Glasswrights' Journeyman (29 page)

“Then I suppose I'd like to speak with you,” she managed at last. “I'd like to see the work you do.”

“Aye,” he nodded. “But wouldn't you rather eat first? The Meet is finally finished for today. Flarissa sent me to bring you back for supper.”

The three of them made their way back to the main camp. Rani could see that even more tents were being pitched at the edges of the settlement by the last of the players, the ones who had arrived too late to settle in before the serious business began. Carts now ringed the entire camp, and people called out to one another, greeting old friends with jokes and good cheer. The air was charged with excitement as children tumbled between the tents.

Cooking fires sent forth mouth-watering aromas, and many players already huddled over bowls of stew and hunks of fresh-baked bread. Greenwine flowed freely; numerous barrels had been breached. Tovin lost no time finding leather cups for the girls, and Rani realized for the first time that she liked the bite of the drink at the back of her throat. It smelled sharp and clean, and she drank deeply. She collected a bowl of stew as well and wandered toward a makeshift stage.

A team of players was practicing Mair's rope tricks, adding to the challenge by holding streamers, by throwing their bodies into impossible poses as they leaped clear of the spidersilk lengths. They called on Mair to join them, and she declined at first, but managed to be cajoled back into the fray, even though she favored her sore wrist.

“Your friend should take care of her arm.”

“Tovin!”

“Aye,” he said, grinning wolfishly.

“You should not sneak up on people!”

He looked around the open square, at the clusters of people laughing and drinking, sharing snippets of stories and song. “Sneak?”

“You surprised Mair and me by the stream tonight, and I was not expecting you now!”

“I apologize, Ranita.” The glint in his eyes gave the lie to his courteous words. “Were you serious tonight, when you said you wanted to learn about our glasswork?”

“I'm a glasswright,” she answered immediately. “I hope to be a journeyman by summer's end.”

“So my mother said. She told me that I am to show you the storeroom.”

“Now?” Rani looked around at the players.

“Aye, if you'd like. The feasting will go on till dawn. You've never been to a players' celebration – we'll be telling tales all night.” Rani started to call out to Mair, to say where she was going. The Touched girl was in the middle of the turning ropes, though, engaged in some new trick. “Of course,” Tovin said, “if you'd rather wait. …”

“No!” Rani protested. “I want to learn.”

Tovin led her through the crowd easily. When they arrived at the storeroom, he dug into a pouch at his waist, taking only a moment to extract an iron key. He opened the door with a flourish, and Rani inclined her head at his mockingly gallant gesture. Stepping over the threshold, she felt as if she were a lady in one of the players' tales.

The hut was filled with shadows. The far wall was covered with masks – great, ornate faces that leered and frowned and smiled and gaped at the couple who stood before them. Trunks were open along the sides of the room, spilling forth tangles of costumes and finery. Rani huddled near the doorway as Tovin strode forward. With his back to her, he worked some magic with a lantern on the large table that filled the center of the hut, and a warm, yellow glow spread out across the room.

“Come in,” he said, and she stepped forward gingerly, catching her breath against the excitement of being in the presence of the glasswork, the masterpieces she had seen on stage in Liantine. “Close the door behind you.”

Rani obeyed mechanically, hearing the latch snick closed as she tugged the oak. The lantern light seemed to swell higher then, picking out more details from the costumes, from the gleaming eyes of masks. The room shrank around her, growing close with its secrets, and Rani was reminded of other dark rooms she had been in, of the hidden passages inside Moren's city walls. There were mysteries here among the players, mysteries that she would need to pay to understand. The hair rose on the back of her neck.

“Over here,” Tovin said, gesturing toward the table.

Shivering, Rani reminded herself that this man was Flarissa's son. Flarissa had been kind to her. Flarissa had watched out for her. Flarissa had Spoken with her. Drawing on the peace of that Speaking, on the quiet strength that welled up from the cobalt pool within her mind, Rani found the courage to cross the room.

Glasswork was laid out on the table. Rani could make out the edges of a design sketched on the whitewashed table in dark charcoal. She could see a tangle of flames, narrow pieces of glass, impossibly long, impossibly fragile.

