73rd of Winter, 521 AV
When morning arrived, Naadiya groaned herself awake. She must have rolled in her sleep and could now feel a hard lump being pushed into her face.
“What—?” She began to say but as soon as her hand reach up, it recognized the shape of the earring. She’d forgotten to take it off the night before. The girl sighed, knowing she’d now have an interesting imprint on her face to explain to any who asked. But when she went to the mirror, Naadiya could see nothing. She ran her fingers over her cheek and felt nothing, even the initial uncomfortable redness seemed to have disappeared and the jewel hung from her lobe innocently.
Deciding against her day off from work, Naadiya went to the shop that morning and dropped off several yards of a heavier weave she’d been doing for Dawn. She waved a hello to the local designer and accepted the muted waved back from the blonde, who had too many pins in her mouth to speak. She grabbed a few more skeins and headed back to the inn, where she spent a few hours resetting up the yarns on her loom and starting a new weave.
When she wove at the inn Naadiya sang without care of her volume. Neither the innkeeper nor any other guest had yet voiced their complaint so she figured it was fine if she kept her little concerts within reasonable hours. She had a few inches of fabric woven and made sure her weft yarns were nice and tight.
While Naadiya could see that her loom was not ornate or indeed decorated in anyway, she thought it was beautiful. The rich brown of the wood was dark and smooth, meticulously rubbed with oil to maintain their supple gloss and keep the wood from drying out. Her older sister had painted her own loom, covering it with tiny golden yellow dots that made it look gilded with golden studs or as if it were covered in the hide of a creature of legends. One of her younger sisters, in rebellion, had angrily carved into the wood, years later she’d camouflage the marred wood with beautifully carved patterns.
Naadiya had kept hers just as it was when she’d received it. She was careful to the point of almost being justly labeled ‘persnickety’. The loom had been designed to be easily taken apart and put back together and the Benshira was careful to kept all the components neatly stowed when not in use, every piece accounted for. Always. And of course, she oiled the wood parts, taking the whole thing apart being oiling and letting it absorb before wiping it clean. She tried to do it a couple times a year in the desert but wondered if that might be too much in Syka. Naadiya’d had to make changes to her skin regime, she would likely have to to the same for good ol’ Loomenary.
She was fairly sure none of her sisters had ever named their looms but Naadiya had named hers many times over. It had once been Loompa-loompa, then, Weaverina, Lady Loomyria, even The Moon Loom, among others. None of the names made any particular sense or came from any particular source but the machine itself did not seem to mind the constant renaming.
Her foot pressed lightly on the peddle controlling the heddle bar letting Naadiya pass the shuttle back and forth between her hands much faster than taking the extra couple seconds every pass. Those seconds added up very quickly.
They passed by quickly too. She was working on a solid fabric with no patterns or complexities but even so it was enjoyable. Her voice was starting to build rhythm as her tongue remembered an old song and her hands kept sending the shuttle back and forth.
Back and forth and back and forth and back again. The repetition was monotonous but comforting in its routine. She combed the yarns down and checked for any skipped warp yarns. Naadiya had been trying to be extra careful for any weaving she did out of the shop. When she did not have Tony there looking to catch anything she missed, that tiny little voice in her head that sneered at imperfection rang as soon as it caught a mistake. Taking the time to check her work in the sunlight even as melodic notes absentmindedly left her lips, she ran her fingers over the fabric.
Naadiya’s hands were starting to get used to the handling the Isuas yarns and maneuvering them in the loom. Though, it often felt like “getting used to” was poorly worded. It seemed the Isuas simply lacked some of the flaws more prevalent in the coarse to average quality cottons and wools Naadiya had ever worked with. The Isuas fibers must either be much longer at origin or else much stronger so as to break less frequently. The lack of breakage made for a stronger, smoother yarn. It lacked some of the bounce that wool had, but it didn’t need it, Syka certainly did not lack for the warmth insulated in such a ‘bounce’. And while it may have also lacked the liquid quality of silk, it did fair much better with wear and tear and held the dye while being constantly exposed to moisture not only in the humid air but in the frequent contact with rain and sea.
