Chapter 2: Stars and tales

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  The lemon ice cream was halfway melted on Alenya’s hands, and in a moment of daring, she shoved the half-eaten ice cream cone into Cedric’s hand. He just caught it and ate it within two bites without batting an eye.

  Thanks for the cloak she was wearing or everyone could see her flushed face.

  Behind them, Veyna’s arm hadn’t left Lyra for a second, and Cedric often looked back through his shoulder to check on them. Alenya slowly closed her eyes, she wanted to enjoy that tiny moment, and also wanted to ignore the feeling in Cedric’s honey-color eyes.

  The cobblestones main street felt rowdier than normal. There was a jester balancing on a giant ball on the street, juggling some smaller balls in his hands. Someone doing cartwheels and tumblings. Sounds of children running and laughing, free as birds. The usual atmosphere of Luminastra was replaced by this bubbling joy, everyone prepared for the upcoming festival. Just one week and the festival would begin, and the banquet for this heroic party would be held as the most significant event in decades.

  Veyna was now complaining about her sore feet, always the baby. Just when everyone agreed to sit down on the side of the street, Veyna’s olivefire skewer decided it was time for it to meet the ground, and the young girl just exhaled a big sigh, “I had the worst luck these days.”

  “The youngest hero just said she was unlucky.” Cedric teased, “I wonder what would peasant children would say about this.”

  Veyna’s pout didn’t have enough time to emerge before Lyra wiped the corner of her mouth, where the ember-salt and oil was visible, “You just received the healing power, shouldn’t eat things with too much salt though.”

  After being healed from healing power people were often being instructed by priests that they should eat plainly and simply, a way to thank the Temple for lending their healing factor to common people. Veyna thought it was really bullshit, she had ignored Cedric and Alenya’s subtle disapproval for her food choice the whole walk, and now it just decided it would fall on the dirty ground.

  She turned around sharply, looked Cedric right in the eyes, “So what?! I must feel lucky that my food is on the ground and not in my mouth?”

  “I didn’t mean…” Cedric knew this is a sign of trouble, Veyna could be a real brat when she was upset, so he turned to Alenya for help.

  Alenya also thought the same, she quickly let out an awkward laugh, “Really unlucky!” Maybe her voice sounded too optimistic for this occasion but she couldn’t care less, “How about we see some fortune teller? I hadn't seen a fortune teller in years!”

  “How do we know who’s the real one and who’s about to spin on us?” Veyna didn’t let go yet.

  Thanks to the God of Light, Lyra made a sound that grabbed their attention. Her bony finger pointed over the tiny tent with the moon and sun with faces painted weirdly over the thick fabric, “I think this once may work.”

  “Really?” Veyna asked with a hushed voice, like she was afraid someone may have eavesdropped on them. She felt really hesitant, “How do you know?”

  Lyra just smiled timidly, “It’s just a hunch.”

  But the three of them knew Lyra’s instinct was too uncanny to be ignored. Even Cedric suddenly found a little interest with this fortune teller stuff. His gaze dropped on the whimsical painted tent, which, to be honest, didn’t look like they had made any money since everyone always walked past it. The Temple was generously lenient to all the divination stuff, but they also didn’t encourage people. God of Light would lead their way.

  Veyna stood up, brushed the dirt off her cloak, then she crossed the rowdy street to the said tent.

  The three of them just sat under the shade of an old tree waiting. Old trees were often solemn or quiet, and this tree was quiet for a good reason.

  It’s always been so noisy out here. The tree murmured with Lyra when her back pressed to him, voice as raspy and dry as desert win

  And then there was only silence,

  Such a crumpy old man this tree is, Lyra thought.

  Alenya and Cedric were bickering about something like new food and clothes, and that the weather in the capital was better or duller than the East countryside. Lyra didn’t stop looking at the tent, and the sun and moon painting looked like they smiled at her too. She felt the street was a little bit too hot and a little bit too loud, Cedric and Alenya’s voices behind drowned out, the street food tasted like ashes in her mouth. Small sweat started to form on her forehead, and the dry baby hair stuck onto the neck. Her gaze stuck to the ground, unfocused yet intent, as if answers might rise from the cracks between the stones. Again and again, her fingers worked at her own red strands, winding and then unwinding over again like a silent hymn.

  She didn’t have the heart to refuse her little friends, but all she wanted was to come back to her house and holed herself up there. It was so quiet and peaceful, and there weren’t enough people passing by, so much different from this street.

  The tent entrance was lifted up, and Veyna walked out with her brown hair sticking to every direction, sharp bright green sparkling like emerald. There was something almost like awe in her expression, like a child first discovering something new, that made people turn around and look.

