Every Glistening Night

Chapter Eleven

"That seems awfully warm for summer, Celisae."

Of course, my mother is the one to voice what everyone else thought yesterday. Except when she says it, expressions missing from her face, it sounds more like a reprimand than any of the curious or judgemental stares I received. I almost expect her to follow up with, "you'll catch a cold" or some other excuse to justify doing things her way. In this case, heatstroke is probably a more apt consequence.

I allow the outer robe to drop to the floor. "I brought my raeriel." To solidify it, I pull out my raeriel. Mother's eyes twitch at the corners, and she stretches out her hands. I dutifully give her the wooden instrument.

Mother's hands run over the rough wood with a whisper-light touch. Longing tugs in her eyes. She plucks each of the four strings, her brow lifting at the out of tune pitches. Her fingers close around the pegs at the end of the fingerboard, though when she attempts to turn them, they don't budge. White pulls across her knuckles, and she adjusts the angle of pressure, but her hand releases in defeat after a few seconds.

"Here, I—"

Mother abandons trying to tune my raeriel, and I clamp my mouth shut. Her hand shifts to the fingerboard, where her crooked fingers shadow a sequence of notes. I know it well; it comes from one of the sunlight songs. It's a fast section where your fingers dance a series of alternating arpeggios between two strings, creeping higher and higher up the instrument. I must admit, it's pretty fun once I got the hang of it.

Her index finger lands on a note, and her pinky, most likely on instinct, reaches across two strings for the next one. Except she can't. The fingerpad of her pinky is splayed away from the instrument, unable to press down on the string. Mother's hand falls from the instrument.

"What shall we work on?" she asks.

I swallow. "Didn't you have any, uh, ideas?" After all, she's the one who wanted me to bring my raeriel.

"What will benefit you most?" she asks again. "A specific technique, a certain song..." She pauses, though I can tell more churns in her mind, wanting to spill free. She's hinting at something. After this many years, I can often tell. The question is what it is.

I glance back at my bag on the ground. The sunlight remains inside. I never removed it after I returned to the tribe. My attention went to fulfilling another order of fabric, then to sneaking out during the third meal. As a result, the meat and corn cake I saved for Mother are still warm.

"How about the spinning songs?" I suggest. "I have some sunlight with me right now."

A glimmer shines in Mother's eyes. "Really?"

I nod, removing the wooden box along with the white cloth of food. "Here, I also brought you some food." My gaze falls on the water basin at her side. "I can refill your water while you eat, then we can start on the sunlight—"

"No," Mother cuts off. "Let's start with your lesson."

I look between the two containers I hold in my palms. "But it's still warm."

"It doesn't matter. We don't want to run out of time."

Reluctantly, I place the cloth on the ground.

"Here, come fetch your raeriel," Mother says. "I'll take the simmenberry box." I trade her, one form of wood for another, and quickly twist the pegs to turn the instrument.

Light pours from Mother's hands. I nearly remind her to not stare so intently at it, like it's showing her the mysteries of the universe, to protect her eyesight. I bite my tongue at the last moment, though, thinking it's better to not correct my mother.