The Seven Tales of Trinket Read online

  Thomas smacked himself on the head with his open palm.

  “Oh, I get it. You are talking about her.”

  I shushed him.

  However, my feeling that our stay had become too feathery remained. Each night, Feather told me of the futures she had made up and the bits of true visions that she had seen and did not understand. Sometimes we tried to piece things together and puzzle out what the odd images foretold. Most of it just made my head spin. Did the vision of the bird flying over the old man’s head mean a journey was to come? Or death was near? Or was it just a bird?

  And there was the fact that when she was not in her silken tent, Feather watched me like a hawk watches a mouse. She was always nearby, and she had the uncanny ability to simply pop up whenever I turned around. When I asked her, nicely I hoped, why she was always so close to me, she replied, “Why, Trinket, can you not see that there are few girls our age around the camp? It gets so tiresome to talk with old women or little boys all the time.”

  When I told her there were plenty of young girls to talk to, and that I was not her age at all, being only almost twelve myself, she replied, “But you, Trinket, are the only one who doesn’t want something from me.”

  Was it true? Were Thomas and I the only ones in the Gypsy camp who did not want our fortunes told by Feather?

  I had thought about it, of course. One does not enter into a friendship with a fortuneteller and not consider it.

  And yet I could not bring myself to ask her.

  Because perhaps, I did not want to know. What if she predicted horrible things for my future?

  What if she told me I would never find my father?

  RED MORNING

  ’Twould have been better if Thomas and I had left earlier, for the day of our departure dawned deep red.

  “Have a care about yourself today,” Feather said, pointing to the crimson sky. “Not a good omen.” She emptied her bucket into the barrel, then reached for mine. This would be the last time I performed this task for the Gypsies.

  “You read signs as well?”

  “It does not take a seer to read the signs of nature. Three birds crossing the skies above you mean good fortune. A halo around the moon means a change in the weather. Did your parents not teach you such things?”

  I shook my head. “What does the red sky mean?”

  “Within a week’s time: Battle. Violence. Death. Take your pick.”

  * * *

  “Can she really see the future, Trinket?” Thomas asked. We were at our little campsite nestled against the old tree near the outskirts of the Gypsies’ clearing. As I rolled up my blanket, he packed his satchel with all his earthly possessions: a seashell from his uncle who sailed, a soft cloth for cleaning, a copper or two, several boiled eggs, and bread loaves for the trip. He handed me the old map, which I placed in my own bag.

  “Aye. I think she can sometimes.”

  “We should go now, before all of those terrible things happen,” he said. I glanced over toward the Gypsy camp, feeling torn.

  “Feather hummed a lullaby I’ve heard before, long ago. One written just for me, I think,” I confided. I’d been too afraid to speak the words until now. Too afraid I’d imagined the song, or if I told someone about it, it would fade into the mist.

  The look on his face was blank, as if I’d spoken in a foreign tongue.

  “Thomas, she remembers my da.”

  “I remember your da.”

  “Not the same thing and you know it well. He was here.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe she is just pretending so that you will stay. She seems to like having you around. And she herself said she was a liar.” He sniffed and plucked a feather from his trousers, then another. Working with the chickens had made him look a bit like one.

  “And there is a tale here. I can feel it. I think I might collect it. So that maybe…” But I could not finish. What if Thomas laughed at my idea of becoming a storyteller myself?

  “A tale about what?” he said, instantly curious.

  I narrowed my eyes. “’Tis a mysterious story, I think, of a girl with a gift of telling the future.” Dramatically, I swept around Thomas, placing my fingers on my temples. “I see…” I cried, swooning from side to side. Thomas tried not to smile, but he could not help it. I grabbed his palm and began to read. “Let me see, you will marry a beautiful princess and have eleven children—”

  “Only one princess?” He laughed.

  “Well, not a real princess,” I said, “a chicken-princess.”

