The Mountain Dancer

Chapter 25: Sila & Grey Cloak

Sila had taken up lodgings in one of the community houses near the academy, earning her space by providing small wonderments, fortunes and wavematching services to the downcycling sunworkers in the feasting room of the house. Truth be told, she didn’t mind it one bit. One mooncycle she had even allowed herself to fantasize about what life might had been like had she actually taken the Path of the Lurecrafters.

She had drunk too much that evening, and had maybe faltered from keeping a low profile, but it had been fun. Presently, she sat in the same spot in the feasting room, remembering how the rowdy crowd (herself included) had slung their arms around each other, singing the backup lyrics to the Dancer’s tune, stomping their feet in rhythm to the Moxie’s drum.

At the moment, the large space was fairly deserted. The day was in full upcycle, past High Sun but far from evening. A few resting sunworkers and older folks lounged about, but no one had requested any of her services.

A figure in a grey cloak swept in, looking around as he did. He spotted her, but didn’t veer towards her right away. Eventually, he picked a seat at table nearby and waved away the house attendant who was approaching to see if he needed anything.

She toyed with the idea of making him wait for a nice, uncomfortable length of time, but that would probably be more trouble than it was worth.

“Hail, stranger. Would you like a fortune told? I might also offer a wavematch, if you have the time,” she said, as she had a hundred times before in this place.

“Okay,” he said, and moved to sit across from her.

She leaned in close; her hands splayed out on the table her typical fortunetelling pose.

He said: “update.”

“Not so loud.”

That earned a fantastic grimace. “Update,” he said through clenched teeth. She wasn’t convinced it was that much quieter.

“Getting closer. I told you, this will take time.”

“How much closer?”

“I don’t have a measuring stick. Things are on track. You needn’t worry about a thing until the Mountain Dance is upon us. Even this little reunion is unnecessary, and frankly, quite stupid.” She smiled a tiny smile and waved her hands about.

He glared. “A missing Fistshield. Five academy kitchen advisors injured, one quite seriously. A man with his throat cut in the drainworks. All in the first week that I let you loose.”

“I thought I was doing the updating?”

“Do not patronize me. How much of it was your doing?”

“Are you losing your resolve?”

“If you cannot control your bloodlust I will withdraw my resources.”

“My bloodlust?” Her miming faltered just a bit. “You think I enjoy it?”

“Two renderings... three if you’re to blame for the Fist... what else am I to think?”

“That I am doing my job.”

“There will be no more renderings.”

She dropped her hands to the table gently. “Then the book is lost.”

He shook silently, mouth opening and closing, eyes flickering. She was about to say more when she felt a cooling surge in her chest. Something was happening to the academy’s mindtether. She hadn’t gotten much further into it, but she didn’t need to be in too deep to sense this. Daxill had been brought down. Just a sliver, and just for a moment, but it was there.

Then a whisper of a phrase kissed her ear, echoing away as soon as it had come: xe stands she stands let’s freeze…

Sila shivered and suppressed her eye-light as well as the crystals that were buried in her skin. It would certainly not do to have any of them glow right now.

He sensed the distraction in her. “What is it? What happened?”

“It’s working...” she said, half to herself.

“What is? Is it the book?”

She turned to him, remembered her hands, and resumed the fortunetelling charade. “It’s a book. Part of the process. I need to leave, as soon as possible.”

“You heard me about the renderings.”

She didn’t have time for this. “And you heard me about the book?”

“I have a reputation to uphold, for the love of Royth!”

“Nothing that happens here will matter once you are credited with delivering your precious lost artifact back to your people. You either trust me to hold up my end of the deal, or we call it off right now so as to preserve your reputation.”

As suspected, he didn’t care much for the ultimatum. But after much sputtering, sniffling, scowling, etcetera, he agreed to let her do what she needed to do. Then he was gone. She waited for several long moments afterward, hoping no one accosted her for a real fortune.

They didn’t, and she made for the academy, hoping the boy would remember where to show up.