Cybele was wandering throughout the harvest festival, looking at all of the different stalls. She had been looking forward to a peaceful afternoon for what felt like forever.
Lately, her life had been one thing after another; the adventures were starting to become too overwhelming, with the work she was putting in, too. She was beginning to feel as though she would never get a break to breathe. Between the responsibilities of helping watch over the fillies and colts for her own herd, and the countless thoughts that seemed to follow her everywhere, she desperately needed to take a break.
Fortunately, the weather had finally cleared, and the skies were clear for the first time in several weeks. The breeze was pleasant as it ruffled her mane; the sky was scattered with soft, white, fluffy clouds, which cast interesting shadows on the grassy fields. When she heard that a traveling herd was hosting a festival, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go out and enjoy herself for once.
The gathering was lively, filled with the sounds of conversation, laughter, and a gentle tune that drifted through the air from somewhere deeper in the festival. Cybele wandered from one stall to another. They were scattered throughout the field in close-knit clusters, offering everything from handmade jewelry to freshly baked treats. She continued slowly down the row of stalls, taking her time to enjoy the simple pleasures of having no place to be. A few foals were chasing each other in an empty part of the field; for some time Cybele sat and admired them, their carefree antics bringing back memories from when she was a filly.
As she continued down the rows of stalls, something unusual had caught her attention. Beneath the shade of a large oak tree sat an elderly mare with a long, black mane with a hint of silver that glittered in the light through the breaks in the tree's leaves. The elderly mare's eyes were watching Cybele with a knowing look, as if she had been waiting for her the entire time. The stall the elderly mare was sitting at was decorated with dark purple and black cloth, small crystals, candles that flickered despite the gentle breeze, and a small windchime that sang gently. In front of her lay a well-worn deck of cards.
The mare looked around to see if anyone else had been watching before beckoning Cybele closer.
“Interested in learning what fate might be waiting on the other side for you, dear?” she asked; her voice was gentle, and there was a wiseness to it that only the eldest held, who had seen many things and had many stories.
Cybele eyed the mare. She had never been particularly certain about tarot cards. Part of her thought that tarot cards were nothing more than pretty pictures with vague meanings that truly held not much value and were only used to spook others into worrying about a future that might truly never come. Still, she had nothing better to do, and her curiosity always seemed to take her on the most interesting adventures.
“Well?” the mare said, seeming a bit impatient. “Fate is a curious little thing, dear. It cannot linger in the shadows forever. Like leaves caught in a whirlpool, it may dance in circles for a time, but even the strangest of currents must eventually carry us somewhere,” The mare said as she continued to shuffle the cards gently.
‘Well, I suppose-” Cybele said before she was interrupted.
“Perfect,’ the elderly mare smiled. “Three cards,” she explained, “The first shall whisper of what has been, the second shall murmur of what is, and the third… ah, the third is rather peculiar. It speaks of what is yet to come, though the future has a funny habit of changing its mind when no one's looking.”
Cybele wasn’t sure what to make of that last remark, a bit more nervous than she had been before, she reached over and picked three cards.
THE TOWER, REVERSED.
‘Hm,’ The mare murmured, studying the illustration. “The Tower, turned on its head. How peculiar! It speaks of crumbling things, dear, and of the little creatures who insist on rebuilding their nests in the very same branches that once broke beneath them. Perhaps your past has rattled a few windows in your mind, or toppled a tower you thought would stand forever. And now you gather the fallen stones, though you cannot quite remember what shape they were meant to take. But do tell me, dear… must every broken thing be mended, or are some ruins simply waiting for you to wander elsewhere?”
Cybele’s smile faded slightly; she didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about her past. There had been many times when everything seemed to happen at once, as if the world had been pulled from beneath her hooves. She had learned to keep moving, even when things weren’t easy, because stopping meant having to think about everything that she didn’t really like to ruffle around in her mind.
