Gadolor

The Fortuneteller

Romni soon became good at this act. She and Sebastian would enter a town or village, often from different directions at different times. Before long they would end up in the main square, he juggling and she exclaiming delight. She would rush up to a farmer or merchant, saying, “Look, look at him juggling,” grab the man’s hand, and try to pull him in.

“Yes, missie, that’s a fine act,” he would say, moving on.

“But look, look!” she found it best to make her voice high, her eyes wide, and her mouth O-shaped, as if Sebastian were the most spectacular thing she’d ever seen. In fact, he probably is, she thought.

When one or two people had relented to her eagerness, one or two more might stop, and soon a crowd would be bunched around them. These were the best times, full of clapping and laughing and hoots of applause. Sometimes Sebastian would bring her in and toss her things, which she would toss back at the right moment. Other times she stayed on the fringe to draw in more people. Sebastian’s pan would be full of money before all had dispersed. And on these days, he would give her a big kiss and tell her all the reasons he loved her.

One day Romni was wandering around the market before meeting up with him when a flash of bright cloth and a glint of brass grabbed her eye. A woman stood there, taller than Romni and much wider, her dark eyes flashing like a thunderstorm on the horizon. Before Romni could glance away, she had stepped over and taken her hand.

“Come, little one,” the woman had the deepest, richest voice Romni had ever heard, “Come in to the fortuneteller and she will tell you secrets. Deep things about your life, your past, your future.”

“Oh, thank you,” Romni said, slightly embarrassed, “But I don’t have any money.”

The woman stared at her through long eyelashes, drawing close enough for Romni to smell her heavy perfume. “Yes, yes, Mala does ask for money, most of the time. But not from this one. This little lamb needs a hand to guide her. I charge nothing from you. Come, little one.” Compelled by her strong grip, Romni followed the woman into a tiny scarlet tent, brightly embroidered but so small, the ceiling pushed their heads close together. The woman’s breath smelled like cinnamon.

“Little lamb, child of the North, what is your name?” she asked. She knows where I came from? What else can she guess? A prickle of fear touched Romni’s spine.

“Romni,” she said, her voice small even in the tiny space.

“Romni, Romni,” Mala repeated, studying her palm. She drew patterns on her arm with an oily brush. “Thy path is a strange one, lamb of the North,” Mala hummed, “Tis’ a river that flows from a lake, a rocky river with no single course. It takes one turn, and it shall take another. Beware the rocks, lest they trip your feet, little one. Shall the desert dry thy stream before it reaches the sea?” The metaphor confused Romni, but it sounded mysterious enough to have some meaning. King Austin her father discouraged the practice of magic in his land, calling it a dangerous flirt with evil. But the woman sitting here was so gentle and wise that she wanted to listen.

Romni and Mala talked for some time. Mala’s grave voice filled her mind with blurry thoughts of color and swirling ribbons, as if beautiful secrets danced all around.  Romni took deep gasps of fresh air when they finally left the little tent, blinking in the sun. Amid the rush of people, a familiar voice called her name. Sebastian! She’d forgotten all about his juggling act and how she was supposed to help him. His frown of annoyance became one of confusion when he saw the fortuneteller. “Mala! What are you doing with my girl? I’ve been waiting for her.”

Mala laughed, a deep ho, ho, ho from her voluminous chest. “Ho, Sebastian, what trouble have you stepped in now? Caught a farm maid to cook your meals, have you?” Now Romni was the confused one. The two knew each other?

Sebastian scowled. “Don’t talk like that, Mala. This is my girl. We’re in love and she’s come to travel with me.”

“Sebastian has a lover,” Mala chuckled, glancing at Romni, “Now I see all. Beware the fox, little one, for he plays tricks even on his friends.”

“Don’t start with your sayings,” Sebastian retorted, “You already distracted her from our act.” They continued arguing for a few minutes, as Romni watched with growing fascination. She had never seen anyone succeed in teasing Sebastian. The older woman prodded him with dry words, picking apart his protests, always staring nonchalantly through long lashes. Romni found her poise thrilling.

They ended up spending the evening together, Mala hosting them with a hot, spicy stew and soft bread. “You’re headed south, as usual, then,” Mala asked Sebastian.

“Yes, eastward to Porton and then south. We’ll spend the winter down where it’s warm.”

“Hmm,” Mala pondered, stirring her stew, “We’ll travel together then, I suppose.” Romni gave a gasp of delight and looked at Sebastian, who shrugged. Mala was coming with them!

— § —

Romni lay awake in the woods, breathless at the night’s beauty. A thin veil of cloud passed slowly over the moon, giving it a wide halo that spread across the sky. Just above her head, a bush’s translucent leaves glowed silver in the moonlight. All the leaves were silver, from the great gray oak to the papery white bush. She dreamed of magic, of mysteries in caves, dirges played on silver flutes, with Mala’s oily paint still on her arm.

She woke at dawn to birds calling back and forth to one another. “Chubby chubby chubby,” said one. “Tippy tippy tippy tippy,” came the reply. She lay under the blanket without moving, careful to keep warm, relishing the moment. Before she moved, sunshine was climbing down the treetops and Sebastian had roused the fire. Mala’s donkey was nosing for clover by the path, and Mala sat muttering with a charm.

Romni glanced at the bush whose leaves had been silver in the moonlight. They were ordinary bright green now, but Romni imagined at night the bush revealed its true color. Maybe it was a ritual of the forest plants to shed their daytime garb when the moon arose, to dance silver-clothed until the sun’s return. She could picture them swaying in a circle like pretty wood-nymphs, performing a nightly ceremony that no man was permitted to see.

“Breakfast,” Sebastian said, interrupting her fantasy, “Get it now before Mala scarfs it.”

“Me scarf it,” Mala argued absently, “Tis’ Sebastian who’d eat all that, while you blink.” Romni ate her share of the oatmeal while the two debated the size of their bellies. Mala obviously had the larger one, but she put up a good argument. In a few minutes, they had packed their things, doused the fire, and resumed walking. Breaking camp was the work of a moment for Romni now. She wrapped her things in her blanket, securing it with cord and the cloth that served as shoulder straps. She barely felt the weight of the pack now.

Mala had a donkey named Henly who carried her things, who had the fuzziest muzzle Romni had ever petted, whose favorite food was carrots. Sebastian taught her how to snatch them from market baskets without being seen, and soon Henly and she were good friends, and Sebastian complained she was spoiling the old beast. Mala only chuckled and said the old beast had eaten many carrots in his time, and a few more wouldn’t hurt him.

But soon they were making a living out of it. Romni would distract a food seller with innocent, girlish talk while Sebastian’s sly hands took their wares. A few times they were noticed, and then they would dash away, disappearing into the crowd, Romni’s heart racing with excitement. She learned to run, to dash between people and carts and crates like the errand boys she’d watched at Esthen. The princess had hardly ever run, but Romni loved it. It was a glorious game.

At first, she protested that stealing and lying were wrong. “Maybe for royalty,” Sebastian said, “But we do what we must to survive. Did you ever play chess at the castle? You win by tricking your opponent, don’t you? This is the same, only we play with bread instead of pawns.” His words didn’t quite convince her, but they were enough to quell her conscience. He was the one who knew this life, after all. Anyway, when it was empty, her stomach didn’t care where the bread came from. Sebastian described what starving is like, and she resolved to never starve.