

### The World Turns On A Card

Jon Jacks

Other New Adult and Children's books by Jon Jacks

The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things (Now includes The Last Train)

The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll's Maid – The 500-Year Circus – The Desire: Class of 666

P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl – The Wicker Slippers – Gorgesque

Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – The Last Angel – Eve of the Serpent

Seecrets – The Cull – Dragonsapien – The Boy in White Linen – Porcelain Princess – Freaking Freak

Died Blondes – Queen of all the Knowing World – The Truth About Fairies – Lowlife

Elm of False Dreams – God of the 4th Sun – A Guide for Young Wytches – Lady of the Wasteland

The Wendygo House – Americarnie Trash – An Incomparable Pearl – We Three Queens – Cygnet Czarinas

Memesis – April Queen, May Fool – Sick Teen – Thrice Born – Self-Assembled Girl – Love Poison No. 13

Whatever happened to Cinderella's Slipper? – AmeriChristmas – The Vitch's Kat in Hollywoodland

Blood of Angels, Wings of Men – Patchwork Quest

Text copyright© 2017 Jon Jacks

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

Thank you for your support.

# Chapter 1

Of course rules are important; otherwise, what advantages would there be for those of us who break them?

There are rules that are so stupid, well; they just deserve breaking, don't they?

I mean, do you _really_ enjoy all those lessons down the gym, or out in the fields, leaping over hurdles or throwing around the most ridiculously odd-shaped objects?

Thankfully, a letter from my mum gets me out of all that; not that Mum's actually _written_ it, of course. What's the point of troubling her, when I can simply take an original she wrote long ago (when I _probably_ actually _was_ too ill to take part in the lessons) and trace off my own copy against the light of a window I've taped it to?

As for rules of attendance, when there are _so_ many better things to do than turn up for some class on...well, _need_ I go on?

Who cares these days anyway, when all you've got to look forward to is a lifetime working away in some direly paid, dead-end job no matter how many qualifications you've slaved away to get.

Pop out a kid, on the other hand, and keep on popping them out on a regular basis, and you're set up for life; _especially_ if you've made sure the dads are deadbeats who refuse to support you.

Such is life.

Such is the life of _my_ mum.

So hey, how can she think _she_ has the right to tell me how to behave at school? Hardly a great role model, is she?

Although, to give her credit, she _does_ claim that she's _not_ like all these other women whose career of choice is dropping kids by the cartload; I _am_ her _only_ child, after all.

Course, there's just the _one_ deadbeat dad, too. Course, he left so long ago I don't even get to see the photo that could help me figure out who bequeathed me _this_ nose, which I _absolutely_ hate!

I mean, Mum's nose is bad enough, even though she won't admit it; but mine's in a whole new category of awfulness.

I've tried reading stuff in the Tarot Cards, obviously; you know, trying to see if sometime in my future me and Dad will be joyfully reconciled, that kinda thing. Or if, when I find him, I just use it as an opportunity to spit in his stupid face.

Just knowing if he was still alive or not would be useful. That way, I'd know one way of the other if I'm wasting my time still feeling all this hate for him.

Or, maybe, I could take great pleasure in finding out his life's even worse than mine. Discovering that he's messed up his own life as badly as he's messed up mine would give me _some_ sense of retribution.

Trouble is, of course, my Tarot readings are just, well: whatever I _want_ them to be, really.

I'm not sure it's even possible to remember the meaning for _each_ card, let alone figure out what they're all supposed to be trying to tell you when they're all laid out in whatever pattern you've chosen.

Sure, I could consult the little book that comes with the deck; check what the Ten of Wands means, what it signifies when it's inverted, when it comes after a Five of Cups, in the crossbeam of a Crucifix layout.

Yeah, and take away all the sense of magic I'm trying to instil into my readings too, right?

So, I make it up, don't I?

Usually, I know enough about the girl who's asked for the reading to give them a few choice lines that, delivered in the right way, come across as profound insights.

And I know what she _wants_ to hear, don't I?

Will her agonisingly frustrating unrequited love ever lead to the ideal ending she desires?

See, it's _usually_ a she, isn't it?

