“He sounds like a great man,” I murmur.
“He was,” she says sadly, and the implication is clear that he’s no longer alive. “In fact, his death was the first glimpse of the future that I ever had. Of course, I didn’t know what I was really seeing. I thought it was just a dream, but I saw my mother kill my father and I didn’t realize I was seeing something that was going to take place until it was too late. After he was dead, that’s when I was cast out of our manor lands, and I’ve been living here ever since. Needless to say, I don’t have a relationship with my mother.”
“I… I’m not even sure what to say to that,” I say, miserable with sympathy. “That’s awful, and it must be terribly lonely.”
Arwen shrugs. “Not too terribly lonely. I’ve made friends with those who live on the fringe. I have a lover, and we’ve been together for a century. People come to see me with problems, and I help them. It’s a life I’m satisfied with.”
“And you can see… despite…” My words trail away, feeling crass for bringing up these morbid curiosities.
Arwen laughs, and it’s not bitter at all. In fact, I’d say she finds me somewhat adorable with my questions. “Despite the fact I have no eyes?”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“I don’t mind,” she says with a quick wave of her hand. “But to answer your question, I was completely blind until the moment I saw my mother killing my father. After that event came to pass, I was able to see as clearly as if I had eyes.”
“And your mother was never prosecuted for what she did?”
“That’s not how it works here,” Arwen explains, giving me another lesson in how brutal the Light Fae can be. “My mother has blood ties to the royal line. My father was in disfavor with everyone for refusing to abandon me. When she killed him, nobody saw anything wrong with it.”
“That’s an abomination,” I exclaim, completely offended on her behalf.
“That’s life in Faere,” she replies with one shoulder raising in a shrug.
Now I clearly don’t know what to say to that. She seems so genuine in her acceptance of a very bizarre and painful life, and it makes me feel that perhaps I too can conquer the strange turn of events I’m facing.
“Do the nobility and gentry come to seek your services?” I ask her, curious if she has any value whatsoever in their eyes.
Arwen shakes her head. “Their lives are perfect, and they can’t see past that, nor do they want to. It’s mostly the poor and outcast I help.”
I nod, admiring her spirit and desire to help, especially when I haven’t seen that as a common value among the fae. “You knew I was coming,” I state, but it’s a curiosity.
“I’ve dreamt of you,” she says, frowning slightly. “Which is odd, because I don’t see realms past Faere, and I’ve never dreamt of a human.”
“And you have the ability to see my future?” I ask her hesitantly.
“I have the ability to see far more than the future,” she replies, holding her hands out to me. Without any misgiving, I place mine in hers. “I also have the ability to see the past. Scrying means I can piece together a story based upon past and future events, but there’s no guarantee exactly how much I can see or how well I can interpret it. Sometimes it’s clear, and sometimes I have to take some educated guesses.”
“And how does it work?” I ask her.
“Shh,” she replies, giving me an impish smile. “Be quiet and let me concentrate.”
I imagine if Arwen were a human on earth trying to see the future, this would be the point she’d gaze into her crystal ball or close her eyes in concentration.
She’s unable to do either of those things, but she goes unnaturally still as she grips my hands.
There’s no swaying, murmuring, or chanting. She’s not putting on a show the way Patty did back at Madame Beaulieu’s shop. Arwen is so still that I can’t even tell if she’s breathing.
And that’s when a red glow starts in the center of her chest. It’s subtle, and I can only see a part of it as her square neckline covers quite a bit. But it lights up from under the fabric and above it gets brighter, then it starts to get larger. As it does, the red fades to an orange, then a warm golden color that starts to expand outward, lighting up the entire domed hut. I gaze around, fascinated at what is a shimmer among the glowing light.
My attention goes back to Arwen, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Eventually, the glow ebbs from her chest, but the shimmering light remains everywhere inside the hut, permeating every square inch. It hangs, starts to pulse, then I watch in awe as it starts to pull in on itself. Coalescing tighter and tighter until there’s a ball of glowing gold above my head.