The Awakening (27 page)

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Chapter Fifteen
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The Fortune Teller’s Secret

After leaving the jewelry store the girls found a tiny shop where tea and pastries were served. Once done with their meal, they decided to investigate the open space they had seen across from the jeweler’s. The park itself was much larger than Jahrra had previously thought. From the street side it wasn’t very wide, but as she and Torrell strolled along the gravel-packed path that wound through the trees and around several small ponds, they realized it carried on for a couple miles or so.

“Should we walk to the end?” Torrell asked.

Jahrra shrugged. “Why not? We have until the end of the day.”

They took their time, admiring the sycamore trees along the way and pausing to climb a few just for the fun of it, so it took them nearly two hours to reach the other side of the sprawling park. As they stepped from the manicured lawn onto time-worn cobblestones, Jahrra stopped and sucked in her breath.

“What?” Torrell asked shortly.

“Where are we?”

Before them the nearly black cobblestones formed a wide street that traveled through a neighborhood that looked to be forever trapped in the Sobledthe season. Dark stone buildings rose on either side of the road, their angles crooked and precarious like old herb witches bent over with arthritis. Most of the small shops, or so Jahrra assumed they were, had a second storey which featured window boxes, empty now in the early winter gloom. White smoke, sometimes tinged with color, rose from warped chimneys and the spicy smell of wintertime food permeated the air.

“I know this place. We used to come here when I was little,” Torrell mused. “It’s the Witching District. If you need a love spell or an herbal remedy, you come here.”

Jahrra shot her friend a disbelieving look. “Where I grew up witches were something to be feared, not something you go visiting as a child.”

Torrell grinned and shoved Jahrra forward. “Old superstitions spread by ignorant fools.”

Jahrra put a foot down to catch her forward momentum and rubbed the spot on her arm where her friend had pushed.

Returning Torrell’s grin, Jahrra responded, “Of course I know that now, but when I was younger . . . let’s just say it was common knowledge that a witch lived in the forest near my home.”

Ignorant fools indeed
, Jahrra thought to herself, recalling
that
old memory as they began their trek down the uneven, dark cobblestones. Of course if it hadn’t been for Eydeth’s dare, she may never have met Denaeh. Jahrra stopped for a moment, forcing her friend to turn and give her a strange look. What would have happened then, if she had never stumbled upon the Mystic in the Belloughs those many years ago? And how odd that she had just been thinking about her old friend that very morning when perusing through her journal, to be reminded again now.

“Not afraid are you?” Torrell asked, her arms crossed and her eyebrow arched.

Jahrra shook her head. “Don’t be absurd. When I was twelve, I went looking for that witch.”

Torrell snorted. “And did you find her?”

Jahrra cocked her head to the side. “Yes.”

Jahrra couldn’t help laughing at the look on her friend’s face as she brushed past her.

The conversation soon ceased as the old buildings drew closer. They looked very similar to those near the jeweler’s, but an aura of wonder seemed to settle around these. The wooden signs hanging above the doors named each shop with ornate letters or bright symbols depicting their wares. After passing
Herbs For All Seasons
,
Charms Galore
and
The Rose of Ethoes
, Jahrra stopped dead in her tracks, forcing Torrell to walk right into her.

“Ow!” Torrell hissed in annoyance, her dark brown eyes looking dangerous.

Jahrra felt her face pale and her brain go blank. All she had room for in her mind was what she saw above the door of the shop just in front of them.

Torrell, unable to get her friend’s attention, followed Jahrra’s eyes.

“A fortune teller’s shop? Really? Jahrra, I thought you above such silly nonsense.”

It wasn’t the sign that had caught Jahrra’s attention, not really. Fortune tellers were all too common and most of them were frauds. It was the bird perched on the sign that had forced her into a state of shock. Slightly bigger than a raven with short legs and a short tail, a ring of cream tipped feathers around its neck. A korehv. Could it possibly be Milihn?
No
, Jahrra told herself,
Milihn is a darker blue than this bird.

“We have to go in,” Jahrra finally said.

“Alright,” Torrell gave in, “if you insist. But I never thought you to be the type to want your fortune read.”

“No, I don’t care so much about that,” Jahrra said as she pushed against the red wooden door. “I just need to check on something.”

Torrell glanced at her friend as if she suspected her of a spontaneous personality change, but a low grumble from the korehv above caused her to jump and hurry after Jahrra into the dark room in front of them.

Immediately, they were overwhelmed by a multitude of smells: the sweet smoky scent of incense, the bite of garlic, the reassuring smell of wood smoke, the nose-itching mustiness of old dust. The few windows that faced the street were slightly dirty and mostly covered with gauzy drapes. A small cauldron hung over the fire on the far wall, and several cushions and old, battered stuffed chairs were scattered about the carpet-laden floor.

Waving her hand in front of her face, Torrell coughed and said, “You know, I’m not too picky about neatness, Jahrra, but this place just might change my mind.”

The room did seem a little cluttered but Jahrra’s heart clenched. It reminded her so much of Denaeh’s cave in the Belloughs of the Black Swamp that for a blessed second she thought she was actually there.

A sharp whining sound made both girls jump. Jahrra glanced down and at their feet stood a huge cat, its longish hair a multitude of browns and oranges. No wonder they hadn’t seen it; the animal’s fur had blended in with the rugs it stood upon. The cat meowed again, a pathetic sounding complaint that matched the doleful look in its large amber eyes.

“Netty merely seeks a scratch under the chin from you fine girls.”

Jahrra was tired of being surprised into jumping, and she wasn’t sure but she thought it might’ve been the first time she had ever heard Torrell cry out in surprise.

“We don’t get many visitors here.”

