The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 14

  Sir Tyrone forged a path through the crowd, the people melting away at the sight of his octagon surcoat. The street widened into a cobbled square with a slender bell-tower in the center. They found seats on stone steps in front of a large building. Kath sat between the two knights, mesmerized by the spectacle of jesters and mimes working the crowd, evoking pockets of laughter while holding their caps out for offerings. Kath caught a tantalizing whiff of spiced chicken. She traced the scent, surprised to find that it led to a hawker selling grilled lizards impaled on sticks. The lizards smelled tempting but the sight of their jiggling yellow limbs spoiled her hunger. A blare of horns split the air and a rumble of drums signaled the arrival of a procession. Heralds bearing black standards emblazoned with white spirit hands led a procession of dancers and musicians into the square. Bare-chested men pounded drums and women in long flowing gowns blew odd-shaped horns creating a discordant din. Dancers in bright robes followed the musicians, ringing bells and waving long silk ribbons. The square dissolved into a confusing spectacle of noise and swirling colors. Three people wearing plain white shifts emerged from a side street, walking barefooted into the square, seeming oblivious to the chaos around them. Ten black-robed officials followed them, carrying a small ironbound chest and two wooden poles. The strange procession circled the square and then came to rest at the foot of the slender tower. The dancers increased their frenzied performance. Horns blared and drums thundered, creating a terrible noise.

  The spectacle was colorful but crazy. Kath leaned toward the black knight and yelled over the noise, “Do you understand?”

  Sir Tyrone tapped the shoulder of a well-dressed man sitting in front of him. “Sir, we’re strangers to the Isle. Do you know the meaning behind the ritual?”

  The man turned, revealing a moon-shaped face and a jovial smile. His eyes widened at the sight of Sir Tyrone. “Of course! My pleasure, Sir Knight! Merchant Hanley at your service, purveyor of exotic spices and other rare goods. I always come for the Festival of Mystics, wouldn’t miss it for a fistful of silver.” He flashed a ringed hand toward the square. “Everything has its purpose. The noise and the wild dancing attract the spirits beyond the veil, enticing them to come to the human side. The three people dressed in plain white shifts are the mystics. They walk in a trance communing with their gods.” The merchant’s voice turned serious. “The mystics must be linked to the spirit world in order to survive the test. The old woman, Tabbetha, is one of the best palm readers on the Isle. I go to her myself. She comes highly recommended. The red-haired man is a crystal ball gazer, but I don’t know the other one. Of course, the black-robed men are the masters of the Guild of Mystics. They judge the proceedings. Let’s watch and see if the spirits grant the mystics the strength to pass the test.”

  In the square below, one of the guildmasters used a key to open the chest. Reaching inside, he extracted thirteen long knives. Holding each knife aloft for the crowd’s inspection, he then used it to slice a spicemelon in half, proving the sharpness of each blade. Once tested, the knives were fitted between the two poles. Kath gasped in disbelief as understanding struck; the knives were the rungs to a ladder! With thirteen knife-rungs, the ladder stretched to twice the height of a tall man. The guildmaster set the ladder against the slender tower. He split a final spicemelon across a rung, proving that the razor-sharp edges pointed up. A second black-robed master paraded a pristine white cloth around the square, placing it at the foot of the ladder.

  Silence struck like a thunderclap. The musicians and dancers crumpled to the cobblestones as if all the energy had been sucked out of them. Then a thin gray-haired woman, the oldest of the mystics, approached the ladder. Kath held her breath, watching. Barefoot, the old woman began to climb, as if the rungs were made of wood instead of sharp steel. Kath expected a gush of blood but the mystic climbed without any sign of pain or injury. Reaching the top, she stepped onto the platform of the tower and pulled a bell rope. A deep sonorous tone filled the square. Then, without hesitation, she climbed back down the knife-ladder, stepping onto the white ground cloth before collapsing into the arms of a guildmaster. Kath craned forward, expecting to see a trail of bloody footprints. Even Sir Blaine let out a gasp of surprise when the cloth remained unsoiled. A guildmaster picked up the unsullied cloth and paraded it around the square like a victory banner. The crowd roared its approval.