She had adjust how often she would check the thread tension in her weave and had opted to use her comb more frequently to keep the weave as neat and smooth without getting too tight. The weaving combs her father had given his daughters had been made with the looms and as such were of the same wood as the looms. Naadiya still had it in her bag, but when her mother had died, Naadiya had only used her mother’s tortoise shell comb. On some level it made Naadiya feel closer to her mother, as if the latter would guide her daughter’s hands as she wove.
At times Naadiya felt she could be trying to do more, to challenge herself or make something she could honestly consider herself to be proud of. Tony had said they would buy just about any fabric she could weave for them, but he also had been very quick to point out any mistake she’d ever made, since starting to work for him. It wasn’t that she wasn’t thankful for his corrections, she was. But it also made Naadiya feel as if she was still making rookie mistakes. This made her double and triple check everything she brought in, and while Dawn, Tony’s wife, wasn’t fast to give compliments, she also had not yet complained…at least not that Naadiya knew of.
Hours passed and Naadiya sang and wove and every so quickly the lighting in the room began to dim away from the brightness of midday.
She had a stack of folded blue fabric piling up on the wooden floor near the bed and with each day it kept growing. Next to it, was a much smaller pile, scraps really. Those were the false starts, the times where song had flooded her head enough that details escaped her mind momentarily. None of those pieces of partially woven fabric had been long enough to make a huge difference in the amount of yarn that was discarded, but long enough that trying to back paddle her way to fixing the problems would take longer than starting over when it seemed the mistakes were big enough to leave scars of her attempts at repairing.
Time was money, after all. And, while Dawn and Tony were not paying her at an hourly rate, Naadiya knew approximately how much fabric she could conceivably weave in a day and there was always bound to be some waste. She did not concern herself with the unusable fabric bits and went on weaving until a yawn rose from the the depth of her core and Naadiya realized many hours had passed and she hadn’t eaten anything.
Time had really flown right by, Naadiya must have missed Tazrae’s meal times. It was not unusual for Naadiya to get caught up doing something or thinking for long enough to forget to eat. But her stomach was reminding her now, loudly.
Judging that she was far enough along her current textile to take it off the loom, Naadiya secured the loose threads and took the length of blue back to the pile. She opened up Dawn's large fabric tote and began to fill it, refolding each piece more neatly.
Half way down the pile, Naadiya gave a shocked yelp. In between the layers of fabric sat a speckled shell. A speckled shell with legs.
It was smaller than her palm and each little leg was a pale orange. Little black beads looked up at her as the critter inched side to side unsure where to go.
After the surprise wore off, Naadiya could tell she'd recognize the little animal having seen them on the beaches before. Sometimes in the water and sometimes crawling on rocks near the shore. They had never seemed to be aggressive and their tiny claws seemed too small to do any real damage, so Naadiya relaxed.
It was still moving unevenly on the lumped fabric, sometimes misjudging how much weight a certain fold could hold before it collapsed on itself. But the little shelled animal seemed used to its own lack of grace. Naadiya smiled, then scooped the little crab in her hand and placed it on the bed while she continued folding and packing her fabric.
Once she was finished, Naadiya got dressed and pulled her hair back, fastening it so it fell down her back and away from her face. It wasn’t dark yet, if she made no stops, Naadiya could definitely give Dawn her finished fabrics, pick up some more yarn and then grab some dinner at the Tidepool before heading back home. Though she had been living on the jungle’s shore for a while now, Naadiya still felt a little uneasy walking alone in certain parts once night had fallen.
Shadows hid many things and her eyes lacked the nocturnal adaptation so many of the animals here had. Nocturnal eyes that glint like mirrors in the dark.
Then he came back to her, the strange man at the beach.
