Closed Show me your colors (Bina)

[Vaewe]

29th of Fall, 512 AV There was no hanging on the window and heavy, honey colored rays of sunlight flowed freely into the room. They fell on the smooth floor and the sandstone walls, bringing soft yellows up to the stone’s surface. The light shone gently on the polished red woods of the bed and chest, it glinted on the copper of the mirror and brazier. But it fell silent on the pottery wheel. The grey stone wheel was clean and untouched, it sat solemnly on the floor drinking to the last drop each stream of light that fell upon it, leaving nothing to spill back into the warmth of the room. The warmth of the room… It was too warm in the golden room. Vaewe’s reflection shone, but not with the warm hues of an Eypharian’s skin. The Akvatari wiped a film of sweat from his brow and frowned at himself in the mirror. His pale self stared back, looking like a figure drawn in pencil and forgotten in an oil painting. It was time to find his colors for the day. Vaewe looked down at his collection, the treasures he had laid along the table for inspection. I will not impress Uratah with these. But I cannot go as a ghost. The Eypharians were luscious, their skin was honey and amber, dripping with jewels and gold filigree. Vaewe was a pale stringer of seashells, alone and dull in the glittering crowd. He chose the abalone shell, because it looked serious. Hanging from its black cord the iridescent shell brushed against his navel. It was grey. It was blue. It was green. It was pink. It shone like silver against his white chest. This color would do for today. But it would not be enough for today, a shell on a string would not impress. Vaewe sighed. His colors had never disappointed before, but they had never needed to be for anyone but him before. His picked up another piece, four uneven, green stones tied to a leather cord. They were nearly cubes, each a slightly different shade of emerald green, and when he looped the cord twice around his upper arm they formed a diamond. There, that was all. It had to be enough because the Akvatari had no more. He scooped the remaining treasures into his satchel. White scallop shells and the blue grey pebbles fell in with a small board of slate, the dust of a piece of chalk, and the carefully folded letter he had written the night before. That was all Vaewe could do, there would be no more preparing. He eased himself off of the bench and onto the floor. The sandstone was warm underneath his fur as he scooted slowly to the door and onto the veranda that ran about the courtyard of his new home. His wings were painfully white, blindingly bright in the full sunlight as Vaewe took flight for the street of Emeralds. The sun was behind Vaewe. It was warm on his pale wings and hot on his bare back. He did not fly high and could trace the edges of his shadow easily as it cut through the glittering roads below. The streets of Ahnatep may have been paved with gold. Below him was a body of glistening Eypharians. Their conversations floated up to him, fragile wisps of the rushed business below. Vaewe could feel the soft whisper of silk and the taste of heavy cream laid over sharper edges and bitter flavors. They all spoke the same, filled with so many layers. It was rich and luxuriant, overwhelming and foreboding. Vaewe could make little of their conversations yet, except for the haughty glances that seemed to fall heavy on his own muteness. The press of sensations grew as the Vaewe lowered himself into the street. His skin was tickled and his throat sweetened while the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. He was in front of Uratah’s shop and the colors of so many conversations swamped his vision. Heavy, gaudy reds and shimmering bronzes began to invade, twisting with threads of black, green and grey as he pushed the shop door open. Market places were too loud, the voices, all clamoring and clanging together made a haze that shrouded Vaewe from the real world. But the shop was quiet as he hauled his body through the doorframe. The stone floor felt cool and smooth against his fur after the dust from the road, already warm though it was barely midday.

[Colombina]

"How can this remind you of fall, Haejdi? All the seasons look the same here." "It reminds me of what I imagine fall to be," the female voice was quiet and unvaried, "Perhaps that is more powerful." "Perhaps be damned. You know how Uratah is." "You worry for me overmuch, Sebek." The pair stopped hunching around their conversation when they noticed Vaewe slipping over the threshold. The man wore the leather apron of a metalsmith and the woman was dressed in the airy fashion of a traditional Eypharian. Sebek nodded a silent goodbye to her before sweeping out the door. His features were drawn and dark: deceptive with signs of anger when concern was the root. In his wake, the woman gave silent sighs and returned an unfinished piece of jewelry to a box lined in aubergine fabric. When folded in her hands the necklace seemed a heap of amber stones and citrine messily tangled with fine threads of rose gold. It was an inarticulate mass without balance. But when splayed, the necklace showed its poetry. The gems were set in an order older than the dictates of style, a pattern reminiscent of the creep of living things over a stone or log, with superfluous beauties tucked in corners. The gold was tangled or crenate and no stone was identical in stripe or shape. A pave of speck sized gems circled larger stones: serpenting beauty coiled over and over. The necklace required much of the viewer and took its time pleasing the eye. There was adequate reason for Sebek to be concerned that it would be cast off. "Can I help you, Sir?" the woman said in slow common.