  A noise from the bushes caused us both to freeze. I turned, and there, coming out from behind a tree, was the tallest man I’d ever seen. He was dressed in green and had a bushy black beard.

  “I’ve found her,” he called out. “Who knew it would be so easy to capture the seer? I would have thought the king would keep a guard with you.” His eyes swept over Thomas and he smirked. “Obviously not.”

  Thomas and I edged our way closer to each other. I cleared my throat and prayed for boldness. “I am not the seer.”

  “And I am not interested in your lies. I heard you. I saw you take his palm.” He pointed to Thomas’s hand, which was shaking slightly.

  A shorter, fatter man, also dressed in shades of green, came out of the bushes then. “Well done. Lothar will be pleased.”

  “Who is Lothar?” I asked.

  “Our leader. We have traveled across the hills and through the forests to bring you back with us, seer.” The fat man’s voice was sharp and hard like a stone.

  “Truly, she is not the one you seek!” Thomas piped up, his scrawny fists clenched at his sides.

  Both men laughed at Thomas, whose face turned red as a berry.

  “Protection from a pup?” the tall man taunted. “Let’s have a go, mate. You and I.” He circled Thomas, eyeing his gangly legs and skinny arms. “I’ll keep one hand tied behind me, pup. And I’ll give you the first blow.”

  “No! Leave him alone,” I cried.

  The fat man thrust his palm in front of my face. “Go ahead, seer. Tell me what you see. Quick-like, before we take you to Lothar.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said a voice softer than a whisper on the wind. The tall man stopped teasing Thomas and the fat man’s chubby palm instantly dropped to his side. A man swung down from a branch overhead and landed right in front of me. He put a finger to his lips and motioned to the other men, who promptly clamped their hands over our mouths before we could think to shout for help. We were flung over the shoulders of the men and carried off, away from the Gypsy camp.

  THE MEN OF FORESTHILL

  How long we were bounced up and down, upside down, I could not say. ’Twas not comfortable at all and my head ached most horribly. I wanted to cry, but I was too frightened to make a sound.

  When they finally dumped us none too gently upon the ground, I leaned over to Thomas. “Do not say a word,” I whispered. “Promise me?”

  Thomas nodded.

  “If they find out they carried off the wrong girl, they might not think twice before killing us. We must be very careful.”

  Thomas nodded again. His eyes were bright and glassy, but not a tear did he shed. He had hoped for adventure on the journey, but I rather think this was not what he’d had in mind.

  The man with the soft voice came to us then.

  “I apologize,” he began, “for my methods. One never knows how the warriors of Foresthill might be greeted.” He sat on a stump near where Thomas and I huddled together. I said nothing, my mind awhirl, thinking of what to do. His voice was kind and he seemed gentle. Surely he would not kill us.

  “I am Lothar of Foresthill. These are my men.” He motioned to five men, all dressed in green. Their sleeves and trousers blended into the leaves of the forest. Horses with manes as black as shadows were tethered to the trees. I could see why ’twas so easy for the men to sneak up on us.

  I nodded, still silent.

  “We travel from far over the green hills. My men say you are the se
er.”

  I kept still. ’Twould do no good to reveal their failure at capturing Feather until I knew more.

  “What say you tell us what you see?” he said, pulling a brown glove from his hand and holding it gently in front of me.

  “Why do you require a seer?” I asked.

  “There have been rumors of disputes between the lands to the east of us and the lands to the south. We wonder which will be victorious so we can throw our lots in with the victor. And then my wife, she is with child—”

  “Halt. Tell me no more,” I said, knowing not from where the words came. “’Tis not so easy to see the future. Surely you know fortunes are not read quickly.”

  Lothar raised an eyebrow in question.

  “There are things that must be done to call forth visions of what is to come.”

  Thomas raised his eyebrow as well, but I saw him relax for the first time since our capture. He knew the tone of my voice well enough to understand that I had some kind of idea. Whether it was a good or poor one remained yet unknown.

