[Okana’s Tent] The Soothsayer Said {Solo}

[Sesha]

Timestamp: The 18th Day of Spring Sesha meandered jadedly through the streets of Alvadas, her spirits low due to the fact that she had spent nearly a season with Verlyna’s book in her possession and still was no closer to knowing its secrets. The thief had attempted every pry and pick in her repertoire. She had tried to destroy the lock with alchemical agents and had even offered the task to one of her father’s men, a concession she despised, all to no avail. The book was truly impenetrable; magic protected its leather and gold façade and harbored its riddles stubbornly. The golden eye mocked her with its too-real stare, frustrating her further. It was at this lowest point when Sesha suddenly found herself in a small garden, walled on three sides by looming brick buildings. The starlight still shone down from above, but the garden was otherwise unlit save for two braziers at its heart. The flaming bowls stood on either side of the opening to an unusually exotic looking tent. The poles stood tall and defiant amidst the surrounding greenery, as if it had chosen its place by mistake, but would not admit such to itself. In that instant the rogue knew what she had found, Okana’s Tent! She eyed the exterior of the tent warily, knowing that she had come upon one of Alvadas’ jewels quite by mistake. Sesha knew that this was the only way to truly find the tent, but had not dared hope in her heart of hearts that the Seer’s tent might miraculously appear for her of all people. With a silent step she neared the opening, peeking through the small gap between the folds of the doorway. “Come in,” a dispassionate voice announced from within. Sesha nearly jumped out of her skirts at the unanticipated sound. She was stayed from bolting by her knowledge of the city’s rumors. Okana was one of the Konti. Nothing could stay hidden from the White Witches and their faraway isle. This was exactly the kind of person the pickpocket needed; someone with answers. She pushed the heavy tent flap aside and took a calming breath.

[Sesha]

“You may sit,” the detached voice continued once Sesha had entered the open space within the walls of the tent. The speaker sat centered on her knees, palms face down on her thighs with a thick wool rug beneath her. The light of Alvadas seemed suddenly leached from the air as the thief moved further into the interior. The unassuming konti wore drab colors in a décor-less atmosphere. Okana’s white features reflected sparse candlelight, providing an eerie luminance to the room. She remained the only point of interest. Perhaps that was the purpose. “You come with many questions,” the seer remarked, disinterested in her guest. “But can you afford the answers you seek?” The mysterious question hung on the air. Sesha couldn’t be sure exactly what she was meant to afford, but she ruffled her skirts and the sounds on jingling mizas rung out in the darkness. She came forward and kneeled opposite the woman in a similar fashion, feeling physically uncomfortable and more than a little anxious. “I have only one question,” the pickpocket said. She attempted to reflect the konti’s impassive bearing. It was unnerving. It was a talent Sesha envied. “I need to know of this book,” she said while retrieving the journal from her purse. Sliding it gingerly across the expanse of rug between them, Sesha could not shake the feeling that the fortune teller saw more deeply into her eyes than anyone she had ever met. She felt bare under the cool gaze; she felt like a child. “Two gold mizas,” the konti spoke clearly and concisely, her eyes unwavering. When Sesha complied, somewhat begrudgingly, the witch continued by placing her palm on the small tome. “It has been stolen,” she said needlessly, her eyes narrowing slightly but remained otherwise devoid of emotion, “by you.” Sesha rolled her eyes as if unconcerned by what the woman thought, though she was surprised at the validity of the seer’s words. “Before that it sat on a shelf. It came to an intellectual. Before that it traveled with a murderer. It was owned by a wealthy lord. Before that it was stolen by a thief; owned previously by a student.” Her eyes returned to their original shape. “And before that it was written by a very talented man – apprenticed to Verlyna Devette.” If the konti seemed shocked by this news it did not register on her face. Sesha had read as much from the title, but she could swear that the pale woman’s eyes had never left her own. If nothing else it was a neat parlor trick. “It has waited a very long time,” she continued, perhaps sensing Sesha’s doubt. “But, not for you.” Now that was a bit disconcerting. “For a master. Someone with The Eye. A Hypnotist like it’s original Master.” Her abrupt language seemed to come from far away, even though they sat little further than an arm’s span apart. “It will only open for one who has The Eye. That is all I know.” “Wonderful,” Sesha said, clasping the book from beneath the Konti’s palm and stowing it in her purse before the seer got any moral ideas. “Now I just have to find a Hypnotist. Should be like finding a needle in a haystack at the heart of the Garden of No Return!” Her words were heated; this had been an expensive and only partially helpful encounter. “Thank you for all of your help!" She gathered herself and came to her feet sharply. “But you have more questions,” the witch said calmly, as if Sesha had not almost spat her displeasure. Her eyes showed no sign of being affected by Sesha’s mood whatsoever. Ionu curse her, it was maddening. “I most certainly do not,” Sesha barked, turning on her heel to leave. She would not take any more of this woman’s cryptic foolishness. “But what of your mother?” The words hung like bitter icicles in the air, freezing Sesha in place.