The Seer

And some of us are very hungry now,

to hear what it is you've done that was so wrong

"And there you will meet a stranger from a distant land. His soul is troubled and his heart is tired from many battles fought and lost." A quick glance at the middle-aged woman's face told Eva that the dream was accepted, even embraced, and she kept talking, spinning her little tale around this woman with the shining eyes. Kind eyes, Eva thought, warm eyes without anyone to shine for except the flowers in the window and a cat sleeping by the fireplace.

So, Eva presented to her the dream of love. In the end of the session, the woman lifted her hand and placed it over Eva's; for a few brief seconds she squeezed her hand. "Thank you," she said in a soft voice. "Even though it's just a story." A smile played in the corner of her mouth as she lowered her head, looking embarrassed.

"How do you know it's just a story?" Eva replied, cocking her head. "It's incredible what we can find if we just learn to look for it."

When the woman was gone, Eva stretched her aching back before picking up the pipe from her handbag. She'd been sitting for eight hours straight and her old back problem was starting to make itself known. Stuffing her pipe, she walked over to the entrance of the tent and looked out at the crowds, now scattering. It was six o'clock and the sky heavy with rain. Time to go home soon.

The fair was an annual event, and each year Eva would be here, placed on the outskirts of the grounds. Each year she'd wait for them: the lonely, the bored, and those who only wanted to kill twenty minutes before heading home. No matter why they came, she made it a matter of honour to have her guests leaving in a better mood than when they arrived. She gave them what they wanted, and sometimes even what they needed - and she was good. "Dreams are what make it all worth while," she would say to her husband, though he'd only give a grunt in response.

"I'd wish you leave those things alone," he said some times.

The thick clouds dimmed the light in her tent, and as a hard rain began to fall she sat and lit the pipe. She leaned back in her chair, blew out a ring of smoke, and watched it ascend to the roof of the tent and dissolve into nothing. One more hour and Reg would come and pick her up. When she got home, she would lie down on her bed for a while and take a nap; then she and Reg would sit up late with a bottle of wine. That's what they did every year.

"Do you have time for one more?"

She turned to see a boy, not older than fifteen, standing right outside the tent. Chubby and small for his age, his dirty blond hair soaking wet and hanging down in his face, making it difficult to see his eyes. He seemed to be measuring her, detached but not unfriendly. Wiping his hair out of his eyes, he stepped into the tent, taking a closer look at the crystal ball on the little table. He reminded her of a drowned animal.

"Of course." She gave him her most reassuring smile, and waved him towards the chair opposite from her. "Would you like the quick version, or the full half an hour?" She winked at him, something that seemed to surprise him a little.

"I've done this myself lots of times," he replied. "I don't really believe in it; all I need is shelter from the rain." He took off his wet jacket and hung it over the back of his chair before sitting down. "No offence," he added as an afterthought. He stared at the tablecloth, as if he didn't know what to say next.

"Well, since you're not looking for the crystal bowl, maybe you'd like a cup of tea?" She failed in making her voice as cheery as she wanted; it ended up sounding artificial and strained. She was tired, most of all she wanted to go down to the phone booth and ask Reg to come for her - a look outside the tent opening made her change her mind, though. "I haven't eaten in almost ten hours, and I get grumpy as an old goat if I don't get a sandwich from time to time..."

Was that the hints of a smile on his face? In that case it disappears quickly, she thought as she picked out the thermos from the bag under the table. She poured them both a cup of lukewarm tea, and with a quick glance at her he accepted it. The way he held the cup between his hands told her that they were cold.

"So, you don't believe destiny can be foretold, yet you have done it many times yourself," she said. "That sounds a bit odd. Why would you want to bother with it, then?"

"Someone taught me. She was very...insistent that I'd learn it. Besides, my parents wanted it," he replied while studying his fingernails. "It's a bit difficult to explain, they're like that in my family. I know what it's about; I know you only tell people what they want to hear." His eyes met hers, for a second they seemed almost accusing.

"And you think that's wrong of me." Her voice was calm, but it was a controlled calm; she started to get annoyed now.

"I don't know," he answered with a shrug. "It's not my business what people do with their own money."

"You see... What's your name?"

"Peter," he answered as he gave her a wary glance. He'd probably picked up the change in her voice. She took a deep breath before talking again.

"Well, you see, Peter, dreams and fantasies are funny things. They aren't real, and still they can be the only things that make people continue when life is too difficult. When all you want is to lie down and never get up again, a dream of something better can make you get back on your feet."

"I know that," he replied, and moved on the chair as though he found her words uncomfortable. She saw him glance at the entrance to the tent. He wants to get up and leave, she thought to herself. But big, fat drops of rain kept hammering on the cheap canvas, and an impressive puddle of water had gathered right outside the opening.

