Page 11 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

“I will tell Gongsha Town,” Liyun said, “that they can look forward to a visit from a strong yoki-hijo tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“May I offer a reminder, Chosen?”

Yumi glanced up, and from where she knelt, the perspective made Liyun seem ten feet tall. A silhouette against the night; a cutout with blank space in the middle.

“Yes,” Yumi said. “Please.”

“You must remember,” Liyun said, “that you are a resource to the land. Like the water of the steamwell. Like the plants, the sunlight, and the spirits. If you do not take care of yourself, you will squander the great position and opportunity you have been given.”

“Thank you,” Yumi whispered.

“Sleep now, if it pleases you.Chosen.”

It takes real talent to use an honorific as an insult. I’ll give Liyun that much; it’s professional courtesy, from one hideous bastard to another.

Liyun turned to leave, then hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at Yumi. “I feel like…” she said, with an odd haunted cast to her voice,“this will happen again. Unless I do something. I am failing as your warden. Perhaps…I will seek advice. There must be something I can do.”

She shut the door with a click, and Yumi lowered her eyes. She didn’t go back to sleep. She felt too much. Not just pain, not just shame. Other, rebellious things. Numbness. Frustration. Even…anger.

She hauled herself to her feet and walked across the warm stone floor of the wagon to the window. Since her wagon hadn’t left yet, the next town must be close; otherwise they’d be on their way.

From here she could see a starlit collection of hundreds of individual plants that had lowered from the sky as the thermals cooled. They spun and drifted lazily near the stone, their gas pockets—one under each of four broad leaves per plant—slowly reinflating, the stalks supporting clusters of seeds growing on top. Scadrians would have called it rice, a type of grain that is smaller and thinner than the ones you eat on Roshar. It wasn’t exactly rice. The local word was “mingo.” But it boiled up nearly the same except for the deep blue-purple color, so I’ll use the more familiar word.

As Yumi watched, some dozen rice plants caught a rogue night thermal and jetted into the air, then drifted lazily back down. Small creatures scurried underneath looking for something to nibble on while avoiding serpents. Both prey and hunter slept in trees during the heat. If they were fortunate—or unfortunate, depending on the perspective—they picked different trees.

A gust across the field made the plants shiver and sway to one side, but night farmers moved along, waving large fans to keep the crops contained. Somewhere distant in the town, a giant crow cawed. (They aren’t as big as everyone says; I’ve never seen one the size of a full-grown man. More like the size of a seven- or eight-year-old.) A village corvider soon hushed the animal with soothing words.

Yumi wished she had someone to comfort her. Instead she rested aching arms on the windowsill and stared out at the placid crops as they turned lazily, occasionally jetting into the air. A tree leashed to the side of the wagon quivered in the breeze, its branches casting lines of shadow across Yumi’s face.

She could maybe just…crawl out of the window and start walking. No night farmer would stop a yoki-hijo. She should have felt ashamed at the thought, but she was full up with shame at the moment. A cup filled to the top can’t hold anything more. It spills out over the rim, then boils onto the floor.

She wouldn’t leave, but that night she wished she could. Wished she could escape the prison of her ceremonial nightgown. She wasn’t allowed tosleepas a normal person. She had to be reminded even by her undergarments of what she was. Chosen at birth. Blessed at birth. Imprisoned at birth.

I…a voice said in her mind.I understand…

Yumi started, spinning around. Then she felt it. A…a spirit. Her soul vibrated with its presence, a powerful one.

Bound…it said.You are bound…

Spirits understood her thoughts. That was part of her blessing. But they very,veryrarely responded to anything a yoki-hijo thought. She’d heard of it happening only in stories.

I am blessed,she thought toward it, bowing her head, suddenly feelingextremelyfoolish. How had she let her fatigue drive her to such insane contemplations? She would anger the spirits. Suddenly she had a terrible premonition: The spirits refusing to be drawn to her performances. Villages going without light, without food, because of her. How could she reject—?

No…the spirit thought.You are trapped. And we…we are trapped…like you…

Yumi frowned, turning back to the window. Something was different about this voice. This spirit. It seemed…so very tired. And it was distant? Barely able to reach her? She looked up to the sparkling sky—and the bright daystar, stronger than them all. Was…the spirit…talking to her from there?

You worked so hard today,the spirit said.Can we give you something? A gift?

Yumi’s breath caught.

She’d read that story.

Most cultures have something similar. Some are terrible, but this wasn’t one of those places. Here the boons of spirits were always associated with wondrous adventure.

She shouldn’t want adventure though. She hesitated. Teetered, like a stone unbalanced. Then, in what was the most difficult moment of her life, she lowered her eyes.

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