by Taki Drake
Turning her attention back to the cards on the table, the Seer laid her hand on the plaque directly below the first one used in the reading, identifying its domain by saying, “Spirit, the essence of who you are.”
The card revealed reminded Corda of some of the Healers that she had met. The beautiful colors on the plaque drew her eyes, and the little girl almost didn’t hear the Seer explaining, “Temperance, indicating someone who takes the middle path, full of patience, and always looking to find the meaning behind their experiences.”
Aret sat back down at the table, trying to regain her calm. She looked at her daughter and said in a slightly shaky voice, “That is a powerful card and a good one for a Healer to have.”
Corda nodded in acknowledgment but kept her eyes on the Seer as if the woman would disappear if the little girl blinked. The next card was the one to the left of the top plaque. This one was announced by the Oramancer as, “Physical Self. This rules the domain of the body.”
The image revealed startled Aret enough for her to exclaim, “Another Arcana! The entire circle is composed of Arcana! Have you ever seen a reading like this?”
Lost in her magical trance, the Seer was focused only on Corda. Continuing to look the little girl in the face, the elderly woman explained, “Strength, your body will be strong, as will the parts that connect your body and will. The Strength card here reflects inner strength, the ability to focus and fight your way through things that would defeat others. It also indicates both bravery and compassion.”
Corda nodded her head and found that she was leaning slightly forward in anticipation of the following part of the reading.
The next card touched was the leftmost of the bottom row of three plaques. For some reason, the little girl felt her tension rise as soon as the Seer’s hand made contact. Squeezing her arms even tighter around her torso, Corda realized that her hair was moving slightly and that the room had become even colder. Where is that draft coming from?
The Seer’s dry voice cut through the little girl’s thoughts, saying, “Opposing Forces. This card represents the people and situations that would choose to harm or limit you.” Turning the card over with a quick motion, the elderly woman continued without a discernible pause, saying, “The Tower. It represents sudden upheaval and disasters as well as the poisonous push of broken pride.”
The room had become painfully cold, and shadows were so thick that Corda felt like she was in a small chamber rather than the expansive parlor. At this point, the little girl felt like she and the Seer were alone and wrapped in the tentacles of magic that she could almost see.
The elderly woman touched the card on the right side of the row of three, and announced, “Other Opposing Forces. These are more specific enemies or dangers.” Something in the Seer's voice sank into Corda and roiled her stomach with fear. Refusing to flee, the little girl thought to herself, I am scared, but I don’t believe this is something I can run from.
The card was flipped, and the Seer’s voice became a vehicle of barely controlled rage as she snarled, “The Hierophant. Your opposition comes from those that would force you with tradition, overpower you into conformity, and forced their morality or ethics upon you.”
From the side of the table came a brokenhearted cry and Aret mourned, “How can I choose? Perhaps, this will change also.” Corda heard the sobs in her mother’s voice but refused to look away from the intimidating Seer. There were only two cards left, and the little girl needed to know the end of the story.
The remote mask of dispassion was back on the face of the elderly woman sitting across from the young girl. Magic gathered in the room, thick and roiling. It slipped over Corda’s skin, slithering into every fold and crevice. It did not seem to be a threat, more like a curious cat wanting to explore something new.
The little girl stayed relaxed as the magic caused the light to concentrate more tightly on the table, creating a powerful spotlight that illuminated just the top of the table and the Seer’s hands as they moved on the cards. Fascinated by the wielding of such power, Corda saw the Oramancer touch two fingers to the back of the unrevealed card in the middle of the bottom row.
It might have been her imagination, or could have been the stress that beat down on the little girl’s spirit like a sledgehammer but she saw a spark that jumped up from the card into the Seer’s hand. Only a slight trembling betrayed the sting of that spark as the elderly woman said, “Necessary Energies to Call Upon. These are the elements of your being that you will need to hone and use to triumph over those people and situations that oppose you.”
Another card turned, and its face revealed froze the Seer in her place. Corda could see the whirling of energy around her grandmother as the woman contemplated the image on the plaque. Finally, she spoke, “The Magician. One of the most powerful cards in the full Arcana, it represents the need for willpower and desire. This is essential for the creation and for the manifestation of desired results.”
Aret’s inarticulate moaning and mumbling, interspersed with strangled sobs were the only sounds in the room. Waiting motionlessly, Corda stared at her grandmother while the insubstantial wisps of magic ruffled her hair and stroked her skin with friendly caresses.
The Seer’s eyes met Corda’s across the table, and the elderly woman placed her full palm on the back of the only plaque unturned. This time the flash of energy from the card lit up the entire room for a split second. The little girl could see the flashing of pain that stabbed through her grandmother and heard the shuddering breath that the old woman managed.
Swallowing with difficulty, the Seer announced the final card, saying, “The Outcome. This final plaque carries the answer to the question of your overall life.” Corda’s eyes were drawn to the Seer’s hand as the final card was revealed.
