scrying over the future

On the Winter Solstice, December 16, 955AD, Revena wrapped herself in her fleece cloak and mittens. Adam, who accompanied her into the swamps, helped her onto her long-eared mule, Byran. The animal was steady and wouldn’t slip in the snow and ice. 

At mid-morning, the sun shone in the clear sky, but the wind blew frigidity down from the alps. Revena pulled her wool-lined hood close around her head, blocking the cold from her face.

Adam, wearing brown bear fur from head to toe and snowshoes on his feet, grabbed Bryan’s reins, and they set off, out of the castle and along the road heading west.

Revena, scared for the future of herself and her people, needed scrying from Daisy. The illness that had made one in every two folks sick slowed down with the frosty weather. One in three humans died over the summer, and the loss of livestock caused famine all around them.

Revena dosed peasant and noble with mead and purple coneflower tea, which helped them recover. Unfortunately, the disease took the very young and the very old. Mothers got up from their sick beds, unable to mourn the loss of their babies, to rebuild their world, without the help of elders to pass on their knowledge and skills. In many ways, they all started from nothing. Fields went fallow because of the lack of laborers. Animals roamed free because there were no children to herd them. The upper classes got their hands dirty washing themselves because their body servants were needed to forage for food.

Revena felt all alone: fourteen was too young to heal the sick, supervise the rebuilding of lives, and answering questions. Her mother survived the illness, but as always, she hid in her rooms, unable to help with the cleanup and set life back to normal. Her father was still away at his war, dispensing a different kind of death.

Adam led them across the swamp paths to Daisy’s home. She sat in front of her cottage, seated on a bench, a bowl of water at her feet. She wore a woven wool shawl across her shoulders. Her little garden felt like spring, without snow on the grass. Steam rose around them, wafting up from the warm springs that surrounded the area. 

Aisy nodded to her son and gave Adam her cheek to kiss. She placed a hand on each side of his face. They touched foreheads.

“Take the animal out back and leave us for a while,” she said. “Your brothers and sisters will be happy to see you.”

Daisy patted the seat next to her. Revena pulled off her gloves.

“Welcome, cousin.” Daisy took Revena’s hand. “You took your time.”

“You knew I was coming.” Revena shrugged off her furs and nodded to the wooden vessel. 

“I am prepared to see your future.” Daisy crushed dried mugwort and rosemary, rubbing them in her palms. “Look at the surface of the water.”

Daisy sang, her voice rising and falling in even rhythms, the words of a language unknown to Revena, but she still felt she understood their meanings.

Revena glanced down at the liquid glistening in the bowl. Her vision grew blurry. Swirls of smoke and fog painted pictures on the liquid’s surface. The smell of the herbs and the shimmering fluid transported her to a hall full of people. The heat of bodies packed into the room overwhelmed her. The buzz of their chattering voices made her dizzy.

She sat back on a large, gilded chair with thick red cushions. A heavy weight pressed on her head, the cold of a metal ringlet circled her hair. 

A man at the back of the room pounded the wooden floor with his sword.

“All hail, Revena. May she rule in wisdom and prosperity.”