(what will eventually be) A novel of Amphital

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“Lady Rowan, can you help me?”

Lady Rowan was not Jesca's real name, but it was how she was known at this time, in this place. She glanced up at the shadowed doorway to see the face that matched the voice.

“Come in, child,” Jesca invited. “Please follow me to the parlour, have a seat, and help me to answer your own question.”

She often referred to clients as 'child', though she herself was not that old. Older than she looked, perhaps, but she had heard from many different suitors that she still looked quite young. Some said it was a side-effect of using the Art, though she herself had seen many in whom long use had caused much the opposite effect.

This client, however, merited the term; the lad was perhaps fourteen, possibly younger. She smiled. “You wear quite a dour face for one so young, child. Be calm and close your eyes a moment.” The young man shot her a quick puzzled look, then did as she said. “Now, breathe in deeply, and out slowly, and let some of your problems out with the air.”

Even with his eyes closed, she could tell from the tilt of his head and the momentary furrowing of his brow that he doubted the instructions. But still he did as she asked. “Good, child. And again, a bit more slowly this time.” Sometimes this breathing was all it took for her to help her clients. That or a chance to talk through problems, usually over a cup of tea. Today Jesca felt that it would take more, but still...

“and now, one more breath as you open your eyes. Good, good.” She rang a small silver bell, and after a few moments, one of the curtains behind her parted. “Rosyl, please put on a kettle for tea,” she said as she turned.

“Yes, ma'am”

“And our client could use some privacy. Would you close the curtains behind him there, and watch the shop counter for me?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Rosyl moved toward the front room of the shop, past the far set of curtains, but then remembered the kettle. Oh! she mouthed, but didn't voice, and almost hopped as she spun to return to the kitchen in the back.

“No need for haste, my dear. 'Calming breaths, calming thoughts, and time enough for anything.'” That last sounded like oft repeated advice, but Rosyl did slow down, slightly, as she went about the assigned tasks.

Jesca turned to her client, the young man who sat across the table in her receiving room. “The tea will take some time, child, and I hope you will join me in a cup. Since we have a few minutes, I think we will look into your question.” The young man sat forward in his chair, eager, before Jesca made a small stopping gesture with her right hand. “Sit back, be at ease. One more breath, and then tell me your name”

Though not directed to, the teen again closed his eyes as he took a long breath. “My name's Emer, Lady”

“A fine name, Emer. I have a niece named...” She had said it without thinking, and saw a flash of anger cross the teen's face. She reached across the table to lay a hand on his arm, a soft touch of fingertips. “No, child. I meant no offence. Still, you must be teased often.” She saw the fierce expression quickly melt, replaced with the same yearning expression he first wore when he walked into her shop. “But I think your question goes beyond that.”

She again sat back, and took a moment to look over this youth: an unruly shock of brown hair, a slight frame that just now seemed to be coming into it's growth, and those deep brown eyes, that seemed to be searching, pleading.

“I thank you for telling me your real name, Emer. But from your reaction... tell me, how are you called?”

“My grandfather calls me Trey, Lady.”

Jesca smiled. “Well, that seems to fit you. Your grandfather, he is also named Emer? As was your father?”

Trey nodded.

“Well, I guess each family has it's own burdens,” Jesca continued, “and no doubt this legacy is part of the load you carry. But we shall look into what can be seen, what can be done about this weight that has settled over your heart.”

Jesca got up from her chair, just enough to get a small, silk wrapped bundle from a side table along the wall. She set it down in front of her, made a few quick but measured gestures over it, and then undid the ribbon. Inside of the cloth was a fat deck of cards, which she placed in the centre of the table while tucking the silk handkerchief into her lap.

There was a change in the tone of her voice, almost an echo, as she closed her eyes and said, “You come with questions, with problems. The cards do not have answers. But they may provide some guidance.” She opened her eyes and looked right at Trey. In a more normal voice, she said, “and with some luck they might guide us to your answers. Now let's begin.”


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