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Ink-Stained Hands
Sister Jessamine huffed as she scrubbed at the black and purple stains on the child’s hands.
“What am I to do with you?!”
The girl looked up at her, grey-blue eyes wide, blinking with honest confusion.
The ink pots had been open. She had only meant to dip a quill in, as she'd seen Brother Broadseat do.
“Curiosity killed the cat, young lady!”
Isn’t that why they have nine lives? she thought.
The Amulet
The market's bustle surrounded her. She loved the cacophony as if each sound was a greeting just for her.
Moving to a stall selling jewelry, she began looking at rings and hair combs.
A display of hanging amulets swayed gently in the breeze, clinking like tiny bells.
Silver. Moon-shaped. A unicorn embossed in profile, horn extended as if pointing somewhere.
Confused, she lifted the chain light as breath from beneath her blouse.
Identical.
The Sister had told her it was found on her. In the wagon. Swaddled and silent, barely old enough to cry.
Where did she come from?
Mielikki's Glade
They sat on the rooftop under a velvet blanket of stars.
She winced as he tied a cloth around the palm of one hand.
"Sorry." he said softly, glancing her face. "Sorry we didn't see the unicorn. Hiding in the tree probably wasn't the best idea."
She shrugged. "I just leaned too far. I didn't realize the Lady would have guards with her for a worship ceremony." She flinched at the memory of branches cutting her flesh as the perch gave way.
He chuckled. "Luckily they were too surprised to chase after us right away." He tapped her hand. "Feel better?"
"I just wanted to see something magical," she said wistfully.
"You just have to keep looking." His voice was warm and calm.
She looked up into his eyes and thought, how have I not noticed how grey those eyes are?
Gift
The Sister fussed over her at the evening meal.
"Oh, you'll be at that music school for at least two to three years. There are rooms there for students. And you'll make new friends with others your age."
She looked around the kitchen, so plain, but homey. The simple wooden table where she had taken all her meals.
"How is this possible? I don't have coin to pay for this. I didn't even apply." She helped the child wipe his mouth as stew dripped from his chin, realizing this was her last night here.
"Oh, 'tis paid for they said."
She carried her bowl to the bucket to scrape out the leavings. An empty dish, just like her heart.
Confused, she tried to imagine who could do such a thing. She only knew the almshouse staff at this and orphans here and merchants from the market place.
From almshouse to a music school.
She fingered her pendant, her thumb rounding the unicorn's head.
Is this gift truly free?
The Parchment
Tip-toeing past a sleeping student, she crept into the baths, the jar clutched in her hands.
The other students ridiculed her bright red hair, so curly and wild. Luck had seen that parchment fall out of that old book in the library. That hadn’t been chance. She was sure of it.
This would put an end to all that.
Bending over a basin, she lifted the jar. A thin, nagging voice inside her head whispered, 'Stop.'
She squashed it with her logic. The parchment had been in a book from the school library. She was a student here, wasn't she?
So it was hers to use.
“They’ll stop laughing once they see me tomorrow."
Scorched
Hot tears burned a path down her cheeks.
She pressed herself against the stone wall, the voices behind the door still sharp in her ears.
“We could send to Longsaddle for—”
“No! She’s likely to end up the same color everywhere.”
“The girl is lucky she only applied the potion. The verse she spoke included a curse.”
“She looks like something that should be planted in the garden.”
“The parchment did not come from the book where she claims she found it.”
Those words were seared into her memory.
Who placed that parchment in the book?
The Director
"Such a wonderful performance!"
"You were magnificent!"
"How lucky you are to be able to perform that man's work! He must be wonderful to work for!"
She smiled, shook hands, said all the things she had been prompted.
"How does he make these stories so intriguing?!"
She glanced at the man nearby in his regal robes, clearly enjoying all the attention.
A sudden vision overlayed the present one.
The street corner near the market.
Singing with the others from the Almshouse for a few extra coins.
A man. Across the way. Staring at her.
Her breath caught. A heartbeat skipped. Was it him?
THE VIAL
She peers through the slit left by the open door.
The Director bends over his writing stand, quill racing over the parchment.
The vellum lifts toward his eyes. A shake of his head. "No, no! Too tame!"
A groaned sigh. One hand dipped into his vest. A small blue vial held aloft.
"A little more won't hurt."
The vial is held in front and below his face. The stopper pulled.
Tendrils of inky black smoke writhe upward.
He lowers his face into the smoke, inhaling deeply. Something in him shifts.
A low moan, his shoulders relax as he slowly begins to lean back, but quickly thrusts the stopper back into the vial.
"We don't need that escaping do we?"
For several moments he reclines unmoving in the cushioned seat.
The fire crackles behind the grate.
A chuckle rumbles. "Oh, yes. A nice twist indeed."
Gripping the quill, he lurches back to his text, pouring out his thoughts.
She presses against the opening, aghast at his face.
Not glee or joy.
Demonic.
