Will Of Infinity

Nosedive - Part 1

Minar didn't know what to make of Saakhi Por. She had a clue or two about Imay, the tact wrapped around tactics and brown-eyed charm of a navigator who knew his way around most situations. He played to his strengths among those weaker than him and to his vulnerabilities around those who had higher protective instincts. If she had met him at a less friendly situation, he would have been the one to keep an eye on for a strategic attack.

She could identify him. His words and actions aligned with one another.

Saakhi was a conundrum with every waking second she spent around them. It had been two weeks since she had lodged at Swatan but there wasn't much to get a clear picture about her. Minar could track the path of a storm clearer than the intentions of this rogue archer with a hummingbird's thought-train.

"He woke up from a damp pyre," Saakhi started, her fourth prompt for the evening's game. They were supposed to be sculpting pieces for the order received from Nuyyan which was due in a month, but it was late and the firelight cast shadows over the ground as they chatted while working. Minar wasn't the most skilled at art, she never had been even with a brush, which meant that she was more useful helping Oorja and clearing the dust that gathered while the others worked. Imay had accompanied Piba to Jevadhi to deliver the monthly produce of jackfruit that would barter them rice, and Saakhi had opted to stay behind so she could help them with the sculptures.

Which, in her mind, meant regaling horror stories and roping everyone into spinning them along with her.

"Why is it damp?" Nami asked and Saakhi clicked her tongue, throwing a stray piece of chipped wood behind her, skimming the girl's head without target, "A damp pyre makes no sense, it -"

"-wouldn't burn anything, much less a human," Ezhil took over easily, turning Nami's complaint into a part of the story as he addressed the group, "But it had burnt him. Flesh had melted off his arm and fire had eaten through his belly. On charred bones and with no recollection of how he had gotten there, the new ghoul looked around for guidance."

"Great, now he's a ghoul," Tejo muttered and grunted when Ezhil kicked at her ankle to continue, "What?"

Ennila was the most talented sculptor among them, a gift that would be passed on to Ezhil if he ever chose to practice, but she was also one with a light heart. With a wink thrown at Minar, she began clinking her bowl gouge against the empty basin beside her feet, in time with the passing seconds. Tejo sputtered and looked at the others for help. The rules of the game had been simple, though Saakhi had a funny habit of adding more if she wished to, but the basic two remained.

Those who interrupt must continue if nobody else did. Those who didn't continue had to do the rooster's job the next day.

The clinking got louder with Ezhil joining his mother and Minar raised her brow as Tejo eyed her pleadingly. If there was ever anyone who disliked storytelling, it would be the teenager who had no patience for continuity or pulling tales from the air. It was ironic that she hated waking early just as much.
Minar shook her head and turned to sweep up the splinters from her spot as the seconds dwindled to the final count.

"There were carvings on the logs," she spoke without looking up, picking the larger chunks by hand, "Deep gouges made in determined lines, half broken away from words like the hand had been too tired. He had no memory of this, just as he didn't of burning or surviving a fire, but he was a ghoul now. He had never been that before and he didn't know how to be one. So he read those lines, angry and stern in their command, still dripping from the ashes of his skin that weren't wet like the pyre. Dragging his feet till he could climb down, till his sole and skeleton could stand on the ground instead of the wood, he read his reason to be this new form."