Labyrinth Gate by Kate Elliott Page B

She did the same.
    “Excellent,” said Madame Sosostris, though no noticeable change of expression sounded in her tone. She swept the remaining cards into three piles. “Now, Mr. Mukerji.” She extended a hand. “Your cards, please.”
    Without a word, he handed them to her.
    “I cast the Hinge—your basic nature, between the forces pulling you downwards and the forces pulling you up.”
    With a deliberate, precise turn of her wrist, she laid the first card. “Ah, of course.” There was, for the first time, expression in her tone: pleased amusement. “The Paladin. You possess purity of soul. This quality gives you the privilege of pure sight and the burden of interpreting it correctly.”
    She placed the second card. It showed a scene, a cluster of huts. “You are pulled back by the Village, by conservatism, by others urging you to traditional courses, from goals that have been followed for many generations by your family. This stifles you, and yet you find it difficult to break away from it.”
    Chryse smiled slightly, but Sanjay’s face remained focussed and impassive.
    “Last.” Madame Sosostris placed the third card. An armed woman advancing, sword out. “The Angel of War. The strongest of the fire elementals, the wheel of the magi. This card pulls you upwards. You desire not strife, but a goal that will consume you entirely, that burns from within.” She paused, and then as if with hesitation, turned the card over. A silver dragon, twined and in profile, wings open. “You desire dragons,” she said. “For just as they embody the purest of magic, they embody the purest of desire.”
    There was silence again, disturbed only by the sound of their breathing, and a faint rustling from one of the corners.
    “Madame Lissagaray.”
    Chryse handed the woman the three cards that she held.
    “First.” Madame Sosostris placed the card on top of the Paladin. “Ah. The Seeker. She searches for an answer, an understanding, a grasp of that calling to which she has dedicated herself. Although it has so for remained elusive, she feels that it is almost within her reach and will be if she continues the quest. Her nature is solitary, and she is burdened by a restlessness that can cause her to leave behind all that is familiar and loved.”
    She placed the second card. A man lay, like a discarded toy, half-frozen and limp on a field of ice. “The Wanderer. A second card from the north. This reveals the danger of lost purpose, of wandering aimlessly, of stagnation and indecision in the pursuit of one’s goal. This fear pulls you down, endangers your ability to continue your search.”
    Chryse had clasped her hands on her lap. Sanjay was frowning, but in concentration, not disapproval.
    “Last.” Madame Sosostris placed the third card. “Yes. The Castle. Ringed by a moat. Impregnable, except by knowledge, in its seat on a high hill. Here one can find the synthesis of what is known and what has yet to be known. Here is the source.” She turned the card over. The reverse side showed a peaceful dell, at the center of which bubbled a spring. “You see,” she said. “The double-sided deck speaks both languages: the molded, the hand-formed, the controlled magic of humans, and the clarity of the natural forces, uncontrollable but purer. It is the melding of such a deck as this that produced the power to bring you here.”
    “Then you can help us get back?” asked Chryse.
    “Is that, at this moment, the greatest wish of your heart?”
    Chryse frowned and met Sanjay’s eyes. She knew, with the instinct that comes from long intimacy, that he felt the same reluctance she did at having to leave this adventure—perhaps, now, as abruptly as they had come.
    “But our families—” began Sanjay.
    “The worries of your families, however deep and sincere, I can do nothing about,” said Madame Sosostris smoothly, “and neither, while you are here, can you. There is no profit in that sort of speculation. In any case, with