The interior of the tent held the same tackiness the Fortune Teller did. There was no electric light source; only a myriad of burning candles placed everywhere and anywhere there was room. Even the table seemed to be from some antique age when the convenience of a foldable table had not crossed anyone’s mind. In true stereotypical fashion the only thing resting on the table other than the candles is a black-backed deck of Tarot cards. Without his noticing, or perhaps he had noticed and his mind had ignored it, the Fortune Teller had sat down behind the wooden table and was looking at the still standing teen.

“Sit down,” he commanded, the voice flat and emotionless now that they had entered his domain.

Unsure as to why the fortune teller made him feel so uncomfortable, Cyrus obeyed, making his way over to the single chair facing the Fortune Teller, picking his way carefully among the flickering candles. Everything seemed so flammable that he had a feeling should he knock one over the whole tent would burst into flames. If the mystic had noticed his caution and discomfort he showed no sign of it as he issued his next command, proffering the dark deck and offering it to him.

“Shuffle these.”

Afraid as to what might happen should he disobey the shady figure he obeyed this command as well, avoiding contact with the pale hand that held the stack of cards and doing his best not to look at the deck as he shuffled. He always felt that contact with someone he did not know absolutely well was something he should do as rarely as possible.

All this is fake, and this fortune teller is a phony… He thought to himself, shuffling the deck unconsciously and looking at the emotionless gaze of the fortune teller, the shadows cast about his robed form offering a slightly ominous feeling ….So why am I so afraid?

As if reading his mind the mysterious figure of the Fortune Teller straightened abruptly, further eclipsing himself in light as he did so. Once this was achieved he gave his next demand.

“That’s enough,” the Fortune Teller stated, gesturing for Cyrus to set the deck on the table. This having been done he set his hand on the deck and directed his invisible gaze onto the teen. “And now you will receive your answer.”

Placing the first card face side up on the table he revealed a brilliant illustration that contrasted with the simple black backing. Seeming to almost illuminate the room alongside the candles was a bright and vibrant star hanging in a black sky above a castle that looked dwarfed in comparison. There was no writing below it, nor any scroll to tell what card it was. Even so the explanation seemed somewhat redundant.

“The Star.”
Saying nothing else the Fortune Teller continued, pulling four more cards
and spreading them below the first in a horizontal line. Looking at them Cyrus noticed the first two seemed to be related, the first showing a couple embracing. What was strange was that the female seemed to be the girl he had seen is his dreams while the man’s identity was hidden behind plates of silver armor. There was something sorrowful in the way they held each other, and the card beside it showed why. The same armored man was now seen pinned to a wall, a jagged sword having penetrated even the thick armor and gone straight through his chest. All too vividly the card showed the extent of the damage, a deep red stain marking where the sword had made its entrance. Hoping for something less morbid Cyrus moved his brown eyes to the next card and was relieved to see an illustration mimicking that of a goddess from the Greeks and Romans. A silver haired maiden could be seen holding a crescent shaped object, its golden color much like the moon. Behind her, a backdrop of stars made her seem at home, and he thought that surely this was the picture long-ago deceased societies saw when they looked up at the sky. Hoping the next was just as idyllic, Cyrus was disappointed to see depicted an almost ominous vision. Riding across a purely celestial road was a stern man, appearing severe in every aspect as he reined in a pitch black horse. Soaring above him was a comet, its glow obscuring any facial aspect of the man who was driving a chariot.

“The Lovers and the Fool,” the Fortune Teller stated, indicating the first two cards before the two beside those, “and the Moon and the Chariot.”

Continuing to withhold explanation he moved on, setting the next two cards below the line of four, continuing some unknown pattern.

Though the first five cards had been relatively normal and offered no reason for Cyrus to be afraid, these made his fear almost tangible. The first card depicted a terrible looking man, red hair flowing about his face which was pulled into a cynical smirk at whoever viewed the card. Curling forth from his forehead was a set of diabolical horns. His armored body spread in mock crucifixion somehow still managed to look menacing as a cape billowed about him giving the impression of wings. Like the silver armored man, the simple black leather armor he wore made him seem powerful, but unlike the silver armored man it also made him look deadly. Resting beside this foreboding card was one terrifying in its simplicity. Resting atop a hill was a single stone tower, it’s upper reaches clawing towards the starlit sky, a silhouetted figure standing atop it and looking down at the slumbering world.

“The Devil in the Tower.”

As if it held no real significance, the robed figure moved to continue, stopped only by the fearful hand of Cyrus. He was not sure why he did it, but he had reached out and grabbed hold of the arm as it reached for another card. Sorting through his fears he realized why; he did not want answers if they were going to be so ominous.

“Stop,” he stated, trying to hide the uneasiness in his voice, “I don’t want to see anymore.” He was met with the unfaltering gaze of the Fortune Teller, who confirmed what it was that Cyrus felt.

“You fear the future and the answers. This is only a part of what you seek.”

Angry at himself for being so obvious, Cyrus let go and glared at the dark robed form. “I’m not afraid of your lies.”

“Then I will continue,” he stated, returning the glare and drawing forth another four cards, setting them upon the table in a horizontal row below the deadly pair.

Looking down at them the teen saw that his fortune must surely get better, as the card showed a brightly colored and sparkling wheel in motion spun about a spiked axle. The only thing ominous on this card was sparks flying forth from it, as if the wheel of destiny had broken and was on a dangerous route into destruction. Not having noticed this, his brown eyes looked next at a magician casting a spell with an archaic staff, flames burning brightly. Frowning as he thought the fire might have some connection to the devil card, but decided to push that thought aside. If he dwelled on the thought too long he might become frightened again. Unhappily he gazed at the next card and wondered at its meaning. Sitting on a much worn throne sat a thin, weasely looking king. The dark rims under his eyes made him look the part of an insomniac, and his tarnished crown making him look the part of someone who has earned their throne not by right but by blood. Curious as to where this was leading Cyrus viewed the next card and withheld a gasp, his face the only thing to show the shock.

