A Promised Reading

I had met him sometime back, an introduction not of names, but faces. He seemed interested in my cards and I had promised him a reading when next we met. I always keep my promises.

I approached him, with one thing on my mind, to read, fulfill my obligation and get back to my daughter. Leaving her is always something I find difficulty in and I try to not do it for any length of time, but I can hardly be expected to take her with me to.. work, as much as I might like to.

I find him a sobering man, a man who smiles as little as I do. A man with demons he keeps hidden, as do we all.

The cards were brought forth, he laying down a notepad so that my cards would not absorb any moisture from beneath. Never had this happened before, another being concerned with the protection of my artifacts. In a strange way, I was touched by the proaction of his offer.

Nine of Cups, The Kur and the Five of Swords. All in all, not the best reading he could have been granted, but neither was it the worst. He seemed to understand, even if I did not.

He paid me more than I had asked for, even handing me a card with his name and address on it, as well as a date. A date that I would assume he wished his next reading. I will, of course, oblige.

Administrative Reading

I was out for a walk today, coming upon the Deputy Administrator and Rowan, who I had met before. I read for them both, earning my daily needed intake of coin. Rowan’s reading was rather optimistic, though Niros’s was not. What one can tell about a person, simply through a turning of cards.

Swords

And so it began, a new day filled with telling the tortures of the past, relaying the oppression of the present and mutilating the deformation of the future. All done in a good day's work.

Tenuous digits were free from gloves this afternoon, the weather at last warming, fault found only in the mud that marred my shoes. Hood hid well the tainted red locks beneath, though an occasional auburn spur would leak out to curl around my cheek as if it were a small serpent on a irrational quest for light. The hem of cloak fluctuated with each forward step, creating an airy bell around me when I moved, my own private circle of protection. I was a woman on a mission, one who sought to barter cards for coin.

What I found was Malleus choking Salome. It seemed making nice with the other children was over.

"I've come to read your cards."

"Just in time, too." Salome was quickly regaining her composure. "A reading for us both would interest me more."

"Well, Sir? The last time I dared to wander upon the written rence of your soul, you told me never again. Does that still hold?"

"Go on and read them then. You are a charlatan anyway."

The cards speak an ancient language, one as old as time itself, but I understood the whispers that no one else could hear. Or so I think, There are times I would swear to the fact that Malleus heard too, their quiet thunder. The deck was cut and offered to first Salome, allowing her to pick from the square 'charlatans' that would or would not be kind. And they weren’t kind often.

Those of her choosing were set before her, the tip of my finger pressed to the first. She had chosen the card of her past, the City of Dust, the most feared in the deck. Salome’s readings are often dark learning’s, but today’s were particularly foreboding. I could already tell my coin would not be great. The Eight of Swords followed and then the Five of Swords. There was a warning of future destructiveness, weakness and blame.

The second reading would be for Malleus.

The touch of the top card brought the quick retreat of his hand. I can tell he likes them not, though he is plagued by curiosity. Sometimes I wonder just how far he will go in order to know the truths they hold.

"This, your first choosing, is the Warrior of Swords. There is an important decision to be made by you, but there are far too many distractions to bear. Your mind is muddled with unclear goals"

Within his second turning lay an Ubar, one with sword raised high. "The Ubar of Swords. It spills the seed of intellect, articulatation and analytical skills, though there is often trouble in cutting through the confusion of mental fog."

His third card was pulled from the middle and turned for identification. He had done what only one other had done, chosen a set of swords. That other person, Salome herself. What a perfect couple they made. They had both chosen the suit of disharmony.

The reading complete, Malleus rose quickly. I could tell he wasn’t happy, he not a man that hides his displeasure well. "Get away from me."

Twice now, I had looked into the dark catacombs of his soul, and twice I had been allowed to walk away. The gathering of cards was careful, but quick the ancient squares stacked among themselves. "You owe me coin."

He tossed six copper at me, the coins scattering on the ground at my feet.

Behold the serpents tongue, viperous in its secrets, silent in its premonitions. Coin was gathered, each having spun off in an opposite direction, but I was in no hurry. I had all the time in the world. "I wish you both well, Salome, Malleus. I'm sure you'll know where to find me when you wish my services again."

We parted company, my coppers safe, my flesh intact. I know well I should avoid the man, but something pulls me back and each time I get closer to the hard center candy of his mind.

