Late Night with the Oracle

The door swung open the rest of the way as he peered in. The intense smell of incense burnt his nostrils. A curtain of black beads blocked his view. The whole place must have cost a fortune. Did the oracle have any idea how much black dye cost? He was entirely lost in thought about costs and earnings when he heard a woman clear her throat from within.

“You will enter Wilkes Tempest.” The voice repeated. It was a soft, sort of an alto tone if he remembered what he had learned from music. He stepped past the doorway, the curtain of beads that blocked his vision parted for him. A heavy black veil obscured most of her, but those green eyes he’d burnt into his mind stared back from within he could feel it. The scattered candles cast eight shadows from her body. Which seemed impossible, but he figured it was a trick of the light.

“Oh, it’s you. How are things as an oracle?” He tried to press casual conversation, she stared back wordlessly. “Still telling people their wives will kill them?”

“You will sit and find meanings.” She spoke next, gesturing at a chair opposite her. The table between had a heavy satin cloth over it. He pulled the chair out and sat down gracelessly. The room was stuffy, warmth from the day still lingering he figured. He stared back at her now. Her eyes really were beautiful, the heart shape of her face was visible behind it as well. The veil was a dark lace, her features were half obscured to how her eyes seemed to glow faintly behind it. His mind wandered to see if the rest of what he imagined in the dream matched reality. Her robes were a deep black and obscured her figure from his gaze.

“Your eyes will remain on mine or on the movements of my hands.” She spoke again. She didn’t sound annoyed, but the slightly visible crease of her forehead behind her veil gave it away.

“So they will. Why did you call me that by the way? I don’t have a surname. Certainly not one as grand as tempest.”

“You will be known far and wide by that name. Your legend will reach the stars and drag them down to our humble home.” The oracle spoke again, her tone was monotonous. Wilkes was finding it hard to remain engaged.

“Look Ma’am I’m sure the whole mysterious seer of fates shtick works with others on the island but I really only came around because I couldn’t walk away from here.” He spoke plainly, the oracle tilted her head and squinted at him.

“There is no trickery at play, Sailor. I am she who orates fate. The namer of strings. You are a sailor now, but a legend yet. Speak with respect or leave in ignorance.” The monotony continued, but now she glared at him. He leaned back on his chair, tilting onto the rear legs only.

“Prove it.” He snorted at her. Sure his own magic was a thing, but that was likely explained as a fluke of his origin.

“Your chair will tip and you will fall upon your bandaged right hand. You’ll delay your healing and recovery by a full day because of this.” The oracle spoke plainly, the hint of anger vanishing from her face. The candles scattered around the room flashed to a purple color before returning to their simple orange.

“Sure, likely sto- huh?!” Wilkes tried to continue to sass her but was promptly introduced to the stone tiles of her floor. He caught himself with his lead hand. His right hand. His bandaged hand. He felt something pull, the wound stretched. Fresh blood soaked against it. He righted the chair and returned to sitting in it normally.

“Okay, so you can predict the immediate and obvious future. Some good that does me. Why couldn’t I walk home tonight? Why did I always get turned around to your door?” He was annoyed, and his palm stung. The pain nipped at him and denied his rest. He folded his hands, but obliged in staring into her eyes.

“... I am fated to know you in ways that cannot be spoken, Wilkes Tempest.” She spoke again with that damn surname. Something in his gut stoked angrily. His mother died without a surname. At best he would take Fisherman or Tellish. But Tempest?

“Take off your veil.” He demanded, chewing the words as he spoke them. “Let me be sure you’re the same oracle from the festival. The one that smiled at me.”

“I will not lift my veil until you believe I am who I claim to be. Until you accept answers you do not understand on the surface.” She spoke calmly, her hands folded in her lap. The two sat in a tense silence as the candles that were scattered around continued to burn on, their color having returned to the usual faint orange. He placed his palms on her table, the cloth was soft beneath his fingers. He noticed a faint number eight stitched into the thing. He ignored the odd detail, but compiled it with her eight shadows. Clearly she had a thing for the number.

