Teelee stared in wonder as she kept pressed into the corner of the dust seer’s hut. Her older brother stood alongside the old seer whose white robes had long since collected flecks of the fire sand, making the man a story unto himself. She tried not to stare at the seer’s robes whenever she tagged along with her brother but struggled, which often earning the ire of the seer, whose name was Shotra the Twig on account of his slim, bony stature.
“What do you see, boy?” the seer asked. Along with his robe, his leathery hands and arms were just as stained. His long nose curved down and slightly to the side. All hair that remained were wisps of white strands collected at the base of his skull. Sweat shined along his pate and taut face from the sunlight piercing through the gaps of the boarded walls of the hut.
Teelee’s brother, Dag, bent down as the dust settled in the shades of fire along the tapestry. His cheap shirt and trousers collected the fire dust as well but their mother’s incessant washing faded the stained material. He hummed something of uncertainty, trying his hardest to continue on as Shotra the Twig’s apprentice. If he failed at this apprenticeship, he would have to find another which likely meant having to join the other boys his age water seeking.
“Come now!” Shotra the Twig barked. “What does the dust say?”
“What’s a Shoal?” Teelee asked. She had not realized she moved away from her corner, unseen by either her brother or the seer, and toward the canvas as words on the tapestry became clear to her.
Shotra the Twig twisted around to castigate her but stopped short. He turned back to look on the tapestry himself. Not speaking directly at her, he said, “What do you see, girl?”
She hesitated, finding Dag staring a blaze of flames at her but the dust seer looked on the verge of grabbing her. “Disruptions,” the word was strange on her tongue, not entirely sure of its meaning.
“Disruptions in the Shoals. Violations. Welders–”
“Wielders,” Shotra the Twig corrected.
Teelee did not know the word or context but trusted him. None made sense to her; the words laid there on the tapestry, swirled and jagged, but clear and concise. “Wielders violate the constructs of the Shoals.” She smiled but her brother, whose eyes filled with tears, made the emotion of excitement die away.
Shotra the Twig turned to look down on her, ignoring her brother who pouted openly. “Hallowed be praised… Boy, leave. Girl, you will stay.” He readied the tapestry, pouring water across the cream surface for another reading.
Teelee sniffed and sneezed into her hands, excited but terrified of the anger growing in her brother’s eyes. He would find a way to hurt her; she knew it, but she could not resist reading the dust.
Dag left and Teelee watched as the new batch of fire sand rose in the air by Shotra the Twig’s exaggerated motion, a fresh jubilant air about him. Her eyes watched the dust floated down, streaks of fire settling, forming words. Some were the same as before and some were new.