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 him in 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 look bad really. 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 instruction was humiliating. 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.
“I should make you do another week of this,” she said, folding her arms. “I had to do it for months.”
“Go ahead,” he said with a yawn. “Torment me out of spite. Waste our time when the spirits are waiting, perhaps in pain, for you to finish training me.”
“Couldn’t the spirits,” she said （lowly）， “possibly have sent me a man who wasn’t so smug? There was no one else available?”
“Maybe,” he replied （highly）， “you’re just such a wonderful teacher that they wanted to give you a challenge.”
She glanced away, as if that barb had for some reason actually stung. He hesitated, frowning. “Yumi?”
She held herself a little tighter, still looking away. “The next phase of your training,” she said, “is low stacks, focused on stability. The base of your stack needs to be the sturdiest part. Take fewer chances with the base; use it to give yourself as solid a foundation as possible, allowing for more daring choices later. Here, let’s begin.”
She knelt and grabbed the soul of one of the stones, then demonstrated stacking it on another, with their flat portions touching. Painter smiled, thrilled at being able to start at last.
Excitement for stacking rocks. Who would have thought? He squatted down carefully—even with kneepads on, he’d burned himself multiple times—and picked up a stone. He tried making a stack. The stones were unstable, so he tried again, this time aligning the centers of gravity.
He eventually got it. At her prompting, he added another stone. And it stayed on.
“Oh no,” he said under his breath.
“What?” she asked.
“This is definitely easier now,” he said, grabbing another rock and balancing it too. Then another. “A week ago, I could barely get three rocks on top of one another.” He removed his hand, letting the fifth stone balance. It was precarious, but didn’t topple. He looked toward Yumi and heaved out a long, annoyed sigh. “I can’t believe that your training actually worked.”
“It did,” she said, her eyes widening. “It did.” She smiled, eager. It was an intoxicating smile, for how genuine it was. Smiles, like radiation, are made more potent by proximity.
He added a sixth rock, and the whole thing collapsed. But she eagerly pointed for him to try another stack, so he did, and managed to get five again.
“It worked,” she said, her voice soft. “I…actually…I actually trained you.”
“I could have used a less tyrannical approach. But I guess I have to admit that you kind of know what you’re talking about.”
Staring at his stack, she looked like she might burst into tears. He managed to get a sixth, very small rock balanced on top before the whole thing fell down again.
“Six,” he said, folding his arms. “Not bad, eh? So when do the spirits show up?”
“You’ll need thirty stones or more per stack to draw them consistently,” she said. “And one stack by itself is never enough. To be certain, you’ll need twenty or so different stacks, in a pattern, arranged artistically.”
“Twenty or more stacks,” he said flatly, “of thirty or more stones.”
“You can go less high with challenging stacks that look interesting,” she said. “It’s a relatively easy task to get forty stones straight up—but that should be done sparingly, as it’s the interesting balances and odd-shaped stones that truly please the spirits.”