“Alright, I admit I was being an ass. I’ll humor you being the woman from the festival and not her mentor. I’d rather imagine the beautiful young woman with a glorious scattering of freckles than an old crone joining me for an evening chat.” Wilkes attempted humor again to no response. Even the edge of flirting failed to crack her facade. He tensely held his smile. Her green eyes stared back. The candles flickered.

The drawn out beat of silence held for a minute as the two simply stared. He was about ready to stand and walk away when she drew a deck of cards.

“Wilkes, you will realize these to be a symbol of station and expression of power. A deck of fates. A deck containing the arcana and their associates.” She spoke softly now. She drew five cards and placed them face down. “I will read your immediate future if you would like. Up to two years with accuracy.”

“You know what, sure. If asking about my future is the only way to see you, then I’ll oblige. Show me the first three. That’ll be what, the first year and change?” He asked thoughtfully. She shook her head beneath her veil.

“You will come to know all or none. You will not perceive only fragments, such is to live normally. I offer a sacred glimpse beyond.” The oracle spoke again, and he simply nodded.

“Everything then. Lay the years out in front of me.” He finally surrendered to her. He saw the crinkles of a smile under the veil. The candles changed color clockwise around the room starting behind her. Wilkes couldn’t find a way to explain that trick still, especially if it was one by one.

“The fool, upright.” She announced the first card, the left most one from his perspective. A jester danced in a court on the face of the card. He raised an eyebrow before she explained. “A new beginning, a time of great change.”

“The ace of cups, inverted.” She flipped the second card. A chalice was tipped over and the depiction would have seemed to fill the cup if it were upright, but instead it was spilling outward. “Emotional loss, Emptiness.”

“Third, the page of cups. Upright. You will lead a life heavily associated with water.” She spoke with a hint of humor in the second sentence. He almost asked a question before she raised a hand to silence him. The page stood with its eyes seemingly fixed on him, it held a cup aloft near its head.. She continued to explain the card. “Associated with dreamers and happy surprises.”

“The king of wands.” She flipped the fourth card. A regal looking man sat on a throne. A staff gripped in one hand, the other a clenched fist on his arm rest. She audibly chuckled while looking back over the revealed cards. “Leadership, overcoming challenges, and seeing the big picture.”

“Finally, The Lovers. Upright.” She spoke softly, there was a glint in her eyes from what he could tell. A pair depicted on the card were in a loving embrace. A man with shaggy dark hair and a woman with the same. The woman wore a black dress with golden trim. The man wore a naval uniform. He stared daggers at her. “I… I uhm… assume you know the general meaning. Yet it can also mean unity of cause, and strong relations beyond the purely romantic.”

A single idea nagged at Wilkes. An idea so unscrupulous he nearly laughed at the insanity. The oracle had stuttered. Stuttering was a common thing with women he flirted with. Was she blushing beneath the veil? Did the oracle have a crush on him?

“As promised, you know beyond your understanding now… Wilkes Tempest. I will… remove my veil.” He noticed her hands trembling slightly as she did. He reached across and grabbed her wrist before she could lift the heavy cloth. It felt wrong to force her. To make seeing her face a bargaining thing. That is not who his mother raised him to be.

“Ma’am… I can suffice with just a name. Even if I can’t see your face. Knowing the name you call yourself is enough.” Wilkes’s voice was as gentle as he could manage. In truth his wounds ached, he was tired, he had a full stomach, and he really just wanted to go home. Instead he was half flirting with a woman in such a heavy garb he had no clue if she was even truly a woman or just a vaguely feminine formation of cloth. Neither would surprise him at this point, his life was simply that strange at this point.

“Then my name will be known to you, Wilkes Tempest. I am Meryl of Thellin, the orator of fate.” Meryl told him. The name was entirely unfamiliar, he eased himself back into his chair. Staring at her. She seemed to avoid his gaze now.