Eva closed her eyes. "Sorry, love, I'm tired and a bit snappy right now. I don't mean much with it, I just need some fuel." She picked up a tin can from the bag that never seemed to be empty, and picked out a ham sandwich. She offered him one, but he just shook his head. She decided to play safe. "So, where's your Mum and Dad? Or your friends?"

"Nah, I'm alone," he replied. "Dad will pick me up in an hour."

Again he got that lost expression on his face, and Eva's heart softened. Leaving a kid alone in the rain like that... Then again, he wasn't a little child anymore, and the young people of today were tougher than she'd ever been. Even so, she felt a little moved that this boy had picked her tent to walk into. "Well, since you're here, we might as well get the fortune telling over with." She gave him a smile again, but he suddenly looked embarrassed.

"I don't have much money left," he said. "Nothing, actually. Really, I don't need it..."

"Oh, just for a laugh," she replied and discreetly wiped the grease off her fingers on the damp tablecloth. She reached out her hand at him, and when he hesitated, she snapped her fingers at him. "Come on, I haven't got all day!"

With a little smile he gave her his hand, and continued studying her face while she took hold around his wrist and pulled him closer. It seemed like she'd woken his curiosity; he too looked closer at the palm of his hand. "What do you see, then?" he asked, covering up his interest behind a facade of indifference that she saw through at once.

At first it appeared to be just another ordinary palm, but she soon saw how short his lifeline was. Near the middle the curved fate line abruptly cut it off. She saw death. Although it would not be him that died - the life line came out clear and strong on the other side. A parent or a sibling, perhaps. The cross made by these two lines stood out to her so clear that the other lines seemed to fade in comparison, as if this event was the only thing that mattered in this boy's future.

"What do you see?"

"You will have hard times, but you'll pull through," she replied, focused on her task. "Though it will have an impact on the rest of your life." She felt confused; never before had she seen such a sharp clear cut, and she didn't know what to make of it. Careful to keep her amiable expression, she looked up at him. "Let's try the crystal ball instead, shall we?"

His upper lip made an almost imperceptible curl. Was that all you could come up with? his eyes said, half humorous and half a scoff. "Whatever."

The crystal ball was an heirloom in Eva's family; it came from her great grandmother, who made her living by telling fortunes more than a hundred years earlier. According to the family stories she'd been quite the witch, Eva's grandmother even claimed she'd seen her on a broom once. The idea was ridiculous, of course, but Eva loved these stories - several times she'd been convinced she'd seen the old woman's face in the cold glass.

She let her hands touch the cool crystal and closed her eyes for a minute, trying to clear her mind. She could feel the boy's eyes upon her face, and the notion disturbed her concentration. Frowning, she decided to give him the same show as the others: success, girls and money, everything a teenaged boy could want. As he'd said himself, she gave people what they wanted to hear.

She stared into the clear glass. "You're a man of ambition, I see," she lied; she didn't see anything. Sometimes, when she was lucky, the glass could fill with shadows - indistinguishable figures moving around, as if she was watching people in the distance on a very foggy night. "Your expectations might be somewhat unrealistic, but if you work hard you'll get what you want in the end."

She glanced at him to see how he took her nonsense prediction; he looked bored and was once more looking at the entrance. The rain still hammered against the surface of the tent. When she returned to the crystal ball, she saw the shimmering grey shades again. For some reason she didn't feel surprised. "I see men in black coats," she continued as the images inside the orb became clearer. "No, it's...cloaks?"

The boy slowly turned back to her, measured her with pale blue eyes that didn't give away anything. In silence she cursed his blank face; how was she supposed to give him a good reading when he didn't open up, when he gave her nothing to work with? Once more she gazed into the crystal, and saw the shadows becoming clearer than ever before.

It felt strange, as if she was witnessing something she wasn't allowed to see, like a voyeur in a bathroom window. An unpleasant tingling sensation crept upon her. In the orb it was night. A black cloth disturbed her vision, as if she was standing behind someone, peering out from behind him - she could almost feel the texture in the fabric. One part of her wanted to push this person aside to get a clear view of what was going on, the other part of her wanted to close her eyes and forget.

Something terrible happened behind the man's body. She could feel it, like a weight pressing her down.

"What do you see?"

His voice startled her, for a second she'd almost forgotten about him. She tried to pull herself together. Should she tell him? Her grandmother had once warned her not to take the shadowy images too seriously; they always seemed to appear straight out of the blue, and could just as well represent the fortune-teller as the customer. But never before had they been so clear, so distinct in each detail. Oh, Gran, what would you have done?

