Precious Visions

SJ Shoemaker
Word Count: 1,735
7/1/2022

 Ivory smoke plumed and billowed through the room. An elaborate revolution of Ebania’s arms effortlessly masked the movement of her left foot as she pressed a secret switch. The crimson flame turned a deep violet with the addition of salts through a hidden mechanism beneath a floorboard. The effect was impressive and convincing. As if summoned fiery spirits recoiled fearfully from her oversized robes. The man and his frail grandparents, customers eagerly awaiting a crucial answer, shrank away. Surely, they considered a full retreat. Most do. And even more surely, the opulent fees already paid had overridden their self-preservation. Instead, they stood aback, asking the only question they could.

“What do you see?”

Another puff of smoke and Amethyst fire. Ebania caught a warning glance from her elder and master, Thelphios. A complete thought–as clearly as if it were spoken–formed within the wrinkles of her cheeks and creases on her forehead. Many of which Ebania was directly to blame. She quickened a look of her own in response. I know, I know. I made my point. There was a time, early in her apprenticeship that Ebania despised the theatrics. They were Oracles, true seekers of the future. They had no need for ceremony. Raging fires and archaic dances served nothing beyond superstition. Why be so wasteful with the hard-earned money of these poor people? Already half of their extravagant fee had literally gone up in smoke.

“A vision begins to form!”

Her statement was true. Her volume, unnecessary. Ebania stared into smokey ruffles with unfocused eyes. The edges of a curved line began to draw itself before her. A letter. With one–two consecutive curves. She hated writing in visions, it was already so difficult to understand what the spirits chose to show her without the added struggle of orienting oneself. Was this an “M” or a “W”? And even then, what could it mean?

The young man called on her to learn if his destiny was on the frontlines of the growing tension with neighbors to the west or at home caring for his aging grandparents. And her answer was a single character. M. For Military? Indicating he should join the war? Or was it W. For Wait? Indicating he should stay and care for his dying elders. Or was W instead for Western? So he should go. Or M for Medicine? So he should stay with his family.

“It is an E,” Spoke Thelphios. “E for the enemy you shall confront. E for the empty workbench, stable, and bed you shall leave behind.”

“It is an E,” Ebania repeated. Her cadence halting and confused. Was that right? How could she not have considered it? It could be an E.

The letter vanished before she could inspect it further. Replaced soon after with a fuzzy image that moved and expanded with its billowing canvas. The young figure was immediately recognizable, his silhouette unmistakable.

“I see you,” Ebania said. 

“Where is he?” his grandfather asked.

“What is he doing?” his grandmother added to his inquiry.

Another figure lay before him, their shape blurry to identify. And in his hand, he held–couldn’t the smoke move faster? Ebania filled the time, revealing what she could.

“You are sitting.”

“Standing!” Thelphios corrected.

Kneeling, technically. But the exact position seemed irrelevant.

“You are leaning above another. A woman?”

“A man.”

If Thelphios was so insistent on describing the vision herself, why did she make Ebania do all the work?

“A man, perhaps. He appears… ” perhaps it was an E after all. E for Elderly.

“Foreign. An enemy soldier from the west. Slain with the sword you hold aloft. You shall be brave and fight well, indeed.”

He held no sword. It was a necklace. A perfect match for the same pair now worn by his grandparents. The man he knelt over was not foreign. And he was not slain in battle. Thelphios had gotten the vision… wrong?

The rocks in Ebania’s stomach sank to her feet, grounding her in place. She barely registered the cries of thank you as Thelphios ushered the customers away. By the time she came to, the lights were on, the fire had been doused and rebuilt, and Thelphios was reviewing the list of bookings.

“An hour before the next session, Bani,” came her voice distantly. “You should rest a while beforehand.”

“Rest? Yes.” Ebania managed a step. Two. Headed nowhere in particular. A mind fog as thick as the now dissipated smoke wall filled her mind. “You… took my session.” 

“I did not wish for them to be confused by your words or misled by your hesitation.”

“It was my session,” she spoke to herself more than her master.

“And the earnings will be divided accordingly.” Thelphios sighed. “Honestly, Bani, you look exhausted.”

She truly was. With the mounting war, so many had visited of late, asking the same question as that young man.