  “In order to foresee what fate might bring, you must…” I tried to conjure a picture of Feather. What would she do in my position? She would either lie or stall. I chose stalling. “You must earn your future. The fates cannot be forced.”

  “I have never heard of such a thing.”

  “Do you want to know your future or not?” I asked, feeling slightly bold.

  That gave Lothar pause. We stared at one another, sizing each other up.

  Finally, he inclined his head toward me. “Very well, how do I earn the right to see the future?”

  “Well, it is very simple, really. First, you and your men must circle the camp three times.”

  A look of disbelief crossed his face.

  “That doesn’t sound like much,” he said. True. I would have to do better.

  “There is more.” My voice was more commanding than I’d ever heard it. “If you choose to listen.”

  Lothar rolled his eyes slightly, then nodded for me to continue.

  “You must give us three loaves of bread.”

  He nodded again.

  “And you and your men must stay awake for three days and three nights. Then your fortunes shall come to me.”

  “Three nights? Truly, three nights?”

  “Yes,” I said, “all of your men must stay awake for three nights.”

  “But why? It makes no sense.”

  “’Tis the way of the fates. It does not have to make sense.” I sat up straight, and I noticed Thomas did as well.

  * * *

  ’Twas a long three days, to be sure. But the men of Foresthill were not unkind to us. I almost felt bad for deceiving them. But one must keep one’s wits about her when traveling the countryside, and this was one case in which my storyteller’s blood was quite useful. Perhaps I could create tales worth listening to.

  Thomas and I barely spoke for fear of being overheard. The men of Foresthill were everywhere, it seemed, watching when we ate, even when we slept.

  However, none of them could stay awake for three days. ’Twas near the end of the third day when even Lothar’s eyes failed him and closed. Thomas and I gathered our things, and faster than an owl can blink, we left the men of Foresthill, and headed back to the Gypsy camp.

  “I think it’s a stupid plan, Trinket,” Thomas said, out of breath from running. “Well, not all of it. The part where you got them to stay awake so they would be too tired to give chase, that was brilliant.” I smiled. “And the bread part was good, too.” He patted his sack, still filled with the loaves.

  “But the part where we go back to the Gypsy camp is dumb. We should go off in the other direction. They will just find us again.”

  “The other direction leads to Foresthill!” I snapped, pointing to the place on the east side of my father’s map where in faded letters it said Lands of Foresthill. That was the last place I wanted to go. I could not tell from the map how large the lands were, since it only showed the edge of them. But if my father ventured there often, he would have drawn it better, I thought. If we traveled west we would eventually hit the villages on the coast, even if we didn’t find the Gypsy camp again.

  “Besides, I’ve got to try to warn Feather,” I said. “She showed us kindness. Kindness should always be repaid. How could I live with myself if I didn’t try to tell her that the men of Foresthill are just waiting to carry her off?”

  Thomas humphed. But he followed.

  * * *

  We walked through the night till dawn, only going in circles twice. Once the sun began to rise, finding west was much easier. When we reached the outskirts of the Gypsy camp, we met Feather, carrying the water buckets.

  “Feather!” I cried, running to hug her.

  “I thought you left. Off on your journey to see a bald, burned-up old teller,” she said, though she hugged me just as tightly.

  “No, I’ve come to warn you. Feather, you are in danger.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know.”

  And we raced back to the camp as if demons were on our heels.

  * * *

  I could feel them before I heard them. And I heard them before I saw them. Six horses as dark as a moonless night. Atop them, six riders, all men. The men of Foresthill.

  “We come for the seer,” the tall man said to the forming crowd. Many Gypsies had gathered at the sound of the hooves, their knives drawn.

  This must be the violence and battle Feather saw in the red sunrise.

  The Gypsy King came out of his tent, his sword glinting in the morning light. “Who asks for my daughter?”

  One of the riders guided his horse forward. “I am Lothar of Foresthill.”

