The Tales of Two Seers

by R. Cooper

  The Tales of Two Seers

  A Being(s) in Love Anthology

  R. Cooper

  Copyright © R. Cooper 2020

  ISBN: 9780463341896

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Lyn Forester

  Content tags: references to past sexual harassment/abuse, references to toxic parents, onpage sex, offpage intimate partner violence, offpage violence, drinking, references to the Church and its homophobia, fantasy prejudice, nonconsensual sexual relationship (offpage)

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Foreword

  What Might Be

  Little Prince

  Clematis of the Cinders

  Martin the Wrong

  A Lord for the Bear Prince

  The One That Would Be

  Tales Before Bedtime, Retold

  A Charm for Confidence

  Three Masquerades

  A Beast and a Beauty

  A Wolf’s Faithfulness

  Tales Before Bedtime

  Aphrodite’s Favorite

  The End

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Last year, in the middle of several disasters, both natural and personal, someone suggested I publish some of my smaller pieces since I already had several short stories set in the Beings universe. “Just a fun, easy side project,” they said, “so you can release something without too much stress.” Ha! replied my brain, as it promptly took that idea and turned it into something time-consuming. Thus, a small, silly project of Beings stories set outside the Beings universe became a book of fairy tales, or something like fairy tales.

  Now, here we are in the middle of another disaster, and I just hope these offer some distraction or comfort. They were meant to be fun for me and for all the readers who have patiently waited over a year for me to get all the Beings books back out into the world again and then write something new. A little glimpse into what might have been—or what might be, as Edgar Erasmus might say.

  The sight, as it is colloquially known, pops up from time to time in otherwise unremarkable humans; a latent fairy trait passed down from sexually adventurous ancestors. Fairies have the ability to ‘see’ truth, yet are widely, and incorrectly, not regarded with fear. Perhaps because they mostly choose not use this power.

  With seers, it is never a matter of choice.

  Few seem to welcome their gifts or even admit to them, and not only because prophets and oracles are often punished for their honesty or conscripted into the service of the powerful. Seeing the past as it was, and the present as it is, the way that fairies and humans with the sight do, can be dangerous, but no one lives easily with the weight of the future upon them. It is little wonder, then, that so many seers are said to lose themselves in substance abuse, or daydreams, or run from their gifts altogether.

  From the Introduction to Know Thyself: Fortune-tellers, Prophets, Sibyls, and Seers

  by Eo-jin Moreau, PhD

  What Might Be

  “SO THIS IS the lair of a seer?”

  Edgar pulled himself from the dog-eared, used copy of a Regency romance he had purchased online and looked at the stranger in front of him.

  It took some doing. Lady Prudence, a widow, had been in the middle of feverishly describing her encounter with a devilish man at a masked ball. Edgar loved a masked ball—in theory, of course, since Edgar rarely left this room, much less this house, and would never, ever, be able to hide who he was.

  He focused on the figure at the library door, and did his best not to be disappointed to find an ordinary dragon of about Edgar’s age, with fiery red and orange scales, carroty hair, and freckles across his white cheeks.

  The freckles were sort of endearing, although Edgar personally preferred a face without them. One particular face, in fact, but that was not meant to be, so he did not dwell on it.

  Not in front of strangers, anyway.

  “Hello,” Edgar belatedly greeted his newest suitor, as this dragon surely must be. Edgar’s mother was probably somewhere close by, embarrassingly hopeful on Edgar’s behalf. She didn’t understand that most dragons were unnerved by Edgar, and she loved him too much to see how even the dragons who did not tremble before a seer were still not interested in a dragon who spent most of his time in his pajamas.

  Edgar’s current pajama set was purple silk, a gift from Justin, who thought the purple went well with Edgar’s emerald scales. Edgar wore this set often, while wishing that the purple would make the rest of him a little more exciting. Less mousy brown hair. Less squishy body. Less awkward social skills. Edgar was almost as awkward as Zarrin Xu, whose family, not at all understanding like Edgar’s, had allegedly shunted him off to a house in some remote part of the state.

  Wearing these pajamas also meant Edgar had to resist the temptation to pretend that the gift had been something intimate, and not, as it likely was, something given and then forgotten about. He especially had to fight this urge around strangers who were dragons, because the dragon sense of smell, while not as refined as a werewolf’s, was strong enough to detect lust, and occasionally, longing.

  He didn’t notice any scents out of place on his suitor, though he hadn’t expected to. Most of Edgar’s suitors were here at the urging of their families. Anyway, this one and Edgar barely knew each other. Edgar wondered if his suitor knew Justin, if he had also been one of Justin’s suitors, or one of Justin’s playmates, as the dragon elite sometimes referred to their casual sexual friends, and then shuddered to imagine what this dragon might have smelled on him at that thought.

  His red-headed suitor hesitated, likely because Edgar had not answered in a way that encouraged more conversation. Then he rallied and tried again. “Your lair is a library?”

