Raindrop's Arc

Chapter 16 of 20

The wand came apart in Raindrop's hands between shows. The wax seam split. The bent head fell one way, the handle the other. He crouched on the stage and picked up both pieces. No cold breath from the small winged sprite would fix this. The wood was cracked through. He set the pieces down side by side and felt the drum tick on without him, waiting for a cue he could no longer give. He had one more phase of the storm-dance to lead. The drops above were already gathering, watching for the signal he always raised. Without the wand, there was no signal. He stood in the middle of the stage and tried to think smaller. Not a wand. Something else. Anything they could see. A quiet step behind him. Nigel Rainweaver, the rain peddler who had given him the crystal jar back when the drops kept slipping away, came out of the wings. Blue robes, trinkets clicking at his belt. He looked at the broken wand on the boards and did not react. "It's done," Raindrop said. "Yes," Nigel said. He crouched beside the pieces. He did not pick them up. "You don't need a stick. You need something they can see from up there." "Like what." Nigel reached into his robes and pulled out a bundle of ribbon. Long strands, bright colors, tied at the top into a loose bow. The strands hung down in loose curls, red and yellow and blue and green. He held it out. "Carried this a long time," he said. "Never found a use for it. You wave it. They'll see." Raindrop took it. The ribbons were light. Almost nothing in his hand. "Why keep it," Raindrop said. Nigel shrugged. "Thought I'd need it one day. I didn't." He stood. He didn't smile, but the line of his mouth softened for a beat before he turned back toward the wings. Raindrop walked to his mark. The drum was ticking. The first drop above was tilting, ready. He lifted the ribbons over his head and swept them in a wide arc, the way he used to sweep the wand. The ribbons snapped open in the air. Color streaked across the dark. A drop above him tilted, then crossed. Another crossed the other way. Their paths met mid-fall. He felt the ripple. Small at first. Then wider. Three drops, then six, then a whole line of them catching the arc of the ribbon and following it down. He swept again. The ribbons caught the stage lights and threw color across the boards. The drops came in on the beat. No wand. No wax. Just a bright thing moving in his hand and drops that could see it. He smiled and kept sweeping. The dance held. For now, that was enough.