“How about this one then?” Narra tossed a third photograph towards Jumi dismissively. Though their movements and their tone were casual, their intense expression betrayed their anticipation. Jumi was trying her best to live up to that anticipation, but she knew the time would come, inevitably, when she would have to let them down.

Narra knew it too. When they’d entered her psychic’s tent, they’d slumped down in their seat as though inviting themself to a poker game they knew they couldn’t win. They were prepared already for defeat.

Jumi sluiced the picture up into her delicate fingers and carelessly studied her guest, half-smiling at Narra’s irritation at her gaze. Their manner of clothing was spartan, blank of all decoration save for a button threaded through their jacket proclaiming their pronouns, but even the text on the clasp was bold and declarative, nothing more. Narra did not care about standing out; they eschewed attention and company, as evinced by their coming to the carnival alone. The only part of them that shone were their eyes, dark crystals that glittered at Jumi as she stared back, impatiently asking her, or maybe the rest of the world, a question that she wasn’t certain could be answered.

She smiled fully. Most people were probably unnerved by eyes like these. Jumi loved a mystery and a challenge.

And speaking of challenges, Jumi finally lowered her eyes to the photograph in hand. She nearly laughed out loud when she saw the territorial watermark splashed across the center of the image. “A stock photo?”

“They’re still real people,” Narra countered. “You should be able to read them as easily as any other photo.”

Jumi’s laughter simmered in her chest, but she concentrated on the picture. She had to applaud Narra’s ingenuity; they knew how much a reading like this depended more on the psychic giving the listener what they wanted to hear than the content of the image. Giving her a stock photo negated that advantage, or so was Narra’s intention, and if Jumi had been giving this reading to any other person, she would have had nothing to work with.

But the circumstances weren’t so cut and dry now. Jumi tossed another smile at Narra over the top of the photograph, and Narra’s lips deepened into a scowl at her impish confidence. The stock image was of two people on a shore grinning at each other, their heads bowed together as though on the verge of kissing.

“Trying to drop some hints?” Jumi teased, and launched into her reading before Narra could reply. “The woman is a lesbian. Her wife does her hair, and they both love the time they set aside for it. She wants to be an actor, but she’s torn, knowing she has little chance of succeeding. Her wife is in anguish, feeling helpless in her love’s frustration. She wants to help, but she doesn’t know how unless her wife reaches out to her first.”

“You’re pretty keen on those negative emotions.”

“They’re the strongest signals, the easiest to pick up on.” Jumi replied with a sweet smile before continuing the reading. “The man has just graduated from college, but he wants to go back and get a master’s, or maybe a PhD. He’s worried about money, especially considering one of his family members is sick and needs money for the hospital. He doesn’t want to leave them to their debts, but he knows they don’t want to hold him back.” Jumi studied the image a moment longer before looking up to Narra. “How was that?”

Narra stared into Jumi’s face for a long, silent moment. The chuckle of voices and carnival music outside seemed muffled. Narra’s expression was unreadable, even to an expert like Jumi.

At length, Narra sighed and reached out to take the photograph back. “You were close, psychic.” Their voice was deadpan, and Jumi could hear their heart sinking through the echoes it made in their throat. “But not close enough.”

“Really?” Jumi propped her chin on her hands, unperturbed. “What do you see?”

Narra’s eyes flicked up to Jumi. She waited, patient.

A near imperceptible sigh, and Narra resettled themself on the chair. Their voice was quiet, the hushed tones of a library patron, and they spoke without looking at Jumi or even the photograph. “The woman’s name is Mercy, and her girlfriend’s name is Beryl. Both hate their own names and love the others’. Mercy made an attempt already to start a career in voice-acting, but she had neither the equipment nor the voice. Rather than moving on and trying new things, she’s still bitter about the failed attempt and won’t listen to Beryl’s consoling. Beryl will leave her soon, believing Mercy doesn’t love her anymore. Mercy will move back in with her parents and spend the rest of her days in obscurity in a dead-end job, somewhere at a desk, and she will die in a collision with a drunk driver when she’s forty-five.”

Jumi was certain she was imagining it, but every time Narra spoke these pronouncements of the future, she thought she felt a shiver in the air, like violin strings vibrating a breath of chill winter.

Narra continued, their stream of thought rolling on like a meandering river. “The man’s name is Stephen. His family neglected him as a child, but neither he nor they realize the impact of what they had done. They believed they were raising him to be independent; he believed he lived in a world where love was a distant thing, perfunctory and stiff. He lives with chronic depression and anger issues, which has resulted in alienating himself from those who would be his friends. He’s acting in stock photos to scrape up some extra money for rent because he’s just been fired from his third job through the fault of his boss rather than himself. He will go to jail when he’s twenty-nine for assault and extend his sentence when he punches one of the guards. He’ll die the year after he’s released of lung cancer which grew unchecked while he was in prison.”

