”

  “So that’s what this is all about! You plan to make the pilgrimage that Bardo never made!”

  Rani started to protest. She had never thought that at all! It had never occurred to her that she might redeem her brother so directly.

  And yet had it not? Had she not envisioned her cavalcade, from nearly the first instant that she promised Hal that she’d accompany Berylina. She would already be in Brianta, after all. She would be at the shrines. How could she visit Brianta and not make an offering to Hern, the god of merchants? How could she ignore Bote, the god of silver, San, the god of iron? Her family had planted their roots in those deities. No one could begrudge her offering up her faith to the gods.

  She swallowed hard. “There’s nothing I can do for Bardo now. He made his choices. I cannot redeem him.”

  “If I thought for one moment that you actually believed yourself, I would not be half so worried.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Mair.”

  “Except for why a master glasswright has contacted you for the first time in eleven years. Why he has offered to let you compete for the title you crave most in all the world. Why he is willing to overlook the death and destruction that he attributes to you, justly or no.”

  “Even mountains are worn away by time,” Rani quoted.

  “Not in eight years.”

  “What else am I supposed to do, Mair? I’ve already promised Hal that I’ll go with Berylina. There’s no reason for me to rush home. You’ve heard Hal’s proclamation. There are to be no celebrations for an entire year, in honor of the dead princes. No commitments for the players. No commissions for my glasswork.”

  “The king intends to appease the Thousand Gods for any wrong he might have committed. He hopes to stop his
stream of misfortune.”

  “I know why he does it! I just don’t know how I am supposed to respond. I cannot sit and watch the seasons change, doing nothing. I don’t have a household of my own to keep me busy!”

  Mair gazed at her shrewdly. “Then accept your Tovin’s offer and wed the man. Create your ‘household,’ if that’s what you desire.”

  “That’s not it!” Rani’s answer was immediate, hot, and she was horrified to feel tears gather at the back of her throat. She swallowed hard and looked across the garden, focusing on the pond amid the grass, the birds that twittered in the oak tree to her right. She took a deep breath and forced herself to explain, “That’s not enough, Mair. I had a mission before Tovin came to Moren, and I’ve got a mission now.”

  “A mission to achieve master status in the glasswrights’ guild.”

  “Or to fail trying.”

  Mair settled more comfortably on the bench, letting Rani’s oath drift across the garden. Laranifarso had fallen back to sleep, his wet eyelashes dark upon his cheeks. “Farso had thought that I would travel with him, when he rides home to supervise the harvest. He won’t be pleased to have me traveling to Brianta.”

  “Oh, Mair, I couldn’t ask you to come!”

  “You couldn’t ask, but I can choose.”

  “With the baby?”

  “He’s too small to leave behind with his father.”

  “But it would be madness to take him to Brianta!”

  “Rai, the babe is traveling one place or another. Either he goes with his father and me to the Oaken Hall, or he goes with you and me to Brianta. It’s not like we’re off to join the Little Army.”

  “Would Farso ever agree?”

  “I can convince him.” Mair smiled archly. “He’ll come to see my way of thinking. Do you think he could stop me, once I’ve made up my mind?”

  * * *

  Rani resisted the temptation to tug at the hood that hid her face. She had not had time to gather her silk mask—the Fellowship would have to accept her well-intentioned effort to disguise her identity. After all, when she had first learned of the shadowy organization’s structure, they had only worn black robes, hiding their faces in deep, peaked hoods. The masks were a new trapping, one that was not vital.