The Book of Lesath

Like most young women living in metropolitan areas, whose city lights rival the sky’s constellations, Capella found herself sitting across from a spiritual medium during one of her darkest hours. She paid the woman to read her future with tarot cards. The medium told her in a voice flattened by repetition, “The door to the future is the heart. I just look through the keyhole.”

After the last card was laid on the table by the medium’s shaky, skeletal hand, silence hung in the air like a gauzy cobweb.

During these granular moments that stretched into aeons, the incense’s breath floated above their heads in the tawdry room, along with an underlying muskiness that tickled Capella’s nose. As her gaze meandered the tributaries of wrinkles on the old crone’s face, she could not help thinking it smelled like fermenting feminine energy -- something sweet turning sour from the inside out. The scent lifted one’s spirit for a brief moment only to let it fall and revel in its own decay.

Through a smoker’s cough, the medium gasped, “Your heart’s murky with sadness and confusion. That’s why Death shows up here in the last card, representing your future.”

“Does this mean my grief will last until death?” Capella looked closely at the card. A bishop, a maiden, and even a child groveled at the hooves of Death’s horse, which was white as milk with blood red eyes. Death himself was depicted as bones in black armor, hoisting a flag emblazoned with a monochrome flower. Capella couldn’t explain it, but she felt as if the seed of this colorless flower was planted inside her mind as she stared at the card.

The medium smiled, creating cracks in her dry lipstick. “Of course not! All endings are new beginnings,” Her eyes flicked sideways like a Kit-Cat Klock, “The card signifies a spiritual death. You must let your old self die, so your fullest potential may bloom.”

The medium’s interpretation relieved Capella, helping her to believe and see past all the shoddiness. “How does this spiritual death happen?”

“When’s your birthday?” The medium started to shuffle her tarot cards like a blackjack dealer.

“The 18th of December.”

The medium squinted, making her eyes appear like dark slits beneath closed doors. “Lucky girl, you were born under the star Lesath, so you’ll need to be reborn under it.”

“But how?” Capella’s voice was as thin and wavering as smoke that haunts a candle after it’s been blown out.

“You’ll need to find The Book of Lesath.” The medium rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue. “When the book’s in your possession, it’ll realign your soul and bring you good fortune.”

Capella’s eyes shimmered at the thrill of such a promise. “Where can I find it?”

“It’s a little black book hidden somewhere inside the Calico Cat.” The medium smiled with her teeth this time. “There’s a caveat…”

“What is it?”

“Since I’m doing you a favor by sharing this cosmic knowledge, you’ll need to return my favor when the time comes. Kapeesh?”

“Of course. I’ll be indebted to you.” Capella nodded like a marionette.

“Very good. To help you find The Book of Lesath, here’s this mirror. Simply look at your reflection and whisper the star’s name for guidance.” The medium slid a hand mirror shaped like a crescent moon across the table toward Capella.

The doorbell began buzzing insistently.

“Now go,” The medium hissed. “My next customer’s here.”

***

When Capella stepped into the Calico Cat, a golden bell above the door twinkled. She was immediately met with the comforting smell of aged paper and leather while simultaneously overwhelmed by the precarious piles of books and bursting shelves before her.

“Where’s the astrology section?” Capella asked the old man behind the counter.

He simply pointed to the very back wall of the store where the stacks of books had created their own forest. A particular tower in the far left corner was labeled with a small sign that had a hand drawn falling star.

Capella made her way toward the back in what seemed a chaotic maze. Once she reached the stack of books about astrology, she began to scan each spine for The Book of Lesath. With no luck, Capella crouched down to rummage through the smaller piles of paperbacks at the foot of the larger stack. She eventually sneezed, which caused the surrounding stacks of books to slightly creak and sway like actual trees.

Beginning to doubt the medium again, Capella suddenly remembered the mirror and grabbed it from her bag. She held it up to her face, which appeared wan and desperate in the partial reflection offered by its sickle shape. Capella whispered under her breath, “Lesath,” so the old man at the counter wouldn’t hear her.

Suddenly, in the slice of reflection just beyond her shoulder, she saw something shimmer. She turned around. Capella noticed a small alcove with a built-in shelf that she had not seen earlier on her way toward the back of the store. There was only one book on that entire shelf. Her heart began to writhe in her chest.

After walking over to the shelf, she picked up the lone book. It was smaller than it appeared from afar, fitting into the palm of her hand. On the black leather bound cover in shining silver letters, it read: The Book of Lesath. Capella’s stomach fluttered with yearning. She felt a strong desire to take the book home as soon as possible and hide it from the rest of the world.

The old man at the counter, though, was in much less of a hurry. Standing before him, Capella stared as he flipped through an art book, imagining she could burn a hole between his eyes. She was about to say something when he finally looked up and acknowledged her presence.

“I’m so sorry! I guess I got too enthralled in these paintings…” the old man chuckled joyfully. “Have you ever seen this one?” he held up the book for Capella to see.

