all.
Seven Grievers, seven families, all who were touched by and who touched my master.
Then the Cave card. The Queen of Shadows. The Gray Wanderer. The Singer of Dirges. I have spoken of them already. The Cup of Sleep and the Man Without Tears.
The first thirteen were known as the Cards of Dark, for all the faces on the original pack were dark since I drew them in in my grief. The thirteen cards added later by the gamesters are called the Cards of Light, and all the figures grin, their whitened faces set in a rictus, a parody of all we hold sacred.
Here, you can see the difference even in this pack. In my drawing of the Man Without Tears, he wears a landing suit and holds his hands outstretched by his sides, the light streaming through a teardrop in each palm. But his face cannot be seen, obscured as it is by the blackened bubble of his headgear. Yet in the gamestersâ thirteen, he wears a different uniform, one with stars and bars on the shoulders. And though his hands are still outstretched, with the light reflecting through the palms, his face is drawn as plain as any grieverâs, and he smiles a painful, sad grimace.
You can see the difference also in the Queen of Shadows card. In my pack, she is dressed in red and black, and her picture was a dark portrait of the queen then on the throne. But the packs today are no-faced and every-faced, the features as bland as the mash one feeds a child. There is no meaning there. My queen wore a real face, but the card looked back to an even older tale. You know it, of course? The queen mourning for her dead consort who went into the cave at the center of the world. She wore a red dress and a black cloak and carried a bag of her most precious jewels to purchase his release from Death. In those days Death was thought to live in a great stone palace in the worldâs center surrounded by circles of unmourned folk who had to grieve for themselves.
The queen followed the twisting, winding cave for miles, learning to see in the dark land with a night sight as keen as that she had used to see with in the day. Many long night-days passed, and at last she stopped by a pool and knelt down to drink. She saw, first, the dartings of phosphorescent fish, as numerous as stars. Then she saw, staring up from the pool, her own reflection, with shining night-eyes, big and luminous. She did not recognize herself, so changed was she from her journey. But she fell in love with the image, a queen from the dark sky, she thought. And she stayed by the poolside, weeping her diamonds and pearls into it, begging the jewel-eyed star woman to come up to her.
After thirteen days of weeping, her grief for her consort was forgotten and her precious gems were all gone. She returned home empty-handed. But her eyes remained wide and dark-seeing; she had become a visionary and seeress who spoke in riddles and read signs in the stars and was never again quite sane. She was called Queen of Shadows.
You do not understand the other cards in my deck? The Singer of Dirges? It is named after the simple singer who first brought my master into her fame. He was of no great importance otherwiseâa helper, a pointer of ways. And so the Singer card within the deck simply helps the other cards along, leading them from place to place within the pattern, being nothing in itself, only indicating the path to take.
And the Cup of Sleep? It is the changer. If it precedes a card, it changes the card and the pattern. If it follows a card, it does no harm. And the only card it cannot change is the Cave.
There, now you know the deck as well as I. Are you a player with the cards? Do you use them to tell you what will be, waiting on the message before you make a choice? Neither? Good. Only a fool uses them thus. They are grief cards, to help you understand your own grieving, as they helped me with mine.
We are each a card, you know. I am like the Singer card, a pointer of ways. I point back to the old ways of the
Seven Grievers, seven families, all who were touched by and who touched my master.
Then the Cave card. The Queen of Shadows. The Gray Wanderer. The Singer of Dirges. I have spoken of them already. The Cup of Sleep and the Man Without Tears.
The first thirteen were known as the Cards of Dark, for all the faces on the original pack were dark since I drew them in in my grief. The thirteen cards added later by the gamesters are called the Cards of Light, and all the figures grin, their whitened faces set in a rictus, a parody of all we hold sacred.
Here, you can see the difference even in this pack. In my drawing of the Man Without Tears, he wears a landing suit and holds his hands outstretched by his sides, the light streaming through a teardrop in each palm. But his face cannot be seen, obscured as it is by the blackened bubble of his headgear. Yet in the gamestersâ thirteen, he wears a different uniform, one with stars and bars on the shoulders. And though his hands are still outstretched, with the light reflecting through the palms, his face is drawn as plain as any grieverâs, and he smiles a painful, sad grimace.
You can see the difference also in the Queen of Shadows card. In my pack, she is dressed in red and black, and her picture was a dark portrait of the queen then on the throne. But the packs today are no-faced and every-faced, the features as bland as the mash one feeds a child. There is no meaning there. My queen wore a real face, but the card looked back to an even older tale. You know it, of course? The queen mourning for her dead consort who went into the cave at the center of the world. She wore a red dress and a black cloak and carried a bag of her most precious jewels to purchase his release from Death. In those days Death was thought to live in a great stone palace in the worldâs center surrounded by circles of unmourned folk who had to grieve for themselves.
The queen followed the twisting, winding cave for miles, learning to see in the dark land with a night sight as keen as that she had used to see with in the day. Many long night-days passed, and at last she stopped by a pool and knelt down to drink. She saw, first, the dartings of phosphorescent fish, as numerous as stars. Then she saw, staring up from the pool, her own reflection, with shining night-eyes, big and luminous. She did not recognize herself, so changed was she from her journey. But she fell in love with the image, a queen from the dark sky, she thought. And she stayed by the poolside, weeping her diamonds and pearls into it, begging the jewel-eyed star woman to come up to her.
After thirteen days of weeping, her grief for her consort was forgotten and her precious gems were all gone. She returned home empty-handed. But her eyes remained wide and dark-seeing; she had become a visionary and seeress who spoke in riddles and read signs in the stars and was never again quite sane. She was called Queen of Shadows.
You do not understand the other cards in my deck? The Singer of Dirges? It is named after the simple singer who first brought my master into her fame. He was of no great importance otherwiseâa helper, a pointer of ways. And so the Singer card within the deck simply helps the other cards along, leading them from place to place within the pattern, being nothing in itself, only indicating the path to take.
And the Cup of Sleep? It is the changer. If it precedes a card, it changes the card and the pattern. If it follows a card, it does no harm. And the only card it cannot change is the Cave.
There, now you know the deck as well as I. Are you a player with the cards? Do you use them to tell you what will be, waiting on the message before you make a choice? Neither? Good. Only a fool uses them thus. They are grief cards, to help you understand your own grieving, as they helped me with mine.
We are each a card, you know. I am like the Singer card, a pointer of ways. I point back to the old ways of the
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