Side A – Yasgrid
The clearing Yasgrid was in was empty of everything. Everything save Kyra’s rage. The wordless howl that burst from the Fate Dancer didn’t strike Yasgrid as unreasonable. They’d risked so much on their trip down the Lost Roads, and they’d moved as fast as they could, only to discover that they’d failed before they’d even begun.
At the same time though, Yasgrid felt a weary acceptance sink into her bones. Denar’s choice wasn’t hard to understand. It wasn’t the right choice, Yasgrid knew that even without knowing exactly what Ilia was, but she could imagine making the same decision he had if she’d been faced with her people turning against her and declaring her a monster to be exterminated.
Kyra’s scream lapsed into a hard and brittle silence. The next word spoken promised to shatter the air into daggers, perhaps literal ones from how Kyra was clenching and unclenching her fingers.
But violence wasn’t the choice Kyra made.
“The other Fate Dancers will be here soon,” she said, voice hoarse, eyes closed.
“Do you want to leave then?” Yasgrid asked.
“You should go,” Kyra said without raising her head. “They won’t take finding you here well. You…it will complicate things.”
“I understand,” Yasgrid said, imagining all too easily the sort of explosive conflict that might result from a meeting where the Fate Dancers would have all the deniability they could ever hope for. “And you?”
“We need to find Denar,” Kyra said, emotion drained from every syllable.
“You won’t though. You know that, right?” Yasgrid asked.
“No. We won’t,” Kyra said. “Not as the boy I knew. The others will believe they were right. They will hunt, and whether they find something to kill will make no difference.”
Yasgrid watched the last grains of hope tumble from Kyra’s eyes, crystal and clear.
“We lost him,” Yasgrid said, “but he can be found again.”
“He won’t be the same. He won’t be Denar anymore,” Kyra said.
“The Denar you knew is still there. His scars don’t change that. His experiences won’t change that either,” Yasgrid said. Those weren’t ideal wishes. Words were a poor vessel to convey what she knew, but Yasgrid had seen Denar’s heart when she rewove him with the remnants of the Trouble. He wouldn’t become something unrecognizable. Not to her.
“You should go,” Kyra said, adding nothing else to the statement.
“This isn’t going to end here,” Yasgrid said. “When you’re ready to continue, my door is open to you.”
Kyra looked up, an unreadable mix of emotions behind her impassive eyes. Yasgrid wasn’t sure what response her offer would get until Kyra gave her a small nod and gestured with her head towards a path leading out of the clearing.
Yasgrid nodded back and turned to go, a part of her hoping Kyra might say something to stop her before she left, but only silence followed her as she departed into the forest.
Side B – Nia
The Shatter Drum was small without being delicate, solid without being crushingly heavy. It was unlike any of the Shatter Drums Nia had played on so far, but it fits into her hands like she’d been sculpted to play it.
“What should I play?” she asked, her heart threatening to burst from her chest.
Her fingers ached with longing. Her spine was practically vibrating with anticipation. She wanted this so much.
But she held back.
The drum in front of her felt like a test. Maybe a final one. Nia had no idea what Osdora hoped to learn or how she would determine it, but the sense of a judgment being rendered could not be more clear.
“Anything you want,” Osdora said and clarified. “Not what you think my daughter would play, what you want.”
Nia blew out a breath.
There were a lot of things she wanted.
“You don’t have to think about too much,” Margrada said, placing her over Nia’s. “Just pick a rhythm that feels natural.”
Dr Prash had backed away to a corner of the tent but Nia could see he was watching her with a keen interest, perhaps still measuring her responses.
“This won’t be very good,” Nia said. “I haven’t been able to keep up with my practice.”
It felt silly to say, but faced with the drum, she was all too aware of her clumsy and amateurish skills. Osdora was the best of the best, and Margrada was talented beyond compare. They would see all the things she did wrong, they would know just how weak her playing really was, and she wouldn’t have the shelter of a ‘fugue state’ to hide behind.
They were going to just her on her own merits, and that was terrifying.
She struck the drum.
And she was lost.
Magic rippled through her and the world flowed away.
Inside a timeless moment, she found something simple and precious.
She liked to play.
Beyond the rush of the magic and even without the thrill of being part of something so much greater than herself, Nia liked to play.
If Osdora took the Shatter Drum away from her and if she was cast out from the Band, she was still blessed with an understanding of herself that she might never have reached otherwise.
She could wind up back in the Darkwood, back being nothing more than Nia M’Kellin, second and lesser daughter of the M’Kellin household, and she would still be able to play.
Without the magic, without Margrada, and Osdora, and Behelen, it wouldn’t be the same. She would miss them more than any words or rhythm could convey but she would still play.
She took her hands from the drum, a distant memory telling her that she’d played a longer rhythm than she’d planned to.
There’d been mistakes too. Plenty of mistakes. Even with her minimal amount of training, she knew her timing had been terrible, her force abysmally uneven, and her coordination mediocre at best.
But she’d given them what Osdora had asked for.
Herself.