“Of course,” said Aylis. “Yet, for detecting peril, ’tis better done in the depths of night.” She pondered a moment and then said, “At the end of the first watch, I will do the reading here in the salon.”
“Then it be eight bell,” breathed Nikolai.
“Aye,” said Aravan.
“Eight bells?” asked Pipper.
“Just count the ringing,” said Lissa, who was now an old hand at timekeeping at sea. “When the ship’s bell tolls eight, then it’ll be time.”
“But I just heard the bell ring eight times,” objected Binkton.
“It marked the end of the dog watch,” said Lissa. “Now we begin first watch.”
“Argh!” spat Binkton. “Bells. Watches. Just tell me how many candlemarks till Lady Aylis does her reading.”
“Old candlemarks or new?” asked Pipper.
“I don’t care!” shouted Binkton, totally frustrated. “Just tell me.”
Aylis held out a soothing hand. “I will do the reading at mid of night, Binkton.”
“That’s the end of first watch, when the bell tolls eight,” said Lissa.
Even as Binkton growled, Pipper said, “Liss, perhaps you ought to teach us all about these watches and bells.” He turned to his cousin. “We do need to know, Bink. I mean, after all, we now are part of the crew.”
As Binkton grudgingly nodded his acceptance, Aylis said, “I welcome any who would like to participate in the reading.”
“Lady Aylis, I would ask a question if I may,” said Pipper.
Aylis inclined her head.
“Why now?” asked Pipper.
“It’s not now, Pip,” snapped Binkton, still riled. “Didn’t you hear: it’s at eight bloody bells.”
“No, Bink, what I mean is, why did Lady Aylis wait until now to decide to do a reading? I mean, she and the captain have known for a long while about a peril that might or might not be in the city. So why did Lady Aylis wait until this night to do a reading?”
“Oh,” said Binkton, now catching up to another of Pipper’s mental leaps.
“Because,” said Aylis, “ ’tis best when all who will be on a given venture are assembled. You see, the acts of one might affect the deeds of many; hence, the presence of the crew entire influences the cards. Even so, I will do another reading when we are at the mouth of the river, to see if ought has changed.”
At mid of night, when the ship’s bell tolled eight, Pipper, Binkton, Lissa, Nikolai, and Aravan joined Aylis in the salon. Noddy, Tarley, Fat Jim, and James had all bowed out, leaving the others to witness such doings.
They were seated ’round a side table in the captain’s lounge. Lissa sat cross-legged on the board, and Vex lay curled up below.
Upon the table as well sat the jade figurine and a small wooden box made of sandalwood. A tiny golden hasp latched the box. Aylis opened the clasp and raised the lid. Inside was a black silk cloth wrapped about something. Aylis unfolded the cloth to reveal a deck of cards.
“This is the gift of Lady Katlaw,” said Aylis.
“Are the cards special?” asked Pipper.
“Pish,” murmured Binkton, cocking a skeptical eyebrow.
“Perhaps, Pipper,” Aylis answered as she spread out the cloth. “ ’Tis said some decks are more powerful than others, yet to a Seer it is the casting that reveals whatever might be.” Taking the pack in hand, she began shuffling, blending and cutting the cards time and again, and on the final shuffle she murmured, “Simplicia, propinqua futura: Aylis.” Setting the pack before her, she fanned the deck wide across the silk and selected a card at random and turned it faceup. It showed a lightning-struck tower bursting apart, stone blocks flying wide, a person falling from the castellated top. Aylis glanced up at those watching.
“What does it mean?” asked Lissa.
Pipper blurted, “Disaster? Trouble?”
Aylis nodded. “In this orientation, you are correct.”
Nikolai glanced from the card to the jade figurine. “This tower, that tower, all same?”
Aylis shrugged. “Mayhap, Nikolai. Mayhap.” She reached out and slowly canted up and over one of the end cards of the lapping, spread such that the remainder of the deck turned faceup. Revealed were a variety of illustrations—people and places and animals, the sun, moon, and stars . . . cups, swords, wands, coins, more—each card different: some apparently representing the ordinary, others depicting the arcane.
Nikolai drew slightly back at the sights revealed, but Pipper leaned forward, the better to see.
Aylis looked at Lissa. “Would you care to try?”
Lissa drew in her breath sharply but said, “All right.”
Again Aylis shuffled and muttered, “Simplicia, propinqua futura: Aylissa.” Then she fanned the cards, and Lissa walked to the spread and dragged one free and flipped it face up.
