Soulseer ✔️ *COMPLETE*

Chapter Twenty-Two

This quarter of the ring building is identical to the one where my rooms are: a long, wide, curving hall with solid wooden doors lining both sides. But this section seems deserted. The tiny pale lights along the walls create only pools of lesser darkness. It's a little creepy.

I follow the slow curve of the hall around to the right until it ends at double doors, formidable in their size and weathered state. A tiny crack of light spills out, growing brighter as I approach.

What's that sound?

There's a twanging in the darkness, originating in the room on the other side. This can't be the right place. Maybe I'm in the wrong quarter ring?

I creep up to the doors and peek in while forming a precautionary hammer with my soul.

It's a struggle not to burst out laughing.

Inside, Seer Adamu, esteemed member of the Council, venerable Soulseer of Circus Gathering, Leader of our Heart, is bopping his cowboy-hatted head to some kind of country music blaring from a speaker on his desk.

The hat suddenly swings towards the door, cocked to the side in concentration, his soul rising behind it.

"Good evening, Luca," Seer Adamu says smiling broadly as his soul relaxes."Do come in."

His office is large though spartan with the signature Circus pale stone walls. The shelf behind his desk holds a few personal items, some books and music. The only other art is a painting, a full length portrait of a very intense woman.

From the old speaker, a gravelly voice continues lamenting his lost love over a simple guitar rhythm. I grin and amusement flushes my soul. Adamu's sightless eyes track me with his soul and he beams a smile.

"Mr. Kenny Rogers," he says with his rich Kenyan accent. "Helps me concentrate while I catch up on my ledgers." He indicates a series of folders, each stuffed with handwritten columns on paper.

My eyes drift up from the papers on his desk to the cowboy hat on his head.

"I just like the hat," he says without pretence, tipping the brim with one hand. "But I suspect you did not visit me out of superior musical appreciation." He indicates a chair sitting across from him and turns the music down. Not off, just down. "I thought I might 'see' you."

I flop down in the seat to face the wizened old Seer. There are so many questions, I don't even know where to start. My eyes slip over to the portrait on the wall as though the answer might be there.

Again, Adamu tracks my gaze and turns in his chair to face it. His soul swells with pride at the old painting in its gilded frame. "Uma Vever," he murmurs. "That name will be familiar to you, yes?"

Uma Vever! That's the woman he quoted, the Weaver of legend! Now my eyes are riveted to the painting. The woman is stout with russet brown skin and cascading curls of dark brown hair. There is something arresting about her eyes and it takes me a moment to figure it out. Aside from staring directly out at me, Uma's eyes are painted a strange hazel colour - pale blue near the pupil but darkening to a deep brown at the edge. She stands clutching a leather bound book, the spine printed in gold lettering but not in English - not in any alphabet I recognize.

At her feet another book is open and propped up, pages splayed as though it has just fallen from her other hand. The Weaver's face is sad but the painter has included her soul with anger flushing it in streaks of bright magenta. She's outraged.

In the background there is a bonfire raging high into the sky, ringed by several people with their souls behind them, filled with colours ranging from a pure joy to despair and many with blends of doubt but determination. Some of these people are displayed with arms extended mid-toss, adding more fuel on the fire. Must be some kind of ritual or celebration I don't know about yet. Probably another shortcoming in my earlier education. A frustrated sigh escapes me. "So that's the great Uma Vever."