Every Glistening Night

Chapter Fifteen

Darkness closes around me from all angles, except for the moonlight streaming through the thick forest leaves. I keep my ears perked for any sounds in the undergrowth, my eyes searching the shadows for a statue that doesn't belong among the trees. The last time I came here by night, I met the strange, hooded figure, my blackmailer. And I still can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me.

I pick a spot amidst the trees to commence my biggest project yet. It should be far enough away from the tribe that no one will find me. A twinge of guilt twists in my gut as I remove a loom from my bag. I don't want to take items that belong to the tribe, but I have no other options. This is the only way to make a sunlight cloak. It was easier than I had initially though, too. I volunteered this afternoon to help put away the looms. When I was alone in the supply cave, I slipped one of the already inventoried looms into my bag. Unless every single loom is brought out in the coming days, no one will know it's missing.

I wind the ika silk round and round each part of the loom. The large white bundle from earlier dwindles quickly. I use almost every thread to protect the loom from the sun's intensity, which would surely burn the wooden frame faster than I can form half the fabric I need.

My hand feels around the inside of my bag, into each pocket until my fist closes on a small wooden box. I open it, and though dulled from the new thread form, sunlight still glows against the darkness. I feel an urge to stifle it in some way. It's like a smoke signal in the sky, announcing my location to people far and wide. But the sunlight will not be contained once outside the simmenberry wood.

I remove the first, long piece from the golden coil. If it weren't for its effervescence, the hairline sun would become lost in the dark, impossible to manipulate into cloth. I place it on the loom, then add more and more threads around it.

The pattern I follow is the same for all types of thread, from wool to cotton to ika silk. The difference is the fabric produced in the end. What was once a single wisp becomes a shining square. The lattice pattern from the weaving is barely noticeable with thread this fine. It looks more like liquid gold semi-hardened over the loom.

Though only a fraction of the cloak has been bound together, heat radiates from the loom. I enjoy it at first, gentle breath against my skin. The thread becomes slick against my perspiring fingers, and without thinking, I find myself wiping my hands against my tunic. I lean close to add another of the sun's rays to the shimmering collection, but pain sears my fingers when I try to interweave it. The sunlight takes up a mere half of the loom, yet the burns begin.

I put on the gloves I made yesterday to finish the job. They're sewed tight, practically a second skin, and the ika silk is light. But the silky fabric makes it easier for the thread to slip through my fingertips, falling into the grass or under leaves. At least the sunlight makes it easy to find. It's just more cumbersome to use gloves, no matter how thin they may be.

But at long last, sunlight covers the entire loom in bright yellow. It's almost blinding how concentrated the light is. Heat waves roll off the celestial cloth, enough to make sweat bead on my upper lip. I swipe my arm across my face to remove a marginal amount of excess moisture, then set to work removing the sunlight. Despite the heat the rest of me registers, the ika silk keeps my hands safe from the high temperature. I slide the fabric into a spidery sheaf, woven yesterday as well to ensure that the sunlight doesn't burn all it touches.

I sit back on my heels with a sigh. This is the first of many fabric portions I must weave in the coming days. Glancing at the sky, I only have a few more moons until I must meet the hooded figure in the forest again. Half of my sunlight reserves were depleted tonight, too, which doesn't help matters. I'll have to find time to get more, to make more thread.