  It was not truly a library. Books filled the shelves, and the floor, and every available space except for the couch where Edgar sat, but these books were not for anyone to borrow. Printed-out fanfiction, arranged in binders, took up the space beneath the couch, done when Edgar was a child, before e-readers and tablets and laptops had made storage easier. Dead-tree novels, comics, and magazines gave the room the faint smell of aged vanilla.

  A few movies, but only a few, could be found, alongside children’s stories and mass market genre fiction, and human young adult novels about werewolves that were so, so wrong but so, so wonderful.

  Too many stories and not enough stories, thousands upon thousands of them in the room as they were in Edgar’s mind. But to others, the room was hushed, and the crackle of the fire was peaceful, so they would often come to sit on the couch and listen to Edgar talk about stories because they believed what humans did—that storytellers were seers. That was why Edgar was shown respect although he was a dragon with no treasure of his own.

  That Edgar was a seer was the only reason he had any suitors at all. Dragons these days were very concerned that the world needed more dragons, so dragon parents went out of their way to try to make matches. It was not done to be cruel. Dragons were welcome to find companionship, or sex, or love, with anyone they fancied, if they fancied. But having a few hatchlings with another dragon was the preferred outcome for many anxious parents. Hence, playmates. Hence, this dragon in Edgar’s house who might know Justin in a way that Edgar would never know Justin, and now was pretending he wanted to woo Edgar when really, he was after an answer.

  If the answer was regarding Justin, Edgar had a feeling he was going to do something novel, and perhaps awful.
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  But he belatedly remembered he had been supposed to speak.

  “My lair is my library,” he corrected. “I keep stories, you see.”

  “That’s what I was told,” answered his suitor, coming into the room. He looked around but respectfully did not touch anything.

  Edgar sighed. They were always so very respectful. One dragon to another. One dragon to another dragon with an ambiguous and apparently terrifying power. They never tried to treat Edgar like… well, it was best not to wish for that, either.

  “You keep stories and you tell them, that’s what they say,” his suitor went on, making Edgar’s heart sink, just a little. He truly hoped this one would not do what they all did at first. That he would not— “Should I ask you for my story?” his carnelian visitor asked him, light and teasing. Flirtatious, probably. Or he meant to be.

  Like how a visitor at a carnival might ask for their fortune. Which was something Edgar had to imagine, since he had never been to a carnival. Crowds were too much for Edgar, especially for prolonged periods. Too many voices and stories and possible stories. Too much noise when his mind was already loud and colorful.

  Too much, in general, for other dragons to tolerate when it came to matters of companions, or spouses, or dragons’ boys—who were, of course, sometimes anything but boys, but were always highly valued.

  Another foolish thought. Edgar was not a dragon’s boy. Edgar was a dragon. He did not belong to anyone in particular. Nor would he ever.

  Probably.

  It was almost a certainty, but Edgar had never closed his eyes to consider his own future because he was wise enough not to. It was the romance novel making him careless and wistful, making him sigh and dream and… forget he had a visitor in the room with him.

  Edgar frowned, although it was not the fault of this dragon that he had come here. Most dragons were forced into these awkward, potentially romantic interactions, and this new dragon was likely just trying to make the best of it. He couldn’t know that all of these encounters went the same, and that Edgar would have preferred being left to his book, or that light teasing could never be as delightful as boldness in the face of Edgar’s power. People who teased lightly and made jokes about prophecies and visions did not think Edgar was serious. Because of his oddness, or his pajamas, or the stack of yaoi manga at the end of the couch.

  “You know my name, I’ll bet,” Edgar said finally. “But I don’t know yours.”

  “Aiden.” Aiden dipped his head in greeting.

  “Aiden,” Edgar tried to be gentle, “you do not want your story. I could close my eyes and consider it, but it is safer to leave things unseen.”

  Edgar, for one, had always found it better not to look at his what might be, because the hope for what he wanted and would not get would probably crush him.

  Aiden, who was Edgar’s age, did what many other men in their early twenties might do when advised not to do something for their own good—he bristled and got defensive. “I’m sure I can handle whatever you see,” he declared, with enough conviction to almost make Edgar reconsider and classify him as bold. After all, only a few dragons ever asked Edgar to see and meant it.

  Edgar closed the book in his lap. “The future and all the possible futures are easier to bear if you think of them like soap operas. Storylines can be rewritten or redone into new storylines. They can change, but as long as certain factors remain constant, some outcomes also remain inevitable. Other times, it is simpler to imagine many timelines. Many universes, a scientist might say. Places where the smallest change in your past or present can affect everything else. If you were not a dragon—” a sentence sure to offend every dragon “—who would you be? Without family and money, without history and pride, who would you be, Aiden carnelian?” Edgar blinked, then perked up. “Oh, you would be lovely in a 1920s backdrop. The fashion would suit you. Would you be an American bootlegger? An English dandy? A modern artist? I’d make you a revolutionary, but I don’t believe you would be, not in the sense of say, Châu’s urging for armed revolt. If you were, you would not be here now in order to placate your parents. But, still, there is something secretive about you, so I am inclined to make you a bootlegger. Stealing across country roads in the dark, a car full of illegal liquor, both for profit and because the clandestine defiance pleases you.”