[Vaewe]

The final wisps of the Eypharians’ conversation tickled Vaewe as the man left the room. It was an anxious tickle, the sort he wished he could brush away like a fly. The sensation did very little to settle his nerves. Akvatari do not easily release their feelings, and cling especially tightly to the delightfully distressing ones. Vaewe had felt nervous, anxious and twelve different types of sick since he had decided to apply for work with Uratah. But when he noticed the necklace spill from the Eypharian’s hands he had no choice but to let go. It was marvelous. Never before, on Mura, even on Abura, had he seen a piece of work like this. He had seen fine craftsmanship and exquisitely worked gems, but this piece was more than that. His eyes tumbled past the larger pieces, into the intricacies of the piece. It was uneven and secretive and reminded him of looking at a shell, where you could follow each growth line, each imperfection and knick of life that had been reworked and woven into the final product. The stones were dancing with each other, curling and twisting about their partners and Vaewe was trying to follow each step before the woman put it away. His eyes were riveted and he did not see what she said as he scooted closer. But her voice still fell on him. It was like the cool, smooth pebbles of a small stream, hundreds of them, each with its own weight and regular shape pressing lightly against you as the water flows past. He looked up in time to see the last syllables falling indistinctly from her lips. Still, it was not difficult to guess what she had said, this was a shop and he was a stranger. Though he thought he knew the question he did not want to answer. Vaewe had brought his board along, he had the letter of introduction, but the letter was for Uratah, who this was not, and his board was awkward. Many people had seemed nearly insulted when he suggested using it. ”Why can’t you just read my lips?” That question always stung. I can’t because you should try too, if you want to have this conversation. But he was here for a job, it made sense to come to them. The slate would only be used if nothing else worked. “My name is Vaewe. I am looking for Uratah, I- I have a letter.” His voice was not unpleasant, but his speech was ugly, the vowels were heavy and stretched. His consonants were too sharp, or they were unclear and trailing. It was imperfect common, but it was understandable. He felt anxious, and fingered the rough edged paper of his letter, wondering if he should give it to this woman, who ever she was.

[Colombina]

She saw everything and quietly fit them into the honeycomb of her creative memory: things mottled and maimed, chipped and chosen, worn and weft, gleaming and growing, faceted and furled. So, shy and wondering all at once she marked the stippling on Vaewe's tail and the gradient of colors on his wings before he spoke. His voice did a terrible thing to her eyes. It provoked pity, which was a cruel compassion. "I'm afraid she isn't taking anymore projects or apprentices. There are fine pieces already made if that is what you are looking for." Her face had resumed an inscrutable quiet. They looked at one another until she could not bear it. Her hand extended turning a bracelet on her arm. It was a copper fish forever swallowing a glass sea. "I will read the letter," she said with that same awful kindness.

[Vaewe]

Vaewe was watching her face carefully, waiting for the woman to reply. He did not want to miss anything. He did not fail to miss the look that welled up in her eyes. That look was why he never spoke to strangers. Vaewe’s eyes began to burn. He did not know what he sounded like, but something in his words forced people to look at him like that. Poor dear. How awful it must be. How terrible to be you, with a voice so broken. Hot, angry, ashamed. Vaewe felt red. He felt like giving up and pulling back. If she was going to look at him like that he did not need to speak with her. He had others who would speak to him, his father and Caesta. Who were patient and would listen. Who were dead or hundreds of miles away, unable to support or translate or guide. He needed to speak with her, he would speak with her, with Uratah and he would learn so much of beauty and craft. The thought supplied a structure for Vaewe’s spirits to climb. It crumbled again as he watched her lips and left a dent in the floor. Her words were filled with that sickly sweet smell of strong herbs and honey. It washed over the cool pebbles of her voice and swamped them with pity. She had no place for him, he gathered that much. He stared at her, tracing the movements of her lips over and over in his mind. He had to be sure he had not misunderstood. Vaewe did not notice how uncomfortable she was beginning to look, he only saw her lips begin to move again. She wanted the letter, and he handed it over obediently, there was nothing else he could do. He hoped the Arumenic titles and greetings he had used were correct. Vaewe had spent half of the evening last night trying to get his landlady to check it, but she had not been very sympathetic. Hejdi Uratah, My name is Vaewe. I’ve come to Ahnatep from my home in Abura, because I have heard of the skilled craftsmanship of Eypharian jewelers. In the streets of this city, on the necks and wrists of the people who live here, I have seen your work. Your jewelry says more to me than any other pieces I have seen. It is communication, in stones, metals and colors instead of words. It is what I have, for my entire life, attempted to achieve in my own work. I do not have much experience working with gems and metals. I have made much of my own jewelry, but my materials are simple and I lack the tools to create fine works of art. But I pray that you do not dismiss me because of my inexperience. I am not a stranger to craftsmanship. I know some of the arts of weaving and pottery. My hands are skilled with details and intricate work. My heart beats in color and shape, form and texture. Creations are my communication, and it would be an honor to learn from so eloquent an artist as you. I hope that you will consider me as an apprentice. Vaewe