The silent violin shuddered. Jumi thought she saw her breath mist before her lips.

Narra inhaled a deep sigh and opened her eyes to Jumi. “Good enough for you?”

Jumi had not broken her relaxed position, though she knew Narra would see the pity in her eyes. She blinked to try and brush it away; they wouldn’t appreciate seeing that. “An excellent reading,” she praised. “Very detailed, very gloomy.”

“I don’t come into these tents to be mocked.”

“Then what do you come into them for?”

Jumi’s question was serious, but Narra didn’t answer. They glowered at the young woman and stuffed the photograph into their jacket. “The trial still stands. You’re no more a real psychic than the others. I’m wasting my time here.”

“I’m not finished,” Jumi protested as Narra made movements to stand. On an impulse, she shot out her hand and stopped Narra from zipping up their jacket. “Will you stay? I have another reading I can do.”

Narra blinked in surprise at Jumi’s hand on theirs. It took them a long moment to back their hand away, and when they finally recovered, they grudgingly unzipped their jacket and eyed Jumi skeptically. “I don’t have any more photographs.”

“I don’t need them.” Jumi smiled at Narra again, and she knew Narra caught the difference in this smile. The persona of the carnival psychic had been discarded. She was no longer playing a game.

She laced her fingers together and leaned forward. “You can see the future. I pretend to read the past. Yes?” When Narra didn’t reply, she continued, “I invent lies to please my customers and make a living. I enjoy it. I’m a writer of fictions, Narra. I’m an improv artist. I’m a comedian making jokes to an audience that doesn’t know. I read my guests and then read them to them.”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“You're a con artist.” There was simple bluntness to Narra’s voice, no spite.

“A magician!” Jumi corrected. “Which, in this case, are the same thing.”

Narra was unimpressed. “And?”

Patience. Jumi waited a moment longer to make sure Narra remembered she wasn’t trying to waste their time. “I read everyone who walks through my tent before they even sit in my chair,” she continued. “But I don’t always get it in those first few seconds. Everything they do, everything they say, everything they give me and don’t give me tell me their story.” She held out her hand and, realizing what she was asking for, Narra produced the stock photo they’d brought to her. Holding it out to them, she said, “You told me everything about yourself when you told me these peoples’ lives.”

“Did I?”

“You did.”

Narra’s face could have been carved from stone. “How so, psychic?”

“You can read the future, Narra,” Jumi persisted, teasing them a little with the use of their name contrasted with their use of her mere title. “You could read the future when you chose this photograph, printed it out, and brought it to my tent. You knew whose lives you were giving to me. You chose them, and your choice was very telling.”

Jumi kept her voice quiet. It was her intention to unravel the spool of her thoughts, not to barrage them with it. “Mercy was a woman of ambitions, but as soon as she attempted and failed, instead of moving on and trying again she descended into a spiral of self-blame and doubt, and her relationship suffered as a result. She lost the woman who loved her and lost control over her destiny. And once she lost control, she never gained it back, not even for her own death.”

“I dispute that.”

“My summary?”

“No.” Narra’s crystal eyes took on the countenance of a dark whirlpool in a deep well. “That anyone ever has control over their destiny.”

Jumi nodded. “I understand why you’d dispute that. Can I continue?”

Narra inclined their head and Jumi continued. “Stephen was a man born into the wrong circumstances, and those circumstances have trapped his life. He wants to struggle against it but doesn’t know how, and lashes out at everyone instead of helping his own case. Despite his fight, the world gradually closes in around him until there’s nowhere left for him to go.”

“You repeating what I said doesn’t count as an accurate reading.”

“I haven’t begun my reading yet.” Jumi leveled her gaze at Narra. “Actually, I suppose I already finished it.”

She ruffled the photograph with her finger. Narra flicked their gaze between it and Jumi.

“I’m sorry you were forced with this gift, Narra.” Jumi’s voice was as soft as it ever had been.

Narra reached out and took the photograph back again. “I don’t need your pity. It doesn’t help me.”

“Not my pity.” Jumi watched as Narra zipped up their jacket, preparing to leave for the second time. “But what about my reading?”

“Your reading is bullshit,” Narra snapped, their voice suddenly full of venom. They reared back like an angry cobra.