  The fat merchant turned to give them a smug smile. “I knew Tabbetha would pass! The guildmasters will paint a new spirit hand on the lintel of her shop this evening, certifying her for another year.” Giving the black knight a conspiring smile, the merchant said, “It’s a pretty convincing test. No charlatan would dare climb the ladder of knives! It’s why I travel all the way to the Isle to have my fortune told. I wouldn’t trust a fortune teller not certified by the Guild. If you’re smart, you’ll look for the spirit hand when you select a mystic. Worth the extra golds to get a true reading.”

  Sir Tyrone asked, “Has anyone ever failed the test?”

  “Oh my word yes! It wouldn’t be much of test if no one ever failed. The last time I was here, one man made it half way up the ladder before he lost his link to the spirit world. Blood everywhere! He lost half his foot! Never trust a mystic who’s missing a foot!” With a knowing wink, the merchant turned back to watch the rest of the trial.

  Kath and the two knights looked at each other, not quite sure what to believe. By unspoken agreement, they stayed to watch the remaining two mystics complete the ritual. Both passed the test without leaving a single bloody print on the white telltale sheet.

  With the trials complete, the guildmasters invited the crowd to touch the rungs of the ladder and test the keenness of the blades. Most began to disperse but a few skeptics made their way toward the ladder. Kath and the two knights joined the skeptics. Sir Blaine reached the ladder first, running his finger across one of the blades. A fresh sheen of blood appeared on the knife-edge. Kath stood slack-jawed, staring at the bloody knife-rung.

  Sucking his finger, Sir Blaine shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know how they did that. Those knives are keen enough to split a hair.”

  Hope bloomed in Kath. “Does this mean it’s true? Can the mystics really see the future?”

  Sir Tyrone answered. “I don’t know, Imp. The knife-ladder seems real enough to me. If there was a trick I didn’t see it.”

  Stubborn in his skepticism, Blaine said, “Now that we’ve seen this mummer’s farce, what do we do next?”

  “Why not join us for an early dinner?” suggested Sir Tyrone. “Afterwards I can take the Imp to the Street of Mystics to have her fortune told.”

  Kath and Sir Blaine followed the knight back to the Street of Merchants. The noise and bustle seemed to have increased by ten-fold. Cries of, “Love potions for sale!” and “Amulets of protection!” competed with the conversation of the crowd. Tables jutted out from stores fronts, thrusting displays of wares into the flow. Merchants extolled the virtues of their goods while buyers dickered for better prices. Buffeted by so many colors and sounds, everything vied for Kath’s attention. Trailing behind the knights, she stared enthralled. One hawker, an old man dressed in flowing robes, caught her attention. “Magical swords blessed by priests of Valin! Guaranteed to bring you victory!” Kath wormed her way through the crowd trying to get a closer look. Swords gleamed on a velvet-draped table. Elaborate hilts wrought with roaring lions and wingspread dragons proved tempting, but Kath knew the true worth of a sword was in its blade. Curious, she reached for a scabbarded short sword when she heard a strange snuffling sound at her elbow. Thinking it was a dog; Kath looked down and found herself staring into the up-turned face of a weird little man sniffing at her clothes. Cruel eyes and yellow teeth filed to sharp points flashed up at her like an evil goblin. Pawing at her tunic, the goblin-man hissed like a cockroach.

  Recoiling, Kath pulled away, but the goblin-man scuttled after her. “No!” She reached for one of her axes while scrambling backwards and then tripped and f
ell hard on the uneven cobbles.

  The two knights charged through the crowd. Sir Blaine unsheathed his great blue sword and cleared a space while Sir Tyrone got Kath to her feet. Rising, she scanned the crowd, searching for the goblin-man but there was no sign of him.

  The black knight gripped her arm. “Are you all right?”

  Kath nodded, clutching her throwing axe. Sir Blaine sheathed his sword and the crowds surged back around them as if nothing had happened. Sir Tyrone steered Kath toward the nearest tavern, his hand firm on her arm. Entering the tavern, the black knight commandeered a table in a quiet corner and ordered three meals of the standard fare. Once seated, the words rushed out of Kath. “I thought a dog was sniffing at me, but it turned out to be this strange little man, grinning with pointed teeth.” Her heart raced, remembering. “I thought he was going to bite me! He looked like a goblin…but goblins are only myths, aren’t they?”