Standing upon a set of gallows is the silver knight, his armor pulled off and a noose hanging about his neck. The only reason Cyrus was certain it was the knight came from the red stain that had dried about the torso of a pure white tunic. It was not shocking that the knight stood at the gallows, but what was shocking was that, the identity revealed, he appeared all too familiar. Staring up at him with the same sad brown eyes he himself possessed was a man that could very well be him in ten years. It was not just the eyes, but the facial structure. And the hair. Though the knight had hair that fell neatly to his shoulders, it pointed out some. Even wearing his hair short Cyrus’ black hair did the same, giving it the appearance of spikes and making it so that he was forced to gel his hair upwards to give it some order.

Wondering at what sort of trick the man sitting across from him was playing Cyrus looked over and saw as each card was named and a new one was drawn.

“The Wheel of Fortune, the Magician, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man.”

Unlike all the cards from before, where he had simply drawn and set, the Fortune Teller paused and looked at what was the final card. Even as he set it face down, Cyrus was suspicious.

“I will reveal this card last.”

Thinking that these were the answers Cyrus looked at the spread and saw that it had formed two intersecting crosses, one facing each of them.

“I don’t see answers, only more questions…” was his silent statement, only slight annoyance present within it.

“That is because you do not want to,” came a confident response, the pale hands pressing down into the dark wood, giving an almost translucent appearance.

Looking up from the cards, Cyrus stared at him angrily, irate at the truth in the statement. “Why don’t you tell me then? Fortune tellers are supposed to explain, aren’t they?”

Atrum smiled, the first since their encounter in the tent. Within the dark confines it seems far more menacing than the inviting one of before. It was the smile of a predator that has trapped its prey. “Very well.”

Starting at the beginning he pointed at the uppermost card. “The Star is what moves you in your actions. It is calling to you from the dreamscape of life.”

Moving on he indicated with both his index and middle finger the cards of The Lovers and the Fool. The black stone, the only stone on any of the rings, seemed to draw the candlelight towards it and glittered maliciously over the bloodied silver knight that Cyrus now knew to be himself.

“There is someone you deeply wish to meet. She, too, wants to meet you. This desire will only lead to your demise.” Turning his attention from the cards, he looked steadily at Cyrus. “Do not listen to her words. She lies.”

Swallowing nervously Cyrus nodded, doing his best to stay relatively calm. There still existed the high possibility that the fortune teller was lying. With that in mind he watched the pallid hand gesture to the next two cards, one hand staying flat on the table, as if it were an anchor to reality.

“It is safe where you travel at night. It is your fate to travel swiftly amidst the realm of dreams.”

With wariness evident in both himself and Cyrus, he gestured to the next two cards. Even after all this time they appear just as foreboding as before.

“The Devil in the Tower…” Atrum stated, glancing at the cards before once again turning his attention from them to Cyrus. “That, as I’m sure you have guessed, is not a good thing. An evil force calls to you. Always remember what you fight for or it will succeed.”

The black clad teen nodded, thinking that it was not the first time someone had looked at him and mention evil. This was the first time someone had suggested he was under an evil influence, however, and it left him greatly disturbed. Not only that but he was in no fight and as far as he knew had no cause. Looking at Atrum he saw that some of the candles had begun to gutter and spit, the flickering light began to make it seem as if the fortune teller were flickering in and out of existence alongside them. Wasting no time he went through the next set of cards, and in rushing providing far less satisfactory explanations.

“The Wheel of Fortune reminds you of how quickly things change. That is the magic of life. You rule it yourself, though, the stars are merely a guide. Always be aware of the choices you make,” he said of the first two cards, and setting his hand at the next two gave the same effect as before. Just as it had glittered over the Fool, the black gem glittered with darkness over the Hanged Man. “Do not make poor choices. You will regret it. The ruler of your fate is unkind.”

As the candles continued to gutter, Atrum placed his hand on the final card. From what little steady light there still was Cyrus noted that even the back of this card was unlike the others as silvery symbols could be seen running down its back in neat lines.

“This card is most relevant to the present.”

This caused the teen to frown. What had been the point of the other cards if this was the most important to the now. In what way did they move through time?

Flipping the card over he was enlightened. It had begun with the star of life, and now it ended with the most devastating of cards. No explanation was needed for this card was most certainly Death. What was strange was most terrifying about this card was its similarities to the man telling his fortune. Depicted was the scene of a pallid man in black robes, black robes of startling similarity to the Fortune Teller’s, swinging a broad scythe downwards towards a kneeling man. The man seemed to be begging. He seemed to be the knight. Unlike the rest of the cards this one was also numbered, a neat set of Roman numerals depicting XIII below the picture. There was no doubt in Cyrus’ mind that he was frightened, nor did he attempt to hide it. His brown eyes were wide with fear as he looked down at the card, stunned.

“Death.” The fortune teller stated bluntly before continuing, “You will leave this world for a new one. You will change.” With that said he stood, indicating he was finished.

Cyrus did the same, his chair squeaking in protest as he did so. Looking at the spread he began to understand, and his horror continued to grow.

This card is most relevant to the present…

Even as the Fortune Teller raised his hand in farewell, asking for no payment, Cyrus had turned. He was eager to get away.

“Farewell and remember…” he could hear the mystic saying as he stumbled towards the exit, “The world of dreams is always closer than it appears.”

Panicked at all he had seen and heard, but most of all at what he might have just encountered Cyrus broke through the opening to the tent and ran, the crisp air of summer and life surrounding him.