The Fortune Teller - a short story

Hey all! I hope you’re doing well.

Welcome back for another short story set in the world of The Whispering Depths! Same as our last short story set in this world, this story is completely independent from The Whispering Depths, but takes place in the same world.

This time we’re travelling to the city of Marinn on the western shore of Fjorung. One of these days I’ll include a map to make sense of all these locations, but for now just trust me.

We also recently launched our first of many writing guides to help you start on your writing journey! If you want to learn the art of writing but don’t know where to start, they’re a great resource to help you plot your novel!

But, without further delay, enjoy.

The Fortune Teller

Nysandra lay in the evening sun, watching her brother and his friends run and splash and play in the lapping waters of the Myronic sea. She stretched out on the warm marble parapets, watching the foaming waves crash over them, but the young boys only dove under, laughing and carrying on. 

Just as she turned away, shading her face with her hand, she heard thundering footsteps echoing across the courtyard, footsteps she knew all too well. But by the time she recognised them, it was far too late. 

“Nysandra!” Her mother’s cry pierced her ears. “Get over here, now!”

“Gods.” She whispered to herself, scurrying to take cover behind a polished column. 

But she was far too slow. 

The leather sandal flew through the air, catching her square on the forehead as she leapt. She fell to the floor, a messy heap of creased robes and uncombed hair.

Her mother grabbed her by the ear, dragging her to her feet. 

“And where exactly do you think you’re going, young lady?”

“I was just-”

“You were just nothing. That’s the last time you sneak away from your tutors! Your father pays good money for your education, an education I could only have dreamed of at your age. You will not squander it, understand?”

Nysandra grumbled. 

“I asked if you understand, young lady!”

“Yes, mother. I understand.” She chanted in the way that children do, when they know the correct words to say, but don’t believe in them. 

“Good. Now off to bed with you.”

“But mother, the sun is still out! I want to go and play with Kleon and his friends!”

“You should have thought of that before sneaking off! Master Nagistratus waited over an hour—do you know how embarrassing that is? A proper lady does not waste the time of her guests.”

“I’m sorry!”

“I don’t care. Now, to bed with you. Or should I fetch your father?”

“Fine.” Nysandra grumbled, storming to the isolated tower that served as her room. 

Her mother trailed behind, lecturing the girl as they walked. The door slammed behind her with a resounding thud, and she heard the bronze key clink in the door as her mother locked it. 

“I’ll have a servant bring your supper later. Until then you can stay in here and meditate on proper manners.” She heard her mother’s footsteps echo down the corridor, and she was left alone in her empty tower. 

Time slowed to a painful crawl. The seconds refusing to march, every minute an eternal agony, wasting away until she could finally leave again. 

She climbed up onto her small desk to peer out her barred window, spilling ink-pots and scattering loose papers, but she did not care. She stared out at the endless sea, stretching forever into the west. She watched the sky grow dim as the sun arched down below the horizon, sending hues of pastel pink and glowing amber scattering across the clouds. 

She heard faint footsteps outside her door, far too light to be her mother. 

“Psst. Nysa.” The voice of her brother whispered through the narrow cracks.

“What do you want, Kleon?”

“I snuck you some honey fritters from the kitchen. Don’t tell Melanthea, or she’ll smack me with her wooden spoon.” A small bowl of bite-sized cakes, drizzled in warm honey, slipped through the bars on the window of her door. 

“Thanks Kleo.” She took them, savouring the sweet treats as she slumped against the door.

“Sorry we got you in trouble.”

“It’s alright. It’s not your fault. It’s mothers’. She locked me up.”

“I’m still sorry…” She heard him sit on the other side of the heavy wooden door. After a pause, he continued. “Did you hear the news?”

“What news?”

“There’s a man, just arrived in town. He’s a fortune teller, the people say. He set up shop just outside the green gate.”

“A fortune teller?” 

“Mmhmm. That’s what the women in the kitchen said.”

“A fortune teller…” Nysandra trailed off. “I need to see him.”

“Why?” Kleon replied, clearly puzzled by his sister’s statement. 

“I just… I need to. Will you help me?”

“Help you do what?”

“Escape! I need to go and see the fortune teller, I need to know my future! Will you help me or not, little brother?”

“I don’t know, Nysa. Mother said you’re not to leave.”

“You want to make it up to me, don’t you? For getting me in trouble?”