“You'll never cut those,” she breathed, her fingers hovering over the colored tongues.

“Of course I will. How else could we play the story of the firebird?” Tovin was not boasting; he merely stated the truth that he understood.

“How?”

“I don't use grozing irons. I use a diamond knife.”

“A diamond knife?” Rani had never heard of such a tool.

“We trade for them. They come from kingdoms far to the south of here.” Tovin picked
up an instrument, an iron haft with a glinting crystal set in the tip. He offered it to Rani, who
stepped closer to look at the curious tool. She turned it about in the lantern light, seeing the
impossible thinness of the blade, the sharp edge as fine as a hair. She balanced the knife in her
left hand and started to test it with her right index finger “Careful!” Tovin exclaimed.

“I
was
careful!”

“Not careful enough. It's sharper than any blade you've used before. Here.” He reached across the table and selected a piece of clear glass. “Cut this.”

Rani glanced down at his hands, holding the glass steady. Now, this close to him, she could see the network of scars that traced across his fingers. It had been years since she had seen hands like that, hands marked by a lifetime of cutting glass and being cut by it. She swallowed hard, surprised by the memories that swept over her, the prideful recollections of her too-few days in the guild that she had loved. She pushed down the ache that welled up in her chest.

Switching the knife to her right hand, she set the point against the clear glass. She started to bear down, with all the force that she would apply to a grozing iron. “No,” Tovin said, shaking his head impatiently. “Lighter. The blade is not metal. It's not going to force the glass apart. It's going to
cut
it.” Rani relaxed her wrist a little, but still he shook his head. “Lighter still. It's like a pen on parchment. Think of it as drawing a design.”

Rani was doubtful that she'd be able to cut the line she wanted, but she eased up on the pressure until it seemed that the knife barely skimmed the surface of the glass. Tovin nodded, and she pulled the diamond blade toward her. The thinnest of lines melted onto the clear glass.

Tovin leaned forward and set two fingers on the pieces, pulling them apart easily. Rani gasped in astonishment – it was impossible that he had separated the pane with so little effort. “See?” he asked. “I can make long pieces, because I don't need as much pressure to break them.” She nodded slowly, imagining the complicated designs she could craft with Tovin's knife. She clutched the tool with fingers suddenly stiff with longing. The player noticed, nodding as he said, “You've much to learn, Ranita Glasswright, and I can teach you. For a price.”

Rani froze for just a moment, and then she set the diamond knife on the table. Suddenly, she was aware of the cut of her gown, the flow of linen that smoothed across her thighs. She felt her hair against her neck, curling in the lantern light. She was standing too close to Tovin, close enough that she felt the heat of his body. She took a step away and crossed her arms over her chest. She forced herself to say, “Of course. There's always a price.”

For just an instant, Tovin stared at her with his copper eyes, penetrating and shrewd. Then, his lips curved into a smile, and he shook his head. He, too, took a step away from the whitewashed table, and he held his hands before him, shrugging. The lantern caught the pathway of glass scars, highlighting the white lines. “Not what you are thinking, Ranita. We players do not collect our tolls in flesh.”

Rani flushed, but she pulled her arms closer about her. “What, then?”

“Speak with me. Now.”

Rani immediately thought of the pool of cobalt glass that Flarissa had shown her, of the soothing, powerful path that she had found. She remembered the peace and the power, the strength of the Speaking, and a shiver trembled from her neck to her spine to her limbs.

“I've done that already,” she whispered. “I Spoke with Flarissa.”

“Aye, that was one bargain, to see our panels. This is another. To learn how I make them. To learn a journeyman's skills.”

Rani looked at Tovin's hands. She imagined cobalt glass nudging the white scars. She thought of the glasswright secrets that he could teach her, lessons beyond diamond knives. When she raised her gaze to his eyes, she found him staring hard at her. His breath was even, but she sensed his excitement. His voice was calm, though, as he said, “You do not need to do this. No one can force another to Speak.”

“I'll do it.”

“This is your own choice, Ranita.”

“I'll do it,” she repeated.

Still he eyed her, nodding slowly. “Very well then.” Tovin gestured toward a pallet that lay at the far end of the storehouse.

