Glasswrights' Apprentice

by Mindy L. Klasky

  “My pleasure, Marita Pilgrim.” Larindolian smiled once more, a tight exposure of his eye-teeth, and then he left the nursery.

  Hal stared after him with open hatred, and Rani caught the prince muttering, “Damned nobleman,” and something that sounded like “a curse on his house.”

  Before she could comment, the nurses sprang into action, ushering the children to their suppers, and then their evening prayers. Rani took her cues from Hal and Bashi, hanging back as the princesses were readied for bed. Each of the boys had a private sleeping chamber, little more than a closet off of the main nursery. The nurses fluttered about their charges like a flock of fat pigeons, but Rani decided the women were a mean substitute for parents.

  That verdict was only qualified slightly when the queen made a quick visit to the nursery at the end of the day: the nurses were a mean substitute for Rani’s parents.

  Queen Felicianda sailed into the nursery like a high-prowed ship, her exotic looks heightened by the chamber’s dim candlelight. She settled a cool hand on the brow of each princess before floating to the two princes, where they huddled in the doorways to their separate chambers.

  “Halaravilli,” she intoned to her husband’s son, to the Crown Prince with whom she shared no blood.

  “My lady.” The prince looked solemn in the shadows, strained and stiff.

  “And Bashanorandi.” A warm smile flooded the queen’s features, and her voice melted at last as she settled her fingers on her son’s shoulder. “You’ve had a good day, my boy?”

  “Fine,” Bashi agreed, flashing a victorious smile toward his half brother. “Once things settled down with the First Pilgrim.”

  “The -” A small frown puckered the queen’s brow, and then she seemed to notice Rani for the first time. “Ah, Marita Pilgrim. I bid you welcome.” Rani sank into the expected deep curtsey and tried to remind herself not to think ill of the queen, of the cold mother who could spare a smile for only one of her children.

  Rani even found the courage to exchange a few pleasantries with her liege lady before Queen Felicianda withdrew, rationing out one last lilting smile for Prince Bashanorandi. By the time Rani contrived to slip out of the nursery, she was exhausted by the hustle and bustle, grateful to escape the press of attention and observation. Perhaps she had been as smothered in her own family, in the narrow streets and rough surroundings of the Merchants Quarter, but she knew she had never felt so alone, surrounded by brothers and sisters who loved her.

  Brothers and sisters… Like Bardo, who even now waited for her in the Cathedral. Trying to fight down her excitement, Rani gathered her cloak and her Thousand-Pointed Star close about her narrow shoulders, making sure that the holy symbol flashed importantly when the nurses attempted to guide her to her bed. When she got to the Palace’s massive iron gate, she was challenged by the guard, but she gave her assumed name and the soldier stepped aside, making a holy sign and offering an avuncular warning to be cautious in the City streets. “In fact, young pilgrim, would you like an escort to the cathedral? I can call one of the household guard to join you.”

  “Thank you, kind sir.” Rani chafed at the intrusion. “It’s early enough, and I’ll be on the major streets.

  “But, little one, this is not a village, or even the small town of Zarithia. You are in the City now - it can be dangerous, even on a major street.”

  “I know how -” Rani started to leak some of her exasperation into her words, but then a shadow glided forward from the darkness in the Palace courtyard.

  “Is there a problem here?” Rani’s skin crawled as she recognized Larindolian’s voice.

  “No, Lord Chamberlain.” The guard’s response was tinged with a fearful respect. “I merely suggested that the lass might want an escort to the cathedral. I never intended to interfere with her worship.”

  “And a fine suggestion it was, man.” Larindolian raised a gauntleted hand, and another dark shape emerged from the clinging night. “You must indulge us old men, Marita Pilgrim. We do not have your youthful confidence in the protection of the Thousand Gods. Marcanado here will see you to the cathedral and back. He’s a fine man, in the brotherhood of soldiers.”

  Rani heard the hint behind the words, and she accepted the soldier’s company without further protest. After all, it was not as if she would need to see Marcanado after this night; she was never coming back to the Palace. As the kindly gatekeeper watched them go, though, she could not resist hissing to her escort, “I could have gone alone.”