It showed an old wise man underneath a ray of light in a field surrounded by scattered bones that seemed to be turning into people, becoming a crowd of unclothed men, women, and children. The painting puzzled Capella. Despite its subject matter, it was not macabre. Rather, it left her feeling hopeful.

Unknitting her brow, Capella replied, “No, I haven’t.”

“It’s ‘Ezekiel and the Dry Bones’ by Crispin van den Broeck -- one of my favorite paintings.”

Capella set the little black book on the counter.

“What do we have here?” the old man adjusted his glasses and held up the small book.

Smiling sheepishly, Capella shrugged.

“Did you know the star Lesath is part of the constellation Scorpius? In fact, it’s the tip of the scorpion’s stinger. Lesath has a sibling, the star Shaula. Together, they’re called the Cat’s Eyes…”

Capella was taken aback by the old man’s knowledge.

“In medieval times, the star Lesath was a bad omen. It signified being hunted by the Beast. It meant danger, even poison, loomed near. Why do you want this book?” the old man raised his eyebrows and set the book back on the counter.

Capella felt a warmth creeping up her body like ivy. “A medium said I was born under the star Lesath. So it’s lucky for me.”

The old man sighed softly, “We’re born underneath all the stars in the sky, who watch over our lives with reverence. To hold one celestial body captive in the hopes of bending its power, so it stoops to our earthly will, is against the laws of nature…”

Feeling chastised yet as headstrong as a goat locking horns with another, Capella smiled politely. “I’d still like to buy the book.”

“How about this? I’ll let you borrow the book, but you must bring it back. Then, you can have as many books from my store that your arms can carry -- for free. Deal?”

The old man and Capella gazed at each other for a swift yet still eternity.

“That seems fair,” she agreed.

However, as Capella left the Calico Cat, she knew in her heart she had no intention of returning the little black book, and something inside her wilted while a terrible new vine emerged.

***

Indeed, the old witch was right. The day after Capella brought home The Book of Lesath, she inherited a large fortune from an unknown distant relative. With the inheritance, she paid off her debts and quit her job. All worries dissipated into the ether. Thus began her life of leisure.

Capella began to eat at all the famous restaurants in the city and vacation in Europe. She’d spent most of her life foraging through thrift stores and was amazed by the expensive clothes and furnishings she could afford now. Newfangled friends drifted into her life, and Capella staked her claim in the world of fine art collecting.

Because of her burgeoning passion for wine and its excesses, she made the grand purchase of “Bacchus” -- the original painting by Caravaggio. She’d also grown quite fond of the crescent-shaped hand mirror. Sometimes, she would stare into the receding depths of her own eyes for hours. Wealth had made her more beautiful; her figure was fuller, her lips plumper. Without struggles anymore, Capella’s life became superficial. She knew she was splashing around in shallow waters, surprised by how much she enjoyed the absence of depth. She bought another original Caravaggio painting to hang over her bed, “Narcissus.”

Many years passed this way. Then, while Capella gazed at her reflection in the hand mirror one day, the old crone’s face appeared instead of her own.

“You look like a pig ready for a luau!” the medium cackled.

It was as if no time had passed since their first meeting. Capella flushed because she had indeed gained more weight. “Are you saying I look fat?”

“No, your beauty is a feast for the eyes.” The medium’s voice suddenly became serious. “Now it’s time for you to return my favor.”

Capella huffed, “Alright.”

“I have not only come for your soul, but also your body.”

“What?” Capella screeched.

Suddenly, a pen and The Book of Lesath appeared in her free hand.

“Sign your name in the book. You promised.” the medium commanded.

The little black book opened and fluttered to an empty page. Capella had kept the book locked away all these years and never dared look inside. Now, she saw it was filled with names.

“I refuse to give my life to an evil hag like you!” Capella hurled the mirror to the floor, letting the crescent moon shatter.

A growl emanated from the little black book. Then, Capella’s other hand was drawn to the pen as if by an invisible string. It took all of her willpower to let go of the pen and all of her strength to clamp the book shut with both hands.

The book didn’t like being muzzled, though, and began to bark. It even began chewing off her thumbs. Capella cried out in pain, a feeling she had long forgotten. Instead of oozing blood, her hands and the book gushed black ink.

She remembered the old man at the Calico Cat. She wondered if he would be there and started running the city streets toward the little bookstore. When she burst through the door, the same bell tinkled, and the old man stood behind the counter, smiling. He hadn’t aged at all.

Tears of black ink ran down Capella’s face, and her hands were hemorrhaging.

“Give me the book,” the old man offered.

She slammed her clamped, thumbless hands on the counter. When the old man took the book, something strange happened. All the black ink evaporated in a bright flash of light. Capella looked down at her hands, which had become pure bone. She weeped as two new thumbs sprouted and a refined layer of skin wrapped around her entire skeleton.