“Storms have a funny way of leaving their footprints behind, even after they've wandered off to trouble someone else, don't they, dear? Surviving one is a rather marvelous thing, of course, but one mustn't spend forever listening for thunder that has already gone quiet. Sometimes, the trickiest part is remembering how to dance when the sun returns.” The mare said as she seemed to be studying Cybele’s face for a sharp reaction.
“I mean, I guess that’s an interesting way of putting it,” she admitted quietly.
The mare simply gave Cybele a soft smile and turned over the second card.
THE LOVERS, UPRIGHT.
“Ah, The Lovers! How lovely, though people do have a peculiar habit of thinking it only speaks of hearts fluttering about like moths near a candle. It speaks of bonds, dear, the invisible threads that tie one soul to another, be they woven with friendship, affection, or trust. But threads can tangle, you know, and not every hand that holds yours is walking in the same direction. Tell me, dear, do the hearts beside you sing the same tune as your own, or have you simply grown accustomed to the music?” The mare said as she looked at Cybele expectantly.
Cybele leaned forward and examined the card.
Relationships had been a bit complicated lately. She had spent plenty of time wondering where she stood with certain horses and whether the bonds she treasured were as strong as she believed them to be.
“So, what does that mean? Am I supposed to fall in love?” She asked with a quiet, awkward laugh. “I don’t think I-”
She was cut off.
“Oh no, dear, love wears many curious little disguises. Sometimes it arrives in another's heart, and sometimes it hides in the mirror, waiting for you to recognize it. One must learn to be a friend to one's own soul, you see, for even the loveliest of gardens cannot flourish if the gardener forgets to tend it. And the choices you make today are rather like seeds scattered in the wind. Some will take root beside you, while others shall drift away to places you were never meant to follow.”
Cybele fell silent. Her mind wandered through the friendships she valued, the decisions waiting for her, and the uncertainty that seemed to follow every path. Was the card truly predicting her future? The mare's words were so confusing; what did they mean?
Perhaps the cards weren’t predicting anything at all; perhaps it was simply reminding her of things she already knew but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge..
The mare allowed Cybele a moment before reaching for the final card.
“And now,” she said, “we come to the curious little creature that is tomorrow. Though I must warn you, the future is a rather flighty thing. It tends to hide whenever someone tries to peek at it.”
The mare turned it over.
DEATH, REVERSED.
Cybele stared at the illustration, her ears immediately tipping backwards as the hair on her back rose in alarm.
“Death?” she repeated. “That doesn’t seem promising at all.’
The mare laughed, shaking her head.
“Oh, do hush those worried thoughts, dear. The Death card is not nearly so grim as its name would have you believe. Turned upside down, it speaks of little things that refuse to become yesterday, of doors left ajar because one is too frightened to see what lies beyond them. Sometimes we cling to old branches long after the tree has stopped bearing fruit, simply because the ground below looks terribly far away. Tell me, dear… how can one greet a new beginning while still holding the hand of an ending?”
Cybele relaxed a little; though the explanation was definitely a bit confusing, it still brought her mind ease; perhaps the mare was right. She had been holding onto many things that she was afraid of letting go of.
“But that almost sounds worse than death,” she muttered. Her eyes stared at the three cards in front of her; her mind was swirling with thoughts, with more questions than answers.
“Only if you plug your ears when the winds begin to sing for you, dear,” the mare replied, tilting her head to catch Cybele’s eye. “Change is an awfully curious thing; it will come creeping through the cracks when you least expect it. The change will simply carry away the old leaves to make room for the new, whether or not you let it. And yet, clinging to familiar branches, even when they no longer will offer shelter, only does more harm. Perhaps we fear the sky will swallow us if we let go. But tell me, my dear, if a bird refuses to leave its nest, will spring wait forever for it? The past cannot be coaxed back simply by calling its name, and tomorrow has never been particularly good at standing still on command.”
Cybele looked back down at the three cards arranged before her. The tower reversed. The Lovers upright. Death Reversed.
