tread

I tried to learn the sound of everyone's footsteps in my time at the monastery--the steady, dull tread of the abbot, the soft, easy stride of my protector, the hurried gait of my fellow shrine-keeper. It was far from foolproof, but it helped convince them I wasn't helpless simply because I couldn't see.

For the longest time, her footsteps were the only thing I knew about my protector. They weren't allowed to talk to anyone outside their order, and the usual methods of getting around that--writing it down or using their sign language--you can imagine had some problems. The others--the abbot and my fellow--seemed puzzled that I had any interest in communicating with her in the first place, so I received no help on that front. We developed some basics, but otherwise she was like a ghost, someone whose presence I could sense but could never really see or understand. The quiet tread of her boots on the earth was at once comforting and unnerving.

I started talking to her, from time to time. Our rudimentary system of knocks for responses didn't allow for much in the way of conversation, but it helped her feel less like a looming wraith and more like a person, and I imagined, at least, that she appreciated having someone at least make the effort.

Every now and again she would leave, usually for a week or two--some business with the protectors, probably. One day she returned and left something on my desk--a small necklace with a stone that pulsed with energy. "For me?" She knocked once to indicate yes. "Help me put it on?"

Her hands were rough but dexterous as she fastened the chain around my neck. After she had withdrawn, I tried to focus on the feeling of power, when I noticed a voice in my thoughts--something quiet, and clearly not my own thoughts.

The aristocracy were fond of giving these to their most trusted retainers, said the voice. There aren't many left, but I found a collector who was willing to trade. And a jeweler to set yours in a necklace.

A set of sending stones. A way to communicate at last. They were meant to send messages that could be retrieved in a moment of quiet meditation, but it was something. And that day, exhausted though she was from her travels, it seemed her footsteps were a little livelier than they had been in quite some time.