Cards Reshuffled

As useful as the words of prophecy are, they tend to be annoyingly vague and cryptic. Far too often you won’t know their meaning until the moment is upon you, if then. Sometimes I really wish they’d say something like ‘Mielikki’s Delight will win the third horse race, bet heavily.’ But ooooh no, that’s not dramatic enough apparently…

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Zaerini trudged on along the dark street that constituted the path of her Reading, her heart heavy with worry. Edwin…please don’t go and do something stupid that will get you killed. The vision of the wizard coupled with Death refused to leave her, and despite telling herself over and over again that it didn’t have to mean literal death the fear still wouldn’t let go.

And now she was approaching another street lamp, this one dimmer than the ones before. Two figures stood beneath it. The first was a young man wearing the rich and colorful clothes that suggested an Amnian noble. There was a blue doublet decorated with embroidered pink roses, blue silken hose, and on his head he wore a wide-brimmed hat with a long pink plume that bobbed whenever he moved. From beneath it, reddish-golden curls fell almost all the way to his shoulders. He had an innocent and almost femininely pretty face, but there was a clear trace of arrogance in the way he carried himself. In his hand he carried a golden cup, lazily swirling it around. The page of Cups. I have no idea who or what that’s supposed to be.

Next to the youth stood Death, once again represented by a tall skeleton in a midnight-black robe. The creature was silently watching the Page, who seemed unaware of his presence.

“There you are!” the Page of Cups said in a peevish voice as he noticed the approaching bard. “Whatever took you so long? I have been waiting for ages, and there are many more important things that I could be out doing.”

“Who are you?” Zaerini asked. “Have I met you?”

The youth shook his head. “No. But we soon will. You really should hurry though, I have already been waiting far longer than I should, and I don’t know how much longer I have. It’s so unfair, after all I’ve…”

“Hold on a moment,” Rini said, raking her fingers through her hair. “Will you be a friend or not? And where will I meet you? And why is it so important?”

“I…suppose I will be a friend. Eventually.” The Page giggled. “You won’t like me much at first, actually. But it’s very important that we learn to get along, for both of us. Eventually, that will help us both get that which we desire most in the world. And you won’t have any problem finding me. It’ll be avoiding me that’ll be the problem…” Turning away, the Page suddenly spotted the silent figure of Death. As he did, his face lit up in a happy smile, very surprising upon seeing such a grim vision. Death said nothing, but silently spread out his arms, and the Page stepped into them, still smiling, embracing the skeletal figure warmly. As he did, Death’s back was towards Zaerini, and she noticed something odd. It was as if the skeleton was gaining in size, filling out, so that there was now a living, breathing creature beneath the black robe, an actual person. She couldn’t see the face, but there was something about the posture, something that seemed oddly…familiar. It was immensely annoying that she couldn’t put her finger on it, she felt that she should somehow knew who it was. She could almost feel the memory trying to scratch and claw its way to the surface of her thoughts, but then the Page and Death disappeared into the shadows, and the knowledge left her once again.

Sighing, Rini started out towards the next light. There weren’t that many Cards left now, but she knew that the remaining ones weren’t likely to be pleasant, far from it in fact. But there was nothing to be done about it. She knew from previous experience that she had to go all the way through the Reading, no matter how unpleasant it might be, and that was what she intended to do.

And the water on the street was rising, something that was starting to worry her. As she walked between the rows of towering dark houses, she could feel it sloshing around her ankles. At least it wasn’t as cold as it had been before, it was lukewarm by now. But I still don’t like it. No, I don’t like it at all.

At the next street lamp, somebody was standing, watching. Waiting patiently for her. She knew exactly who it was, and though she feared to draw nearer, she felt compelled to do so just the same. The Knight of Swords. Sarevok. Her brother was as she remembered him, and much as she had seen him in that dream she’d had about Imoen. But there he had been a cold statue, made of stone, and here he looked very much alive. How can this be? How can he show up in the Reading when I know he is dead? The large man was still wearing his hideous spiked armor, and he was standing with his legs a little apart, arms the size of small tree trunks crossed over his massive chest. His sword was sheathed though, which was a little surprising. Beneath the horned helmet, Rini could just make out her brother’s face. Regular features, strong and imposing. Tan skin, a firm mouth curled in just the tiniest hint of a smile. And the eyes, the blazing golden eyes. Very much like her own, but fiercer.

“Little sister,” Sarevok said in that deep voice that she remembered so well, and that seemed to resonate in her very bones. “We meet again.”

“Big brother,” the half-elf said. “It is…good to see you.” She realized with some surprise that she really meant that. Yes, he had tried to kill her, and he had killed Gorion, and yes, she had killed him. But the hate she had felt had cooled before he died, as she had learned more of him and of what bound them together. At the end, he had died, not because she willed it, but because the voice of their common sire had driven him to it. And there had always been that certain connection between them, something that she couldn’t quite define, but that she knew was there, as certainly as she knew the beat of her own heart. “Why are you here?” she asked. “You are dead.”

Annoyance flickered through the fiery eyes. “I know that,” Sarevok said. “It’s not the sort of thing you forget easily. But you are ignorant if you think that death means the end of everything. I am dead, but I still exist – elsewhere.”

“All right. But even if you do, you are no longer in this world. How is it that the Reading seems to imply that you are part of my future? I don’t see how that could be.” A nasty thought struck her. “Are you here to kill me? Is that what this is all about? Because if it is, I really don’t think it’ll work since I’m not really here. Well, I’m here, but I’m not ‘here’ here.”