“ ’Tis the Knight of Swords, upright,” said Aylis.
“What does it mean?” asked Lissa.
“Victory over a dire foe, in this orientation, though perhaps at great peril.”
Pipper’s eyes widened in speculation. “Is it somehow related to the tower?”
“Mayhap,” said Aylis.
Nikolai refused to draw a card, but Aravan, Binkton, and Pipper each in turn selected, respectively turning up the Tower, Strength, and the Fool, all upright.
Aylis said, “My love, you and I share trouble. And you, Binkton, the way your card, Strength, is oriented, you must not surrender, else all will fail. As to your card, Pipper, the Naïf, indicates that you will be at a cross-roads and face a decision, and you must choose wisely.”
“Oh, my,” said Pipper. He turned to Binkton and asked, “When ever have I chosen wisely?”
“Oh, Pip,” said Binkton, reaching out to place a hand on his cousin’s arm, “you always seem to come up with something.”
“Like the chickens?” asked Pipper, grinning.
Binkton laughed. “Yes, Pip. Like the chickens.”
“You must tell me of these chickens,” said Lissa. “And then I’ll explain the watches and bells.”
“Agreed,” said Pipper, “though in the end my idea of using chickens didn’t lead to one of our finer moments.”
Aylis looked at the others and said, “I now seek the fate of all of us on the Eroean.” She then again shuffled and cut, and this time she uttered, “Propinqua futura nautae Eroean,” then swiftly dealt out ten cards face down, placing each one precisely upon the silk in a particular spread, muttering strange words as she did so. When she set the remainder of the pack to the lower left corner of the black cloth, she said, “This is the simplest and perhaps the most reliable spread. It is called the Rwn Cross, and it speaks of the past, the present, and the future, of negatives and positives, of companions and foes, of causes and outcomes.”
Then she turned up the cards, carefully leaving each one in its precise place in the pattern.
Long did Aylis study the arrangement, and finally she took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “Swords. There are many swords in the layout and all reverse, all opposed, which means conflict and battle. As to the individual cards, this is what I see. . . .”
Aylis pointed to the first of the cards she had laid down. “Death covers us. Someone or something threatens our very existence.”
“As have many in the past,” said Aravan. “Yet we prevail.”
Aylis smiled at Aravan and nodded. She then lightly touched the card lying athwart the first one. “The King of Swords crosses us, and in this orientation he is someone who is intolerant and cruel.”
“Modru,” breathed Pipper.
“Pip, you idiot,” said Binkton, “Modru is dead.”
“No, Bink, what I meant is that Modru was intolerant and cruel. So, this could be someone like him, Lady Aylis?”
Aylis shook her head. “The King of Swords is not powerful enough to be Modru. Instead, he likely would be the card named the Emperor, for when reversed, it can be even crueler than this king.”
She
pointed at the next card, this one lying directly downcloth from the first two. “The Ten of Swords is the basis of the situation. It means broken goals and deep distress lie at the heart of the matter.”
“Perhaps it’s why the city was abandoned,” suggested Lissa.
Aylis shook her head. “No; ’tis more likely goals the King of Swords had.”
“Well, could not that king once have ruled the city?” asked Dokan.
“Perhaps,” said Aylis. “Yet the King is what crosses us now, and though that might be something rooted in the distant past, I think instead the broken goals refers to events more recent.”
Moving deasil and to the left of the first two, at the following card she said, “Behind us is what has gone before: still more conflict, as is shown by the Chariot, which placed as it is represents a triumph in the past. Mayhap in battle or war.”
“The Black Fortress?” murmured Aravan.
“Perhaps,” said Aylis, “though it could be the War of the Dragonstone or even triumph over Gyphon, or even any one of the many conflicts and struggles upon the Planes. It is unclear as to which triumph it represents, though given the number of swords, I deem it lies in war.”
“Say on, my love,” said Aravan.
Yet moving deasil, Aylis pointed to the card lying directly upcloth from the first two. “Justice is next, and, as it lies, it means possible loss, which could come into being.”
Brekk growled and said, “My Châkka warband will see that it doesn’t.”
“Wait a moment, now,” protested Binkton. “Your warband includes two Warrows and a Pysk.”
Brekk’s hawklike gaze swept to Binkton, then to Pipper, and finally to Lissa. Then he smiled at Binkton and said, “Forgive the omission?”
“Well, er, aye-aye, Armsmaster,” said Binkton, now mollified.