  “You would… make me a bootlegger?” Aiden asked in a slow, bemused tone of voice.

  He didn’t understand yet.

  “Why on earth would I look at your possible futures when neither of us might like them? An imaginary past is so much more fun. Though, of course, it would be the present at the time.” Edgar raised a finger to draw a circle in the air. “The trouble is, even in an imaginary past, issues will present themselves, and I will find myself considering futures, anyway, and one of them will undoubtedly be the real one, or close to it. And even if you do not identify the real future, you will see messages in your stories. Messages about me are likely because we are using my voice, but also messages about you. The answers you seek will show themselves, no matter if the story is fantasy or set in space, or an alternate version of your life where you did not go to school or you never gave up piano.” He focused back on Aiden, who was scowling as if he was beginning to understand. Perhaps he had once played piano. “I could cast strangers in each story. I could make every tale star a character from a show or a book you love. It wouldn’t matter. Stories are about the teller and the audience. That is why fanfiction is nice. Nobody really gets hurt… except the readers, sometimes. And me.”

  Aiden lost his scowl, looked curious instead. “You?”

  He’d make a wonderfully distrustful bootlegger reluctantly attracted to the federal agent on his trail.

  Nonetheless, Edgar shrugged uncomfortably. “Some things cannot be avoided without effort. Some seem to be always true. That’s why I don’t… I don’t think about the people I know.”

  “You used to,” Aiden pointed out, startling Edgar. “Everyone says you used to tell stories when you were younger, for all the other dragons. Fairy tales like humans tell. I also heard that you like romantic stories most of all.”

  “Who said that?” Edgar didn’t deny it, but he did frown.

  “It was just something I heard.” Aiden took a second longer to reply than he should have. He was lying to conceal whatever he’d actually heard. He had also brought up romance, very likely for a reason.

  “Oh. You truly aren’t here for me.” Edgar’s voice echoed throughout the room, although he did not raise it. If anything, he grew softer. “You joked at first,” like so many did, “but you came here to ask.” He studied Aiden from his sneakers to his loose button-down, until Aiden was the first to glance away.

  “Don’t know how he stands it,” he muttered.

  He didn’t say who ‘he’ was. But there were very few dragons who visited Edgar frequently and would fearlessly talk about him with others. Aiden was not one of Justin’s suitors, but he was full of longing, and Justin had spoken to him about Edgar.

  Edgar closed his eyes on a sigh. In the dark behind his eyelids were so many what might bes.

  “I rarely leave this house. You must know that first. What I know of the world, how I view it, is not what another might know, or see. There are gritty realities I will only ever understand as facts in a story. I do not want to dwell on unpleasantness, though if it finds me, I do not look away. Do you understand so far? This is how I see, and I how I weave my stories.” Edgar took a deep breath. “The stories are both mine and not mine, even though I am telling them. What I choose to look at and think about makes them mine, much like how I choose to tell them, but your stories are not my possibles. They are yours, and they will not always be things you like. Just because you do not want to hear something does not mean I can stop seeing it. The truth will out, even if it takes a dozen or more tales. There are rules to visiting oracles, and the most famous is this: Know thyself. If you want me to go on, I can, but you might not like the tale or its telling.�
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  Edgar settled back against the couch, his eyes firmly shut. Someone was breathing heavily. He took that as acceptance and continued with his warnings.

  “You thought, as many do, that I might see only a little. That I am harmless because I like to be comfortable and I hide among my books.” Edgar released a small huff of smoke. “That because I am not in college like you, I would be frivolous, and because I prefer romances and stories with happy endings, I must be shallow. Let me assure you, I do not think there has ever been a seer who does not wish for happy endings instead of tragic. We look at universes and you expect us to share that with just anyone? You expect it to be easy? There is not a single fairy tale that does not draw blood, no matter how joyous the ending.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you with my teasing. It’s just a lot to admit. Dragons are supposed to be sure, always. But I’m… I’m not.” Dragon pride or not, Aiden was more thoughtful than most. No wonder Justin had befriended him.

  Edgar tilted his head up and finally opened his eyes. He considered his ceiling, then the stained-glass windows that bathed the library in brightly colored light.

  “I am, um, exceptional, as far as seers go, in the traditional sense that I am an exception. An outlier. Maybe because I am dragon, and my magic makes me strong in only this one aspect.” Edgar lowered his head at last, and allowed his voice to return to its usual volume. Aiden’s eyes were fixed on him, wide and wary. Edgar leaned forward. “Why else did you come to me? There are other seers. Not as strong as me; none are as strong as me. But even a human with the sight and a deck of cards might have helped you, and you would not have had to admit to another dragon that you were uncertain.”

  That Aiden would come here was curiouser and curiouser the more Edgar thought of it.