The Branded Short Story Part 3
Fenn departed for Bantis early the next morning. Not soon after he had left his home, he hitched a ride with a peddler, who planned on passing through the port city, and after a couple pieces of silver to line his pockets, agreed to give Fenn passage. They shared pleasantries along the way, and by the time they reached Bantis, Fenn had learnt a great deal about the city.
As the peddler’s cart passed through the main gates, the city’s immensity struck Fenn. Compared to the small town he had grown up in, Bantis was unlike anything he could ever have imagined. It bustled with throngs of people choking the wide streets while large airships sailed overhead on their way to offload their cargo at the airfield.
The peddler noticed Fenn gawking and chuckled. “Many people from all over the Southlands and beyond the Obsidian Ocean come here to trade.” He pointed to a woman adorned in strange garments and priceless jewels, sitting in a palanquin carried by suntanned slaves. “Even those of a lavish lifestyle.”
Fenn shook his head in disbelief. “I never dreamed that I would ever visit a place like this. It’s overwhelming.”
“Well, it is the largest trading port in the South, apart from Stolheim, that is. If you’re looking for something, you’re bound to find it here.”
“Where would I even start?”
“Well, if I were you, I would start in the central market. It’s where most trade takes place.”
Fenn smiled. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”
The peddler nodded and directed his horses to a quaint inn.
“This is where we part ways, Fenn.” He gestured to the building. “It’s a decent establishment, and the price is fair.”
“Thanks,” Fenn said, and jumped off the cart.
The peddler tipped his hat. “Take care, and good luck!”
“You too!”
The peddler waved as the bustling crowd swallowed him and his cart. Fenn turned his attention to the inn. It was called The Plucked Goose. He chuckled at the sign before he pushed on the door and entered the building.
The Plucked Goose hummed with activity. Travelers sat at long oak tables, eating and conversing amongst each other while waitresses flitted through the common-room delivering mugs of ale and piping-hot meals. Tantalising aromas wafted through from the kitchen every time its door opened. Fenn walked up to the inn’s service counter and the innkeeper, a large rosy-cheeked woman with wild hair escaping her tight bun, greeted him. He paid for a night’s stay and, after a respite, left the inn with directions, and headed for the market.
The central market sprawled across a large square at the city’s heart. A steady stream of people wound its way down narrow pathways wedged between rows of stalls and caravans crammed up against one another, and spilled into the alleyways that fed off the square. The market had everything Fenn could imagine, from fabrics, fine-crafted jewellery, and pungent perfumes, to produce and livestock. Fenn even passed a couple of vendors selling an assortment of armour and weapons. He perused the stalls as he walked, indulging in the atmosphere.
As he passed a rotund merchant selling spiced wines, the medallion that now hung around his neck grew abnormally warm against his chest. He stopped dead in his tracks and surveyed the bustling market. His eyes settled on a small caravan decorated in charms that hung from its canopy. The medallion grew warmer. Strange, he thought and walked over to the caravan, stopping to look at the hanging sign, Fortunes for Coin. Before he could decide whether to enter, a woman’s soothing voice called to him from behind the veiled entrance.
“Enter, child. I can help find that which you seek.”
Fenn hesitated before stepping through the curtained entrance. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit, cramped interior. Charms and protection wards adorned shelves on either side while a stick of incense slowly burned, permeating the air with the scent of lavender and thyme. At its centre, a tiny old woman covered in a shawl sat cross-legged on a cushion beside a small table draped in colourful tapestry. Atop the table Fenn noticed a pack of tarot cards, and out the corner of his eye a crystal ball nestled amongst a pile of scrolls.
The woman gestured to a cushion with a gnarled hand. “Please, sit.”
Fenn did as she asked, while the soothsayer’s sharp dazzling eyes never left him. He shivered. It felt like she was seeing right through him.
The soothsayer waited for him to settle and said, “I can help set you on the right path, child, but my services are not free.”
Fenn nodded. “How much will this cost?”
She shrugged. “That depends on your reading. The cards have a will of their own. I am merely a vessel through which they speak.”
Fenn frowned. “I don’t understand.”
The soothsayer sighed. “The cards are magical, dear. As with all magic, they put a strain on the one who uses them. So, depending on how much strain I go through, I charge you accordingly.” She eyed him. “Do you accept my terms?”
The medallion burned Fenn’s skin, and he winced. I guess this is the only way forward; he thought.
He took a deep breath and prepared himself. “I do.”
“So be it. Now state your question,” the soothsayer said.
“Where is the object I seek?”
She drew the first card, revealing the Tower. Her eyes clouded over and her voice grew sombre.
“This card represents the location of your lost object, but it also stands for disaster. Be mindful of what lies ahead, child.” She cleared her throat. “Ask your next question. I can feel it eating away at you.”
Fenn hesitated before asking, “Will I survive what’s coming?”
The soothsayer drew three new cards and laid them out.
She pointed to the Chariot. “Your fate is still in your control. But…” Her hand moved to the Magician. “Beware of trickery. Keep a clear sight.” Her hand rested on the fourth card and she shuddered. “Death. A cycle is broken, but the cost might prove too great.”
Blood trickled from her nose. “There is more,” she said through gritted teeth, and she drew one last card.
“The World. Whether you’ll find closure, I cannot see, but the choice will be yours.”
Her body slumped and her breathing grew ragged. Fenn didn’t know what to do. The soothsayer’s head jerked up and her vision cleared with her eyes locking onto Fenn.
“A great darkness has bound itself to you, child. Be careful of the choices you make going forward.”
“I… I know.” He looked down at the five cards. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
The soothsayer shook her head. “It is my path to guide those lost.” She held out a hand. “Now, for my payment. Two gold pieces, if you’d be so kind.”
Fenn hastily fished out the gold, a small price for the information he had received, and handed it to her. She bobbed her head in thanks. Fenn rose from his seat and departed the caravan. The soothsayer watched him leave in silence, a frown etched into her ancient features.
Back outside, Fenn looked out across the bustling market to the golden orb that was the setting sun. He smiled, despite the soothsayer’s unsettling fortune. A tower, he thought. Now I’m getting somewhere.
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