“Since we’re on a first name basis, and neither of us have surnames, I guess I should keep asking questions or let you get on with your night?” He asked

“You will do as you always do; as you please.” She responded.

“Then it pleases me to further make your acquaintance, Meryl.” Wilkes spoke calmly, that crooked grin plastered itself on his face. “Can I ask you about specific futures while we chat idly?”

“I will not engage in drabble conversation, but I will announce the results of your intentions.” She responded, tugging the veil further down her face. It was almost like a child with their security blanket.

“Ah, I see. I wish to hunt the Tide Reapers. The ones in blue that ransacked our home. What can you tell me?” Wilkes’s tone shifted to a grave one.

“You will hunt them. Your pray will foxhole itself, and you shall ignite the burrow with a blaze of fury. The atmosphere will heed your call, and rend life from the wicked as you deem it fit.” Meryl spoke in her monotonous tone again. The candles’ flames flipped to purple as she spoke of the future and then returned to their usual orange.

“Hmm, that is information to comfort me, but I what I need to know is how?”

“Your fate has been announced eight times. I cannot announce it further without bringing uncertainty. Such is how the fates see fit.” Meryl responded, there was a hint of apology this time.

“Wait, the chair, the five cards, and that question just now. That’s only seven, where did you- oh no chance you’re counting that?!” Wilkes became flustered, he looked at her in a mix of annoyance and confusion. “Asking you whether I should keep asking questions counted as one?!”

“Indeed.” She chuckled as she gave the answer, he admittedly enjoyed the sound, but refused to give her the satisfaction of announcing that. It was a sweet sound, but one that sounded slightly unnatural to her.

“Guess I’ll be off then. Hope to see you in my dreams again.” He said cheerily as he rose from the table. He began to walk away when she lunged and grabbed his wrist. Her grip was as tight as she could manage. Admittedly, he could’ve simply tugged and broken free but there was something odd about how he clung to her.

“What do you mean by that? You aren’t supposed to have dreamt of me yet.” Meryl sounded genuinely confused. “Please tell me everything from this dream.”

And so he did, as much as he could recall anyways. The night they spent together, to which she waved her hands wildly.

“YOU DREAMT WHAT?!” She screeched, pulling her veil tighter and crouching down behind her table as out of his view as she could manage. He knew undoubtedly she was blushing now.

“Yeah, sorry. I know that’s a weird thing to say, but I thought you knew that I dreamt that. Seeing the future and all.” Wilkes scratched at the back of his head while he spoke. She completely retreated under the table before she spoke again. It was admittedly kind of pathetic, but he couldn’t blame her.

“I did not know that Wilkes Tempest! That is new information! I can see the physical futures, the realm of dreams is not mine to peer into!” She began sniffling beneath the table and he hit himself for it. He crouched down at the edge of the cloth. He weighed his options carefully.

“I also dreamt of marrying the woman I slept with in that dream, and then things turned into a bit of a nightmare.” He admitted sheepishly “I saw you die at the hands of the tide reapers after you gave a prophecy. Something about shattering the spine of a god I can’t remember the name of. About two sons rising to glory and infamy I think. It’s fuzzy at best.”

“What was your bride wearing?” She asked softly from beneath the table. He remembered the same heavy black robes had looked familiar for a reason.

“Oracle robes.” He spoke softly, a gentle sniffle came from beneath the table.

“I… am glad you saw that part then.” Her voice was wavering, and Wilkes felt terrible. A lump formed in his throat as he realized he had no way of comforting the poor woman. He mumbled an apology and began to walk away then. “G-Goodnight Wilkes!”

The call to him stopped dead in his tracks. He swayed his head choosing between staying and going. Comforting her or comforting himself. He met in the middle.

“Good night Meryl. I’ll see you when you next predict it. Gonna try not to be a moment sooner.”

“I know you will.”