For an instant, the little girl thought there was something wrong with the card. Its garish colors and position made it appear as if the image on the illustration was upside down. Drawing a wondering breath, the Seer said in a voice that rang with triumph, “The Devil, reversed. This says that despite opposing forces, your life will be one that restores control to your hand. It stands for freedom and the release of captivity and restriction.”
The magic in the room swirled high like a fountain coming up from the cards and splashing against the ceiling. Corda stared in wonder at the dancing magic, thinking that it looked like water shooting up in a spout. One final exuberant spray almost overwhelmed her senses before it was gone, leaving the normal light to sift back into the room.
Corda was shaking, her mind skittering around like a mouse on the pantry floor. Overwhelmed with all of the information and feeling pummeled by the magic that had so abruptly disappeared, she looked in panic for her mother.
Aret looked like she was in agony, her face twisted in distress and the signs of her sobbing clearly visible on her face. Her posture was curled up, arms protectively wrapped around her own torso. The woman had no attention for her daughter.
In desperation, the little girl looked across the table at the Seer. What she saw there created a blaze of relief that warmed her like a gentle fire. The cold, dispassionate Seer was gone, leaving behind the sympathetic, warm glance of her Nona. With a strangled sob, Corda stumbled out of her chair and around the table to fling herself into her grandmother’s loving arms.
Chapter 10 – Thwarted
The powerful Seer’s reading for Corda had affected all three of the women. Corda had ceased to process any of the things that she heard, overwhelmed and exhausted by the experience. For the most part, she quickly recovered enough energy to move around and even hold a conversation. Aware of how far the little girl had been strained, her Nona insisted on sitting on the couch with her eldest granddaughter firmly nestled into her side.
Aret had been shivering and crying at the end of the reading. Extremely shaken, even now, she focused her attention on the clasped hands in her lap as she tried to regain her equilibrium. Ignored by her mother and her daughter, the Healer Ade
pt darted an occasional glance at the two on the couch with her hooded eyes shadowed and her mouth trembling.
After a while, she came to her feet and on shaky legs went over to pour herself something to drink. Dabbing her handkerchief into the cool water, Aret carefully wiped her face clear of the signs of her weeping. Only then did she go over to check on her mother and daughter.
Relieved to find out that Corda’s conversation with her grandmother did not include anything about the reading, Aret seated herself more comfortably on the chair facing them and determinedly changed the subject to something she was comfortable with. “Is it still your plan, Mother, to leave for home tomorrow afternoon? If you’re going to be here longer, you can either come with us to the musical evening we have planned, or I would be happy to cancel my attendance and stay here with you.”
Misha had looked up in surprise at her daughter’s voice, and Corda saw her grandmother’s expression become a little sad as the Seer realized how far her daughter would go to avoid uncomfortable topics.
Understanding the awkward position that Aret was in, Misha responded in her calm, gentle way, “I am not sure. As I said before, there is a requirement for me to return to the Imperial Court very soon, but I am trying to arrange some useful meetings for Bertor, and if I can manage that, I will stay the extra day to provide him with the introductions he will require.”
“That’s extraordinarily kind, Mother. I know that Bertor really appreciates it. I think that his graduation gift was inspired, although it might have been better to give me or his father oversight over the estate until he is a little more experienced. Ealtert was extremely appreciative, considering that the two oldest boys are not of your lineage.”
The door to the hall opened, and Ealtert marched into the room as if the mention of his name had been a summoning spell. Ignoring his daughter and mother-in-law, the Healer Adept moved quickly over to his wife and asked her, “What is kept you so long? I thought you were going to join me to review the last-minute details for tonight!”
“I am sorry, my dear. I can come now if you would like.”
Appeased, the large man reached down and gently pulled his wife to her feet. Tucking her small hand in the crook of his arm, he swung around to lead her out of the room when he caught sight of the box of cards that still sat in the middle of the table.
Instantly, Ealtert flashed into rage. His face purple, and he yanked away from Aret to confront his mother-in-law. He all but roared, demanding, “How dare you do that in my house! It is nothing but chicanery and not a valid discipline at all. There is no need to even play with your props! We know what their future is, and I will not have you using those stupid things to fill my children’s heads with nonsense.”
Misha’s voice was even and controlled, but when she responded uncowed, “Oramancy is a recognized power on all Imperial worlds. As for it being nonsense, I’m the one with an Imperial warrant, not you.”
“You just want to subvert my children! They will do what I need them to do and perform the way I need them to act. They are mine to control, not yours.” Taking several steps forward, the large man loomed over the small, elderly woman. Unnoticed in the shelter of her grandmother’s side, Corda shrank her body into a tighter ball, frightened by the noise and anger in the room.
The older woman stated calmly, “Ealtert, children are people too. You do not own them, they are not slaves.”
So angry that he was almost spitting, the big Healer raised his voice to yell, “They are children, they cannot choose or even to think. They require my guidance, and that is what I’m giving them. I will not tolerate any interference from a nosy old bitch!”