Boys, they just laugh at this kind of stuff. But only, natch, because they're worried about looking silly in front of their mates.

Really, though, just like any girl, they're just itching to know what the future holds for them.

So they ask, on the sly; and hey, suddenly I know the answer to Kate's question about whether Tom's interested in her or not.

Because Tom's just asked me what his chances are with Heli. Who's pining after Jack.

With all that kinda information flowing my way, I can easily come across as some sort of Madame Fortuna when I'm dealing out my deck of Tarot Cards.

So I don't ever let on to the other kids that I'm just a fraud when it comes to telling their futures.

As you'd probably expect, fortune telling is banned in school.

Just one more rule I can't abide with.

*

'The Deck of May'at that each of you now holds in your hands can be either a boon or a danger to the world. Before you were warmly embraced within the Cloisters' more _learned_ environs, you doubtlessly congratulated yourselves for dismissing as wild imaginings any claims that such a deck is capable of _controlling_ the world. Such a claim is clearly nonsense; for, potentially, the Deck of May'at _is_ the world.'

It was a well-practised opening, one Perfect Keldrik had used now for the past five years as an introduction to the new intake of students once the Cloister Laywomen had reverently completed their task of coupling each Deck of May'at with its chosen Friend.

Valentia had to restrain the urge to eagerly slip the deck from its purse of crimson silk – she had noticed that each pouch came in a different colour, or even material, including soft leather and sparkling velvet – contenting herself instead with feeling the weight of the cards in her hand, the weight of the responsibility she had been handed and was accepting.

Naturally, she had a good idea what most of the cards looked like: she had seen them being dealt out at the more important parish council meetings, when either a Perfect or Adherent had been called upon to offer advice, pass judgement, or even, of course, to physically effect any matter deemed so significant that only the Deck of May'at could be trusted to ensure a fair outcome. Moreover, the cards' illustrations were more or less rendered everywhere about them, whether it be in carved stone, stained glass, paintings or embroideries, the vast majority of which in some way related belief in The Fullness of the Pleroma.

And yet there had to be _some_ difference between the more common renderings and those of the Deck of May'at; otherwise, making copies would be so easy, wouldn't it?

And how dangerous would _that_ be?

'So why have you, mere Novices,' Perfect Keldrik continued, her long, white gown glittering with the rainbow hues of embroidered images that could have been taken from the cards, 'been so freely handed such easily wielded power?'

She paused to cast an accusatory gaze over the students seated before her.

'Because your Deck of May'at recognises your Novice state; and therefore will act as both your guide and conscience, setting limits upon its own powers.'

Valentia was well aware that she and her fellow students could only have been judged suitable for their new roles through numerous readings of the Deck of May'at.

Like them, all of her life had revolved around the aim of rising to the very highest standards demanded by society. Many failed, of course, yet it was still beholden upon them to continue to strive for purity, aided by those fortunate few who had managed to rise to the higher pinnacles of behaviour, attitude and thought.

It was her destiny, then, to become, at the very least, a Perfect.

And now she would do anything thought necessary, obediently following any rules, any procedures, to achieve this goal.

Naturally, the Deck of May'at was infallible.

Her future was assured.

*

# Chapter 2

Here we go again.

Yet another lovelorn fool, hoping I can tell them everything's going to work out just fine.

'And they all lived happily ever after!'

Yeah, life's just like that, isn't it?

I mean, what's the point of all this aching after someone of the opposite sex anyway?

It's not like the boys around here are anything to write home about; all spots, and weird, disgusting smells.

If you want to cure your unrequited love, just walk past the boys' gym changing rooms; it sort of reeks in there like they've all been joyously rolling around in horse crap.

That might well be the advice I have to hand down to this poor girl excitedly sitting before me.

Thing is, the cards I'm dealing out, they all look pretty bad for her to be honest; that's if I'm accurately recalling what they mean, of course.

But the _pictures_ alone, the illustrations on the cards; well, it just doesn't _look_ very good, does it?

You can see on Jenny's startled, increasingly dismal face that she's figured that much out for herself too.

A guy lying face down on the floor, with enough swords in in his back to wipe out a whole platoon of men.