  Sir Tyrone said, “Goblins are only a myth, but you should never have left our protection. The Isle of Souls is a strange place, attracting all sorts. There’s no telling what you saw.” Glancing across at Sir Blaine, the black knight said, “We need to stay vigilant until we get off the Isle.”

  Their conversation stopped as the serving girl brought their meal. The standard fare turned out to be lamb stew with a loaf of crusty bread and a mug of cider. Suddenly ravenous, Kath set to eating. The savory stew dulled her fright. Between bites, Kath said, “I still want to have my fortune told.”

  “A midget with pointy teeth is chasing you and you still want to have your fortune told?” Sir Blaine shook his head. “I say we go back to the inn and call it a night. I’ve had enough mumbo jumbo for one day!”

  “Surely I’ll be safe with two knights of the Octagon?”

  Blaine grimaced. “I’ll tell your fortune and save you the golds. You’re going to Lanverness to foster in the queen’s court and then your father will arrange a good marriage. What more is there?”

  Kath glared at him. “You don’t understand. I have to find a way forward.”

  Sir Tyrone interceded, “Let her have her fun, Blaine. We’ll go to the Street of Mystics and then head straight back to the inn. The night is still young and with two knights for escort I’m sure she’ll be safe. What do you say?”

  With a shrug, Sir Blaine gave in. They finished their meal and paid the fare, making their way out into the evening crowd. The Street of Mystics had a very different feel from the Street of Merchants. Narrow and crowded with small, intimate shops, it teased the mind instead of bludgeoning the senses. Windblown chimes added melody to the mystery. Lanterns gave off a soft yellow glow. Subtle smells of incense wafted like an enticing hand. The street delighted the senses, offering the promise of mysteries waiting to be revealed. Kath was enthralled. Turning to the black knight, she asked, “So how should I choose a mystic?”

  “Be guided by your feelings instead of your mind. When you feel drawn to a place that’s where we’ll stop.”

  Kath walked down the street drinking in the sights and sounds, searching for a rightness she couldn’t explain. Attracted by the pleasant sound of chimes, she stopped at a set of steps descending to a small shop. A blue lantern shining from the window cast a welcoming light and the white spirit hand marking the lintel seemed to beckon her. “This one.”

  “I’ll go in with you while Sir Blaine stands guard.”

  Kath opened the shop door. A bell chimed and the soothing fragrance of burning pine boughs reached out to greet her. Parting a curtain of beads, they entered a small room lit by the glow of many candles. A blonde-haired woman swathed in a colorful robe sat cross-legged at a low square table, patiently shuffling a deck of cards. “Be welcome in my house, may you see the future clearly. Please be seated and tell me how I may serve you.”

  Intrigued, Kath settled into a mound of colorful pillows. Sir Tyrone stood behind her, a comforting presence at her back.

  The woman shuffled a worn deck. Her hands were long and elegant, the rings on her fingers catching the light of the candles. “My name is Samantha. I see the future through the tarot. My cards are keyed to the forces of Light.” The woman stared at Kath, her pale hands expertly mixing the cards. “Since you seek the wisdom of the Light, you are welcome in my house. For the price of five golds I can help you see the future in the face of the tarot. Do you wish to continue?”

  The price seemed exorbitant but Kath placed the coins on the edge of the table. The mystic smiled. “The cards of the tarot tap into the spirit world, uncovering the meaning and direction of our lives. Ask a question of the cards and it will be answered, but think first and ask wisely, for the cards will only answer one question.”

  Kath didn’t need time to think; she knew what she wanted to ask. The question had always burned inside of her. She nodded, waiting for the woman to give her permission to speak.

  As if reading her mind, the mystic said, “If you have a patron god, hold the image of that god in your mind and speak your question out loud.”

