The man before her was the ugliest she had ever seen, uglier even than massive Sir Oeric. He was small, smaller still because he huddled into himself, and when he smiled he also displayed rows of sharp fangs. But then again – and here she frowned, for surely her eyes were lying to her one way or the other – he was also beautiful. Like the silver statues that moved only when she blinked, so this shrunken man seemed to change his face for hairbreadth moments, as though a veil wafted over his features and then away again. In those moments, he was beautiful.
He bowed to her. He was dressed in red robes, his head covered with a golden cap edged in intricate embroidery. With a sweep of a long sleeve, he indicated a tent, also red and worked with gold. Glittering beads hung over the opening, and all was dark inside.
“My lady,” he said, “you are newly come of age; I read it in your eyes.
Are you not curious to know what fates await you this day, this week, this month and year? Catch a glimpse perhaps of your future lover; see the smiles of your children? Torkom of Arpiar is no charlatan. Torkom of Arpiar knows the secrets, and he will tell you.”
The ugliness faded more and more as he spoke, and his face grew ever more trustworthy. After all, had not Sir Oeric declared that the people of the market brought only goodwill? If she was going to trust him, a goblin, why should she not trust this beautiful being?
She followed him into the tent. The beads shimmered like so many stars as the tall man held them back, and she stepped into a room full of warm, rosy light. Curtains of gauzy fabric, embroidered and beaded, hung suspended from the center bar, and she had to push them aside as she stepped deeper and deeper into the tent. It was bigger inside than she could have guessed from looking at the outside; curiously it seemed to grow as she went. But the rose-colored light was beautiful, and the smell all around was too sweet for her to feel afraid.
At last Una pulled back a final drape, which felt like fine milkweed to her fingers, and found a low cushioned stool and a wooden box so dark that it looked black.
The fortune-teller appeared beside her and, taking her hand, gently led her to the stool. “Sit, lady, sit,” he said. “Torkom will tell you your secrets. Trust him to know. Trust him to tell.”
She trusted him. The sweet smell made it impossible not to. The perfume of the roses intoxicated her, though she did not recognize the scent. She allowed the man to seat her upon the cushioned stool. For a moment he remained bowed over her, holding her hand so close to his face she thought he might kiss it. But instead his large eyes inspected the ring on her finger.
“Such a lovely piece,” he said. “Opals, yes?”
Breathing in roses, Una nodded. “My mother gave it to me. Before she died. I wear it always.”
“Ah!” Torkom’s smile grew. “Such a gift. A gift of the heart. Not one to part with too soon.”
“I wear it always,” Una repeated and drew her hand from his grasp. She put both her hands in her lap, covering her ring.
Torkom bowed himself away and knelt to open the dark wooden box.
Fascinated, Una watched him put his hands inside and lift out a strange object. At first she thought it was a shield, for it was the right size and shape, wide at the top and narrowed to a point at the bottom. But it was subtly concave, and the outside was black and rough, a natural roughness like rock. The inside, however, gleamed gold, and the air shimmered around it as if with heat.
Torkom, his teeth showing in what was almost a smile but might have been a grimace of pain, held the strange object out to Una. “Lady,” he said, his voice hissing. “Lady, if you dare, behold your future. Look inside.” He held the black shield out to her, and Una leaned forward.
Hot air rising from the golden surface hit her face. Inside she saw her own reflection, wincing but curious. Nothing more.
“Take it,” Torkom whispered. She could not see him through the haze of heat and the glare of gold, but his voice worked like magic in her ear. “Take it, lady.”
She put out her hands and took hold of the shield.
Heat seared up her fingers, through her arms, and wrapped about her head like a fiery vine. She gasped but could not take her eyes from the bright surface, which writhed suddenly like melted gold.
A face took shape. Black eyes ringed with flames, bone-white skin, and teeth like a snake’s fangs. It looked at her, and she could not tear away her gaze. A voice flared in her mind, speaking not in words but in a language of heat and smoke that burned in her mind:
Beloved of my enemy! I played for you, didn’t I? I played for you and won! Are you not the one I seek?
Una could not answer, could not break his gaze. The heat from the golden shield was like strong arms pulling her down, drawing her face closer and closer, and the fiery words rolled about her, a thunderstorm.
Where are you? Where are you?
Then another voice spoke.
“Stop!”
2
Hands grabbed Una’s shoulders and pulled her to her feet, and the heat fell away from her like a shriveled cocoon. She dropped the shield; the vision shattered. Weakness filled her body, and she would have fallen, but strong arms held her up. She blinked several times before her vision cleared and she found herself looking up into the pale face of a strange man.
He was glaring fiercely, but not at her.