[Colombina]

The Eypharian read the letter then looked at the face waiting above its worn edge. Both had come from the sea with hope in their core. Hope was a frail thing in Ahnatep when not lashed to ambition. She had seen the cost of not allowing the feeling to grow claws. It was both why she sat in privileged tutelage and why she was not manning her own workshop. Why him and not the dozen gilded sons who were denied entrance? She looked at the slate and reconsidered the letter. Perhaps this one could keep secrets because he could not hear them. And Uratah needed her secrets desperately. "If I gave you access to this workshop, would you be able to make something for a client?" Strangely, her scrutiny was better than her compassion, though one would not exist without the other. "We have some who are less than gilded patiently waiting for a piece from this workshop. Uratah would not pay for your work. But if the piece pleases, you may be able to apprentice with her." The Eypharian folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket for safekeeping. Uratah would want to read it eventually. "One person awaiting something is a young man. He wants it for a Semhu dancer he is trying to woo. She is in the chorus, so I do not think she can demand emeralds just yet." Touching the necklace box like a talisman for good fortune, she asked, "What would you make for this boy?"

[Vaewe]

Vaewe felt lost beneath this woman’s gaze, but he feared to look away, lest he miss a word. Make something? Yes, yes he could do that. He nodded too vigorously and his soft, unkempt hair fell into his eyes. The akvatari was eager to please, begging to be let in to a culture he did not understand and that could hardly care for him. He was a child walking barefoot into a field of scorpions. But oh, she was speaking again. This woman was speaking more quickly and using phrases he did not know. Gilded, Semhu, these Eypharian terms slid past Vaewe, slick and resistant to capture. He needed help, and offered her the slate board and chalk. “Please, I am sorry. I cannot understand all you are saying.” He cringed with the admission, hoping she was not branding him a deaf and dumb fool with each clumsy syllable. “I… I can make a piece happily. But who is it for? I do not know the word you use.” He waited patiently for her explanation and nodded, praying he understood the second repetition. He knew little of the Eypharians, but already he was beginning to understand that patience was not the virtue closest to their hearts. “The piece is for love? For a dancer that he loves?” He shut his eyes. Love, love was blue. It was the soft blanket of the sea and the gentle whisper of the sky. Love came from deep in the chest and stole one’s breath. A piece for love should rest above the source, a necklace would be the right piece. “I would make a necklace for him. Please, may I see the slate?” The dark board passed from many gilded hands to ten pale fingers. He erased her words with his arm, and drew a simple figure before returning it to her. Vaewe was an artist, but the chalk was not his medium. The image was only the simple shape of what he wished to represent: a crescent on its side, the horns joined by a thin chain. The widest point was filled with a teardrop. He pointed there first. “This stone is... I do not know the name of the stone. It is dark blue and deep, the weight of the necklace.” He found himself signing as he spoke, it eased his nerves and made the akvatari feel like his thoughts were complete, though the fluid hand signals could add very little to the conversation for the Eypharian. The blue is weight, deep, deep down. He indicated the horns of the crescent. “These have no weight, they are light and dance. The stones here are small and light, the metal is bright and it flows.” Blue of air and water. All light, all moving. “I can try to make this. But I do not know your tools, or metal shaping. Do you have stones? I will show you which ones are good.” He felt a flutter in his stomach. Vaewe could not tell if it was hope or desperation.