Merci, Mercy

The longer I stay in collar, the odder free women seem to me.

I wonder if I was ever like them. Not that they are all bad. In fact, I have found, though many possess a certain amount of aloof horridness, others can be quite pleasant.

I met her in the falls and read her cards. I don’t believe she .. believed, for I could see the skepticism in her eye, the look of doubt on her face. But once I began, I could also see indecision, as if she thought that I might be, in some small way, tricking her. I don’t trick intentionally, I only relate what the cards tell me, albeit, sometimes they do make it hard to find the answers.

Sometimes my cards are surly.

Payment in Paper

Twice now, I have been given a book as payment for my readings. The first one was on dance, the second a book of poems.

Not only a book of poems, but a favored book from Nika’s libary. I’ve already read it twice and it now holds a special place on the small table in Silas’ room, near where I sleep. I shall read it again.

The Worst Kind of Fate

I sometimes forget the addiction, the want of knowledge, the tell tale signs of what the future will bring.

She comes to me often, her brow furrowed with the need to know, as if I am some sort of oracle that can make her life easier, as if I can bring peace to her surly existence. I can not.

I am merely a girl from the island of Cathris, a single soul trapped in her own realm of imprisonment, one cursed by her own blood to slavery for actions that took place before my birth. This is my reality. For me, there is no other. I still hold hope that someday, the curse will be broken and I will be free, allowed to companion, to bear children, to live the life I have been denied.

I am not complaining, for I realize how lucky I truly am. I am not beaten, or used in a harsh manner. Silas is generous with both my freedom and his coin. Though I am expected to obey, I am not bound by normal rules and if it were not for the collar about my neck, I probably wouldn’t always remember who or what I have become.

Of course, there are those who never fail to remind me of exactly what I am.

She said she had sent a letter to my owner for my purchase, wanted me to know that she had tried. I had taken this as a comment meant to put my mind at ease, she thinking perhaps I was ill treated and that she was doing a great service on my behalf.

Slaves should never assume.

She was offended that I, a mere slave, would have the audacity to believe she was worried about me, that she actually cared for my safety in any way. She told me that if I ever offended her in such a way again, that she would send a letter to my Master informing him of my impudence. She also said that if I was ever for sale, that she would be the first.. and the last to offer a price for me.

This does not worry me, however, for I know he will never sell me. To him I am more then a woman who can read the future for personal gain. I am more then a warm body that conforms to his own in the dark of the night. There is a bond between us, one bound by the collar I wear, one tied to the secret we share and I know I could never belong to another. At least not as completely as I belong to him. He is the man who makes the tattoo of my heart beat like a jungle drum. He is the man who drowns me in the soulfulness of his eyes when he looks at me. He is the man who finds fascination in the woman he owns and I will always love him. I think I would not leave him even if I was freed.

Thank the kings I belong to a man such as Silas, for now I understand belonging to a woman is the worst kind of fate.

The Butterfly

I am not immune.

I would have thought I was, to a certain extent, unable to find others attractive. It’s not a sexual trigger that draws me, but one of the mind.

It could be that I am simply more open to the magic of thoughts, the unraveling of destinies, but too, I think it is much more then that. When I do find someone that is truly interested in talking to me, I think it is a stimulation of the most important kind. It’s nice to have my opinion heard, though this is not something I volunteer unless asked.

Which brings me to today’s escapade.

I had ventured into one of the parks, as I do often, in hopes of finding Landra again. Instead of finding her though, I found another, a man unexpected.

I have been careful since the attempt by the trevian to take me, keeping my distance from those that I think may do me harm. But of course, as a slave, this is an impossible feat in most circumstances.

I had taken the book of poems with me that I had bought with the coin Silas allows me to keep, and found the perfect rock on which to perch. I was lingering fondly over one particular passage when he called for me, my book set aside so that I might serve him.

Usually when someone calls me into service, it is so that I may read for them, giving them glimpses into the past.. or most preferably, the future. I was already retracting the worn squares of rence from the safe keeping of their pouch, but hastily found myself re-pocketing them at his command.

He did not want a reading, he merely wished to talk.

Few free talk to me, other then wanting to purchase an ahn of my time for their own benefits. There are, of course, exceptions, but most times I am merely a way to a means. But he, he seemed to want nothing to do with the cards. No one has ever refused a reading before. I can’t say that I was discontent.