The previous night, she had almost chastised herself when she was already safe in bed. How silly it had been to just run the way she had. He was just a man, he’d even spoken to her and his voice not more monstrous than her own. But his eyes. There was something about his eyes she could not put her finger on, in a way that frightened the Benshira. Whether it reminded her of a person she’d seen or even a dream, Naadiya couldn’t tell, but supposing she may not see him again, Naadiya tried putting it out of her mind.
I probably imagined him, she thought to herself,
I’ve been having strange sleep cycles and the humid night air played with my mind.But his eyes…Pushing the thought out of mind, Naadiya grabbed the cloth bag and slipped it onto her shoulder. Her small coin pouch hung from her waist freely. Despite all the perils that Syka had to offer, theft, seemed to be lowest on the list. She was almost at the door when she remembered her little friend, and turned back to take him from the pillow he’d crawled onto.
“Come on, if you stay here you might be snacked on by the hound.”
Its little limbs shrank back, as it buried itself further in the curling shell. She held the hermit crab in her palm, up ahead of her, where she could keep an eye on it. While it hadn’t tried to nip at her, Naadiya was airing on the side of caution.
Outside, Syna was still in the sky but lazy clouds would contribute to the softness of the sunset still to come. Her pace was brisk but not rushed. Reaching the beach area, Naadiya set the hermit crab down on the closest rock, then petted its shell twice, hoping it wouldn’t be snatched by a bird the second she walked away. Then, she was off to the clothier.
Dawn had been inside working on something but just as Naadiya walked in, she could tell the shop owner was focused on something. Facing a table, with her back to Naadiya, Dawn’s head was bent down and while Naadiya couldn’t make out the words, she could hear her boss muttering something under her breath.
At first she thought the woman was praying and not wanting to disturb her, Naadiya tried to make as little noise as possible. Her feet moved over the floor, touching down lightly in their sisal bottoms. She was getting closer to Dawn, maybe a couple of yards away when her stomach growled for what seemed an unusual amount of time.
An impatient groan left Dawn’s throat in response and she turned quickly. Behind the woman, Naadiya could see a pile of small metallic bits and and smaller pile next to it. She had been counting, Naadiya realized. And the unamused, raised eyebrow now looking back at her, confirmed that she’d just lost count.
“Crap, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt?”
“No, it’s fine.” Her tone was cool.
Annoyed, Naadiya thought, but maybe not quite angry.
Then, Naadiya’s ear started ringing and the magical earring that clung to her lobe added further, unnecessary confirmation. Dawn had lost count. It wasn’t fine. But the ringing was faint. Naadiya did not think Dawn would hold the disruption against her for long.
“Did you have any fabric for me?” Dawn asked, trying to hurry the girl along.
Naadiya nodded and smiled to cover up the cringing expression her face wanted to make at the buzzing in her ear.
“I do. The usual widths and lengths, I’ve got a few pieces in there. All of them are bottom weights, this time. Do you want me to do top weights next?”
“I actually haven’t taken stock yet to see what we are low on, but sure, go ahead and take the lighter yarns. In fact, why don’t you just alternate from now on. Do one batch of one weight, then go a little heavier and heavier until you loop back to the lighter weight yarns. Only use Isuas, you might as well keep working with it,” she looked through Naadiya’s textiles, “you seem to be getting better, good.”
Naadiya smiled in thanks and bowed her head slightly as they exchanged the cloth bag for the usual amount on coin, the costs of the yarns she’d take, having now already been taken out.
She said her goodbyes to Dawn and beelined for the bar.
By now, she was already getting used to the size and weight of the bag of isuas and worked the rhythm of her walk so that her leg moved in sync with the bag, pushing and supporting it so as to not obstruct her pace. She kept one hand on the bag, steadying it, but the other was free to scratch the itch on her shoulder where the bag’s strap rubbed. Naadiya was deciding whether to switch which shoulder the bag hung on, when she saw The Tidepool in the distance. She decided it was close enough and kept it on its current shoulder, then, almost immediately after, decided to switch shoulders anyway.
Up the dock she walked, and soon Naadiya found herself seated at the bar, about to get a meal she could not afford.
Word Count: 2613
