Reversed
Darney pressed his hands to his ears. The screaming
continued in his mind, though. The cards howled. And the heat from them in his
pocket throbbed against his hip – seventy-eight tiny hearts, skipping beats
from their wounds.
That rotten child had done this.
Many people didn’t like what the cards told them, but the
little girl had been the first to react so violently. The poor Fool card
whimpered, creases refusing to even out after she crumpled it. At least half of
the other cards were singed. Fire. Of all things, she had to use fire.
Delilah, his mother, had warned him, told him to protect the
cards with enchantments. Such magic would have kept them safe for the most
part. The fire wouldn’t have touched them. But he didn’t know how, couldn’t find
the magic she claimed he had.
The magic he yearned to find.
He traveled from town to town in hopes that the next reading
would be the trigger, the one that would spark the glow inside of him. And then
he could truly bond with his cards – they’d be an extension of him, not just a
deck of friends he kept close.
Curse Delilah. Some mother. She wouldn’t even help him
enchant them, but had told him these cards were his responsibility when she
gave them to him.
And then she had abandoned him, left him to wander Fate
while she disappeared to who knew where. Probably wherever his father was from.
The only information he had ever gotten out of her about that was some cryptic
answer about another world.
The woman had raised him with cryptic answers, intent on him
finding his own way, even when young. He’d always wished she’d been warmer,
more loving. Perhaps he would have found his magic already if she had.
But if he could find Delilah now, she’d know how to mend the
cards. Last time he saw her, she’d told him it was time for a change, for her
to shift from purple to green. Whatever that meant.
So, that didn’t leave him with many options. Either he
discovered whatever magic he was supposed to have, or he needed the help of
another, someone who knew the power of the cards and how to heal them.
The only person Darney thought of made him wish he had
burned up in the village fire. He might just as well burn alive, asking for his help.
The clamoring of the cards refused to abate, though, which
was why Darney headed west, forcing one foot in front of the other on the
wooded path. He couldn’t abandon them, not like Delilah had abandoned him.
He ventured into the trees, gathering some kindling, then
set up a small fire, pattern-perfect so as to burn evenly. Not too big, or the cards
would shiver in fear – he had made that mistake a couple nights ago. They were
traumatized.
After nibbling on some hard cheese and stale bread from his
worn leather pack, Darney pulled the cards out of his pocket and spread them
far enough away from the fire so that no sparks would jump on them, but close
enough so he could see part of the images on their faces.
Per usual, the Magus card stalked him at the center of the
heap, reversed, staring up at him, accusing him of not being who he was
supposed to be – labeling him a charlatan. The confidence of the mage on the
card was wiped when reversed, like something had drained the vibrant colors
surrounding him. And the Magus held items from all four suits: sword, staff,
cup, and pentacle, and a snake in the shape of an infinity sign twined around
the staff, biting its tail.
No, the mage didn’t hold those objects. They were a part of
him. They belonged. Unlike Darney. The blue cat eyes that glinted in the
backdrop looked woeful upside down, a perfect reflection of how Darney felt.
The mage had escaped the fire, and it seemed to call the
damaged cards to it, so it could protect them. What Darney should have done.
He scooped the cards up and stuffed them back in his pocket.
His own guilt was enough – he didn’t need it from the Magus, too.
Darney shut his eyes, yearning for sleep, to forget what had
happened. But
Darney pressed his hands to his ears. The screaming
continued in his mind, though. The cards howled. And the heat from them in his
pocket throbbed against his hip – seventy-eight tiny hearts, skipping beats
from their wounds.
That rotten child had done this.
Many people didn’t like what the cards told them, but the
little girl had been the first to react so violently. The poor Fool card
whimpered, creases refusing to even out after she crumpled it. At least half of
the other cards were singed. Fire. Of all things, she had to use fire.
Delilah, his mother, had warned him, told him to protect the
cards with enchantments. Such magic would have kept them safe for the most
part. The fire wouldn’t have touched them. But he didn’t know how, couldn’t find
the magic she claimed he had.
The magic he yearned to find.
He traveled from town to town in hopes that the next reading
would be the trigger, the one that would spark the glow inside of him. And then
he could truly bond with his cards – they’d be an extension of him, not just a
deck of friends he kept close.
Curse Delilah. Some mother. She wouldn’t even help him
enchant them, but had told him these cards were his responsibility when she
gave them to him.
And then she had abandoned him, left him to wander Fate
while she disappeared to who knew where. Probably wherever his father was from.
The only information he had ever gotten out of her about that was some cryptic
answer about another world.
The woman had raised him with cryptic answers, intent on him
finding his own way, even when young. He’d always wished she’d been warmer,
more loving. Perhaps he would have found his magic already if she had.
But if he could find Delilah now, she’d know how to mend the
cards. Last time he saw her, she’d told him it was time for a change, for her
to shift from purple to green. Whatever that meant.
So, that didn’t leave him with many options. Either he
discovered whatever magic he was supposed to have, or he needed the help of
another, someone who knew the power of the cards and how to heal them.
The only person Darney thought of made him wish he had
burned up in the village fire. He might just as well burn alive, asking for his help.
The clamoring of the cards refused to abate, though, which
was why Darney headed west, forcing one foot in front of the other on the
wooded path. He couldn’t abandon them, not like Delilah had abandoned him.
He ventured into the trees, gathering some kindling, then
set up a small fire, pattern-perfect so as to burn evenly. Not too big, or the cards
would shiver in fear – he had made that mistake a couple nights ago. They were
traumatized.
After nibbling on some hard cheese and stale bread from his
worn leather pack, Darney pulled the cards out of his pocket and spread them
far enough away from the fire so that no sparks would jump on them, but close
enough so he could see part of the images on their faces.
Per usual, the Magus card stalked him at the center of the
heap, reversed, staring up at him, accusing him of not being who he was
supposed to be – labeling him a charlatan. The confidence of the mage on the
card was wiped when reversed, like something had drained the vibrant colors
surrounding him. And the Magus held items from all four suits: sword, staff,
cup, and pentacle, and a snake in the shape of an infinity sign twined around
the staff, biting its tail.
No, the mage didn’t hold those objects. They were a part of
him. They belonged. Unlike Darney. The blue cat eyes that glinted in the
backdrop looked woeful upside down, a perfect reflection of how Darney felt.
The mage had escaped the fire, and it seemed to call the
damaged cards to it, so it could protect them. What Darney should have done.
He scooped the cards up and stuffed them back in his pocket.
His own guilt was enough – he didn’t need it from the Magus, too.
Darney shut his eyes, yearning for sleep, to forget what had
happened. But
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