Notes from a Soothsayer
[Each chapter of this book details a unique case study in the soothsayer Jeraldine Haverlowe's illustrious career. Its twenty-third chapter is conspicuously dog-eared.] Chapter 23 The Frightened Noble and the Ochre Omen Hereunder I have transcribed a conversation between myself and a young nobleman of my lifelong acquaintance. Typically he came to me for guidance in matters of love and fortune, but his visit to me on one particular occasion stands out particularly in my mind. Himself: Madam, please - what I say to you is true! Myself: Perhaps you'd be so kind as to repeat it - for the record. Himself: The fellow I met was ochre of skin, with ears like an elf and the nose of a half-rotted corpse. Markings like those on a fawn's hide decorated his skin. Myself: I see. And what did he say as he approached you in the - what was it? - misted glen upon your lands. Himself: The fellow - the creature - the man came to me slowly, a blade in his right hand. I was transfixed, as though stricken stiff by some magic. He held the sword below my chin and asked me something I could not understand. I can see it now - the blade, silver as the moon, as a the moon in a lake, beneath my chin - Myself: Calm yourself, sir. You are quite safe. You say you could not understand what the fellow said? Himself: At first, no. No, at first I knew not what tongue he spoke. But he seemed to glean my confusion and tried in Common instead. And he said, 'Tell me now - which plane is this?' It was then I lost grasp of the ghost and fainted directly to the ground. Myself: And then? Himself: And then, when I woke (I know not how much later), he was gone. And I flew to you. Myself: I understand, child. Be not frightened, for you have been visited by a most auspicious omen. Your crops will yield twice their wealth this year. Himself: Truly? But who was he? Myself: He was a figment of your inner daemon, a messenger from your deepest intuition. And he came to inform you of your impending luck. And I tell you, it was so.