His caste was low, by the color of his garments, but they were well made and clean, he smelling of leather and soap. His hair was long and dark, pulled back and tied, his features almost hawkish in nature, but in no way severe, though it was his eyes that captivated me, green and bright and fringed with the longest eyelashes I believe I have ever seen. He hadn’t shaved in some days, his face over shadowed with a stubble of beard, his lips full and tempting, and I found myself staring at him without realizing it. For an instant, I wondered what it would be like to be kissed by those lips, to be taken within his warm embrace and held tightly. To be wanted, if just for an ihn.

He smiled, as if reading my thoughts, though I know this is quite impossible. But still, it was an eerie enough feeling to force me to drop my gaze from such mesmerizing scenery.

He had many questions, asking them one after another, sometimes pausing in between as he pondered and sometimes moving directly into another. My name, where I was from, who owned me, for how long and perhaps the most embarrassing, why I was still a white silk. That seems to be the question on every one’s mind these days.

I told him about the curse, my journey to Ar, my stay at the kennels, my first Master, Tony and Silas. All this time, while we talked, he sat on the upper crest of a rock, carving on a piece of wood, while I knelt before him. I’m not sure that he was truly interested in knowing my history, but that he was a collector of words, of stories, more to sate his own curiosity then anything.

He offered nothing of himself, no detail in which I would be allowed to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. I knelt there, long after the conversation had seemed complete, though I was not dismissed. Instead, I quietly watched him work on the small block of wood, amazed at the outcome. It was a tiny, a perfectly formed butterfly, one that he handed out for me to take. A gift. No one has ever given me anything, not without wanting something in return. He said to keep it with me all the time, as a reminder, for some day my metamorphosis would be complete.

This small talisman now resides in the pouch that holds my deck and the coppers I acquire through the cards, safe.

Circumstances

I’ve been spending much time at the parks of late, often taking a book with me to keep me company. I think I’ve about read everything Silas’s library has to offer. Soon I will be re-reading them.

My chores have been lightened, I no longer offering to do Silent’s work. This leaves me more time to explore myself, as well as the City I have come to love. Sometimes I even go to the great library, standing outside just so I can look at it, wondering what fascinating tales it holds within its walls.

Among other things, I have been paying closer attention when someone dances, trying to mold the movements to memory. I practice, a little, when no one else is around. Sometimes I feel so ungainly and awkward in motions that should flow smoothly and be graceful.

I’ve not seen my Master in two months, which means, I have my own room. His room. I like having my own place to go to, though I do miss sleeping at his side. I wonder if he misses me at all.

Counterfeit

I’ve escaped again, into the wide world of both free and slaves. I’ve stopped asking one of the others to accompany me in my sojourns, feeling it more of an imposition than a safety factor. After all, no one wanted me before I was brought here, I don’t see why that would have changed.

I haven’t seen Landra in quite some time, which leads me to believe she might have had a chance to go to the fair with her master. Perhaps next year I will be able to attend as well, since I’ve yet to make the pilgrimage.

I’ve been spending less time in the Gardens of Gein and more time in the Gardens of Ar. I long to see people, to be accepted into of the wealth of cordiality and to play a part in the drama of life. But for some reason, I seem unable to do this, for I am nothing more then a counterfeit coin, dull and lackluster, amongst those that glitter and shine with their confidence.

It’s not that I mind the solitude, mostly, for it gives me introspect into how I am perceived and how I should interact. I see how men act with others in collar and these girls I do not envy. I have no desire to find myself in a paga den or in the laps of those that see only what the body offers and not the mind.

But too I know I am subject to obey and what I want is not important, at least not in the grand scheme of things. I feel that I am being denied the all knowing secret that other’s are privy to.

The Spider and the Killer

I had been looking for my sandal, the one lost the previous evening at the falls. That is when I saw her again, Perelandra, a slave that I had read for by command of the strange man that had held me in service for ahns.

We had been talking when I felt the spider web upon me, likely gained while I searched for my errant shoe, but it seemed that was not all that I had gained, for I had collect the occupant of the sticky silk as well.

There is little that I cannot abide, but spiders are one of the few things that horrify me. I panicked, seeing the small arachnid parade up my arm and towards my hair, obviously in need of a new home. The slave whose acquaintance I had made deftly flicked the spider from my shoulder, a flick that sent the furry creature right beneath the boot of a killer.