[Colombina]

The woman looked long at the simple drawing, filling in the light and color the Akvatari spoke to life. It was a clean silhouette, reminding her of the shapes in wooden screens or painted on pillars. "Lapis Lazuli," she named the stone like a lover. She had always been charmed by the way it curled on the tongue. It was a good choice for the heart of the piece. Not too dear in price, but strong in color. "I have a few stones you may look at. Nothing too costly. Glass may have to suffice for the glister." She stepped around the table dividing her from the Akvatari to lock the door he entered by, then waved for him to follow her into the workshop that comprised most the structure. They passed through a courtyard, common in design but for the small forge in the corner. It was meant for minor projects and tender metals. Several doors opened into the courtyard, but she picked the one directly opposite. Keys trickled over her fingers until she found the proper one to let them through. She presented the workshop proper to him: rows of wooden tables and benches with braided reed baskets of tools. Shelves painted in peacock tones held non-descript, locked boxes and costly lenses. It seemed a place more for labor than artistry. The room was empty, but there were signs of someone trying to bring inspiration to whoever occupied it: jars of feathers, bowls of pomegranates and poppies, nautilus shells and saucers of luminous opal berries. The woman walked the room until she made a sound of recognition. An obviously heavy chest was gingerly slid from a low shelf and to the floor. "Here." She used yet another key to open the rattling chest. Within were dusty chunks of raw lapis. She withdrew and sat on a bench, her eyes watching Vaewe with quiet intensity. "Tell me which is good."

[Vaewe]

White wings stretched with relief for the brief sortie in the courtyard. It was an easier way to move, fluttering just a above and behind the Eypharian woman. As she searched throuhg the keys Vaewe hovered between her and the sun. The shadows of his fluttering wings made strange, shifting patterns over her many arms. Inside the workshop Vaewe was again confined to the floor. The shelves towered over him, hiding their treasures just beyond his vision and reach. The peacock feathers hinted at the brightness that this room kept so carefully locked up, feathery blue and green lights tickled his skin as the akvatari scooted beneath the ornaments. Thankfully the box was placed on the floor, instead of a workbench whose surface would have easily blocked all but Vaewe’s soft brown hair from view, and perhaps, the tips of his wings. Pulling himself up close to the treasures Vaewe began a slow examination of Semele’s as yet uncivilized gifts. They smelled of fine, light rock dust and felt gritty and hard in his hands. He weighed each one that was close to the appropriate size, half a finger’s length. This was a love gift, and the stone could not be a heavy ball strung on a fine chain around the woman’s neck. But it could not be without gravity, Vaewe waited until he had set aside five roughly shaped rocks. None were large or heavy, but they would have enough weight to anchor the piece, to hold the love close to her heart. The young avatari paused for a moment now. He was not sure what would be thought of his next move, but he dabbed his thumb against his tongue, and passed the moisture on to each rock in turn. This was how he had always done it at home, if he had not had water. Each piece of lapis now had a deep, shining point on blue peering through the raw surface. Vaewe examined them slowly. Azure, indigo, cerulean and cobalt. The blue of the sea when it was deep and calm. He chose one with a thin imperfection, a green gold line that cut through the lapis one third of the stone’s length from the base. Vaewe handed it to the Eypharian who had watched him, and replaced the others in the chest, shutting the lid with reverent care.

[Colombina]

The woman weighed the stone on her hand, contemplating both it and the Akvatari. A decision was made when fingers possessively curled around it. She stood, her arms winding across her in a moment of hesitation. Doubt was overtaken and she unfurled from the self-appeasing pose. "Wait here. Touch nothing." When she returned, another woman followed. Her eyes were large and dark, but the rest of her features were thin. Amaunet moved behind Vaewe, purposefully avoiding his eyes. Uratah was holding the stone he chose between her fingertips as she appraised him. "I am Uratah," she said simply in Common, "Amaunet says you have potential." Amaunet spoke in soft, quick Arumenic from behind him, and Vaewe could only hear persuasive assurance in the voice. "He cannot hear well, Uratah. And what he cannot hear, he cannot tell. Another assistant with discretion. Whether he wants it or not." "It is a good choice of materials," Uratah answered in clear common as she rubbed the stone with her thumb, but her eyes were on Vaewe. "We must be careful to know when it is the flaws that help lure the buyer." The chunk of lazuli was set on the table between them. "I would see you polished and faceted here." Nodding to Amaunet, Uratah returned to the hidden office from which she was drawn away. The younger jeweler slipped into Vaewe's line of sight again. "Come back tomorrow. I will show you how to mind the shop. When the shop is closed, you will work on the necklace there." She pointed a table with an oil lamp and a basket of tools. It lacked the little trinkets of inspiration scattered in other stations. "It is your table for as long as you please Uratah."