“Even now, you seem lost in thought.”

In an instant, Ebania’s body returned to her control. She turned on her heels and locked eyes with her master. “You stole my vision!”

“They were eager,” Thelphios matched her volume. “And you were not forthcoming with an answer. I spoke when you failed to, child. Why make a problem of this? They have their answer. And you, your money. It was the same vision, what difference does it make whose mouth it left.”

But that wasn’t true. The visions were not the same–they could not have been. Thelphios told them the opposite of what she had seen. The boy should have stayed with his grandparents who were soon to pass. That is what she saw. The letter might have confused Ebania, but they were always a struggle for her. And the figure, she never managed to see clear enough to determine their gender. But he did not hold a sword. If Ebania could see that, her older and wiser master, seer of vision long before Ebania was born would have as well. Unless…

“You lied to them?” Even as the thought formed on her lips, she shranks away from the accusation. 

“And you did not with your magical salt and funny dance?”

Ebania winced. She did not deny it. “A performance. Not a lie.”

“A minor distinction.”

“And who taught me to perform? Who taught me to prey on their superstitions? Who laughed behind their backs?”

“Do not speak to me like that, child,” she crossed her arms.

“‘You must not let them think, Bani.’ ‘Never show them how easy you summon your visions, Bani.’ ‘They will never believe the truth of it.’”

“My memory works yet, Bani. I am not so old.”

“Then you remember what you said at the end of every day we trained.”

Her master’s jaw clenched, for a moment it seemed she would storm away but she only shifted her weight from hip to hip. Farther and farther, her brow lowered on her face.

“This war will kill them all. You’ve seen this too, Bani.”

“Yes, of course, I’ve seen what will become of us–”

“–become of them. We will be fine. Not even the foul beasts from the west would dare harm an Oracle. We’ll be celebrated, taken in as one of them. We will feast as walk over the corpses of our friends.” She did well to hide it but tears still began to well at the corners of her eyes.

Ebania looked away as dread washed over her. She had understood this to be true. In the back of her mind somewhere, this thought had already occurred to her. But she was still not ready to confront it. “Then that is the spirits’ wishes,” she spoke the words she was trained to. Words not even she believed. “We go where we are taken, without resistance.”

Tears flowed freely and the Oracles embraced. Ebania could not be sure if she or her master had reached out first. They tried to hold each other up, but neither had the strength. So they sat on the ground, tears forming a lake in the dirt between them.

After a long while, Thelphios placed a hand on either of Ebania’s shoulders. She waited for her pupil to look once more into her eyes before saying, “What if we were not taken?”

Ebania struggled to parse the words. The visions were clear. There was no way to argue with the future. “But… We will be.”

“Yes, we will be if the east falls,” Thelphios said, her eyes begging her little Bani to see something still coming to focus. “Were they afforded more young men in their ranks, fighting against the west’s approach. And were these young men assured of victory, strengthened by the words of their Oracles…”

The picture had become clear to her. But unlike her visions, this was one she could argue against. “His grandparents will soon die,” her words were nearly a whisper.

“And, if the west wins, they will die alongside their entire village. They will take everything from these people, their houses, their lands–”

“–their grandson?”

“War takes our most precious treasures.”

Ebania glanced at her master’s hand: wrinkled and spotted, and with joints swollen with time. “Precious. When I had my first vision, my master called it that. A precious treasure. One that should be displayed for all to see, to help any who would seek it.”

“My memory works yet, Bani.”

“‘You may put on your shows,’ she said. ‘Wear your robes and do your dances. Make them fear the vengeful gods and evil spirits conjured from your mind if it gets them to listen,’ she said.”

“I am not so old.”

“‘But you must swear never. NEVER. Will you speak falsely of your visions.’ That is what she told me. What you told me.”

Thelphios stood and dusted herself off. Her head hung low as she walked to the door. Stopping before the curtained threshold but without looking back, she spoke softly. Ebania could barely make out the words.

“I guess the war has taken that as well.”

She opened the curtain to leave but was blocked by an eager young man and his mother. The customers from the next session had arrived early. With nothing but a glance, the pair of Oracles began to play out the act they had a thousand times before. A fire was lit. The lights were turned off. And a hidden switch soon colored the flames purple\