The Glass Mage: An Artisanal Progression Fantasy

Onward winds the river. I'm wedged into the corner of the prow on our barge, swaying slightly to absorb the rush of water and the buffeting wind, as I watch the sunrise. Brilliant gold threads of light lance through the fluffy pink clouds, stretching out across an endless expanse. Minutes melt away, and all too soon the sight fades, about to vanish forever; I find myself reaching upward with open hands, instinctively trying to grasp the vita and keep hold of the magic just a little longer.

Life's like that, sometimes. Immortal moments that slip away before their time. Memories we want to inhabit forever, gone in the blink of an eye. Two years ago, that thought would have sent me spiraling. Now? I lift my chin, setting my face toward the horizon. I'm determined to craft new memories, to witness a thousand glorious sunrises in both new and familiar places.

Right now, that means traveling to Grand Ile once more. Ever since receiving the letter of invitation from my impromptu master in glass, Lady Evershed, something has set hooks in my chest and pulled me toward her location. I can't place it. It's not a traditional working of mana, and though the urge reminds me of the condensed authority of a Domain, it's far more subtle, not to mention that no Domain can reach hundreds of miles away. Whatever ethereal power is at work, it's a low, dull thrum in my bones that never gives up. Even if I wasn't eager to see my old teacher, which I am, I need to satisfy the insistent demands of the tether between us.

The first mate shuffles up beside me and nods in greeting, causing his gray top-knot to wobble on his head. He points a gnarled finger to the bend ahead in the river. "Grand Ile lies just beyond. Don't miss the sights."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I murmur.

"I'll fetch yer companions, pop a bottle of plum wine. Proper sendoff is the least we can do after you took care of the hydra on the way." He strokes his bushy beard with his right hand, smoothing out a few stray hairs, and side-eyes me. "Sure you don't want to crew with us?"

"They're eating breakfast," I reply with a polite smile, ignoring the offer. Boats aren't so bad, but I'm not signing up to sail with anyone except for Ash—assuming we both survive the war to come.

The [Bargeman] chuckles. "Figured you have better paying jobs. [Mage] like you could probably buy the whole boat and not blink twice. Never seen anything like those glass spears. Bam! Bam! Bam! Just like, blew its heads clear off faster than it could regenerate. Ha! Story for my grandkids. Well, worth a try, worth a try."

He slips away, heading to the mess hall to get my brother and his new bride. The three of them return just in time for the river to carry us around a craggy hill, ushering us onto the lake overlooking Grand Ile.

Beside me, Mikko and Avelina gasp as they lay eyes on the city. They rush over to join me at the front of the boat, leaning against the guardrail of the barge as they take in the view. Mikko's heavy bulk makes the wood creak, but it's sturdy enough to hold, thanks to layers of enchantments.

Time fails to tarnish the majesty of the Grand Ile's ivory walls. A satisfied smile spreads across my face when the fabled city and the walls and turrets are revealed in all their splendor. I'd been worried that all of my adventures would leave me jaded. After all, I've seen far too much, both wondrous and terrible, since my time in this gleaming city of rivers and wildflowers, glassblowing and white stone.

"How are they so tall!" Mikko exclaims. "The weight alone should crack the foundations. No way they're not enchanted to hold up. But that would require hundreds of [Enchanters] all working in concert." Slack-jawed, he trails off, gaping like a villager on his first visit to the capital, lost in his own thoughts over the marvel of engineering before us.

Not that I blame him for gawking. Glistening in the morning sun and reflecting the light like a polychromatic prism, the hundred-foot-tall, pristine walls are still just as stunning as the first time I beheld them. I let out a happy sigh of contentment. For all that the world has shifted, for all that I've changed, at least this spectacular sight is still the same.

"Oooh! Down there is our vacation house," Avelina says, pointing toward a cluster of white and purple flowering trees outside the city walls.

Mikko rubs his hands together. "Excellent. Y'know, I think I like Nuri's rich friends."

Unlike last time, we skip the queue at the first set of lock gates. An official in a striking yellow vest waves our boat into position, and we're lowered to the next level at record pace. As we emerge onto the channel cut into the sheer rock, Mikko and Avelina get a proper view of the carefully curated gardens. Now that I know what to look for, it's obvious that the flora and fauna are meticulously arranged and tended to by talented hands, but my family still reacts like they're experiencing an untouched wilderness.