  “I don’t know what just happened.” She walked to the three like her head was on the cloud and talked in such a rare dreamy tone, “But it feels so magical.”

  Lyra tucked a strand of brown hair behind the young girl’s ear. She opened her mouth, ready to say something, but then the deep blue eye wide opened in shock. Veyna turned around and saw a bunch of people already pointed at them, she cursed herself in the head, she should’ve remembered putting on the hood.

  Alenya, as swift as an archer she was, was already on her heels taking Cedric with her. Veyna was stunned a little, but then a slender hand gripped her wrist, Lyra’s voice soft as a wind whispered quickly, “Let’s go back. Today was fun.” and then the small warmth was gone, Lyra’s worn out gray cloak easily blended into the crowd.

  Veyna didn’t have enough time to think before she too turned her back and ran. It wasn’t like she hated people, but they could be annoyed sometimes.

  ??

  Lyra had very few people who were curious about her.

  She had been a shadow for years, even in the party she took part in their victory. A faint shadow was cast aside and sometimes forgotten. She liked that. Sometimes it helped her out of trouble like today. The three youngsters must be chased down the street right by people now, and she could wander freely alone with her head cast down

  A flap of tent and the noise of the street was replaced with just muffling noise, leaving the painting of sun and moon outside facing and smiling with the outside world.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Inside was tiny with just enough for a round desk and two simple chairs, one was already occupied by its owner. The fortune teller wore the same simple cloak as her, maybe a little bit more detailed with hems decorated with ancient words and unknown patterns.

  “Welcome, child.” The fortune teller said, his voice was raspy like an old man. She shyly greeted him and sat down. Without her even saying anything, his hand hovered over the crystal ball in the middle of the desk, and a glowing blue light from it slightly lit up the tent for a brief second.

  The fortune teller brushed his long tangled beard, “No. No. No. Too much water.” Then handed her a deck of cards, “Shuffle it.” He said.

  Lyra reluctantly shuffled the deck, the tent had just enough light for her to make out some starry details on the hat on top of the fortune teller’s head. The deck smelled like an old man too, half old and half new, with curled corners and faded color just like the house she now lived in. She put the deck down after some basic shuffling, wondering if she really should be here, maybe her instinct was wrong this time.

  The old man quickly placed the cards into two different areas on the crimson worn tablecloth. She was puzzled when he started to turn the first card, “You don’t ask what I want to know first?”

  “There is no need. A good fortune teller knows what his customers want without them saying out loud.” The old man smiled the first time after she stepped into this place, “And you, child, can walk the same path with me if you want. I can feel that energy from you.”

  Perhaps it was because of the heated weather, she felt a tiny bit suffocated rather than appreciated.

  “The twinfish… I knew it!” He murmured after the first card had been turned over, “And again… And again…” He leaned into the desk, like the four identical cards themselves whispered to him, “And again. Four twinfish… Your solar, lunar, chamber of words and chamber of love drowned in the same tide. Do you know how rare this is, my child? Your whole being is the sea itself.”

  She swallowed an invisible lump in her throat when he turned the next card, but this time a majestic bull carved in ink appeared, pressing its hooves into the ground. She could feel its stubbornness, it was steady but restless under all of the old wrinkles of the card

  “The Golden Bull ruled the chamber of swords…” He leaned forward, voice lowered, “How does it feel, my child? While your whole being drifted away but your desire buried deep into the stubborn earth? It’s here to cling a part of you back like roots to soil.”

  “I… don’t know what to say.” She hesitantly admitted, and the old man laughed out loud, but not unkindly, “The Golden Bull anchors you. But four twinfish… the almighty Bull can only help just that. You’re a woman woven of mist and dreams… And also tears maybe…”

  There was a sudden chill running along her spine after those words. But the man continued, “So strange, rare indeed, I have only seen a handful like this in my entire life. Your heart is a vast sea, its every current drags you out. You are water. But such a strange stubborn fire lodge into the shore. Too slow to anger, too willful to let go, unshakeable when stirred…”

  His eyes glinted, her eye filled with confusion.

  “There will be another Golden Bull, so close, I can see it. Do you feel him too? You had dreamt about him, about that golden one.”

  But Lyra didn’t recall dreaming about any golden bull, she just lowered her gaze, fingers knotting in her laps.

  “As timid as ever, don’t you?” He laughed again, then pointed to the other side where none of the cards had been touched. “Help me turn the cards this time.”

  She followed his word like a diligent pupil, and the old man brushed his beard again, seemingly very pleased with her.

  There was really another Golden Bull within the cards she just revealed. The old man nodded like he was so pleased with this, “Child, do you know our lunar has another name?”

  “I heard it was the chamber of something… spirits?”