  The soldier blinked impassively. “My lord Larindolian thought you deserved the honor of an escort. Who am I to argue?”

  Those were the last words from the stolid guard. Rani was not a fool, she knew he must be a member of the Brotherhood, or he would not have been trusted with accompanying her to her secret meeting. Nevertheless, she felt no kinship toward the silent man, and she resented his presence, resented his intrusion upon her reunion with Bardo.

  She did not have long to sulk, however. Within a few short minutes, they were on the porch of the massive cathedral. Marcanado pushed open the door, impervious to the eerie creak of metal hinges, and then he took up a guardsman’s position on the threshold. Rani waited for just a minute, willing her eyes to adjust to the shadowy darkness inside the building, and then she stepped over the portal.

  At first, she was relieved to see that the cathedral was not in total darkness; a few of the largest tapers still burned at the altars set against the stone walls. As Rani progressed down the nave, though, she wondered if it would not be better to move through the cathedral in absolute darkness - the flickering shadows spawned ghosts in her mind.

  She needed to walk the entire perimeter of the cathedral, seeking out the altar dedicated to Roat. She knew it would not be one of the large, exposed platforms beneath the glasswrights’ handiwork; Bardo would choose a more secluded corner. Nevertheless, it took her a second trip around the cathedral before she spotted the god of justice’s altar, really little more than a carved prie-dieu. She might have missed it the second time, if there were not a newly lighted candle burning in the center of the rough-carved platform.

  Adding her own votive to the freshly burning one, Rani knelt and folded her hands on the low railing. Her heart pounded as she tried to form words in her mind, tried to structure a prayer to the god who was going to reunite her with her brother, with the last remaining member of her family. The words were hard in coming, though; her devotion was diluted by her memories of Bardo. For weeks now, Rani had sought him, desperate to be reunited with her own flesh and blood, with the older brother who had always smoothed over the rough patches of her childhood.

  Bardo, though, was more than her brother. As much as Rani hoped and prayed that he would make everything right, she could not forget that Bardo belonged to the Brotherhood. Even as Rani framed her prayers to Roat, her fingers crept to the black bandage that bound together Larindolian’s wound. Years ago, Bardo had slapped her for looking at his tattoo. What would he do now, now that she had sworn fealty to the Brotherhood itself? What would Bardo do, now that she had killed Dalarati? Forcing back her fears, Rani retreated to the familiar prayers of childhood, the memorized recitations that had brought peace in the past.

  “Great god Roat, look upon me with favor. Bless me, great god Roat.” The words rang hollow, but she repeated them again and again, finding solace in the blunt familiarity of the simple sequence.

  “Ah, Rani, ever my most devout sister.” She started, and whirled around to face the cathedral’s yawning darkness. The candles at her back lent a flickering eeriness to the vast room, and she imagined swooping night-demons waiting just beyond her vision. Before she could dwell on such horrors, though, there was a shift of cloth, and her brother stepped into the wavering pool of light.

  “Bardo!” Rani exclaimed, launching herself across the short distance. His arms were strong and solid. “Bardo! I’ve been trying to find you for so long!”

  “Ah, Rani,” he ruffled her hair and led h
er to one of the low benches that crouched near the altar. “We don’t have much time. People will become suspicious if you’re away from the Palace for too long.”

  “What!” His words amazed her. If he had spoken in anger, she would have understood. She was braced for the explosive rage he had harnessed in the past, for matters concerning the Brotherhood. This was different, though. Bardo sounded solicitous, but firm. She protested: “Why am I going back to the Palace? Why can’t I come with you?”

  “With me!” The surprise in his voice was real, outweighing any anger that Rani feared to hear. “You can’t come with me!”

  “Why not? You’re my brother, the only family I have left.” She tried to make her words sound reasonable, even as a sob threatened to close her throat.

  “But that’s precisely the reason that you can’t come with me now.” Bardo spoke in the treasured tones she remembered. “You are too valuable to me, to risk in the places I must go. You must stay in the Palace, in the cathedral, in places where you’ll be safe.”