When she hesitated, he said, “I will not touch you, Ranita Glasswright. You've felt the power of Speech before. You know that I cannot make you do what you do not want to do.”

Rani knew that. She knew that he could not force her to tell stories against her will. She remembered the power of Speaking with Flarissa like a physical thing. She longed for it the way a drunkard longed for ale, the way a bride longed for her groom. That ache was what frightened Rani – not Tovin, not the man.

Swallowing her fear, her desire, she crossed to the pallet. When she settled on the edge, her spine was as rigid as wood. She watched as Tovin turned back to the whitewashed table. He moved his hands among the tools there, and he palmed something before he crossed to her. She raised her chin as he approached, brave, defiant.

He laughed. “Relax, Ranita Glasswright. I cannot take anything that you don't offer freely. Take a deep breath.” He settled beside her, leaning back on one elbow. His weight forced her to shift on the pallet, and she rested her hands on either side of her body.

“Relax,” he repeated. She forced herself to take a deep breath and exhale slowly, unclenching her fists. “That's right,” he said. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” A child shrieked outside, squealing with laughter, and Rani flinched. “Ignore the noises,” Tovin said. “Listen to my voice. You can hear the players, you know that they are there, but they will not bother you. They will not distract you. That's right, Ranita. Breathe in. Breathe out.”

She felt herself absorb the rhythm of his words, felt her body sag as she filled her lungs and emptied them. Tovin nodded slowly, and then he moved one closed fist between them. “Here, Ranita. Here's the glass you carved upon the table.” He opened his fingers slowly, revealing the curve-edged piece of clear glass. Slowly, cautiously, he tilted it toward her. “Think of cutting the glass, Ranita. Think of the power in your wrist as you hold the diamond knife. Power that flows from your shoulder, down your arm, to your hand, to your fingers. To the knife.”

She watched the ripple of light on the cut glass surface, remembered the control and grace that she had possessed while using the diamond blade. Tovin tilted the glass a little further, and it collected all the lamplight in the room. “That's right, Ranita. Do you see the light? Do you see the glass?”

“Yes.”

“Very good, Ranita. Look inside the glass. Look inside it as if it were a mirror. You can see yourself in the glass. Do you see yourself, Ranita?”

“Yes.” Rani saw herself sitting on the edge of the pallet, saw Tovin sprawled beside her.

“Very good, Ranita. I'm going to count to ten now, and with every number, you will move further into the mirror. Reach deep into yourself. Deep into the peace. Deep into the Speaking. One. Two. Three.”

Rani heard Tovin begin the numbers. She heard each one form on his lips; she absorbed each one with a breath. She pulled herself further into the white light, deeper into the pool of calm awareness that she had crafted with the diamond blade. “Nine,” she heard him say. “Ten.”

She was aware that her head had drooped, that her chin was resting against the lacy edge of her bodice. She felt the incredible burden of her arms, so heavy that her hands were numb; her fingers were lost. She felt the pallet beneath her, but it seemed a lifetime away.

“Can you hear me, Ranita?” Tovin's voice was clear, sharp, as distinct as an edge of glass. She heard him, and she held on to his presence, even as she moved further away from her self.

“Yes,” she tried to say, but she realized that she had only opened her mouth, had only shaped the word.

“Very good, Ranita. You are very good at Speaking. You have power. I knew that you had power when I heard you talk to Mair tonight.”

Rani pictured herself beside the stream, pictured the night gathering close about her. She and Mair had been talking about the Fellowship, about her octolaris plan. Secrets. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her brow wrinkle into a frown.

“No, Ranita Glasswright. Stay inside the Speaking. Stay inside the mirror. You're safe here. You don't have to tell me anything that you don't want to tell.”

Rani let herself be stilled by his words. She let herself slip back into the white comfort, into the weightless, hazy realm inside the diamond-cut mirror. Tovin said, “You sat beside the stream. You spoke with Mair, and you let the water carry away your words. You let the water wash away, flow away, ease away. You were worried while you spoke with Mair. You were afraid. But the stream carried all your burdens. Do you remember the stream, Ranita? Do you remember the water?”