  Thinking of the warrior god, Kath said in a firm voice, “Is it my destiny to wield a sword? Where is the war helm?” Kath stifled a gasp, she’d meant to ask only one question but the second had slipped out.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You tempt the gods with two questions not one. But the Questioner has spoken.” Pushing the deck across the table, she said, “Cut the cards into three stacks, one for things that have already been, one for things that are now, and one for things that are yet to come. May the spirits guide your hand and may the cards fall true.”

  Kath did as she was told. The fortune teller drew the top card from the second stack and turned it face up, revealing the Three of Swords, a woman in armor clutching a great sword. “This represents the Questioner as she is today. The girl stands alone, clutching a sword with determination. Her expression tells us that she did not acquire the sword easily.”

  Kath stared wide-eyed, amazed by the truth of the card.

  Turning the second card in the stack, she revealed a grotesque winged creature hovering above the tormented souls of the damned. The Devil covered the Three of Swords like a curse. “The Dark Lord has seen you through the eyes of his servants.”

  A sudden tapping sound came from the window. Kath jumped, darting a glance toward the glass, but it was only a large moon-moth battering itself against the pane, attracted to the candlelight.

  The mystic drew the top card from the stack of the future, displaying a mighty great sword clutched in the hand of a mailed fist. Kath’s eyes widened, recognizing Valin’s symbol. “The Ace of Swords represents a triumphant conquest. Victory by force of arms is the Questioner’s potential destiny but first the challenges of the gods must be met.”

  “Now we look to the past.” Turning the top card of the first stack, the mystic revealed an inverted font of water pouring out of an ornate chalice. “The inverted Ace of Cups symbolizes the absence of a mother’s love. Love pours out of the chalice and is lost to time. This loss will influence you for all the days of your life.” Kath stared at the golden chalice, wondering how so much could be revealed by a single card.

  Jeweled hands reached for the next card. “This card represents your allies in the struggle to achieve your destiny.” The card revealed a winged woman triumphant on a mountaintop. “Justice, the winged goddess Marut hovers at your side. A powerful ally, but one that is often slow to take action.”

  “This next card represents the Questioner’s inner most hopes and desires.” Kath held her breath, desperate for answers. The card revealed a crowned woman wearing armor and holding a great sword aloft. “Relying on her hidden strengths, the Queen of Swords forges her own destiny in a world of adversity, ruling by the might of steel. This card indicates that you will achieve your goals but only after facing great challenges.”

  The words stirred Kath’s soul. Destiny reached for her in the form of a riddle. A queen of swords, a steel queen, yet Castlegard was only ever ruled by kings.

  “This next
card represents the greatest challenge facing the Questioner.” Turning the card, the woman revealed a prancing jester. “The Fool is always chasing a dream that seems just out of reach. The Questioner must decide if her dream is worth the price. Dreams are seldom achieved by walking the safe road. Remember this when the time of choice is upon you.”

  The fortune teller’s hand hovered over the cards of the future. “And now we come to the last card of the reading. This card is the essence of everything. It represents the gods’ answer to the Questioner.”

  As the mystic reached for the last card, the candles in the room began to flicker and a frantic tapping came from the window. A winged shadow passed across the mystic’s face, distorting her features. Her ringed hands convulsed on the tabletop, scattering the cards in all directions. Jerked suddenly upright, the fortune teller began to speak, but the voice was not her own. A raspy, masculine voice whispered, “Remember!”

  The sound of the voice sent shivers down Kath’s back.

  “Remember the time between! You are an old soul, a chosen of the Lords of Light. Stand fast and remember your purpose. Never relinquish the gargoyle; it is a gift of the Light. Keep it close always. Seek the fox in the forest and the wolf in the high mists, both will aid you. Answer the call from the mountains, but beware…the Ancient Evil awakes behind the safest walls. Remember!”

  Sir Tyrone reached past Kath to shake the woman.

  The raspy voice said, “The Light sees you Sir Knight. Your destiny lies with the Queen of Swords. Guard her well!” An unseen hand snuffed out the candles, plunging the small room into near darkness.

  The fortune teller shuddered. “The cards?” Her voice was normal but confused. “Why are the cards strewn everywhere?”