day 5: The spinning yarn
The commotion of the day before had left me a bit shaken if I am to be honest. I had never seen such power and ferocity thrown about with ease before. Dueling was, as everyone knows disallowed in the Greitaar Plains, especially around the Seal’s headquarters. You may see some flashes of fighting at the local arenas, some healing aspects in the lower villages, or someone lighting a fire with Affa, but truly wild fights had been long extinguished on the Plains, or maybe that is what the Seal wanted us to believe. Dusters as they are called, are people that use Affa. Affa as everyone knows are powders created by drying and pressing natural elements; stone, crystal, plants, and concentrating their properties in order to imbue their actions with magical essence. There are eight main Affa. Ruubrum, used to create fire. Dolomite, used to create winds. Quartz, used for manipulating force. Heliant, use to concentrate light. Daatura, for creating toxins. Caasia, for manipulating the mind. Cearulea, for water. And Coal, for terraforming the earth. Many young people see these and are drawn to the power that they provide. There is a downside though, an over usage of the powder can cause great bodily harm. I have read in the tomes of the library that many Dusters lose appendages and even limbs if not careful.
It was nightfall on the Spine. A large caravan of traders had set up camp on the side of the road, their livery indicated that they belonged to a mercantile guild known as the Scorp Corps. Vehicles without wheels, that stood upon large spider like legs, adorned with flowing majestic tapestries that caught the wind as if they were sails. The group had set up for the night, saw me traveling and beckoned me over. An older woman sat behind a large table atop a golden scorpion. Her dark brown skin, just as Pats on the ship tinted on her left hand with the stark white of Dolomite, not as opaque as Pats’ had been, but the hint was there. She asked if I would enjoy some coffee and a Schaltza, a meat and grain roll native to the people of Waatu. Over dinner, with the crowd of traders taking stock of their cargo she asked if I would like to hear a tale. Of course I did. Her right hand, that had been left out of sight, came and held my chin, its touch warm and soothing.
It started with specks of light dancing in the outer edges of my eyes. Then a rush of cool breeze washed over me. Then the heat of the desert sun pierced my skin. The specks now turned to streamers of golden bows, twisting and turning, knotting themselves around the woman’s face. A snake appeared. Another after it. Wrapping around her arm, on a path to meet my cheek. The snake melted into sunlit dunes upon the table. A harsh wind blew them from sight. From behind me the specks came again, this time falling like the leaves of a great tree, flittering in the breeze. A wash of golden light taking over my peripherals.
“Talk to the cat with the black coat that sits atop the tree” I remember her saying to me as she let go of my chin. Her hand dyed the most vibrant fuchsia I had ever seen. Her pinky and ring finger missing, replaced with a gilded prosthetic. Caasia. She had been a Sayer. I had read about them in my books, fortune tellers, mind makers, and prized very deeply by the Waatun people.
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