Curious, I reach out with my Domain, sensing mana connections in the area that I never noticed before. Each of the unique areas around the city boasts a distinct flavor, each uniquely belonging to someone back in Grand Ile. High-ranking [Mages] of some sort, no doubt. Perhaps with a botany focus?

A sedge of snow-white cranes bursts up from marshes to the west of the city, arcing in a long, lazy flight over the lock system cut into the steep hills. Any thoughts of analyzing magic falls to the wayside. This is real magic: the simple pleasure of life teeming all around us.

"Look at the birds! Beautiful. Still not as pretty as you are, Ava," Mikko says, kissing his new bride on the cheek.

"Flatter me more. It's intoxicating," Avelina says, kissing him back and making him blush.

Squealing each time she notices a lovely, riotous array of new gardens, Avelina tugs at her husband's arm, dragging him from one side of the ship to the other to talk about each of the biomes she intends to visit. Their itinerary sounds full to the brim, but I'm glad they're happy.

We drift into the next lock in the middle of her fourth to-do list recitation, and the gates shut behind us with a bang that echoes across the water.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Mikko flinches. He instinctively grabs hold of the railing so hard that the runes in the inlaid scripts buzz and skitter, puffing into ephemeral mana as the enchantments glitch out from the force of his grip.

Avelina gently places a hand on his arm, and he releases the railing with a chagrined chuckle upon realizing he's left a handprint from squeezing so hard.

I reinforce the cracked section with a layer of glass, claiming the agitated mana in the air and reminding it that its purpose is to hold fast and protect the people on deck. The new runes snap into place. Mana rushes in almost instantly, and I barely have time to nudge the color of the glass to match the wood before the entire construct solidifies.

"Spooked too easily these days. Looking forward to some peace and quiet, I suppose," Mikko admits, rubbing his wife's hand.

"You've earned it," I tell him, mustering up my brightest smile. "Lady Evershed will make sure you two have everything you need to relax while you visit her charming, rustic little village."

"Rustic village, huh? Nuri and describing things accurately never mix," Avelina teases, sweeping her free arm toward the gleaming white and gold city.

"In my defense, Grand Ile started out pretty rustic. And hey! The gardens are still quaint."

Mikko tears his gaze away from the city and finds his voice, which is less shaky than it was a moment ago. "Five centuries at least since Grand Ile could be called 'rustic.'"

"Time is a fuzzy concept."

Milkko snorts. "That's the type of thing you used to say when you owed me something as a kid. Once a weasel, always a weasel."

"Oh, c'mon! I've paid you back a hundred times over. Look at those vacation villas! All thanks to me, you know.

"Forgiven. This time," Mikko rumbles.

Dancing sparks of mirth are back in his eyes, so I take it as a win. He's been as happy as I've ever seen the last month and a half since the wedding, but I know it will take more time to soothe all the trauma I've inflicted on him. I hope that's precisely what Grand Ile affords them both while they're visiting: many months of uninterrupted peace.

Our chatter continues as the massive lock system lowers us toward the larger-than-life gates. The gleaming walls tower over us, and trilling notes of birdsong accompany our arrival, like a royal fanfare. Before long, we're ushered into the city, with considerably kinder treatment than my first time around.

The warm welcome continues once we disembark from the barge. A stately stagecoach waits on the cobble stones, drawn by a pair of enchanted glass horses with fiery wings that flap in slow wingbeats. Decorative, of course. They can't fly. Even so, it draws an appreciative clap from Avelina.

My lips quirk up at the sight. Lady Evershed always did have a flair for the dramatic.

"Your hand! It's all fixed up," a familiar voice drawls. My young friend Baryl pops his head out from the doors of the coach and waves at me. He's trimmed his hair and is wearing a stylish vest in the latest fashion, which makes him seem five years older than when I saw him last.

A bounding, mana-empowered leap carries me across the street, and I clap him on the shoulder in greeting. "How's my favorite tour guide?"

"Nearly crushed into the dust under the weight of expectations," he replies in a voice that's at odds with his morose statement. A smirk accompanies his cheerful complaining.

