06-29-2023, 03:05 PM
Val was annoyed and jumpy. Mira didn’t fight those tides, though the way he man-handled her for presentation reminded her of the way the Wise Woman had once marched her through the Tower for judgement. He pushed her forward, and she didn’t fight that either. Mira was often fearful, but it was the kind that soon nudged its hand into the care of curiosity. Whatever her appearance of delicacy, when plunged right in the deep end, of course she swam.
She didn’t cower, though she did squint a little in the light. The flickering shadows made the walls look squirming and alive around them. By Val’s stilted introduction even he was unsure of the reception she’d receive, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him uncertain like that. The smallest hum of laughter threatened at the addition of Sedai though. She squashed it down, that little bubble of hysteria. But the identity felt like a grotesquely shed skin. She did not wear the ring, nor carried it on her. For various reasons it had never felt earned. Though that was not why she had hidden it away.
Valtin was frowning; the kind of expression that usually sent others scurrying out of his way. His master ignored him, which Mira found she did not entirely like. But the silence itself she did not find to be uncomfortable, for hierarchy and expectation were not things to trouble her these days. She watched with disturbed fascination as he perused the locked secrets of her sickened mind. Fear thrummed her pulse cold and fast even now, and she still could not put her finger on why he felt like such a predator to her.
Arikan. She made herself think it, yet it sounded strangely wrong; spiky when it should have been smooth as wind rippling the riverbed of her thought. She was watching him unabashed, no help at all to Valtin’s concern over what to say, and so saw the moment recognition intruded like an uninvited guest, then flared his eyes wide. No one likes a prophet; she could have told Val that. Least of all a mad one. Cast out or chained; dead or beholden; coveted or feared. The road ever forked, and she did not much care for either option.
There was no trace at all of what Arikan thought by the time he looked up. His attention crushed with its weight, scoured out the rest of the world. How many must have trembled before that gaze? How many more would? He had eyes deep as the abyss. But the strangest thing for Mira was the sense of the abyss looking back. It zipped something through her spine that might have been thrill or fear. Few ever really saw her. She ensured it.
“I don’t even know what day it is,” she said. It wasn’t an evasive answer, just one spoken truthfully and without thought. She was staring at him thoughtfully, not yet at the image he bid her to identify. The urge rose unbidden to run her touch over features she knew better than her own. The furrow at his brow that suggested he rarely smiled. The careful sweep of curls that spoke of man who cared about appearances. The flesh revealed more than the page, she realised. What scars did he carry yet? But most people did not enjoy uninvited intimacy, and though that didn’t always stop her, she rather required her fingers to remain attached to her hands. Plus she thought Valtin might very well combust from the mortification of her doing something so embarrassing. So she only looked.
She would have left it there, but she was aware of Val close behind her. To prevent another flight from her treacherous feet, she imagined. Should Arikan decide Mira’s curse was a secret better left buried, it was not like he would be inclined to stop him. He might even be bestowed the crown of executioner. But she would not intentionally bring Val shame, so when she padded forward it was to better see the drawing Arikan held. There were hundreds of them here, and Mira did not keep them to memory. In fact she scrutinised this one for long moments, casting back a long way into dusty halls she did not usually tread, for an answer she was not sure she had to give.
“I haven’t drawn the farm in a long time,” she said eventually. Years, probably. Time was both inconsistent and nebulous, dragging like molasses sometimes, or plunging with the speed of a waterfall off a cliff. How anyone was meant to account for that she was not sure. Mira never tried. “So I suppose it must be in the past now.” She glanced back up at his face, but only for a moment. Something else occurred to her then, dragging her attention down to his torso. Because if the farm was in the past, she realised suddenly that so too was the leech.
She didn’t cower, though she did squint a little in the light. The flickering shadows made the walls look squirming and alive around them. By Val’s stilted introduction even he was unsure of the reception she’d receive, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him uncertain like that. The smallest hum of laughter threatened at the addition of Sedai though. She squashed it down, that little bubble of hysteria. But the identity felt like a grotesquely shed skin. She did not wear the ring, nor carried it on her. For various reasons it had never felt earned. Though that was not why she had hidden it away.
Valtin was frowning; the kind of expression that usually sent others scurrying out of his way. His master ignored him, which Mira found she did not entirely like. But the silence itself she did not find to be uncomfortable, for hierarchy and expectation were not things to trouble her these days. She watched with disturbed fascination as he perused the locked secrets of her sickened mind. Fear thrummed her pulse cold and fast even now, and she still could not put her finger on why he felt like such a predator to her.
Arikan. She made herself think it, yet it sounded strangely wrong; spiky when it should have been smooth as wind rippling the riverbed of her thought. She was watching him unabashed, no help at all to Valtin’s concern over what to say, and so saw the moment recognition intruded like an uninvited guest, then flared his eyes wide. No one likes a prophet; she could have told Val that. Least of all a mad one. Cast out or chained; dead or beholden; coveted or feared. The road ever forked, and she did not much care for either option.
There was no trace at all of what Arikan thought by the time he looked up. His attention crushed with its weight, scoured out the rest of the world. How many must have trembled before that gaze? How many more would? He had eyes deep as the abyss. But the strangest thing for Mira was the sense of the abyss looking back. It zipped something through her spine that might have been thrill or fear. Few ever really saw her. She ensured it.
“I don’t even know what day it is,” she said. It wasn’t an evasive answer, just one spoken truthfully and without thought. She was staring at him thoughtfully, not yet at the image he bid her to identify. The urge rose unbidden to run her touch over features she knew better than her own. The furrow at his brow that suggested he rarely smiled. The careful sweep of curls that spoke of man who cared about appearances. The flesh revealed more than the page, she realised. What scars did he carry yet? But most people did not enjoy uninvited intimacy, and though that didn’t always stop her, she rather required her fingers to remain attached to her hands. Plus she thought Valtin might very well combust from the mortification of her doing something so embarrassing. So she only looked.
She would have left it there, but she was aware of Val close behind her. To prevent another flight from her treacherous feet, she imagined. Should Arikan decide Mira’s curse was a secret better left buried, it was not like he would be inclined to stop him. He might even be bestowed the crown of executioner. But she would not intentionally bring Val shame, so when she padded forward it was to better see the drawing Arikan held. There were hundreds of them here, and Mira did not keep them to memory. In fact she scrutinised this one for long moments, casting back a long way into dusty halls she did not usually tread, for an answer she was not sure she had to give.
“I haven’t drawn the farm in a long time,” she said eventually. Years, probably. Time was both inconsistent and nebulous, dragging like molasses sometimes, or plunging with the speed of a waterfall off a cliff. How anyone was meant to account for that she was not sure. Mira never tried. “So I suppose it must be in the past now.” She glanced back up at his face, but only for a moment. Something else occurred to her then, dragging her attention down to his torso. Because if the farm was in the past, she realised suddenly that so too was the leech.
![[Image: thal-banner-scaled.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/thal-banner-scaled.jpg)