Read Online Flecks of Gold by Alicia Buck - Free Book Online

it.
    “Watch,” she said. She looked at the urine, then a flash of green went off in the back of my head, and it was gone. Even the acrid smell vanished. I reviewed what she had done and noticed what part of the pattern she had changed to make the urine disappear. Quite a useful trick, I thought. It would certainly cut down on disease if others could do it too.
    “Did you see the lacing of what was done?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Good, then let’s get you ready.”
    We walked out of her house. The chickens were out and pecking at the ground. There were villagers out now as well, even though the sun was just rising. The village was bigger than I initially thought. After a few houses, the road sloped steeply, revealing a lot of buildings and activity.
    “The view is deceptive from your house,” I said.
    “I don’t like to feel crowded.”
    We headed to an open market. Many of the stalls were just opening, but everyone we met seemed glad to see Ismaha. They gave her friendly waves and hellos while eyeing me with curiosity. I stared covertly back, remembering Ismaha’s reaction to my eye color. But it was hard not to gape at the villagers. Everyone had varying shades of skin from a slightly darker olive than mine to a deep sepia, but hardly anyone had brown eyes. All the people I saw had eyes that were different shades of blue or green. The colors were startling against their rich skin tones.
    Ismaha moved us briskly from one stall to the next, getting a blanket, food, and water. She bought me an outfit similar to hers, but with fewer hanging parts. I measured the blue pants against my legs to see if they were long enough. They weren’t, of course. I was about half a foot taller than everyone around me.
    The beige shirt was sufficiently large, however. It was loose in the arms and looked like a long peasant shirt. She bought me a vest to go with the shirt so it wouldn’t flap all over the place. The vest was blue with neat circular designs sewn into it. The neck fell diagonally, like a karate gee top, and buttoned on the side.
    Finally, Ismaha bought me a small knife. By the time we finished, I was worried. How could I possibly pay her for the supplies? Why was she helping me so much?
    We stacked our purchases in her main room, and Ismaha turned to me. “Now we will discuss payment,” she said.
    “But . . .”
    She held up her hand. “You said you have nothing, but you showed me a great treasure last night.”
    “All I showed you was my book.”
    “Exactly. May I see it again?”
    I unzipped my bag and handed her the government textbook.
    “I will take this as payment if you will allow it,” she said.
    “But it’s not even in your writing. What good will it do you?”
    “You have already forgotten our lesson from yesterday. There is a pattern to everything. I will simply have to study your writing to find out what it’s pattern is.”
    “How long will that take?”
    “Years probably. Unless you are willing to help me.” She smiled, and I couldn’t help smiling back at her.
    “I’ll see what I can do.” I took the book. I opened the text to a random page and stared at the words. Nothing happened. I looked up at Ismaha in confusion.
    “Seeing objects is different than discerning the lacings of concepts. Concepts are much more insubstantial, and harder to contemplate in a pattern. Try reading the writing while concentrating on the pattern of the language’s sentence structure.”
    I looked down again and read a little of the page. It seemed odd to me, and I wondered if that was because I was speaking with a different cadence and rhythm now. However, the strangeness of it helped me to see the pattern after a page of reading, and I was finally able to project the lacing for Ismaha to view and memorize. She looked at the golden pattern intently from several angles, then produced a copy in green.
    “Wonderful! You have given me a great gift. I thank you.” She headed to the back room and came out