  “But I don’t want to be safe! I want to be with you!” She buried her face in his tunic, clasping her fingers about his arm.

  He let her sob for a few minutes, and then she became aware of his fingers smoothing her hair, of his voice crooning her name, over and over. “Rani… Rani.…” The two syllables strung together like poetry, and she realized how long it had been since anyone had called her by her true name - not her assumed identity as a Touched girl, not her laughable guise as an apprentice.… She heard her name, spoken by one who loved her, and she knew that she would do as her brother bid. She snuffled loudly and dragged a hand across her nose before she pulled away from Bardo’s embrace.

  “Where are you going that’s so dangerous?”

  “I’ll be here in the City the entire time. I have enemies, though - people who have more power than they should, who resent the things I must do, the things that will save the City and the kingdom.”

  “Things for the Brotherhood.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Things for the Brotherhood.” Bardo nodded. He did not flinch when Rani reached for the laces on his tunic, untying them so that she could pull the garment to one side, so that she could see the snakes chasing each other across his well-muscled bicep. As she raised a finger to a pair of tattooed crimson eyes, she inhaled the memory of Bardo beating her for being far less familiar. Now, he merely repeated, “The Brotherhood.”

  “I want to help you.”

  Bardo laughed and pushed away her fingers, lacing up his tunic with an easy grace. “You’re too young to help.”

  “I’m not too young! I’ve already done things! Was I too young when I called Tuvashanoran? Was I too young when you made me kill Dalarati?”

  Bardo’s face tightened, as if he heard someone calling his name from a distance. “We never planned for you to do those things, Rani. We never wanted you involved.”

  “But that’s the thing. Bardo, I am involved! K-killing Dalarati was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But when I found out that he was trying to murder you, when Larindolian said that he would harm the Brotherhood, I knew I had no choice!”

  “Shhhh!” Rani’s voice had climbed to a shrill plea, and Bardo’s gaze darted down the dark cathedral aisle. “Rani, there are some things you must never speak aloud.”

  “I can keep secrets, Bardo.”

  He shook his head and reached out a loose fist to chuck her chin. “This isn’t just some game you play with Varna.”

  She jerked away, muttering to the shadows, “I don’t play with Varna anymore - she called the guard on me. Bardo, I can keep a secret. I haven’t told anyone that you killed Rabe’s mother.”

  Bardo’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, forcing her around to face him. Rani caught a pained yelp against the back of her teeth. “What did you say?” She tried to pull free from his vise-like fingers, but he did not let her move. “What did you accuse me of?”

  “I said, I’ve never told anyone that you killed Rabe’s mother.” She lifted her chin defiantly.

  “Who is Rabe?”

  “He’s a Touched boy; I’ve run with his troop. I know all about it, Bardo - I know that his mother stole from me when I was minding the store, and I know that you tracked her down to get back the pewter buckles. I remember the slate you bought for me.”

  “The slate -”

  “And the flowers and gifts for the others. I didn’t think to ask about them then, because I was only a child, but now.… I don’t know why you couldn’t go to the Council and seek justice there, but I haven’t told anyone what I know.… Bardo, please, you’re hurting me!”

  His fingers had shifted to the bandage at the top of her arm, closing about her healing wound with a ferocity that brought fresh tears to her eyes. Now, he smoothed the cloth over her arm, turning her about to face him. When he looked at her, his eyes burned into her own, and she felt dizzy at the vehement force he poured into his words.

  “Listen to me, Rani. This is very important.” She managed a trembling nod. “What I’ve done, what you’ve heard about me.… All of this is for a reason. All of this was predestined by Jair and the Thousand Gods.”

  “But why -”

  “Why would the Gods force us to live in castes? Why would the Gods give all their riches to a few, and leave most of their children to scrimp and save, hoping forever to earn enough silver to sleep by a peat fire, for enough copper to buy a pot of porridge? Why should we be the ones to slave away when others have it so easy?”

