Petra of the Shazastar is a thief on the run from an unforgettable past. But, like all thieves, her luck cannot last forever. When she is caught, she's given a choice: either face execution or become the fortune teller to the Mad Queen.
Not surpri...
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SABOYKAN BUILDS A SMALL FIRE. In it she throws earthy smelling powders that change the consistency and color of the flames. I watch them flicker and fizzle in fits of green, orange and blue.
"Don't come too close."
But I pay the old woman no mind and sit with my arms around my knees. The old Zingari is sure that she can help me. If she truly knew what I was capable of, if she knew of my horrors, would she even bother?
"As I said before, you have one gift and its greater than anything we can ever dream of possessing. "
"A curse."
"It is a matter of perspective, Petra. If you had been born and raised amongst people more accepting and knowledgeable of what you are, you would be singing a different tune, entirely."
After finishing with the fire, Saboykan hands me a small flower -- dewy and fresh. I hold it and say, "I am a lady of fancy tastes, Zingari. Pearls are more my flavor."
Saboykan sits crossed legged facing me. "What can you do with this little flower?"
I twirl it between my fingers. There are many things I could do. I could step on it. I could throw it back at the Forest Zingari's face. Instead, I throw it into the fire and watch it fizzle and burn away into nothing but ash.
"Hmm." Saboykan only shrugs and says, "Well, my dear I want my flower back."
"Take your pick, Zingari. There's plenty in the meadow, no?"
I know that I am being unfair, uncourteous, unkind, but I do not like reliving my past. I do not care to being manipulated by an old prune.
Saboykan does not change her mild indifferent demeanor, but there is a change in the air. A cool breeze, a warning breeze, and even I know I must take heed.
"My dear," the old Zingari murmurs. "I want that flower back."
The old Zingari woman is capable of more than just parlor tricks and healing magic, of that I am certain, however, what she was asking me to do...
What she wants to see...
I close my eyes, hoping all this would just disappear – that I could just disappear. "I cannot just bring it back, Saboykan." But my plea is weak, even to my own ears.
"What of the mutilated monkey and the dying boy. Do not play coy. You can bring me that flower."
It is as if she had slapped me. A sharp jolt pierces through my heart and down my abdomen. I heave and try to regain my breath. I stand and trip over an exposed tree root that I could have sworn was not there before. I scurry away from the fire and the old woman as the memories play and replay before me.
