Page 57 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

The cold of the night air assaulted her right then. The cut of the wind, which seemed to have found a sharpening stone. The bite of the rain, suddenly hungry. She closed the window and returned toher practice—six hundred and thirty-seven more bamboo paintings to go.

If she had looked closer, or if she’d called to Painter, perhaps they would have noticed a living darkness in the alley—one that brushed the bricks with its too-real substance and left clinging wisps of smoke trailing upward in the rain, as if from a candle recently snuffed.

Yumi made Painterwait a week—eleven whole days—before she let him move to the next step of his training.

Eleven. Days.

He spent each and every one just sitting there. Picking up rocks and trying to judge their weight, their balance. Studying them, trying to “understand” them. Ad nauseam.

This was a new kind of boredom for Painter. It wasn’t the indecisive boredom of someone with a hundred things to do, none of them particularly appetizing. It was old-school, despotic boredom—the kind forced upon you by a society lacking choices. A place where “free time” was a sin and “leisure” was a word used only in conjunction with the rich.

That sun made it so much worse. The heat from both above and below, Painter pressed between the two, the pancake between hot plates. There was a certain enervating effulgence to the sunlight, sapping away strength, leaving him lethargic. Perhaps, Painter thought, that was what the sun subsisted on—burning as fuel the willpower of those who lived beneath it.

“You must understand the stone,” Yumi said, walking around himin a circle. Each time she passed in front of the sun, her form briefly diffused its light like a pane of stained glass.

Understand.One week later, and he still didn’t grasp what she meant by this term. In fact, today—despite having promised that he could finally move to the next step—she made him do some weighing to “warm up.”

Who would need any further warming up in this place?

“Close your eyes,” she said, striding around him, wearing a bright green-and-blue dress, bell-shaped, with an enormous bow across the front that trailed its ends almost to her knees. It was shorter on him of course, but didn’t lookbadreally. He’d worn skirts as part of formal wear during celebration days, and while these colors were a little bright to be masculine among his kind, the people of Torio didn’t care. Here men commonly wore pinks and yellows.

So he didn’t find the clothing humiliating. At least it was reasonably comfortable. And today for once, the heat didn’t seem…overwhelming. Was he changing, or was the weather just better today? Odd. And yes, the ground was hot, but at least those thermals constantly blowing upward were pleasant. They fanned out the bell and gave some semblance of a breeze.

(I haven’t figured out how the thermals worked. My current theory is microfractures in the stones, with air being forced up through them and out. The plants also had something odd about them, to float as they did.)

While Painter didn’t mind the clothing, Yumi’s instructionwashumiliating. One week, and still she didn’t trust him to do anything without direct, condescending instruction.

“Close your eyes,” she said, leaning forward to glare at him. “Now.”

He sighed and complied.

“Now, pick up a stone.”

He selected one. Most were new today, having been replaced overnight by the townspeople. His thick gloves protected his hands from the stone’s heat.

“Feel it,” she said. “Weigh it. Find the center of balance.”

“You don’t need to explain each step. I—”

“Hush,” she said. “You are the student. You listen, I speak. That is the way.”

Well, at least he knew why the spirits had made them unable to touch one another. Because he absolutely would have strangled her at some point during this.

“Do you understand the stone?” Yumi asked. “You may speak to answer me.”

“Center of balance,” he said, weighing the stone on his gloved hand. “Right here, when holding it on this side. Here when holding it the other direction. Three nooks—here, here, and here—where I can catch it on another stone for stability.”

“Good,” Yumi said.

“Shadows cling to this dimple here,” he said, his voice softer, “and the grain goes this direction here—rougher near the top, creating tiny jagged shadows. It’s not quite oblong, but shadows pull in at the sides, like a waist—and that’s also where the single vein of quartz runs.”

Yumi was silent for a moment. “How did you know that?” she asked. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“I looked it over earlier, knowing you’d make me pick up a stone near me,” he said. “You want me to understand the rock? That’s how I do it.”

“All of that is immaterial to stacking.”

“It works for me.” He cracked an eye to look at her.

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