  “Lothar is it?” asked the king. “And what do you, Lothar, want from my daughter?”

  The Gypsies formed a barrier in front of Feather, Thomas, and me. I chanced a glance at Feather, but I could not read her face.

  “She is a seer. We require a seer.” He pointed to where Thomas and I stood next to Feather. Apparently, our escape hadn’t gone unnoticed. Unfortunately, we had led them right to Feather.

  Lothar was prepared for the possibility that the king would not part with his seer, let alone his daughter. The men of Foresthill began to advance.

  “You need but to ask … and pay,” the king responded slyly, motioning for his men to lower their knives. He grabbed Feather’s arm and propelled her toward Lothar. The Gypsies parted and the king’s daughter stood before the tall man on the horse.

  “You?” he said, looking at Feather with puzzled eyes. He glanced over at Thomas and me. Did he understand yet that he had been tricked?

  Feather said nothing. Perhaps she was afraid, but her shoulders were straight and strong.

  She remained silent. She put out her palm and waited. Lothar got down and pulled his brown leather glove from his hand. He placed his hand, palm up, into Feather’s own.

  “Wait!” the king cried. “We have not talked of price.”

  The king took Lothar aside and their dark heads bent in negotiation. I could not make out anything they said, so I turned my attention to Feather. She was staring off toward Foresthill. Thinking of a lie.

  Or perhaps genuinely seeing.

  When the price was agreed upon, Lothar returned to Feather and gave her his hand.

  “I have already earned the right to see my future,” he said. “I have obeyed the ways of the fates.”

  Feather shot me a quizzical look, a smile tugging at her lips, then turned her head back to the large hand before her.

  She pondered Lothar’s palm for an incredibly long time. For a while, the silence did not seem to bother anyone. Then small coughs came from the crowd. I could hear the restlessness grow. Finally, her father approached.

  “Feather, if you see so much, I will have to charge Lothar more.” It was a joke and the Gypsies laughed, but there was a hard edge to the king’s voice.

  Feather looked up and blinked a few times. An unshed tear sat upon her eyel
ashes, waiting to drop.

  Then she spoke. She did not use her low, seer voice, but instead the voice I was accustomed to hearing when we spoke to each other as friends.

  “Sir, you must go now. Back to your home. Neither side will be the victor, for there is another threat…”

  “And my wife? What news of my wife? Has the babe been born?”

  There was silence.

  “I see terrible sorrow.”

  Lothar’s head snapped up and his eyes filled with pain. He mounted his horse and sped off, throwing a small bag of gold behind him. His men followed.

  The Gypsy King could not grab the bag fast enough. “Well done, my girl. I shall perhaps have to increase your bride price.” He smiled at his daughter with no warmth, patting her shoulder absently as if she were a horse who had won a race, or a dog who had fetched a bone.

  Feather did not even nod in acknowledgment. As they touched, I saw Feather shiver as something invisible passed from his skin through her own. She stood for a moment, as if in a trance, and then shook her head and walked away from the Gypsy King.

  “Let us go, Trinket,” said Thomas. “None of this bodes well for us. We should have left by now.”

  “Aye, you are right, Thomas. But Feather has become my friend. I do not know if it is the right thing to do, to leave her like this. Perhaps we should—”

  I could not finish my sentence. Perhaps we should what? Wait and talk to Feather? Become further entwined in the daily lives of these Gypsies? Become so attached that I would never be able to go, never be able to find my father? Never be able to find the one story I most needed? With effort, I stopped my spinning mind. These were thoughts I did not want to think.

  WARNINGS

  I entered Feather’s exquisite tent, my fingers caressing the silken flap. ’Twas the softest thing I’d ever felt and I could have touched it forever, but then I looked back at Thomas. He bounced lightly from one foot to the other, as if he needed to use the bushes, but I knew better.

  “Do not take too long,” he said. “Please.”