The Tower, crumbling away, like it's built even worse than our school building.

The Hanged Man.

The Devil.

The Lovers; but upside down.

Wow.

This girl should count herself lucky that, really, being honest, I don't think these cards could tell you what's going to happen just five minutes from now, let alone a few weeks into the future.

But she's not to know that, of course.

Mainly because people like me are always telling her how amazingly accurate these things are when it comes to foretelling your destiny.

She's pretty close to weeping I'm afraid.

So I give her the classic reassuring line all Tarot readers find invaluable.

'The cards don't always mean what you think they might mean; it's all to do with their _positioning_ , okay?'

She smiles wanly, like she wants to believe me, but doesn't.

Poor girl.

That's the problem, the downside, isn't it, when you want to know what the future holds for you?

It's not always what you want to hear, is it?

Unless, of course, you've got someone like me who doesn't really know what she's doing anyway; so, taking into account the very good chance that my prediction will be wrong, I always prefer to sugar the pill.

Send 'em away happy; wasn't that some famous entertainer's motto?

If it turns out things _do_ go wrong for them, well; you can always put it down to them messing things up, can't you?

So, the guy stabbed in the back; that's just her fair-weather friends, dragging her down with all sorts of ridiculous rumours.

Just ignore them, right?

The tumbling Tower? Well, of course, that's just all those lies crumbling away to nothing.

The Hanged Man? (Sure, a little more difficult this one; it's always been a weird card this one, as far as I'm concerned – I mean, why hang him upside down, and just by one leg at that?)

'You feel like you're dangling, don't you? Like you've got no control over your life?'

She nods.

Smiles sickly again.

I smile, reassuringly.

'Now the Devil, the Devil card's no way near as clear-cut as you might think it is,' I say, stalling for time, thinking quickly. 'Where's the Devil? He's in the _detail_ , right?'

Jenny's eyes are actually brightening a little.

'So, you need to pay attention to the _details_ – does that make any sense?'

She nods eagerly.

_Phew_!

The Lovers; but upside down.

'It _can_ all go wrong for you,' I warn her, 'unless you pay _attention_ to the _details_!'

She seems a little excited now, of course; after all, I'm hinting it could all work out fine for her, aren't I?

It's all going so well, isn't it?

For her _and_ me!

I turn another card, hoping it's more obviously good news for her. One I don't have to work hard at to come up with a favourable interpretation.

It's...it's a card I don't recognise.

'Erm, ah...'

Jenny's quick to spot the doubt in my expression, the hesitation in my voice.

'Is it bad? You can tell me; 1 _won't_ cry!' she urges.

'No, no; not at all!' I say with a beaming grin, stalling once again while I try to figure out how this could have happened, how a card from another deck has ended up in mine.

Reaching out, I pick it up, briefly turn it over, checking its backing; it seems to be a regular part of my set.

But it _can't_ be.

It just _can't_!

The Exalted and Enduring Crown?

There's _no_ such card – in _any_ pack I know of!

*

'The Exalted and Enduring Crown.'

Although Perfect Keldrik held up the card she had taken from her own pack, it was obviously too far away, too small, for anyone amongst her audience to make out any of its detailing.

Nevertheless, there was no one amongst her listeners who didn't have at least an idea of what the illustration entailed.

It would be a rendition of the Five _Shekinahs –_ _Intent, or Thought;_ _Understanding;_ _R_ _eason; Intelligence; Mind, or Truth._

_These are the attributes or 'indwellings' of the First One that each and every one of us share with her, enabling each and every one of us to aid her in her constant battle to preserve_ the Pleroma _._

'Why, amongst all these cards, do I focus on _this_ one?'

Perfect Keldrik briefly paused, but not in any expectation of an answer; she merely wanted to observe the expressions of the students sitting before her, looking for the tell-tale signs that someone was confused by her question.

There were no frowns of bewilderment.

They had, of course, all been well chosen.

They could hardly except to raise the level of Adherents, let alone Perfects, if they still remained unaware of these inherent qualities, each of which they would be expected to fully draw upon, to control.

As Valentia surreptitiously glanced about the room, she wondered which of the other girls here she would be paired off with by the cards, the girl who would become her Twin.

