The Seer
By Gaeriel Mallory
NOTE: Yet another story that came out of nowhere. Has no real plot so can't be easily summarized. I like it though, which I suppose is all that matters.
I pulled my ragged robe tighter around me, gaunt fingers clutching the fabric. I stared at the man who sat behind the table, brown-haired and brown-eyed and with only a simple gold ring on a finger to mark his wealth.
"What do you see, Seer?" he asked me. He leaned one elbow on the armrest of his chair and stared down at me. I could just see one corner of his mouth turning upward underneath his beard. Inwardly, I sighed. They never took me seriously.
Closing my eyes, I emptied myself. Emotions, thoughts, and ideas disappeared into blackness. "You will be remembered as a great king," I heard my voice say. "They will see you as a legend. But they will not have known you have existed. You shall be a legend in truth. The once and future king, you will be called. And they will paint stories of your magnificent castle, Camelot, and your knights of the round table. You will be remembered as just and wise, kind and honorable."
Laughter greeted my words. I opened my eyes and watched as the entire room engaged in hysterics. "Arthur? Wise? My pig has more brains!" Sir Gawain was bent over in the corner, out of breath and with tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.
Lancelot grinned outright and poked his friend and lord in the ribs. "What do you say, Arthur? Are you ready to be a legend?"
Even Guinevere hid her smile with a hand.
Finally, Arthur stood up and motioned for silence. "For your kinds words, Seer," he said, "I thank you. But for the merriment, I thank you more. Feel free to dine with us this evening and share more of your visions, which are better than any fool's tricks."
I sadly shook my head. "Alas, my lord, but I must be off. I have far to travel." It was true, though I spoke in terms of time rather than distance. I left the small and rather pitiful looking hall, got onto my donkey, and rode into the night. They never listened to me.
* * *
I marveled at times just how distorted events and people become with the passage of time. And there are other times when I am amazed even more with how accurate the tellings remain.
I knelt down stiffly in front of the man dressed in forest green. I felt my knees pop and I groaned in pain. A hand gently grasped my elbow and helped me up. "Easy, grandfather. No need for you to genuflect to me."
He called over the one called Little John to find me some food and warmer clothing. "After all, it is nearing winter and it would not do to have on my conscience your death from cold." He smiled and brown eyes crinkled genially at me. I waved aside his offer of clothing—there would be others who needed it more than I—but accepted the bowl of venison stew gratefully.
"My thanks," I told him as I blew on a spoonful to cool it.
"'Tis not a burden to feed you," he said. "Eat your fill. There is plenty tonight. Will and Much brought in a deer a piece."
I nodded and finished the stew. Setting the bowl aside, I turned towards him again, the one they called Robin Hood. "You will be remembered fondly in history," I told him. "The righteous outlaw who stole from the rich to give to poor. Robin of Sherwood who protected the common folk from being driven into the ground by the likes of the Sheriff and Prince John. You will be a myth—people will debate whether you truly lived or not but all will love and revere you."
He stared at me for a long time after that. He bowed his head finally and crossed himself. "I know not whether you be saint or demon," he told me, "but I thank you for giving me hope to go on."
I patted his hand before slowly getting to my feet. "Your cause is just. May your arrow fly true, Robert of Locksley." I found my own way back to the main road out of Sherwood.
* * *
The boy sat on the bridge, staring over the water. I walked up next to him. "What are you looking at?" I asked him as I clutched my walking stick to my chest.
"The ocean. Do you think I could ever cross it?"
"Of course. You will be a great man in America. A sage. People will respect your words and come to you for guidance. You will help forge a new country from the embers and be wealthy both in money and friends. And you will be thought of long after your death, known for your wisdom, your intelligence, and your passion."
"Benny, there you are!" a woman's voice cried out. She appeared, her face red from running. "Your Da is looking for you. Get going!"
The boy waved a hand and got up. Looking over at me, he smiled a bit sadly. "It's a nice dream, sir, but I don't think it will ever happen."
I watched as he walked off with his mother. "Don't be too sure of that, Benjamin Franklin," I whispered.
* * *
"They shall remember you as a tyrant," I told the man behind the large oak desk. He was dressed richly in blue velvet and his powdered wig was set perfectly on his head. "History shall forget your good intentions and only remember the thousands you sent to the guillotine. They shall call your time the Reign of Terror and long after you are gone, your name shall be cursed in the streets of Paris."
Maximilien Robespierre looked thoughtfully out the window. "Are you a Royalist supporter?" he asked me.
I shook my head. "I have always remained neutral in political affairs. I only speak the truth."
"A pity." He finally turned to look at me. "And here I thought that Marie was joking about you. But she is gone and so is that pig of a king, yet you are still here and spouting your prophecies." He got to his feet. "Whether they be truth or lies, I care not. But you are a threat and must therefore be dealt with."
He called out for his guards, looking away for one instant, but when his eyes returned to the spot where I had stood, I was already gone.
* * *
Her nose stuck into the air haughtily. Her blue eyes glimmered softly in the light and her lips were painted red and pursed into a thin line. "I hear that you tell people's fortunes."
I bowed. "I speak of how they will be remembered."
She sniffed as she took in my threadbare appearance. "Fine. Tell me what people will say of me, then."
I let the blankness enfold me as I stared at her. "They will not speak of you at all. History will have forgotten you and not even your own descendents will have known who you are. Your grave will be grown over with grass and weeds until there is no trace and finally even the worms that ate your decaying body will not even remember."
Her pretty face pinched in anger. "Get out," she whispered. "Get out now before I have you thrown out."
I bowed respectfully and shuffled out of the receiving room lit cheerfully with gas lamps. The society debutante sat back in her seat and stared after me with disapproving eyes. I did not even remember her name—why bother when half a century from now, no one will.
* * *
The wind whistled in my ears and I pulled my coat tighter around me. A car honked behind me and I stopped at watched as it pulled up beside me. The window rolled down. "Do you need a lift somewhere?" the woman driving asked me.
I smiled gratefully at her and got into the car. I would tell this person of her legacy before we parted company. She may be world-known or lost in obscurity. Or she may be well remembered by only a few. For most, that is enough.
I sighed as I let the car's heaters work away at the coldness in my bones. I had been walking for a very long time. It felt good to finally rest.
"So," she said, "where are you going?"
I chuckled. "Wherever the road takes me," I answered. Closing my eyes, I let the blankness sweep over me. I opened my mouth and spoke.
--fin--