I slunk into the crevice of the rock at his approach, not even daring to look up to see if he bore the mark which would place him clearly in killing mode.

He settled not far from us, she, the other slave, now sulking at the death of the small eight legged icky. He called us to his service, his boot propped upwards so that we could see his recent kill, the half attached spider that hung oddly from the sole of his footwear, an object we were commanded to clean. I held the leaf to catch the remains, while she scraped, all the while expecting my breakfast to be the next thing we would be ordered to sanitize.

And then the killer did a most inhuman thing. He told me to smell it, the dead thing he had liberated from life with a single step. Though the task was distasteful, I dutifully obeyed, but surely my expression clearly mirrored the adverse reaction I was having. Lucky for me, recently dead things have little smell.

Perelandra has promised to kill the next small furry offending creature herself.

A Faded Past

The cards do not always scream their intention, which sometimes makes it hard to pull from them the true meaning of what they are telling me.

I met such a man last eve while at the falls, a man that held a certain aura of which I have never experienced before. His reading was.. casual, to say the least, nothing too abrupt or surprising save the fact that he had chosen The Slave, and two Ubar cards. Rarely are a royal pair picked, let alone two of such a discriminating set.

Did I not know better, I would have suspected he cheated in drawing his fate, though that is quite impossible, considering. What good would it have done him anyway? He knew not what secrets the faded rence held, nor did he seem too pleased or displeased at the results. For that, I suppose, I am a lucky slave, even if I was a slave that started out in error.

I had gone to the falls for a bit if relaxation between my shifts at the arena, sitting near the water’s edge, my feet dangling in a cool pool. I had thought he was a sleen, my sandal held up in defense, though in hindsight, such a defense would have done little good. I am a lowly slave on my Master’s chain, one that could be easily replaced with little expense, therefore I have no guards as some other’s do.

I did not beg forgiveness properly, I sometimes still clinging to the life lost. I am not an arrogant slave, but one still realizing the complexities a collar brings.

I don’t believe he was angry, but I could hear in his voice he was annoyed, which sometimes bodes just as poorly for those of us that wear steal about our throats. His face was lathed in shadow, his expression unseen, though his voice was tainted with command. I obeyed.

When at last I got a glimpse of his face, sheltered in half shadow and buttery moon light, what I saw surprised me. I had thought to see a harsher manifestation of the man before me, something far more malignant then the carefully controlled façade he bore. Not that there wasn’t an ominous presence that surrounded him.

After I read for him, he directed me to a slave that he seemed rather interested in, though I believe he wished her fortune read for reasons of his own, reasons that I shall never be privy to.

When at last I was released from his service and he left, my name was called. My old name, the name that once brought me the gift of freedom. I had recognized him from the islands, albeit last I saw him, at his father’s pyre, my mind had been on other things. As had his.

He walked me back to the kennel at the inn, our conversation laced with talk of the island and those we both knew.

My sleep was tinged with unrest. I dreamt of moons and darkness.

The Draw of Fire

Last eve I took a walk after my shift at the arena had come to an end. I’m still exploring the layout and oftentimes I still find myself quite lost.

I came upon the hooded man again, as I do quite often of late, but this time he had his slave with him as well. She is exotic in appearance and didn’t seem to wish to claw my eyes out.

He spoke of purchasing me from my current Master, but I think he is yet undecided. I am not unhappy where I am and I like the fact that I am easily lost amongst so many, though I had hoped to go to a collector, one that would allow me to keep my ability. My future is so uncertain.

He commanded me to await him and his slave at the inn, which I did. Sleeping on the softness of a couch far exceeds the cold hard floor of the kennels. I kept to the edge, or tried to, but he continued to drag me close, as he did the slave he owned, he, sandwiched in the middle.

It is a strange feeling to be so close to a man, one that obviously desires me, yet makes no move upon my person. I do not feel desirable. Often times I even feel inferior. I do not feel what other slaves feel, the ardent wants and needs that makes them so good at what they do. Though I do wish to please, I do not wish to become a part of the carnal category that other slaves fall into. I have been lucky, thus far, that no one has demanded this of me; my slavery has been an easy one.

When I divined my future this morning upon arrival home, I drew the Assassin card. I shall be caught up in the inescapable, a transition of which cannot be avoided. One door will forever close, while another is opened.

I would be lying if I said I was not afraid of what the future holds for me.

And yet, I look forward to it.