2The room was dark. Not pitch black, too dim to see anything but shadows. That way, the single light at the center occupied your entire consciousness. More. Your entire being. You were dwarfed by its presence, even though it was a fraction of your size, streaming an inch high. The only thing it lit properly was the hand held flat above it. I couldn't see any soot on it. There wasn't any.
"Sit."
I didn't move any further forward. To do so would have been a presumption of the gravest proportions. The voice clearly said that, though nothing of the sort was mentioned.
The hand flickered, as though the heat of the candle had disrupted its image. But when it refocused almost at that same instant, it held a deck of cards. It happened again, and the deck disappeared. Again, and the candle flared, immediately brightening the whole room, and settled, leaving it in a light just enough for reading, if the print was not too small.
She sat before me, all mystery gone. I wasn't sure what I preferred. Power had replaced it; sitting easily, one leg propped up under the green-blue silk of her robe; black hair trailing like cobwebs from her head to fall to the floor, bunching at her shoulders and beside her raised knee; black-lashed eyes bent on the floor, showing more than a hint of topaz through the fine texture of the fringe; angular, expressionless face, pale beyond possibility even in the amber light; small, pursed, blood-red lips. She scared me more than the mystery ever could, because, while darkness whispered that such knowledge was possible, this image was of someone who not only knew, but had mastered it. She knew all my secrets, and was reading them at her leisure before me. All of them, even the ones I didn't know myself. Like my character. Like my calling.
Like my future.
"Visit fortune-tellers often?"
I could just find enough breath to whisper a "no." Her lips curled wryly.
"Thought you didn't. You've been too single-minded for that. Obviously, you're here for lack of other things to do." She sighed. "The irony that that's the only kind of person I can help these days…"
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. She spoke in a grave, quiet voice.
"Don't think in riddles, nor speak them at all
Your life and your duty lay elsewhere, my friend
For to you shall the world when in need of help, call
Though when all is in order, they've no thanks to spend.
Live honest, live true, oh warden, oh watch
The world leans on you when it wishes and wills
But expect no help; your doom is to stand alone
For no one helps those whose life, Life with death fills."
She turned her head to the side. "One more thing. Do you know why a true fortune-teller speaks in verse?"
Mutely, I shook my head. She smiled, an expression empty of any other coloring. It was just a smile, nothing more. No wit, no sarcasm, no bitterness or sweetness. Just a smile. It struck me only then how rare a sight that was.
"Because the future exists, and all that exists must have order and symmetry, though not necessarily clarity."
Her eyes flicked downwards again, and her hand came up, palm stretched flat and facing upwards. I took my cue, placed the payment on it, stood up, and left. I had the odd urge to bow first, and did. There was no response.
I stepped up the rickety stairs – somehow more dubious when I could see them – and into the street, still as quiet as it had been when I went in. still seeming as if removed from the reality of the city even in noonday light. Going in, I had thought it was absurd how that was, this street being a stone's throw away from the main road. But now, my mind was blank, and I didn't question it.
Odd, how in returning from the unusual you felt the usual was odd.