He tilts his head and regards me more shrewdly. "You've gotten scary! No wonder the Boss is so strong. Parading you around will consolidate her position nicely."

I tousle his hair, messing up his perfect comb-work, and he squirms away from the affectionate touch. "Little warlord! You've been playing too many board games with Evershed."

"Nah. These instincts are from the streets. Every boss needs a big stick to swing around when rivals get uppity. Else they don't stay boss long, ya got me?"

"Glad to know I qualify as a big stick these days," I reply, flexing and posing outlandishly.

"Yeah, yeah, you're all grown up now. Don't let it go to your head," the imperious child in front of me snaps. "Now, stop slacking and introduce me to the lovely lady."

Sparks whoosh in a circle around Baryl's head, coalescing in a flash to form the cruel face of a fiery serpent. It hisses at him until Mikko laughs and squeezes Avelina tight. With a final gout of multi-hued flames, the serpent explodes in a puff of smoke.

"Whoa!" Baryl holds up his hands. "Don't burn me, Miss. That's just overkill. I'm already about to die of heartbreak now that I know you're taken."

"Aren't you precious," Avelina coos. She pats Baryl on the head, making him scowl, and turns to me. "Where do you find all these kids, Nuri? First Ifran, then Teuria. All the travelers with that caravan, forming the team to replace us. Oh, and that creepy-cute girl Iriye we met a few weeks back! Now this impudent boy. You're a one-man recruitment service."

"'Boy?'" Baryl mouths silently, looking even more stricken as he echoes Avelina. Then he perks up and nudges me with his elbow. "Who's Iriye? Creepy sounds intriguing."

"Aren't you like eleven?" I tease.

Baryl presses his fingertips against his forehead. "I'm fifteen. Poor nutrition stunted my growth. Whatever. Let's just get you to the Boss."

No one needs any further urging. We hop into the stagecoach, and barely have any time to settle before Baryl snaps his fingers, urging the glass horses onward. Surging down a main city thoroughfare faster than a real horse can run hardly seems reasonable, but a quick check ahead with my senses shows that there's another Domain at work, gently nudging people into safer positions and clearing the way for our accelerated transportation.

That's Lady Evershed! I realize with a rush of excitement. I knew she'd grown stronger, but I didn't realize she's also unlocked a Domain. Nor did I know she could use it at a distance with such precision, turning people aside as easily as a dam or sluice diverts the flow of water.

Apt analogy, I tell myself with a sense of pride, given that we're in Grand Ile. Traveling through the city means traversing dozens of quaint little arched bridges, which criss-cross the city since the massive river is sub-divided into hundreds of smaller streams. The water recombines at the other side of the city, carrying on its mighty course through nature, but the streams of water in the city itself are far more manageable. Without the incredible work of hundreds of [Architects] coordinating over centuries, Grand Ile couldn't sit where it does now, spanning a massive river. The people would have to live in houseboats, bobbing on the waves, instead of residing in one of the greatest built environments in Densmore.

Each new district elicits a round of commentary from the honeymooners. Soon, they've pulled Baryl into a spirited debate about the virtues of sloped rooftops and decorated balconies festooned with flowers versus smooth stone and wide-set windows that don't allow passersby to look inside. Naturally, Baryl takes Avelina's side, preferring the flowers and elaborate buildings in the previous district, while Mikko admires the clean lines of the more modern district we're in currently.

I stay out of it for now, focused on deciphering as much of Lady Evershed's Domain as I can, although privately I agree with Avelina. There's a certain charm to older homes and unique construction that the pinpoint accuracy of mass-assembled architecture can't match.

With a start, I sit up straight in the stagecoach, all the discussion of architecture forgotten in an instant. I've finally put my finger on what's been nagging at me since we arrived: there's a lack of restriction in the air that most probably wouldn't notice unless they're sensitive to mana. The coin-mint imposition is gone. The reality has been screaming faintly at the very edges of my senses since we arrived, but I didn't know what it was until now. Instead, it's been replaced by a familiar flavor of weight. Reputation made manifest as authority.

I settle back into the plush embroidered seat, a smirk on my face, and mutter under my breath. "What exactly have you been up to lately, Lady Evershed?"