Raindrop's Arc

Chapter 11 of 15

The minute held, then began to tilt. Raindrop felt the arcs pulling sideways, drifting off the beat. He needed a guide line — something the drops could follow without him calling each one. He knelt and dragged white chalk across the planks. A wide spiral bloomed under his hands, ring inside ring, tightening to a small eye at the center. He stood and tried to shape the falling drops along it, lifting a thin sheet of metal art and angling a prism to catch the light. The drops glittered, wobbled, and slipped off the curve. "It won't hold," he said. He whistled into the wind for the sky dancer. Zephyr Whisperwind swept in low and traced the chalk path with one long breath. The air followed. The drops snapped into the spiral and began to spin, matching the drum beat for beat. Then the spiral grabbed its own tail. It spun faster. Faster again. The neat rings stretched into a blurred funnel, drops smearing into one wild blue streak above the stage. Raindrop staggered back. He had asked for a shape, and the shape had become a vortex, chewing through his rhythm. Nigel Rainweaver stepped onto the boards beside him, blue eyes flat on the spinning mess. "It's moving on its own now," Nigel said. "You won't out-drum that." Raindrop nodded slowly. The dance was alive — but it was no longer his.