“Not yours,” Jumi insisted. “The ones I did at the start. The ones of Mercy and Stephen.”

Narra hissed, turning towards the tent entrance. “You were wrong.”

“Was I?”

“Yes!” They turned back to Jumi to deliver the full force of their fury, and Jumi couldn’t help but flinch. “You were wrong! I see their pasts and their futures, and your reading was wrong!”

“Has the future ever changed, Narra?”

The prophet paused in the doorway. Jumi could see them struggling to contain their anger. Something seemed to change in them, some decision they made, and they turned back to Jumi, eyes blank. “Sometimes. Rarely. As much for the worse as for the better.” They took their hand out of their pocket, and in it was a dollar bill. “I’m sorry I’ve been so rude. Here. You do this stuff for a living, don’t you? I owe you for trying.”

“What about your future?”

“I can’t see my own future,” they replied brusquely. “I concluded a long time ago that seeing everyone else’s took up too much space for my own. I’m holding up your other customers.”

“Fuck them,” Jumi said casually. “I’ve made enough money for the night anyway.” She stood before Narra could leave. “Will you stay? Please.”

Narra lowered their eyelids a moment. “No.” Their voice was a husk of something Jumi couldn’t understand, and they slipped out from the tent.

Jumi didn’t see them again until the night was over. She was finishing her packing when she saw the silhouette of someone at the edge of the lights. She started with surprise, but smiled in welcome when she realized who it was.

“Some psychic I am, that I didn’t know it was you,” she said as Narra stepped into the light.

In the hours that had passed, Jumi saw the brooding process that had taken place within the prophet. They would have wandered the carnival, looking at every booth but not really seeing anything, feeling alone in the crowd. What conclusion had they come to - or, she realized, what new questions had they decided to bring them back to her?

Narra opened their mouth as though to spill everything before her, but paused. Jumi wished they’d vent it out - it seemed like something that was long overdue for the prophet - but they had guarded their thoughts for so long, it would take much longer for them to let their barriers down. Instead, they carefully chose their words, and asked, “Did you mean it? The first reading you gave of the third photograph.”

Had they parsed it out, what Jumi was trying to tell them? “Yeah, I did,” she said, finishing up her packing and zipping the suitcase shut. “I didn’t expect you to react so badly to it though. I’m sorry.”

“What do you expect from someone whose mind has been forced to comprehend the scale of infinity?” Narra recited the words as though they’d heard them from someone else and still couldn’t stomach them.

“That they haven’t seen everything yet,” Jumi replied easily, catching them off-guard.

They tried to work through Jumi’s meaning, and their expression soured after a few seconds. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ll try to explain.” She picked up a nearby flashlight that a carnival-goer had left behind in her tent. The button flicked on and she aimed it to the neighbor’s tent. “The first thing you learn as a psychic is how meaningless it is to call something a truth or a lie.” Her hand came into the beam and twisted the light into the shape of a cat’s face. “Everything’s a little bit of both, maybe more of one than the other.”

“But the things I see always come true.”

“But what about the things you don’t see?” She waved the flashlight all about them, the beam getting lost in the darkness. “You know everything is laid before you.” She pointed it back at her hand, which was now in the shape of a dog’s head. “Some things you see, but other things you miss. And the things you see, everything, can change.” She dropped the flashlight and spread her hands wide. “Even when the carnival was fully lit and you had the run of the place, you didn’t see those shadow puppets on the side of the tent, did you?”

Narra stared at Jumi in disbelief and almost spoke again, but they kept silent as they worked through Jumi's meaning.

"You don't have to force anything," she said quietly, breaking the silence. Tenderly, she made eye contact. "You don't have to work through it on your own."

Still, Narra made no sound. Their mouth continued to work as though words were struggling to come out, but they weren't sure what they would say. Jumi reached out and gently took their hand, gesturing toward a nearby solitary bench. "Let's try. Let's talk."

Narra's confoundment was complete, but they stopped struggling to speak, and as Jumi walked them to the bench and sat them down, they never removed their hand from hers.

"Mercy still dies to a drunk driver. Stephen still dies right after being released from prison."

"Everyone dies. But everyone also lives."

"They both live miserably."

"Without any happiness, ever? Never ever feeling anything good after Beryl left? Never ever feeling peaceful during a quiet night in the prison?"

"You’re saying that little, barely noticed moments of happiness make up for everything else, every bad moment throughout anyone’s bad life. I can’t accept that."

"It shouldn’t have been your responsibility to have to."

"But it is. What’s your answer to that, then?"

"To find - and notice - happiness in your own life. That’s your only surprise left, isn’t it?"