“Sister…” Sarevok growled. “Stop chattering. I may be dead, but that does not mean I wish to waste an eternity until you have to finally draw breath.”

“Oh. Sorry. What do you want then?”

Sarevok took a step closer, and she had to steel herself in order not to recoil. He’s so big…he could probably break me in two using one hand.

“Freedom,” Sarevok said without hesitation.

“Freedom? I don’t understand.”

Her brother didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out an enormous mailed hand, carefully grasping her own. One finger traced a cold path along one scar that ran from her wrist down towards the elbow. She vaguely remembered the pain, the coldness of the blade slicing neatly through skin and muscle, blood vessels and tendons. “May I?” Sarevok asked.

For a moment, instinct told her to refuse. This was touch…a dangerous touch, one that brought back too many bad memories. But…I don’t think he would hurt me. He might kill me, but not hurt me. Not like Irenicus. And…not like Reiltar. She nodded mutely, and her brother went on examining the scar, gently following it along the soft inner flesh of her arm.

“You were mistreated, little sister,” Sarevok said, and now there was anger simmering beneath the surface of that dark voice. He was frowning, and the fires of his eyes had grown a little brighter yet. “Grievously mistreated. The Shattered One had no right to do so, and he will be made to pay for it. The Children of Bhaal will not be stopped, not those of us who were born to conquer, and we are not to be caged. It is an outrage, but it will eventually lead you to me, at least.”

“Lead me to you? But you’re dead!”

“I know I am dead! Stop interrupting me!” The words came out like the growl of a wild beast, and Rini tried to pull away, her heart in her mouth. But Sarevok was holding her arm tightly, and she couldn’t get away, couldn’t get free. As she struggled, helpless like a kitten beneath the paw of a large dog, she fought hard not to sob.

Then, something changed. The anger faded from Sarevok’s face, and he looked confused instead, then troubled as he let go of her. “Sister…” he said. “There is much you don’t understand, and much I don’t understand as well. But I do know this.” He put her hands on her shoulders, a steadying gesture. “The one you name Irenicus will send you to me, and we will be as we were meant to be. I will be awaiting you.”

“Sarevok?” Rini asked, craning her head backwards so that she could look up into her brother’s face. He was standing very close to her now, their bodies almost touching. “Are you saying that Irenicus will kill me?”

At first it seemed that Sarevok would not answer, but then he spoke again. “Your soul will descend into darkness, my sister, much as mine did. Your journey will not be the same as mine, but yes. If you would live, then you must first die.”

“But…”

Her brother’s fingers squeezed her shoulders even as he started fading away, the startlingly golden eyes the last part of him to disappear. “Remember…” the whisper of his voice spoke from the shadows. “I am waiting for you.”

Zaerini stood still for a short while, listening to her own rapid breathing. Die. I’m going to die. Irenicus is going to kill me, isn’t he? What else could it mean, if I’m going to wind up in the same place as Sarevok once again? And I saw his body…what happened to it. It just dissolved into dust. If I die, that will happen to me too, so how could I possibly live afterwards like he said? I just don’t understand! But I know that I don’t want to die. Gorion, I don’t want to die. Then she thought of something else. But even if it does mean that I’m going to die, I can’t leave Immy to rot. I have to go after her, no matter what. Even if it kills me. I have to. And speaking of that, right now I have to go on.

She willed her legs to move, forced herself to take a step forward along the dark street, and then another one. It was slow going. The water was still rising, and by now it was up to mid-thigh level, and had grown even warmer, almost body temperature. And worse than that, she knew which Card awaited her at the other end of the street. The Void. The street ended in empty blackness, and as she came closer she could hear it whispering to her, whispering in a quiet, chill voice.

“So it has come to this,” Irenicus’ voice spoke out of the darkness. The Void. He is one with it, as empty as it is. “You are resourceful, but you know the truth in your heart. At the end of the road, I will be awaiting you.”

The terror was still strong, but now anger flared, heating her blood. “I will come anyway! I will have Imoen back, and then I will kill you!”

“Ignorant child. You cannot possibly kill me. What I was died a long time ago, what I am holds the power to destroy you, and what I will be will be as far above you as you are above an ant.”

The anger was burning even hotter now, a welcome shield against the cold of dread. “So you say. But ants sting.” A ball of fire, as large as a horse, shot out from her outstretched palm, hitting the darkness in front of her with a hiss and a loud bang. There was a noise of annoyance, quickly checked.

“You are proceeding exactly as I have planned,” that cold voice said again. “Grow stronger. Hone your powers to perfection. They will serve me all the better when the time comes.”

“I will never serve you, or anybody else! Not you, not Bhaal, not the Queen of the Mad Bunnies. Nobody. Got it?”

“But you will. You cannot hope to do otherwise. Your very nature will be the downfall of you and all those that you care about. Observe.” Light flared all around. It wasn’t enough to penetrate the darkness in front of her, but it starkly illuminated the street where she was standing. And she saw, saw that what she had taken for rainwater was blood, dark and thick, hot as it lapped against her legs. “You are a Child of Murder,” Irenicus spoke from the Void. “Some of your companions have already been affected by Murder, thanks to their association with you. In time, they all will be, as you draw it to you, you know this.”

“No! I won’t let you hurt them!”

“I do not have to do so, silly girl. It will happen anyway. Murder and murderers flock towards you, drawn like bees to honey. And anybody who comes within the circle of your divine power is possible prey to that power. You may as well accept it. And then, you will come to me, and I will grant you rest, as nobody else can. You will not have a care in the world…”

“NO!” But even as she protested, part of Zaerini’s soul knew that her enemy had spoken the truth.