The Seven Tales of Trinket Read Online Free Page B

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