The casual voice sounded like it belonged to an old woman, a woman who stood hidden in the shadows of the room. As she spoke, however, she moved into the dim light coming in through the dusty windows. As she moved closer, close enough that her face was visible, Jahrra felt her stomach drop. She looked young, despite the age she had heard in her voice just moments ago. She wore a dress made from old, worn fabric and she moved with practiced grace. It was her hair, however, that had forced Jahrra once more into a state of numbness. An unnatural saffron yellow and falling past her shoulders in rough waves.

“You’re a Mystic,” Jahrra said automatically, her mouth barely forming the words.

The woman’s kind smile froze on her face, as if a blast of northern wind had hit her before she had time to brace herself. Jahrra heard Torrell make a choking sound beside her.

Eventually, the woman thawed. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Her voice was harsher, its kindness gone.

Jahrra swallowed. “You are a Mystic. You’re no fortune teller. You could tell us our names if you wished.”

The woman seemed to bristle. “Mystics are a myth, young woman, and of course I do not know your names. How could I? You just stepped into my store! I cast fortunes, that is all.”

Jahrra felt Torrell grab her arm in a vice-like grip.

The woman stepped swiftly forward, streaming past the girls, and went directly to the door.

“I’ll kindly ask you to leave if you are to come in here and toss around such disrespectful words. I’ll not have you chasing away my customers by spouting off such foolishness. I don’t know who you think you are, but I will not tolerate brazen young ladies with wild ideas.”

She yanked the door open and held it for Jahrra and Torrell. The cat had long since disappeared up the stairs that climbed along the wall in one corner.

Jahrra stepped forward, seeming to forget she had Torrell with her, and said to the woman, her voice low, “Mystics are not a myth, and I have every right to believe you are one.”

“Jahrra, let’s just go. We’ve insulted the kind woman enough,” Torrell insisted through gritted teeth as she pulled on Jahrra’s arm.

Jahrra shrugged her off.

“There is a korehv sitting on your sign outside, your hair is a very unusual color and,” Jahrra paused and looked the woman directly in the eye, “your eyes.”

The woman blinked and looked away, her pale topaz eyes focusing on something down the street. She seemed defeated and her stiff shoulders relaxed a bit, but she still denied what Jahrra tried to claim.

“Nay, child, you are mistaken. Mystics do not exist.”

Jahrra didn’t miss the change in her stance.

“But I know a Mystic,” she whispered, loud enough for the woman to hear but for Torrell to miss.

“Oh?” the fortune teller said in the same quiet tone. “And do tell me, who might this supposed Mystic be?”

She crossed her arms and took on a haughty look.

Jahrra took a breath and glanced over her shoulder for Torrell. She had moved to the middle of the street and was casting a plaintive look at her friend who insisted on lingering in front of the fortune teller’s shop.

Jahrra turned her attention back to the woman and answered her question with another harsh whisper, “The Mystic Archedenaeh.”

A bolt of shock coursed through the woman. Jahrra knew this only because she was certain she had felt it. Her already pale face paled even further and her yellow eyes went wide with unadulterated fear.

“You lie, girl!” the woman hissed, her teeth bared and her lips thin and white.

Jahrra took a few steps back. This was not the reaction she had expected.

“Be gone from my sight and do not show your face near my shop again!”

The woman started muttering to herself, words Jahrra either couldn’t hear or failed to understand. She slammed the door so hard that Jahrra felt the door frame shudder. Numb with shock, she turned and rushed to her friend.

“What on Ethoes did you say to her?” Torrell insisted. “Jahrra!”

The two of them walked swiftly down the street, heading away from the buildings Jahrra had been so keen to explore. One day she would return to peruse these shops, but not today, not after what had transpired in front of the Mystic’s store.

Jahrra was sure she was a Mystic. Her hair, her eyes, the way she carried herself and the sound of her voice. Even the korehv outside her shop, now eyeing them balefully as they hurried back to the park, all pointed out that she was one of the rare women who could actually see bits of the future. But why had the mention of Denaeh caused her such fear?

Jahrra shook her head and finally paid heed to her friend, picking up her pace as Torrell pulled on her arm.

“Jahrra! You’re actually scaring me, tell me what happened. Why did you think that woman was a Mystic? Mystics are creatures of the past, before the Tyrant king gained power, you know that! He had them all destroyed before the Tanaan prince and his people were cursed. Before the effort to curse them drained all his power!”

Jahrra stopped walking. She took a few deep breaths to clear her reeling head. Of course she knew the history but what was taught and what was known did not always add up. Denaeh had somehow survived the Tyrant’s exterminations and if she had then so could others. Could this woman be afraid that her secret might get out? And if it was so dangerous to be known as a Mystic, why had Denaeh shared that information with Jahrra so readily? Jahrra gritted her teeth and took up walking briskly once again, stepping off of the hard, uneven cobblestones and onto the soft grass of the park.

“Jahrra!” Torrell shouted this time, still trying to get her friend to speak with her.

“I’m sorry,” Jahrra finally said, her voice sounding hoarse. “Hroombra, my guardian before Jaax, taught me a great deal about Mystics and several other things for that matter.” Jahrra fought back the pain that always arose when she thought of Hroombra. “I was so certain she fit the description.”

“Well,” Torrell said as she expelled a great breath, “next time you go around accusing people of being something that should no longer exist, think it through before hand, would you?”

Jahrra grinned sheepishly and nodded. Yes, think it through she would. In fact, she would be giving this whole matter a great deal of thought. Later, when she had the luxury of a rested mind and an overabundance of free time.

***

The saffron haired woman watched the two girls speed away from her shop as if she were cursing people with the plague. Good, she didn’t need the tall blond hanging around and piling more evidence against her true identity. The woman shivered, her skin pricking with goose bumps. She was frightened; no, she was terrified. No one had ever so much as considered she was anything more than a fortune teller. She kicked herself mentally.