Aret interjected, trying to defuse the situation, pleading, “Please don’t fight. This is supposed to be a celebration for Bertor, not a reason to resume old disagreements.”
The furious man ignored his wife, crowding even closer to the seated Seer. Even though he was almost touching her knees, Misha stood, forcing him to back up and consciously concealing her granddaughter with her own body mass.
Her voice moving from calm to cold, the Seer confronted the bully in front of her firing her words at him as if they had a physical representation, saying, “It is not up to you to direct your children’s lives, especially as they get older. They are not pieces of you that you get to keep on a leash. The Imperium does not tolerate slavery of any form!”
Ealtert was incoherent. It was apparent that the man was so infuriated that he had lost the ability to communicate. Flailing his arms around and sputtering, his anger crashed against the will of the Seer, but she did not back down.
Her eyes widened in distress, Aret cried, “Ealtert, my dear, please calm down. There is no need to get so angry. We have so many people coming over tonight that I am worried about the last-minute arrangements. Can we not go and review those details?” Endeavoring to help her husband regain control, the female Healer placed her hand gently the man’s forearm. Without looking, he slapped her arm away.
The sound of that blow seemed to echo in the room. The unexpected attack spun Aret around and sent her crashing back into the chair from which she had just risen. Before any of the adults could respond, Corda launched herself off the couch and flung her body between her father and mother. Small eyes like lasers, the little girl screamed at her father, “Don’t hit my mother!”
“You contemptible little brat! How dare you not show me respect!”
Undeterred, Corda stood her ground, refusing to leave her mother unprotected even though her tiny body was no match for her father’s. Shaking at the knees, the little girl said nothing else but maintained her position.
Ealtert’s black fury subsided slightly as he stared at his oldest daughter. He could feel the waves of anger crashing inside of him, but something about Corda’s intransigence stayed his hand and his voice.
“You little brat, we will discuss this later. For now, leave the room immediately.”
When Corda turned to check on her mother, Ealtert grabbed her by the shoulder and swung around all but shoving her toward the door, swearing, “I said get out of here! That means now!”
The child had no option but to leave the room. The fear of what would happen later on was running wild in her mind and body, but she knew that there was no real way of protecting her mother or her grandmother. The shoulder that her father had grabbed hurt horribly, bringing tears to her eyes that she refused to let him see.
Opening the door only a small amount so she could slide through, Corda immediately closed the door but stayed right next to it so she could hear what was going on. The footman, Dravor, watched her with widened eyes but left her alone.
The little girl could hear her father through the thick door as he continued to berate her grandmother, saying, “I hope you’re proud of yourself, you useless old woman! You are destroying a celebration for your own amusement.”
Misha sighed, commenting, “I worried when Aret married you, as you know. You like to control everything and everyone, and I don’t think that’s healthy. That being said, I did not try to command my daughter. She is allowed to make her own decisions and deal with the consequences, both good and bad. That is why I reminded you that your children are not your slaves. They have their own lives to live.”
In a hateful tone more vicious than anything she had heard from her father, Corda heard him say, “I will not have this! My children will do as I say. And since apparently, you have infected Corda with your disgusting attitude I will make it very plain to you. She does what she is supposed to do, exactly as I say, or she is no daughter of mine!”
Corda heard a crashing as something was sent smashing to the ground in the room, and the little girl cringed. Then panic set in as she registered the rapid footsteps coming toward the door and realized that she had no place to hide from her father when he came out of the room.
Terrified, she scanned the room, looking for any place to hide, but her fear prevented her from thinking. Dravor urgently murmured, “Bench!” Looking
in the direction he was pointing, Corda realized that the bench that had been set partly down the hall had an open area underneath it that might conceal her.
Moving faster than she had ever run before, the little girl scrambled over to the bench and slid underneath it into the open area. Pressing her body as far back against the wall and into the shadows as she could, she barely finished moving when the door to the parlor slammed open, and her father stalked into the hallway.
Chapter 11 – Other Gifts
Corda tried to keep quiet, letting the pain of her sore shoulder bring hot tears to her eyes but stifling any cry of pain from either the shoulder her father had hurt or the bruises that she had just acquired in her frantic dive for cover. Desperately wishing to be invisible, the little girl chanted in her mind, Don’t see me. Please don’t see me. I’m not really here.
The little girl’s body shook from the intensity of her emotions so much that the first advent of the cold tendrils of magical power escaped her notice. Delicately wrapping around the child, magic spun around her until no part of her was exposed.
Ealtert pounded down the hallway toward his study, muttering to himself the whole way. Corda couldn’t hear what her father was saying, but his tone of voice frightened her. Why is he so angry? And what is he going to do to me?
As her parent’s footsteps faded with his progress on the hall, the little girl could finally take a deep breath. Immediately, the pain of her injuries stabbed her anew, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her cries.
For a few minutes, Corda just lay on the cold floor in the shadows, too exhausted to even think about moving. Deciding that she couldn’t stay where she was, the little girl started to crawl out from under the bench when she bumped her sore shoulder once again.
