At Brand's Day in 5367, Joran apprenticed himself to Torgan the Glassmaster, along with several others. On the first day of their apprenticeship Torgan took them to the mountains and showed them what the glass was made of: sand.
"We could make glass only by melting this type of sand", Torgan told them, "but that would require more heat and therefore cost a bit too much". Torgan went on, showing them different things to mix into glass and explaining what they did in glass. Some eased melting, some colored the glass. Gold, for instance, was for making the glass crimson red.
"Do Murgoes mix glass into their gold?" Garan asked upon hearing that.
"Good point, Garan" Torgan laughed. "Murgo gold may help you to remember the colour of class including gold. And that the Murgo gold is not to be trusted for real — it must be fragile".
Everyone laughed at that. They took the pieces of rock back to the house. Torgan showed them how one turned hard rocks into sand by carefully heating them in the oven.
"Mind you, one must take care to make fine sand" Torgan cautioned. He mixed some of the fine sands and put the mix into another oven. It was amazing, really; heat could break rocks into sand and melt the sand into what was neither liquid nor solid: glass. Torgan took some of the glass to the end of a long pipe, and blowed into the glass, thus making it into a little ball. Then he showed them just how to form glass.
Torgan kept the finer points to himself, prepared the ingredients from the stone and made the first little glass-ball. The apprentices tried out the forming of glass. Any errors they made were crushed, mixed with the sand and remelted, so none of it was wasted.
Joran learned surprisingly fast how to make the glass bend to his will. Each piece he made was more and more perfect. For him, it was as though making glass had always been in his soul waiting to be released.
However, all Torgan had his apprentices make, was bottles. Bottles for perfume, bottles for ale, and bottles for tonics. Joran soon got bored with that. Bottles, bottles, bottles and more bottles. One day, a day before the Memorial of king Gorek, Joran began to experiment. That day, Joran made one of his bottles look like Torgan's daughter, one like a harp one like a violin. Torell loved the idea of herself formed in glass. Torgan, however, ordered the experimental items crushed.
"Dad!" Torell objected in high voice.
"Hush" Torgan told her. "Don't break the bottles with your voice – why don't you go see if your mother needs help instead".
She didn't say a word, just left.
"I do not permit this kind of improper figures from my apprentice" Torgan said firmly after she had left. "My daughter may not be presented as emptyheaded and hollow. Is that understood, apprentice Joran?"
"Yes, master" Joran replied, bowing his head. He hadn't thought it could be seen like that; as insult to her intelligence.
"However fine your skill, you may not let it get into your head", Torgan told him, "It's not proper nor becoming to show off like that"
"Please, master" Joran said quietly, "I just wanted to try out, to experiment…"
"We're selling bottles to customers who need nice, simple bottles" Torgan replied stiffly. "Experimenting with orders is bad for business. Customers won't come back if they don't get what they ordered".
Joran bowed his head. "Don't you think I'd learn something more by experimenting, sir?"
"Learn to fulfill your orders, Joran. I will teach you more later, but today it's nice and simple bottles", Torgan replied. "Tomorrow, of course, is King Gorek's day. You'll need to go home to prepare with your father earlier today… just make a few simple bottles first, will you?"
"I will, master" Joran said and sighed. Gorek's Day was not pleasant nor was it supposed to. It was the day of grief, after all. For Joran, however, it was worse than it was to others. He knew not how it was for others to spend the day in the Temple and with family – one and same for Joran, due to the fact that his father was the Rivan Deacon.
On the next morning, at dawn, all Rivans went to the Temple. All of them, with no exception. Some of them were ill, some healthy, some old and some not yet born. They waited in silence. The Rivan Deacon lit a candle.
"I grieve for His Majesty, king Gorek the Wise, murdered by Nyissan" he said. Everyone repeated the phrase.
The Deacon lit another candle. "I grieve for Her Majesty, Queen Drusell, wife to King Gorek the Wise. Also murder by Nyissan" he said, and again the phrase was repeated by all.
"I grieve for Prince Gared, son to king Gorek and Queen Drusell, murdered by Nyissan" they said with the next candle.
"I grieve for Princess Arell, wife to Prince Gared, murdered by Nyissan" they said.
"I grieve for Prince Bralon, the eldest son of Prince Gared and Princess Arell, murdered by Nyissan".
"I grieve for Prince Darral, the second son of Prince Gared and Princess Arell, murdered by Nyissan".
"The youngest grandson of King Gorek the Wise", the Deacon said gently, "Brave child he was, at age of five, excaped the Nyissan daggers by throwing himself into the Sea of Winds, thus refusing to let a Nyissan slay him with poison. Better be the Sea, which Belar commands, rather than the poison of Issa. The Sea of Winds is cold, but it has been known to throw drowned bodies ashore. One of those was my wife. We have never found the body of the youngest Keeper, or has there been a change of late, my Lord Brand?"
"There has not, your Reverence" Brand replied. "And the Sea of Winds has thrown my wife ashore as well".
"We may hope, then, that the Line of the Keeper is still intact" the Deacon said. "King Geran the Survivor was way too young, but Alorns raised as one and burned the jungles of Nyissa, for it had been on orders of Salmissra that the royal family was slain" he put out a candle. "The Nyissan asassins were questioned and killed" the Deacon said and put out another. "There was Angaraks behind Salmissra, and Torak's disciple, Zedar. Angaraks and Torak we have fought…"
Brand stood up, holding up a shield. "In Vo Mimbre, with help of all the nations of the West, Torak was struck down by the Orb in the shield of Brand. He is comatose, not dead, for only the Keeper with the Sword of Rivan King could slay Torak the God, but he has been struck with all we have". Brand put out one more candle.