What is in that vial?
TABLEAU
Following her nemesis backstage, she ducks behind a large prop.
Where is she going?
Both are still in their stage costumes - Selûne and Shar.
Shar stops at the Director's Office door.
A furtive glance. The door is pushed open.
The dark figure slips inside.
Why is she going in there?
A whisper. "Leave."
A stronger tone. "Follow."
Creeping up to the door, just as a low voice is heard.
"Why are you in my things?" he growls.
"Is this how you write them?" accuses an hysterical voice.
"Give me that!"
A slap. A crash. Bellows. Shrieks.
The door is pushed aside.
Sprawled in his chair, Shar's hands encircle his throat.
Face red. Gurgling.
"Stop! You'll kill him!"
Surging forward, she tries to intervene.
The silver wig is torn away, as a rosy cascade covers her eyes.
"Idiot! You are not stopping me! You mess up your lines like you messed up that spell!"
Struggle. A push.
Her ribs collide with the desk.
Breathless, she collapses to the floor.
More crashing.
Two voice ring out in jarring discordant tones.
"Nooooo!"
Her eyes lift.
The vial tumbles toward her in slow motion.
Her hand lifts as if she could snatch it.
It shatters on the ground next to her.
A shadow uncurls.
Smoke and ink.
Darkness.
HEARTBEATS
thump-THUMP
Muffled sounds.
thump-THUMP
A distorted glance through bars of eyelashes.
thump-THUMP
Sparkling shards casting rainbow stars.
thump-THUMP
A lump filled sack of –?
thump-THUMP
Crimson drops hit the floor, flattening into sticky goop.
thump-THUMP
Darkness again.
thump-THUMP
A voice. Calling her name.
thump-THUMP
Worried grey eyes cut through the haze.
thump-THUMP
A hoarse whisper. “Now! We have to leave now!"
thump-THUMP
Sluggish limbs refuse to move. She is lifted.
thump-THUMP
Carried cradle-like. Gently placed on something soft, forgiving.
thump-THUMP
A swaying motion. Sharp clip-clops of hooves.
thump-THUMP
Darkness again.
Quiet.
Sojourn
She peered over the boat’s edge at the water, her fingertips skimming the surface. A light breeze gently tugged at her hair.
Turning her head back upstream, she thought of Silverymoon.
“I have never been outside its walls before,” she thought, a whisper of concern.
Glancing back at the wakes left by her fingers, she blinked in confusion.
“You’re done with the bardic college,” he had assured her. “It’s time to go collect your own stories.”
Images flashed before her.
Choir practice with the other students.
Music theory and composition with the small gnomish professor.
Sitting in the practice room window with her lute.
Was there no completion ceremony?
She frowned.
Why can’t she remember?
Words Beneath the Stone
The stone cooled her as she pressed against the wall a few feet from the corner. Two humanoid shadows standing over a table stretched long over the farther stone wall of the great room, cast by the fireplace.
“And you say, he kept this vial with him?’ rumbled a low, calm voice.
A familiar voice answered quietly. “That is what she told me..”
A pause.
The shorter shadow bent over the table holding something thin and cylindrical to poke at a lump resting on the table.
A low murmur, wise and thoughtful. “Wise of you to pick this up with the cloth, and not just because it is broken.”
A longer pause.
“And she does not remember any of this?”
The taller shadow shook its head slowly. ”She seems to have forgotten most of her time there. Doesn’t remember performing. Just ... attending some classes…. the first few months. Then - nothing.”
A log snapped in the fireplace shooting a few sparks across the air.
A slow exhale. “I know someone who might be able to determine what was in this vial, but she needs to be farther away. Especially if they think she did it.”
The shadow head nodded. “Yes, father.”
“To Waterdeep. Or farther. Across the seas, if you must. Just send word so I know where you are.”
One shadow leaned in again, carefully wrapping something in cloth.
“We’ll set out tomorrow. I've already told her she’s on her travels to collect stories.”
She backed away the way she came, her heart pounding.
==========================
He said I told him…
How do I not remember this?
TUSKS
She spread the bedroll in the back of the wagon, layering sweetgrass beneath it.
A quiet ritual. Soft, familiar.
She slid down to sit by the fire he’d already lit.
Glancing at the surrounding darkness. He must be off gathering wood.
Her chin rested in her hands, staring into the flames.
Crackles. A memory.
Long shadows. Voices.
“...doesn’t remember...”
“...she told me...”
“...if she did it...”
Hands .. wrapping..
Something?
The bushes stirred. She turned with a smile.
“There you—”
Two eyes stared back.
Low to the ground. Unblinking.
Heavy musk hit her nose.
Then it stepped forward.
A massive boar.
Flies circling raw patches.
Scarred snout.
Two curved tusks
It grunted. A sound too deep.
Too knowing.
Eyes on the wagon.
Eyes on the boar.
She swallowed.
Muscles coiled, propelling her forward.
The boar was faster.