How Deep The Roots Go ( Book One)

Chapter 1

*Please note that this is an unedited version, so you may find an error here or there. *

                                                                How Deep the Roots Go

                                             If ye will not have faith, ye shall not endure

                                                                             Isaiah 7:9

The cards were old, their edges worn and blushed with age. The pictures upon them filtered rapidly through the dark hands of the dealer. The cadence of the shuffle was fast and deliberate, notably done many a time. Sounds of cards striking one another hummed like a lullaby upon the stagnant air in the dimly lit room. Temperance shifted in the hard seat, her amber eyes evading the baleful ones that attempted to lock with hers.

"It was meant for you to be here this eve, no?" The mulatto woman spoke with a thick Creole accent, smiling warmly and showing perfectly straight white teeth. She was a petite woman and quite stunning, Temperance thought. She had smooth caramel skin, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes. Temperance took note that she was middle-aged, youth still her companion, yet holding the demeanor of someone very wise and much older.

Temperance returned the smile, reluctant to allow her mind to wander to the gate of the unknown. She wanted answers... This was her last-ditch effort in determining why her second sight was fading.

Suddenly, the shuffle ceased, and then the cards were laid down, each methodically and selectively placed before her. Temperance had not an inkling of what they depicted, only that these cards were controversial and rather frowned upon by many. But hopefully, with mercy, they would reveal why her sight was depleting. Why, after all this time, her rare gift was being rescinded, layer-by-layer.

The reader lifted her hands then, hovering above the ancient cards, moving them cautiously in a circular motion, drawing unseen energy from them. They seemed to be heavy and laden with mystery as if her palms were interpreting the messages within the pictures.

Temperance gave a hesitant glance to her friend Violet, who sat within the small room with her. Violet, her best friend and confidant had been the one to convince her to take the step to enter the House of Hazel. Renowned for her expertise in the craft, and for her mulish mannerism, Hazel was the one you pay visit to when the answers that you seek lay buried like the dead in a graveyard.

Suddenly Hazel stopped. Her dark hands lingered above the table, still and paused. Her eyes scanned the cards frantically as if receiving answers from each one. Her head then lifted up slowly, seemingly deliberate in doing so. "You have the sight."

It was a statement really. But the way she voiced it eluded it to be a question. For a split second, Temperance had thought she had seen anger brewing in her eyes, but then, like the shutting of a door, it was gone.

Temperance gritted her teeth but didn't respond. She wished she were on her A−game. Never had she to venture far from her own arena of expertise for answers. Until now... Now she was faced with demons of doubt wreaking havoc into the recess of her mind and clouding over everything she had in her.

No longer could she see or predict with absolute certainty. Now, she was deduced to only receiving flickers of happenings that were laced with bare truths.

Inherited to her from her mother's bloodline. A gift, she supposed. But one that came with many strings attached. Strings in which she could never sever, or even loosen the firm noose it had around her.