  “Yes, the chamber of spirits… His is ruled by the Golden Bull. His heart - the wordless, secret place of his being - answers every time your fire burns. As if your every step shakes his entire chamber. His solar, the gol’ old mountain goat, he climbs where others falter, but bears solitude as his shadow. His speeches are grand, flowing with the cold light like winter water - not nearly half as soft as your water, just strange, sharp, otherworldly, cut like winds of winter. A star-born wit indeed! Both his chamber of love and swords follow the scorpions' sharp stings - intense, consuming and unforgiving, a different kind of deep water.”

  The old man took a deep breath, as if to calm himself.

  “Intense… so intense… but to you, to only you. He can feel you without seeing, hunger for you despite spaces and times. And you, my poor child of the misty ocean, you cannot help but bend toward his need. Such a bond. Your old flame. Your own hero, my child.”

  The word hero hung in the air like a sharp blade. Lyra flinched, but quickly masked it with a faint smile and polite nod. And yet, an uneasy feeling stirred the deep place of her heart.

  “You met him already. You dreamt of him.” He said, and her uneasiness heightened.

  For the first time in forever, she couldn’t help but wonder out loud, “Are you telling me about the future of my love?”

  “More than love, my dear. It’s your destiny.”

  “What if I don’t love this person?”

  The old man looked up to see her face, eye was the deep color blue, the kind of color that swallowed light, and another eye hidden beneath the plainly simple mask.

  “But you’ve already loved him.” He said, “You have always been in love with him. You are bound to him, you are tied to him.”

  There was a pause in her mind, remembering that young boy that stole her heart. Her lips pressed into a thin line, placing a silver coin on the round desk, “Thank you.” She bowed her head politely, forcing the steadiness back into her voice.

  “The roses.” The old man suddenly said, “Remember, you two will meet where the roses bloom… Bury the dead…”

  The flap of the tent fell behind and the world rushed in at once. The whole street now painted in the orange sunset, bright color like the tangerines of her childhood, everything was alive, buzzing, pressing against her ears.

  She stood there for a heartbeat, stunned.

  The tent’s shadow crouched between stalls and other tents like a waiting mouth. She had half a heart to spare a thought about the three young friends, but her thoughts quickly dragged elsewhere by the bell of the main Temple. Her fingers nervously smooth the worn clothes.

  Ding-dong.

  Her head snapped up. The heavy bells were hidden beneath white walls and columns, but their sound travelled far and clear, too loud and too heavy. She walked a little, shoes crunching gravel, and then her mind drifted again.

  Ding-dong.

  Old flame, he said. The one she had always been in love with.

  There were just poetic words of a random man, his work was deceiving people with vague sentences as strange predictions.

  She put a hand over where the heart laid and wondered if it still beat the same tune. But her heart was long cut out and removed out of this chest, and it would not live again.

  Ding-dong.

  A woman brushed past, carrying a tray of candied nuts. The sweet sugar smell caught her throat. Children shouted, chasing fish paper kites along the path.

  The fish. Twinfish. Four twinfish. All swimming in circles, maybe that’s why my mind doesn’t rest. The vast ocean and deep water. It can drown me right? I hope it will drown me soon.

  Her fingers fidgeted at her sleeve. Straightened it over and over.

  Then the main Temple’s bells struck again.

  Ding-dong.

  The sound rolled heavy in her bones, echoing the stoned path. The crowd roared with laughter but the bell still cut through it. And was that sound of the clockwork? Tick. Tock.

  A quiet rhythm beneath the clear bells. Like me. She thought, but then tried to push the thoughts down. Time drags me anyway, I want to step off once.

  They pulled me back - bright faces, fiery spirits. I walked for them. For their victory. For their laughter. Not for me. Never for me.

  Ding-dong.

  Now the journey is ending. Why does time still drag me forward? But why? Why not let the clockwork gears grind me under? Let time chew me into dust?

  Her knuckles twisted her sleeves, tighter and tighter until they turned white.

  Too loud. Everything was too loud. She needed the stillness like the one in her heart.

  She walked on, the festival crowd swallowing her whole. The rough roads leading her back to the reclusive humble house. This was so much better, she thought. But her thoughts suddenly snagged and tore again. Maybe she should just go inside the house, or continue to wander till her feet paint the streets crimson; buy something for dinner, or she could starve herself and bundle up on the bed again. Maybe if she starved long enough the thoughts would starve too.

  She thought about the dead and the long forgotten past.

  Bury the dead.

  But she guessed she buried herself with them too. The future that the fortune teller had predicted sounded like a mockery, she didn’t need another string to tie her into this life.

  Maybe someday, when the weather was good, she would tip off this life to meet the ones she loved again. But now, she had promised the others to join the banquet in seven days, she would at least stay, till then.