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.