Her past, present, and future. It was almost like a game how easily the cards seemed to fit together; she had struggled through many difficult experiences, found herself questioning her choices and many relationships, and now she faced the possibility of having to change in ways that she didn’t believe she was ready for. But did that truly mean they were right? The mare had said that the future liked to change itself when no one was looking, right?.. What was she thinking? It all felt so confusing..
Cybele had always been skeptical of the idea of fortune-telling. The thought that a deck of cards determined someone's fate felt like a silly folklore story. But standing here, in front of the elderly mare, staring at the cards that were laid out in front of her felt too real to be a silly game..
“Well,” she said finally, looking back at the mare. “I am not sure I believe; it’s all so confusing.”
“Oh but confusion is rather a marvelous thing, dear, It means your thoughts haven’t settled into their little boxes, /just/ yet. Why, the moon would be dreadfully dull if it understood every star it encountered, hm? You needn’t believe in the cards for them to have to whisper something into your ear, now do you? Sometimes a looking glass shows us things we have been trying to avoid, and sometimes it’s only showing us the tips of our noses. The trick is letting the looking glass come clearer before knowing which is which.”
Cybele considered the answer; perhaps that was all the reading needed to be. It didn’t have to be magic, and it didn’t have to predict the future. It could just simply be a reminder to examine her past, appreciate the present, and think carefully about the choices ahead of her.
The mare began gathering her cards, slipping them back into her worn velvet pouch. Her cloudy eyes lifted to meet Cybele’s, and a peculiar smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
‘Do not fret over riddles left unanswered, dear. Clarity is a rather shy critter, and it very seldom comes when one goes chasing after it. In time, the tangled threads shall loosen, and what seems a muddle today may look as simple as a reflection upon still water tomorrow.’
The mare leaned forward slightly, looking around before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“But should you wish to see your fate more clearly, you must seek the looking glass. Not every mirror shows what lies before your eyes, you see, and not every reflection belongs to the face that gazes into it. The right looking glass shall show you what the cards cannot, though you must be very careful what questions you ask of it.” The mare paused, as though listening to a sound that Cybele could not quite hear. Somewhere above them, leaves rustled quietly despite the absence of the wind.
“And if ever your thoughts grow too heavy, or your heart is troubled by questions that refuse to leave you be, simply whisper them to the trees. They are older than most troubles and have heard far stranger secrets than yours. They shan’t laugh, nor shall they interrupt. The trees are rather good listeners, provided you don’t mind a little silence in return.”
She gave a small nod towards the dark branches overhead before continuing.
“But if there comes a time when something must be /done/, rather than merely understood, then you must tell the crows. Clever little creatures, they are. They have eyes for things others have overlooked, and they hold a knack for finding what's been misplaced. Tell them what troubles you, and they may help set matters right. Though do be polite, dear. Crows have excellent memories, and are terribly fond of shiny things.”
The mare's smile widened as she tucked the last card away.
“Remember, Cybele, the trees will listen, the crows will act as you wish for a price, and the looking glass will reveal. But none of them will simply step the path for you; even the finest map is useless to a traveler who refuses to take a step.”
She reached across the stall and gently tapped Cybele's hoof with her own.
“Now off you go, dear. There are still hours of daylight left, and it would be a terrible shame to spend them worrying about what lies ahead. Besides..” She glanced toward the rest of the harvest gathering, her eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. “I suspect the universe has a few more peculiarities prepared for you yet.”
With that, the mare settled back onto the grass, humming a soft tune that seemed to have no beginning and no end. The wind-chime spoke a soft tune to the breeze
Cybele turned to leave, carrying the mare's strange words with her. She wasn’t sure what to make of the whole experience, but she stopped and turned back around.
“Hey, how did you know my-” she stopped, because where the old mare's booth had been was empty; the tree stood alone, while the sound of the wind chime and the elderly mare's song seemed to be whispering into Cybele’s ear. “name..”
Perhaps this world was full of different surprises and oddities.
Final word count: 2546
Reply