She made her decision. She was nothing but a cheap fortune-teller, a simple housewife who made a few extra pounds by telling people nice stories. Eva dealt in dreams, not witchcraft, besides she didn't have the faintest idea how to interpret what she saw. "I see a long journey," she said with a firm voice. "Across the sea into new lands. A great adventure awaits you there..."

Her voice stopped in the middle of the sentence. She felt a force from the crystal ball; a force she'd never encountered before and didn't understand. There was someone, or something, hidden behind the person in the crystal, a presence she could not see, or didn't want to see. She got the image of a monster, a hideous beast - and then the person blocking her view moved.

A man was standing there. Not the monster she'd expected, just a man. She could see his face in profile: handsome, but nothing out of the ordinary, dark hair... Fascinated, she stared at him. There was something about this man that was almost mesmerising, an alluring and dark power so strong she could almost touch it. Then he turned toward her - it was as if he stared into her soul.

He scared her. He cannot touch me, she thought. I am safe.

"You will find a young woman," she continued, fumbling with the story she'd decided to give him. "But I warn you, she's not what she gives herself out to be..."

"No one is," Peter muttered.

The scene before her changed; the man faded away, only to be replaced by another. At first she couldn't tell them apart, but then she saw that this second man was younger, barely of age. He stared at a figure on the ground and around him the black cloaks moved like flickering shadows, bowing to him - he radiated a coldness that shocked her. It was as though the boy's hate, his malice, was too great for the crystal ball to hold, it radiated from it and onto her skin. Shuddering, she rubbed her left arm with her hand, feeling...unclean.

What a strange word to choose.

Eva looked up at the boy's face, not knowing how long she'd been quiet. He watched her with a thoughtful expression, and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. "I'm sorry," she said and waved her hand as if to dismiss the whole seance. "I'm not feeling very well."

"Well, I probably should be going anyway," he said and got up from his chair. "My Dad should be here soon. Thanks for the tea." He pulled his jacket on as he headed towards the door.

"Peter?"

He stopped in the entrance to look back at her. "Yeah?"

For a minute she just stared, imprinting his features into her mind. "Stay away from men in black cloaks," she said, hearing how weak her words sounded.

He gave her a wry smile. "That'll be a bit difficult; I'm surrounded by them all the time." He gave her a nod and disappeared into the rain.

Eva sat down on her chair and started cleaning out her pipe when she saw that the shadows in the crystal ball were still moving. The images had faded - was that a pair of green eyes? Staring at her with coldness that was overwhelming, and it wasn't directed at the boy any longer, but at her. Eva rubbed her eyes in irritation and when she looked back the image was gone. It'd only been her imagination, then. Perhaps Reg was right; some things in life should be left alone.

Tonight, she'd place the crystal ball in the closet and leave it there for a few weeks. Work in the garden, maybe go visit her daughter and her family.

"Please come soon, Reg," she muttered to herself, not wanting anything more than to just get home to her cosy little flat. She lit the pipe and walked over to the opening in the tent, only to see the boy hurrying across the grounds toward the church with his jacket pulled up to shelter himself from the rain. "Poor child," she muttered. "Poor boy."

*

His father hadn't arrived yet. The place outside the shop was empty except for a few bikes and a miserable black dog, its shaggy fur thoroughly soaked with rain. Peter watched the dog for a moment, before walking up the stairs to the church to hide from the rain again. There were some light patches in the grey sky; the sun would break through at any moment now, leaving the world clean and smelling of wet dirt and purity. He reached out his hand and placed it on the doorknob to the church, testing it. The door glided open, revealing the darkness within. Hesitant, he took a trying step inside.

He'd never been inside a Muggle church before, or if he had been he couldn't remember it. His feet found their way up the path between the seats, and his eyes were fixed at the crucifix above the altar. It was strangely moving, the face of the man hanging on the cross - peaceful and his eyes closed as though he was sleeping; yet blood was running from his forehead.

He'd seen this image before, of course, - how could he not have? - but never like this. He seemed to shine from within, this man, as though the sparse, dim light in the church came from him alone and not from the windows. It's a trick with the light, he thought to himself, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling.

He stood right in front of it now, and to his right there was a bowl of water. Peter reached out his hand and let his fingers break the surface of the water; the soft rippling sound seemed to fill the whole room, and as he raised his hand and felt the water run down his wrists he returned to the man, hanging on the wall. "Where does this peace come from?" he whispered.

Someone coughed to the left of him. Peter turned his head to see a man, dressed all in black, stare at him with a frown. "Beware of men in black cloaks," the woman had said. Peter snorted and walked down, passing the rows of benches. It's all just tricks with the light, he reminded himself.

On the outside he found his father waiting, leaning against the wall of the shop, looking at his pocket watch with an annoyed expression. Without speaking he turned his back to Peter and headed on down the street, and equally silent Peter followed him, not looking back.