When none said ought else, Aylis moved to the next card. “The Knight of Swords follows, and in its reversed orientation it represents someone who is underhanded, perhaps an associate of the King of Swords. It lies before us.”
Lissa stood and stamped her foot. “But that’s the card I drew, and I’m not underhanded.”
Aylis smiled. “Nay, Liss, you are not. Yet this Knight of Swords represents someone else, someone who is not you. And in this spread and in the reverse orientation, it is perhaps the pawn of the King of Swords, who, as I said, is someone quite cruel.”
Somewhat placated, yet with a remnant of disgruntlement lying upon her face, the Pysk sat down once more.
Aylis looked about the table, and then pointed at the next card in the spread, the lowest of four lying in a vertical line to the right of the first six. “The Ace of Swords represents the negative, and in this reversed orientation it means the seeds of defeat are taking root and could come to fruition.”
Again Brekk growled, but otherwise said nought.
Aylis moved to the next card up the line. “The Wheel of Fortune reversed represents the feelings of all of us, and even in the face of apparent defeat we must remain strong and have courage.”
“Châkka shok. Châkka cor,” muttered Dokan, then adding, “Hai, Pyska; hai Waerans.”
“Is that our battle cry?” asked Pipper. “Me, I’d settle for Châkka shok, Châkka cor.”
“Dwarven axes, Dwarven might?” asked Binkton. “But we’re not Dwarves. Why that, Pip?”
“It’s shorter,” replied the buccan. “Easier to call out in the midst of battle.” He looked at Lissa.
She shrugged and said, “All right.”
Smiling to herself, Aylis touched the third card in the line. “Now we come to the Hermit upright. It represents positive actions, as of a door being opened, as of a seeking and finding. In the context of all the other cards, I think that even when things seem lost, still there is a way.”
“I can open doors,” said Binkton. “Do you think that means something I have to do?”
“Mayhap. Yet I deem it more likely it is something all of us must be aware of.”
“Oh,” said Binkton, disappointed.
“Finally, the tenth and last card,” said Aylis. “Here again we see the Tower, but this time it is upright. In this complete layout, it means things can change rapidly, whether for good or ill, I cannot say, yet change they will.”
Aylis then held out the remainder of the pack to Aravan and said, “And now one final trial: you, as our captain, must draw a single card from these, for it might tell us what the spread does not show, what we do not know; mayhap it will be the key to all.”
Aravan took the cards as Aylis muttered another arcane phrase. He cut the deck and looked about at the others, and Pipper and Binkton sat up straighter, while both Nikolai and Lissa got to their feet.
Aravan then drew out a single card and turned it face up.
“Thaimon!” hissed Nikolai, and he made a circle of protection upon his chest, even as Lissa blenched and turned her face away. Both Dokan and Brekk copied Nikolai’s gesture, and Dokan uttered several words in Châkur, “Elwydd” among them.
“What? What is it?” cried Pipper, leaning forward to see.
Aylis sighed and shook her head and said, “The Demon.”
44
Crossing
ELVENSHIP
EARLY SUMMER TO MID AUTUMN, 6E9
“Demon?” blurted Pipper.
“Aren’t you listening, Pip?” snapped Binkton. “That’s what she “just said.” “Aren’t you listening, Pip?” snapped Binkton. “That’s what she
“No, no, Bink,” said Pipper. “What I mean is, does it have anything to do with Grygar?”
“The Demon Plane?” asked Binkton. “Why didn’t you say so? And what would that have to do with anything?”
“Well, if it does,” said Pipper, his voice quavering, “it means the reason the city was abandoned was because of a Gargon or such.”
Brekk and Dokan glanced at one another, being from Kraggen-cor as they were.
“I mean,” continued Pipper, “those Fearcasters are demons, or so it is I hear.”
“Oh, my,” said Lissa.
Both Warrows and the Pysk looked to Aylis for confirmation.
“Gargons are indeed Demons of a kind,” said Aylis. “But this card, the Demon, has little to do with such. Upright, and in relation to this layout, the card means an evil external force, a dreadful influence that one must take steps to break.”
“Oh, well, that’s better,” said Pipper, heaving a sigh of relief.
Aylis shook her head. “Take no solace in what I just said, for, given the import of the casting, still it could mean something just as vile as a Gargon, though more likely it is incorporeal.”
“Incorporeal?” asked Pipper.
Binkton groaned in frustration at Pipper, for he knew that his cousin meant to ask something else altogether instead of merely repeating a word.
City of Jade: A Novel of Mithgar Page 34
