Side A – Yasgrid
Before talking with Marianne, Yasgrid had worried that the journey to Elshira’s tomb might be leading them into a trap. After her discussion with Marianne though Yasgrid had come to a different conclusion. They weren’t walking into a trap. They were walking into a disaster.
“So the Fate Dancers know about Elshira?” Yasgrid wasn’t surprised at that, but it did have some worrying implications.
“They’ve know about her since before she became the Bearer,” Marianne said. “That they’re holding their Grand Conclave within suspiciously close proximity to her tomb indicates they’ve had some interactions with her recently.”
“I can’t imagine those interactions were terribly peaceful ones,” Yasgrid said, thinking back to the death-hunt the Fate Dancers had called on Denar.
The thought led her in turn to the memory of the last glance she’d had of Kyra.
Also not a terribly peaceful interaction, a fact which twinged Yasgrid’s heart.
“I’m not certain of that,” Marianne said, which caught Yasgrid’s attention away from the painful path of memory she’d been about to wander down.
“The Fate Dancers wouldn’t work with something like Elshira, would they?”
“Normally? No. My impression is that a creature such as Elshira should be anathema to the Fate Dancers. ‘Kill on sight’ would ordinarily be their order of the day. But if that was the case, I would expect them to investigate her tomb in force, not attempt what for them is probably the most subtle ruse they could muster.”
Marianne rose from the chair she’d been sitting in to pace around Yasgrid’s small and borrowed apartment. The knives were gone from her eyes but there was a sharpness that never left her posture. However beautiful she was, and Yasgrid had to grant that Marianne was still probably the most stunning creature she’d ever encountered, the fact that anyone (and apparently almost everyone) missed noticing the razor edge of Marianne’s mind was as baffling as whatever the motivations of the Fate Dancers were.
“Why would they choose subtlety at all?” Yasgrid wondered, “They certainly didn’t when they pursued Denar.”
“They weren’t afraid of Denar. Or you. Or the Fate Dancer you were with,” Marianne said. “Elshira is likely something beyond their expertise.”
“Which raises the question of whether Elshira is afraid of them. And how she’ll react to an army of Fate Dancers gathering near a site that’s significant to her,” Yasgrid said.
“From your description, Elshira did not seem to be motivated overly much by fear, and we know she’s aware of the Fate Dancers,” Marianne said. “If I had to guess, I imagine she’ll toy with them for amusement value in order to see…or, no, that’s not it. She wants you. She’ll toy with them in order to see if she can make you dance to her tune.”
“You think so?” Yasgrid didn’t see that strategy yielding any greater results for Elshira than threatening the general population of the Darkwood. Less perhaps, since Yasgrid’s charity and patience was already strained when it came to the Fate Dancer elders.
“If she’s been observing you as you say? Yes, absolutely. She saw the lengths you went to for a stranger and the sorrow you felt when your efforts came to nothing. There’s a pathway into your heart there and she will certainly seek to exploit it.”
“But Denar is under Ilia’s care now and even Endings was afraid to fight her.”
“Denar’s not the one Elshira will move against.”
Side B – Nia
Pelegar’s performance wound down leaving both Nia and Margrada speechless. The Shatter Drum Pelegar used wasn’t anything mighty, or ancient, or special in any notable manner. The music she’d played however?
“You’ve never played like that before,” Margrada said.
“Course I have,” Pelegar said, handing the drum back to Gossma’s mother. “I play like that all the time.”
“No you do not!” Margrada seemed to have forgotten she was speaking to one of the of the Senior Shatter Band members. “I have never heard you do that and I was at every performance you ever put on in Frost Harbor.”
Pelegar chuffed out a brief laugh.
“Were you now?” she said, and gestured for Gossma’s mother to return the drum for a moment. “Maybe you’re used to hearing something more like this then?”
She began to tap out a simple beat. Nothing fancy, or deep, or powerful.
“Yes! That’s what you start your teaching sessions with,” Margrada said.
“I usually start our concerts with it too,” Pelegar said.
“When you’re warming up, I know, I remember from the Battle of the Bands,” Margrada said.
“That’s not me warming up,” Pelegar said. “Go ahead. Try to play against it.”
“Battle you here? With these drums?” Margrada asked.
“Sure. So long as Nia over there can refrain from turning into a fire elemental in your defense, we’ll be fine.”
Nia wanted to protest that bursting on fire had been a one time event under dire circumstances, but a wink from Pelegar convinced her to keep her mouth shut instead.
“Okay. Why not. Nothing’s been sane so far today, why should this be any different,” Margrada said and paused with her hands over her drum. “You ready?”
“Been ready,” Pelegar said. “Go with whatever beat you want.”
So Margrada did. Against Pelegar’s simple rhythm, Margrada woven a complimentary pattern of beats. The two songs blended together harmoniously at first, which was the opposite of what a Battle of the Bands should be doing. Given Pelegar’s demonstrated strength though, Nia saw the cleverness of Margrada’s strategy.
Rather than opposing Pelegar directly, Margrada was twisting a cord around Pelegar’s rhythm, gently but inexorably nudging it away from its preferred path onto one of Margrada’s choosing. It struck Nia as similar to how a river might be diverted by making slow changes to it rather than trying to redirect its flow all once. It was a brilliant play and one Margrada executed with a graceful precision that left Nia’s heart fluttering.
Sadly, it did not work.
Pelegar increased the volume of her song by degrees a few times, but continued it with a relentless ease that somehow refused to bend or change at all. The river, even when give a new bank to run along, simply smashed through the changes and carved a path back to its existing one, as though it directed where the bank should run rather than the reverse.
“Well that was fun,” Pelegar said as they finished up. “And a nice trick on your part too. I’ll have to remember that one.”
“But it didn’t work,” Margrada said.
“Of course it didn’t,” Pelegar said. “You were playing my game. Next time make me play yours and you’ll see very different results.”
“She might beat you then?” Nia asked.
“If I tried to play her style?” Pelegar asked. “Without a doubt. She’s already better than me at some things and I haven’t even started teaching her the tough stuff yet. Who’s better isn’t what’s important though.”
“What is then?” Nia asked.
“Getting better at being who are you,” Pelegar said.