When he finished his swirling colors, the moon had become white, and the single straight tower he made by swiping up in the smoke was instead pale green.
“Mishim came down among the mortals,” he proclaimed, “and Tsa climbed the heavens to sit in the place of the moon! Mishim spent the remaining hours of the night drinking, and courting, and dancing, and singing, and doing all the things she had watched from afar. She lived frantically during her few hours of freedom.
“In fact, she was so captivated that she forgot to return, and was shocked by the dawning of sunlight! She hurriedly climbed to the queen’s high tower, but Tsa had already set, and the night had passed.
“Mishim now knew not only the delights of mortality, but the anxiety as well. She passed the day in great disquiet, knowing that Tsa would be trapped with her wise sister and solemn brother, spending the day in the place where moons rest. When night again came, Mishim hid inside the tower, expecting that Salas would call out and chide her for her appetites. Yet Salas passed without comment.
“Surely, when Nomon rose, he would lash out against her foolishness. Yet Nomon passed without comment. Finally, Tsa rose in the sky, and Mishim called to her. ‘Queen Tsa, mortal, what has happened? My siblings did not call to me. Did you somehow go undiscovered?’
“ ‘No,’ Tsa replied. ‘Your siblings knew me as an impostor immediately.’
“ ‘Then let us trade places quickly!’ Mishim said. ‘So that I may tell them lies and placate them.’
“ ‘They are placated already,’ Tsa said. ‘They think I am delightful. We spent the daylight hours feasting.’
“ ‘Feasting?’ Her siblings had never feasted with her before.
“ ‘We sang sweet songs together.’
“ ‘Songs?’ Her siblings had never sung with her before.
“ ‘It is truly wonderful up here,’ Tsa said. ‘The starspren tell amazing tales, as you promised, and the gemstone constellations are grand from up close.’
“ ‘Yes. I love those stories, and those sights.’
“ ‘I think,’ Tsa said, ‘that I might stay.’ ”
Wit let the smoke fail until only a single line of green remained. It shrank down, dwindling, almost out. When he spoke, his voice was soft.
“Mishim,” he said, “now knew another mortal emotion. Loss.
“The moon began to panic! She thought of her grand view from up so high, where she could see all lands and enjoy—if from afar—their art, buildings, and songs! She remembered the kindness of Nomon and the thoughtfulness of Salas!”
Wit made a swirl of white smoke, and pushed it slowly to his left, the new moon Tsa close to setting.
“ ‘Wait!’ Mishim said. ‘Wait, Tsa! Your word is broken! You spoke to the starspren and gazed upon the constellations!’ ”
Wit caught the smoke ring with one hand, somehow making it stay, swirling in one place.
“ ‘Nomon said that I could,’ Tsa explained. ‘And I was not harmed.’
“ ‘You broke your word nonetheless!’ Mishim cried. ‘You must come back to earth, mortal, for our bargain is at an end!’ ”
Wit let the ring hang there.
Then vanish.
“To Mishim’s eternal relief, Tsa relented. The queen climbed back down into her tower, and Mishim scrambled up into the heavens. With great pleasure, she sank toward the horizon. Though just before she set, Mishim heard a song.”
Oddly, Wit added a small line of blue smoke to the brazier.
“It was a song of laughter, of beauty. A song Mishim had never heard! It took her long to understand that song, until months later, she passed in the sky at night and saw the queen in the tower again. Holding a child with skin that was faintly blue.
“They did not speak, but Mishim knew. The queen had tricked her. Tsa had wanted to spend one day in the heavens, to know Nomon for a night. She had given birth to a son with pale blue skin, the color of Nomon himself. A son born of the gods, who would lead her people to glory. A son who bore the mantle of the heavens.
“And that is why to this day, the people of Natanatan have skin of a faintly blue shade. And it is why Mishim, though still crafty, has never again left her place. Most importantly, it is the story of how the moon came to know the one thing that before, only mortals had known. Loss.”
The last line of blue smoke dwindled, then went out.
Wit didn’t bow for applause or ask for tips. He sat back down on the cistern wall that had been his stage, looking exhausted. People waited, stunned, until a few started yelling for more. Wit remained silent. He bore their requests, their pleas, then their curses.
Slowly, the audience drifted away.
Eventually, only Shallan stood before him.
Wit smiled at her.
“Why that story?” she asked. “Why now?”
“I don’t give the meanings, child,” he said. “You should know that by now. I just tell the tale.”
“It was beautiful.”
“Yes,” he said. Then he added, “I miss my flute.”
“Your what?”
He hopped up and began gathering his things. Shallan slipped forward and glanced inside his pack, catching sight of a small jar, sealed at the top. It was mostly black, but the side pointed toward her was instead white.
Wit snapped the pack closed. “Come. You look like you could use the opportunity to buy me something to eat.”
My research into the cognitive reflections of spren at the tower has been deeply illustrative. Some thought that the Sibling had withdrawn from men by intent—but I find counter to that theory.
—From drawer 1-1, first zircon
Wit led Shallan to a squat tavern that was so grown over with crem, it gave the impression of having been molded from clay. Inside, a fabrial ceiling fan hung motionless; starting it up would have drawn the attention of the strange screaming spren.
Despite the large signs outside offering chouta for sale, the place was empty. The prices raised Shallan’s eyebrows, but the scents emanating from the kitchen were inviting. The innkeeper was a short, heavyset Alethi man with a paunch so thick he looked like a big chull egg. He scowled as Wit entered.
“You!” he said, pointing. “Storyteller! You were supposed to draw customers here! The place would be full, you said!”
“My tyrannical liege, I believe you misunderstood.” Wit gave a flowery bow. “I said that you would be full. And you are. Of what, I did not say, as I did not wish to sully my tongue.”
“Where are my patrons, you idiot!”
Wit stepped to the side, holding out his hands toward Shallan. “Behold, mighty and terrible king, I have recruited you a subject.”
The innkeeper squinted at her. “Can she pay?”
“Yes,” Wit said, holding up Shallan’s purse and poking through it. “She’ll probably leave a tip too.”
With a start, Shallan felt at her pocket. Storms, she’d even kept her hand on that purse most of the day.
“Take the private room then,” the innkeeper said. “It’s not like anyone else is using it. Idiot bard. I’ll expect a good performance out of you tonight!”
Wit sighed, tossing Shallan her purse. He seized his pack and brazier, leading her to a chamber beside the main dining room. As he ushered her in, he raised a fist toward the innkeeper. “I’ve had enough of your oppression, tyrant! Secure your wine well this evening, for the revolution will be swift, vengeful, and intoxicated!”