“You said that wasn’t my fault.”

“Well it is. And I’ll only forgive you if you help me.”

“Alright…” He stopped for a moment, contemplating. “Alright, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, Kleo.”

“What do I do?”

“You only need to do one thing. Fetch father.”

It was a long time before she heard the heavy footfalls of her father stomp down the hallway, his strong hand knocking twice upon the wood.

“It’s me.” His voice called. “I’ve brought your supper.”

“Come in.”

The heavy keys jangled as her father turned the latch, pushing open the heavy door and stepping inside. He paced over to her bed, placing a tray of food down and lowering himself to sit beside her. 

“What happened?”

“Mother hates me. I don’t care about her stupid lessons, or becoming a lady. I don’t want to grow up to be like her!” Tears had begun to stream down her cheeks. Her father wiped them away with his thumb, pulling the girl into his lap, wrapping his thick arms around her. He did not feel her nimble fingers slowly reaching for his belt, slowly untying her bedroom key from the leather strap that secured it. 

“Your mother loves you, Nysandra. You test her patience, is all. Why did you not attend your studies?”

“I don’t care about studies, father!” She whined. “I don’t want to be a lady! I want to sail a ship!”

Her father’s beard curled and she felt  his chest tighten as he chuckled. “Do you now? It’s not easy, sailing ships.”

“I don’t care. It’s what I want to do when I’m big.”

“I know, little one. I will make you a deal. I’ll talk to your mother, but you must attend your lessons. If you behave, and go every day for a season, I’ll pay to have a tutor come and teach you sailing.”

“Really?” She almost had it now. One more moment, and the key would be hers. 

“Really. But only if you behave. Do you agree to the deal?”

“I agree.” She sat up, clearing her eyes of the stinging tears. “Thank you, father.”

“I love you, Nysa.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, tucking the small bronze key away under a pillow.

Her father stood and opened the door to leave. “I see your brother’s been in the kitchens again.” He said, nodding to the empty bowl, still lined with honey. “I suppose I had better not tell Melanthea, for his sake.” 

The large man smiled, before closing the door behind him, disappearing back down the corridor. 

She waited until the sun had fully set, and the torches were lit throughout the castle, before she slipped the key from its hiding place. She slid it into the keyhole, slowly turning it to avoid any loud noises. 

Sorry father. She thought. But I have to know.

On tiptoes she crept through the castle, the deathly silence painfully obvious as she snaked her way through the hallways. 

As she moved to cross the courtyard she heard the familiar footsteps of her mother approaching. 

She froze, unsure of what to do. Should I return? She thought. Should I hide? What if she sees me? She’ll kill me!

She pressed herself against the smooth marble of the courtyard wall, slinking behind a plant, desperately trying to control her racing heart.

“That bloody girl.” She heard her mother groaning to herself as she stomped through the courtyard. “What am I to do with her?”

She was sure her mother would spot her, would hear her breath or smell her fear. But her mother continued on, stomping away as she grumbled.

Nysandra let out a sigh of relief, stepping out from behind her plant. She continued on, slinking out the gate, and down the tall stairs that led to the town. 

I have to see him. She thought. I have to know my future. 

She saw the town of Marinn laid out before her, a sea of gentle firelights twinkling in the night. She could see the canals and bridges running through the centre of town, she could see the docks and quays bustling with trade and industry. But she knew where she needed to go. 

The green gate awaited her. 

-

The green gate sat, as it always had, near the northernmost point of the plains that stretched between Marinn and the Third Spire. As she passed through its towering arches of chiseled stone, she saw it. A small tent nestled on the outskirts of the town proper. It may have been small, but it drew her eye in a manner that she’d never felt before. It’s striped walls of purple and blue fabric seemed to pull her attention. No matter where she looked, she always felt herself turning back to it, focussing on it. 

She continued down the trail, growing closer and closer with each step. She could see the vacuous, black hole that served as its entryway, from which no light escaped. There were two small candles held in iron sconces, illuminating the entrance, but nothing else could be seen within. 

She heard the silver voice cut through the cold night as she approached. 

“Come closer child.” She felt her breath quicken, felt her stomach fill with butterflies and her limbs begin to buzz with energy. 

“Wh-Who are you?” She called.

“Come closer, child.” The voice came again. “The threads of fate unravel for those who dare to see.”

She took one, tentative step closer. 