Three candles were burning. The Rivans recalled that only reason the asassins managed to land onto the Isle of Winds and do their nasty business, was due to Tolnedrans who had managed to gain access from Cherek Warships and not be sank. "But Rivans sank the first ships to the last one" the Deacon said, putting out one more candle. Three candles burning. They recalled that Tolnedrans had still caused the existance of non-Alorn business.
"They acted in ignorance and with peaceful intent" the Deacon said. "Tolnedrans payment for their involvement in this, however, has been settled. Each Tolnedran princess is offered in marriage to the Rivan king who is absent. Three days she's to stay, three days waiting for the Overlord to accept or deny her. We may hope it's once paid once and for all". One more candle was put out.
"May the Keeper return while we live" the Deacon said gently.
He went on, listing out each one who had died since then. For each dead one, he mentioned how the death had come to be, and that the body had returned from the Sea of Winds and afterwards cremated. The last of the dead was the deacon's wife.
After the ceremony everyone went home, leaving Joran alone with his father. However, Joran's father paid his son no attention. He prayed for the dead. As a child, Joran had sometimes wished he were dead, just to get some attention. He sighed and settled to eating something.Privately, Joran thought that all the rememberance was highly unnecessary since well over thousand years had passed since the death of King Gorek.
At sunset, the deacon prayed for his late wife, Joran's mother. His prayer ended exactly as the last beam of sunlight was gone. He joined Joran for supper in candlelight. "Thoughtful of you, Joran" he thanked his son in a hoarse voice.
"You know, father" Joran said, "don't you think all this praying for everyone..."
His father's face went stiff. "As you're fourteen now, Joran, you should know better than to question how a man carries out his calling, particularly as you don't share it".
The next morning Joran returned to Torgan's with a serious face. Torgan showed Joran the sands. "You may experiment freely in this area" Torgan told him, "but only in small doses…" he went on with instructions and finally said, "and next time you feel yourself getting bored, you come talk to me".
"Yes, Master" Joran replied and got into learning how to mix sands. Soon he had learned to visualise the effect of each grid of sand and Joran managed to make perfect mix each time.
Torgan was, once again, amazed by the sheer talent of the apprentice. While the balls were of different colours, due to experiments, they all were clear. It showed that Joran had learned the making of glass better than well. His experiments were different colours, but all the best quality. Joran finished his experiment after he had one little ball of every colour. Each of them was perfectly clear.
"I'm done with the mix-experiment, master Torgan" Joran said then. "What may I begin learning next?"
"Interested, are you?" Torgan said. "Well… I suppose I could trust you with the heaters, but Erastide comes first…"
At Erastide, Joran helped his father decorate the Temple, and then they actually talked.
"Will you stop all that Gorek's Day prayer if the king does return?" Joran asked.
"Only if the Keeper commands me to" the Deacon said. "but I dare say that the Day of Return is near, Joran".
"How can you tell?" Joran asked.
"Prophecy" the Deacon replied. "When the day of the Dead is full and Death produces a life, be prepared. In midwinter is the Survivor born. He survives the Fire of burning Stone House. He survives Water. He survives attack of boar. He He survives Poison that would kill any other. He survives the attack of madness. By his touch a dead one gains life and be marked forever as his. He completes the creation of the World. He lifts Sword in blue Flame that burns him not. This proves him the King of Riva and the Overlord of the West".
Joran blinked. "The Day of Dead has been full for as long as I can remember, Father" he said dubiously.
Joran's father chuckled. "That's why I say his return is near, Joran" he said. "The day was full the day you were born, Joran. Your birth was the life produced on the Day of the Dead – by your mother's Death. I daresay that you will see his return, Joran".
"Still, it's been fourteen years" Joran said. "Why have we heard nothing?"
"We will hear when he lifts the Sword" his father said. "Not before. And how is your studying going?"
Joran told him of his extra-studies.
His father nodded approvingly. "Study as hard as you can" he said. "I want to see one of your pieces when you're up to that, mind you…"
They talked all Erastide. Then Joran returned to Torgan's glass-shop to study. Studying heaters in mid-winter was quite nice actually, as it kept him warm and in time, Torgan showed Joran each and everything about glass-making, only insisting breaks for the holidays.
Joran learned very fast, so fast that Torgan soon ran out of the 'extra' to teach Joran. Then Joran asked if he could start making his own work. "I know it's earlier than usual, but… something tells me that's how I best serve the Orb".
Torgan nodded in agreement. So Joran did get to do his own work, while still doing bottles for Torgan before he'd been a year as apprentice. His first attempts were little bears he crushed because he wanted them to be perfect. Joran concentrated on learning to make them as detailed as possible until finally, only a day before Belar's Feast one of them looked as if he was alive.
"You continue to amaze me, Joran" Torgan commented when he saw that one.
Joran smiled. "I'll give it to the Temple" he said. "I hope my father likes it".
At Belar's Feast that day, Joran did so. His father smiled at the bear-figure. The Belar's Feast lasted, as was customary, well into the night. That night Joran had the oddest dream…