The only thing she learned about her biological parents was that her mother had been young when she had Agata, her father older. Her mother had been American, whereas her father was Scandinavian. But they died, the details of their death not told to Agata.
She wasn’t such a fool as to think she’d find out more than the adoption agency or the genealogy tests she’d done could provide.
This was a big world, and her hopes of finding a place where she belonged, where she’d come from, were pretty slim.
2
The small, almost folk-inspired town of Adgnabrok seemed like she stepped off the train into a time that was long-gone. The outfits, stands, even the foods right in front of her looked as though she was transported back to when life was much simpler... in a sense.
This wasn’t an advertised gathering that tourists were invited to, but Agata had done research before this trip and planned on sightseeing when she got here.
This festival was mainly for the people of this small community, but for some reason, she felt connected, welcomed even. They didn’t shun her, even though she clearly wasn’t from here, but welcomed her as they offered her foods and drinks, and even danced in front of her, their smiles big.
She stayed off to the side and watched a young woman moving seductively to the beat of a drum. Agata felt the power in the dance, felt herself getting lost in the sway of the woman’s body, in the way her blonde hair moved around her waist, tempting yet warning.
“You are not from here.”
The thickly accented voice came from behind Agata, and she turned around and stared at an older woman. She wore robes of linen, cream and white, with hints of red woven in the fabric.
Her salt-and-pepper hair was made up into several long braids, but it was the creamy obliqueness of her eyes and the scars that surrounded them that had Agata turning fully and staring at her.
“You are from across the sea yet have the blood of our people running deep in your veins.”
Agata nodded, even though it was clear this woman was blind. But she didn’t seem like she was unable to see and in fact stared right at Agata as if she could make out the very pores of her flesh.
“But I sense something deeper inside you, child.” The blind woman placed a hand right over her heart and closed her eyes. “You are from a city of metal and glass, surrounded by people, and yet you are isolated. Your heart yearns for rock and earth, of being alone yet cared for.”
Agata was shocked, stunned that this woman knew anything about her.
“Come with me.” She turned and started moving through the crowd, and Agata looked around. The woman stopped but didn’t look back, and Agata moved forward.
This was insane, but she was curious as to what the woman wanted to talk to her about, how she knew she wasn’t from this country, when Agata hadn’t said one word to her.
But she found herself moving closer, and when the old woman started walking again, Agata followed her into this small straw hut that looked like it had been erected for this evening.
It fit the whole old-world feel the entire village was going for tonight. In the center of the hut burned a small fire. Rocks surrounded the flames; hides were thrown over chairs, and feathers hung from the ceiling.
“Sit, child.” The older woman gestured to one of the seats, and when Agata was sitting across from her, the woman held her hands out. “Let me touch your flesh, see the lines in your palm, and tell you what I know.”
This had to be something they did when they spotted tourists. Hell, Agata had spoken to a few people when she’d first gotten to the village. Maybe the woman had been watching her then? Agata held her hands out, playing along.
The older lady grabbed her wrists and placed her hands palm up. Then she leaned forward, stared at her hand, ran her finger along the crease of Agata’s palm, and inhaled deeply.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back slightly.
“You are not happy, are you, my child?”
Agata looked behind her, seeing the party still commencing, and wondered how far she’d let this go. Although she didn’t know if she believed in fortunetellers or seers, she knew the people in this region, in this area of the country and world, practiced different beliefs that they followed from deep within their souls. “I’m sure most people are not happy.”
She set her hands in her lap and looked down at the flames, letting the old woman’s words play through her head. The truth was she wasn’t happy.
Agata didn’t think she’d ever really been happy before. She’d moved through life, doing what she had to do, what she needed to do. She was utterly alone in this world despite being surrounded by people all the time. Coworkers were not friends, not ones she’d grown up with, formed bonds with.