by Kaitlyn Downing
It wasn’t insomnia that drew my hands to the Tarot deck in the pre-dawn grey, making them shuffle the well-worn cards over and over. Nor did it press me to consult the dark, shallow bowl of water. That was next, whatever the cards said. Water was a conduit to the Otherworld. No matter what, I would need a second opinion.
The house would wake soon. I needed to hurry.
The iron-bound wooden door swung open, and my lady’s maid, Ruth, entered in my house’s white livery carrying a small tray.
“Good, you’re up,” she placed the tray down, “Your medicine.” She handed me the tiny cup with an added “my lady” at my raised eyebrows.
“To balance my humors?” At her nod, I swallowed the pills without complaint. “How long have I been here?” Memory was a fragile thing, a gossamer thread.
“Since you were seven. Since your parents passed, God rest them. You know that.” She patted my hand gently.
“I don’t remember them.” I struggled to picture them, but their faces were lost in the fog of time. My eyes scanned frantically for the arcane tome bound in brown leather, the most precious gift from them, and relaxed once I spied it on the table. Alfred, Lord Tennyson must have been a great magician. I rose to clutch it tightly to my chest, and crossed to the window.
The view from the highest room in the tower house would have been considered breathtaking to anyone who hadn’t spent her entire life cloistered in it. High on a hill, the pregnant wheat fields golden in the late summer sun, sloping off to the south, oak, ash, and evergreen canopies covering the western side across the river. The old Roman road, shimmering in the heat, snaked along the river, past the crannog that housed the rock fortification of Shalott, bringing farmers and burghers to market.
The future would romanticize it as a castle, but really, it was just a square tower house, with four tiers accessible by a narrow spiral staircase. The only real windows looked south and west on the top two tiers, where the main hall and my living quarters were. Below were servant, guest, and guards’ quarters, and the kitchen, while the ground floor was food and ale storage, mostly, with only arrow slits for light and air.
Other than the large, curtained bedstead, my living chambers held a wardrobe with my cloak and dresses, trunks with bedding and linen undergarments, a weaving loom in one corner, a large cupboard against the far wall, and a long table near the cupboard. A wide hearth cut into the stone of the opposite wall and colorful tapestries kept the cold out, and rushes carpeted the floor.
“How come you’re up so early? Playing with your cards again?” Ruth straightened the room as I shuffled.
“I had a dream. A prophetic one.”
It was the dream that sent me flying out of bed to the cupboard, to the leather bag that held the divination tool, purchased by Ruth on my order from an Egyptian merchant. I recalled the vivid scenes of the dream as I frantically shuffled the cards.
First, the weaving on the loom finished itself. The scene showed a fiery renegade star careening through the night sky while a golden sword glinted in sunlight—an impossibility, an apocalyptic omen.
When I ran to the mirror bowl, stirred thrice, then waited for the water to still, it didn’t take long to see the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I knew, deep in my bones, that he was the instrument of my doom, but somehow, my salvation too. He came with the star.
And the sword. Creation and destruction, inextricable.
The final scene was a boat floating with the current, enshrouded in fog.
“The new physician starts today; his name is Dr. Lance. He’s going to visit you soon.”
I nodded. I had always been sickly, and had always employed a physician or apothecary to balance my humors. I had been feeling a bit phlegmy lately. Ruth opened the shutters and left. Light flooded the room.
Praying the cards would prove me wrong, I took a deep breath before separating them into three piles, then gathered them up again. I laid one card at each quarter and one in the center. I flipped over the first card, the Foundation of the issue. The High Priestess. I knew the dream was from the Otherworld.
The Two of Swords represented the Challenges, and I recognized both the stagnation in which I existed, and the need for change, even dangerous change. I shrank back, feeling overwhelmed. I never left the crannog, had no memory of anywhere else. I had everything I needed right here, and anything else could be purchased. I had orchards, and a healthy garden, and livestock. It’s not like I didn’t have men-at-arms to hunt game and servants to cook and tenants to farm. Besides, everyone knew the roads were dangerous with highwaymen, and the forests rife with evil spirits and demons.
Still, the notion tugged at my mind.
My blood froze when I saw the Action I should take—six swords sticking hilt up from inside a boat as a man stares off in the distance—travel across water, or metaphorically, a spiritual journey to the Otherworld. The boat in the fog.
The Knight of Swords leaped off the card at me, and I immediately focused on the golden sword he brandished from a galloping horse. The beautiful man in my dream. How would he Help me? He didn’t even know I existed. But there he was, on the card and in my dream.
I felt a shiver as my hand hovered over the center card, the Outcome. I clasped my hands to still them, then flipped the card.
All time stopped.
When I could breathe again, Death grinned skeletally from horseback, silver scythe poised for the Reaping. Death.
I knew the Death card didn’t mean death, not literally, at least not usually. Transformation, new beginnings and all that, but death was a transformation, and I couldn’t shake the understanding that for me, it meant both.
And I was powerless to change it.
The mirror bowl only reinforced what my dream had shown. I stirred, I watched, and the Knight with the golden sword smiled down at me. As if in proof, the sky suddenly blackened and I could hear screams of people in the rooms below, and on the road and wanted to echo them.
Ruth rushed in, breathing heavily. “There’s been an explosion…cannon fire, we’re under siege, my lady. We need to get to safety.” She herded me towards the door.
Judgment Day, I thought, and a flaming star rocketed across the devil sky. The first Sign. The Knight with the golden sword and the renegade star. My salvation and my doom, together.
Fear crawled inside me at the thought of dying. I had never experienced anything, had never been anywhere, had never loved anyone. To die without ever leaving this castle…if I was to die, I would die discovering my destiny.
As the newborn sun peeked out, I knew I had to leave now.
He was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, his armor glinting in the shaft of sunlight from the open portcullis, directing servants and men-at-arms alike into large, white wagons. His golden sword shone in his hand, his dark curls clustered around the most beautiful face I’d ever seen.
The boat nestled amidst the rushes as if it appeared from the mists of the Otherworld, as if it was sent for me. Thick vapor swirled around me as I stepped onto the wooden planks and stretched out in the middle. As if summoned, the boat slowly disentangled itself from the reeds and edged into the faster current. The fog intensified despite the boat’s quickening speed, and heaviness suffused my limbs.
“Help! My God, she just jumped in!” I could hear Ruth shouting, but I couldn’t stop the boat even if I had wanted to.
People will say I sang as the boat passed by, but that wasn’t me.
The fog encompassed the boat, and I could no longer see the shore. I drifted in a kind of dream, and time had no meaning. When the boat bumped something solid and finally stopped its momentum, I wasn’t sure it was real. The misty silver curtain shimmered before me, so I almost didn’t hear him exclaim, “I’ll save you!”
A slow coldness crept from my toes, up my legs, as he leaned over me, sword gleaming golden in the fading sunlight, curls like fire. I tried to touch them, but my hand would no longer rise. It grew harder and harder to breathe.
The silver curtain parted a sliver, and my eyes flew to it. Not now, I thought.
“I found you,” I whispered. For a moment, the whole world suffused with a golden glow, and his face filled the space.
The boat stirred, once more inching away from the shore. “Poor girl, and so lovely too,” was the last thing I heard before the curtain parted, my eyes darkened, and the boat coasted into the fog.
Author Bio
Kaitlyn Downing—part fairy, part mermaid, and part cat—spends most of her time in her pool or her garden in Florida with her four cats when she’s not teaching English. Most recently, her work has appeared in Hemlock, 34 Orchard, Circle of Salt, and Flash Phantom.
Leave a comment