  Rani had never seen the fanatical light that flared behind Bardo’s eyes. Maybe it was only a trick of the candles, but her brother’s gaze flickered green. She shrunk away from his touch, pressing her spine against the back of the pew.

  “Rani, our father worked his entire life to scrape together a few pennies. He hoarded his wealth with a vengeance, parceling out coins and responsibility like a miser. You’re too young to understand this, but his life was miserable; he struggled along from day to day.” Bardo gripped her hands and his fingers shook with the force of his belief. “The castes force each of us into submission, force each of us to give away all our possible fates at birth. Who knows what our father could have become if he had not been bound by his caste, by the Council?”

  “But I changed castes! I became an apprentice!”

  “Aye, but at what cost? Our father, our mother, all our brothers and sisters.… We poured all our riches into one pot to get you the faintest toehold on the guildsman’s ladder.” Bardo spoke like a priest, like a man consumed by his own fiery words. “Rani, don’t you understand? The Brotherhood will change the rules. The Brotherhood will bring Justice to all the City, to all of Morenia, to all the world of the Thousand Gods.”

  “What are you going to do?” Rani’s voice sounded fragile as a moth’s wing against her brother’s flaming passion.

  “Ah, Rani. I would tell you if I could.” Bardo sighed, and a little of the magic drained from him. “I would share my knowledge with you. But that would only place you in danger, set your life in the balance. I cannot risk the only family that remains to me, the only family to escape the tyranny of our caste. Do you trust me, Ranikaleka?”

  Rani’s throat closed at the tender nickname, at the playful name he had given her ages ago when her life was simple, in their father’s home. She nodded, not able to speak.

  “Very good. You must return to the Palace. Go back and live in the nursery. I can tell you this. The Brotherhood’s enemies are stirring. They call themselves the Fellowship of Jair, but there’s nothing about them that Jair would approve. They’ve been awakened by the unrest in our own ranks. The Fellowship fears us; they fear the changes we will bring. And they realize they can harm us by upsetting the balance, by swaying the power.”

  “But who are they, Bardo?”

  “You have met one of them, and I’m amazed you’ve lasted so long without her betraying you.”

  Rani felt his words shift into place inside her skull. Who had been man
ipulating her life? Who had controlled her when she served her time in the marketplace, when Borin would have freed her without requiring further obligation, when she approached the sanctuary of the cathedral close? Indeed, who had manipulated her that very day, toying with her on the edge of the marketplace for so long that she nearly missed the honor of becoming First Pilgrim. “Mair.” She spat the single syllable as if it burned her tongue.

  “Aye. I’m sorry, Rani. I know that you believed her, believed the Fellowship’s lies. But she is one of their leaders, one of their lieutenants. And this is nothing less than war.”

  Rani wanted to protest, wanted to explain that Bardo was mistaken, that Mair was her friend. Even as she thought the words, though, she knew she would not say them. Mair may have seemed her friend, but Bardo was her brother.

  Besides, how could Mair be trusted? The girl was Touched, born to a life of crafty manipulation. Sure, she might have seemed like Rani’s friend at times, but to what end? Mair’s “friendship” always had a cost - a sweet cake, a copper, Rani’s precious silver mirror.

  Rani’s arm throbbed beneath her bandage. Mair was part of the Fellowship, one of the enemy. It was all so confusing; nothing was ever what it seemed. The Brotherhood, the Fellowship.… Who was Rani to understand such complicated things? She only knew one truth. Her entire family was gone, all but Bardo, who had always been her favorite, most-trusted brother. Even when Bardo had been his most threatening, even that terrible day when she had seen his snake tattoo, he had stayed his wrath. He had mastered his rage because he loved her. Bardo was her brother.

  Now, Bardo sighed, and the sorrow of a lifetime settled over him like a mantle. “We hear rumors that someone in the Palace is planning a coup. Do you understand me, Rani? Someone is going to kill King Shanoranvilli.”

  “No!” She whispered involuntarily, thinking of the frail old man, of the papery hands that had settled on her shoulders - was it only that morning? It seemed so long ago.