“That’s it. I can answer your question child. You need only step inside.”

“How do you know I have a question?”

“Because you are a young girl who has come to see me. Come in, please. I won’t bite.”

She stepped into the candlelight, gathering her strength. 

She had to know. 

She braced herself, and walked into the tent. 

-

The curtain jangled slightly as she pushed through it, thick smoke bellowing from within. It wafted over her, consuming her entirely. She did not know the smell, but it reeked of dried herbs and foreign spices. She could hardly stomach it, but pressed through the wall of smoke, emerging into the opulent space within. 

The tent was lined with lavish chairs, finely crafted tapestries, exotic fabrics, and expensive adornments. A large table sat in the centre of the small tent, inlayed with gold strings and intricate carvings. 

Behind it sat the slim man, his face hidden beneath the wide brim of his hat. Countless trinkets and jewels suspended on strands of twine and leather cords hung from him, clinking and glittering in the candlelight as he swayed. 

She saw his white teeth grinning out from the shadows. 

She felt her head spinning, felt her legs turn to water as she stood. She wanted to turn, wanted to run back to the castle, but found that she could not. She could barely move.

“Please, sit. Sit and tell me what is it you wish to know, girl.” 

She collapsed into the chair across from him, barely holding her head up. 

“My mother.” Nysandra spoke. “I have to know I won’t be like my mother when I grow up.”

The fortune teller laughed. “Many young women share this fear, girl. But so very often it comes to pass. What is your name?”

“Nysandra.”

“Nysandra… A strong name, for a stubborn young girl, no? Very well, Nysandra. The cards will tell your fate.”

His fingers flared to life, drawing and shuffling a small pile of paper cards, each with the symbol of a singular, purple eye drawn on the back. 

He fanned them and flipped them, performing complicated and spectacular tricks that her eyes could barely follow. He spun the cards in the air, tossed them from one hand to another, then finally lay the deck before her. 

“Flip one.” He said. 

She turned over the first card. Upon its face was a stone castle set on a mountaintop, rendered in marvellous detail. Small pieces of gold glittered in the black ink, sparkling in the dim candlelight. 

“Ah yes.” The fortune teller said. “The card you have drawn is the fortress. This card shows your present. You feel locked away, as if you are held behind stone walls, no? As if the whole world is happening around you, and you cannot escape your prison to experience it.”

“I want to know my future, not my present.” She said, her head still spinning. 

“We will come to that. Draw another.”

“Whichever card I choose?”

“Of course.” The man plucked the deck from the table, opening them like a fan in his fingers.

She plucked one from his grasp, a white dove spreading its wings, a rosemary branch clutched in its claws.

“And another.” The man urged. She pulled another card, a small fire burning within a stone fireplace. 

“The dove.” The fortune teller said. “And the hearth. These cards show your needs, and your restraints. You yearn for freedom, of course! You wish to wander, to explore the world, to escape your little prison. But your family is holding you back.”

“Yes… And?” Nysandra asked. “What about my future?”

“Pull one more card.” The man spoke, holding out the deck for her. “This card will reveal your fate.”

She hesitated a moment, but reached out and slipped the final card from the man’s grip. With trembling hands she turned it over, revealing  a woman’s face, grey and lined with age.

“Ah, yes of course. Now it all makes sense.” The man brushed his chin, pondering. 

“What? What is it?” She asked.

“Hmm, well. Yes, I suppose I can tell you.” He smiled. “This card is very important. It is the 

crone. It symbolises age, wisdom, family, and caretakers. Your fate, it seems, is to follow in your mothers’ footsteps.”

She felt her stomach drop. “So I will grow up to be like her?” She sighed. She felt her eyes begin to well with tears. 

“Perhaps. But only… No, I should not tell you.”

“Tell me what?” She exploded. 

“Well, there is one way to avoid this fate.”

“What is it?” She sat forward, planting her palms on the table.

“But… No. No, it’s too difficult. You wouldn’t be interested.”

“Tell me! Tell me, I’ll do whatever it takes!”

‘“Well, if you’re sure you’re up for it…. Very well. My friends and I, we have this club, you see? Sort of a… travelling carnival, of a sort. We could sure use a young girl like you, for our shows. And, if you sign up with us, we can use our magic to change your fate.”

“Your magic?” Her eyes went wide. “How?”

“Well, it’s simple really. All you need to do is sign this.” He pulled a long roll of parchment from beneath the table, delicate lines of ink crossing and intersecting in sporadic and complicated patterns. At the very bottom of the document was a bold black line, with the label ‘Signature’. 

“What is it?”

“A contract of employment. You will work for us, and this document will secure your future.”

He pressed a quill into her hand, bright red ink dripping from its tip.

“I don’t know…” She said. 

“That’s fine, of course!” He laughed. “If you want to return home, and grow up to be just like your mother, by all means.” He waved his hand, motioning towards the flap of fabric that served as a makeshift door. 

“No, no. I-”

“Then sign.” He removed his large hat now, revealing his gleaming eyes. His smile stretched from ear to ear, showing his pristine, marble-white teeth. 

Her hand trembled, her mind spun. She could not feel her fingers, but watched as her arm bent down to sign. 

The tip of the quill hovered over the paper, dripping red ink onto the parchment. 

“What about my brother?” She asked. The man raised an eyebrow.

“What of him?”

“Can I come back and visit?”

The man’s teeth shone as he smiled, a wicked grin that sent her skin crawling. “Of course, dear girl. You may return as often as you wish.”

Her quill still hovered.

“And my father, I can see him too?”

“Naturally.”

There was an emptiness in his eyes, as she stared.  A vacuous void, she felt as if she stared into a vacant pit, vast and unfeeling. Her stomach overturned, her heart raced.

“I- I don’t think I want to anymore.”

“Why ever not, young one? Surely you don’t wish to stay?” 

Her mind raced, filling with all the memories she had of home. She remembered baby Kleon, bawling in her mothers’ arms. She remembered her father, throwing her into the air and catching her again, her favourite game. She remembered her mother, walking with her on the beach and collecting sea shells. 

“No. I want to go home.”

“Home. I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Why not?”
“Because.” He said. “You’re going to sign that fucking parchment.”

They both froze, staring at each other, before the man’s mouth curled into a wide grin. The man lurched, a silver flash in his hand as he arched down with a knife, aiming to slash at her.

She pushed the chair away from the table, turning and rushing as fast as her legs could carry her. She burst through the tent’s opening, emerging into the cold air of night. She heard his footsteps coming after her, heard him roar as he gave chase.

She took off, not daring to look back. 

She ran and ran until her legs gave out, and still she was spurned on by pure terror. She clambered up the pristine marble stairway that led to the castle, collapsing against the hard stone as one of her fathers’ guards rushed to collect her.

Only then did she look back. Only then did she dare. The man was nowhere to be seen, nor was the tent from which she’d fled. 

They had simply vanished.

-

The door flew open with a crash, her parents rushing into the room, scooping her up in their arms, weeping.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She heard her mother whispering, though to whom she spoke, Nysandra did not know.

“I’m sorry.” She said. Her parents pulled away, eyes still wet and bawling. 

It was her mother who spoke. “No, Nysandra. Gods, no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I forced you to be something you aren’t. When I heard you were gone tonight I was so mad, but only because I was so afraid. I was terrified something might have happened to you, and it was all my fault. We love you, and we want you to be happy.”

“Who was that man?” She asked. She saw the worried look shared between her parents, saw the concern on their faces.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Her father said. “It only matters that you’re safe.”

They hugged her again, so tight she thought they might never let go. But they released her, and she returned to her room. 

All was well, and life moved on.

-

It would by many years before she found out the truth of that night. One evening, while snooping in her fathers’ study, she found an old letter addressed to him from the magistrate of Stone Hill. She unfolded the parchment, reading:

‘My friend, I hope this letter finds you well.

In Hollowhold and Seaview there have been reports of a conman, a trickster who lures children into his tent, and binds their souls to old gods and dark things. A devil worshiper, a blasphemer. He was last seen near the Third Spire, where a young boy went missing. The boy was never found, only a lock of his hair was recovered.

If this monster reappears in any of the Imperial territories he is to be apprehended immediately. 

I know not what dark designs he has in store for his victims, but I know that it cannot be allowed to continue. 

Yours,

Magistrate Ilyrion’

-

That’s all for this week, folks! Thanks so much for reading, and remember to subscribe to our mailing list so you don’t miss any short stories, writing advice, or updates! And remember to check out our writing guide if you want to learn to craft fictional worlds just like your favourite authors.

Thanks for reading!