'You may now open your pouch, and draw out your deck,' Perfect Keldrik continued, 'for I want you all to study and appreciate the detailing of this particular card.'

The Exalted and Enduring Crown lay close to the very top of any regularly ordered pack. As the students smoothly slipped their decks from their purses, it took little more than a quick fanning of the upper layer of cards to find it.

A puzzled Valentia fanned her top layer of cards back a little, wondering how she could have missed it – it should be here, just below the card representing the First One herself.

But no; it _wasn't_ there!

Instead, some other card had somehow been slipped into its place; one she didn't recognise.

The Magician?

There's _no_ such card – not in the Deck of May'at!

*

# Chapter 3

Jenny's still waiting for an answer; what does the Exalted and Enduring Crown mean?

Frankly – I've no idea.

'Ah; now _this_ , this _is_ a difficult card to read accurately,' I begin with immense understatement, hoping I can quickly work out some reasonably believable interpretation of the card's illustration. 'Fortunately, of course, you're in the hands of a master interpreter,' I add, cringing inside a little even as I say it, but I need time to figure out just what I can say about the appearance of this strange card without looking like a complete numbskull.

Thankfully Jenny nods, still wide eyed, like she understands, like she knows I'm close to offering her pearls of wisdom.

And all this, just because she's got the hots for Davey Jacobs.

Why can't anyone ever come to me asking for pointers to improving their career prospects? Or how they could, in their own little ways, aid in generating peace across the world, that kind of thing?

But no; it's always does such and such think I'm pretty?

What can I do to get him to notice me?

You know what answer they're wanting, don't you? There's no real challenge at all for me in coming up with a reading that provides them with a reason to go away saying how brilliant I am at predicting a person's future.

But _this_ card; it _is_ a challenge.

Because I feel like I'm being bombarded with thoughts that don't fit in with what poor little Jenny's expecting from her reading.

Ironically, there really _is_ a profound sense of unrequited love emanating from this card; unrequited love that ends up incredibly badly. And not just for poor little Jenny here, either.

It's something that affects the whole world.

*

Somehow, Perfect Keldrik was quick to spot the doubt in Valentia's expression, the hesitation in her movements as she stared in bewilderment at this strange card she had unearthed within her deck.

'Anything wrong?' the Perfect asked, peering accusingly at Valentia.

'Er, no, no, not at all,' Valentia lied, sensing that it might be, well, _dangerous_ to point out that an unusual card had somehow ended up within her pack.

Even as Valentia said it, however, she feared that she'd done the wrong thing; surely she _should_ have pointed out that a mistake had been made?

And yet, how could _that_ be explained? Mistakes weren't supposed to _happen_ when it came to the Deck of May'at.

Perfect Keldrik, no longer distracted by Valentia's puzzled stance, addressed the room once more, taking out and holding up the next card in the carefully assembled deck lying before her.

'Ennoea, or The Throne,' she said, drawing the attention of her class to the brightly coloured portrayal of the _coming into being_ of the Upper _Shekinah._

_Following_ Perfect Keldrik's example, each student similarly turned over the next card in her pack.

When Valentia had swiftly flicked through the uppermost cards of her deck as she'd searched for the missing Throne, she _had_ noticed, thankfully, that the following cards were arranged in their correct order, with each one of the next five cards depicting each individual _Shekinah._

And yet, when she turned over the card, it was once again a portrayal of a character she didn't recognise.

The Chariot.

_There was_ no _such card in the Deck of May'at!_

What's more, she had seen the correct card, The Throne, lying in its correct place only moments before!

Worriedly, Valentia swiftly checked that the following four _Shekinah_ cards were still there.

Understanding, or Grace, The Exalted Sceptre.

Reason, The Royal Insignia.

Intelligence, The Exalted Shrine.

Before Valentia could check that Aletheia, the fifth and Lower _Shekinah, was still in its rightful place, it dawned on her that Perfect Keldrik was attempting to catch her attention._

'Valentia, isn't it?'

When Perfect Keldrik had previously directly glared at Valentia, it had been intimidating. Now it was even worse.

Valentia nervously nodded in reply, adding an even more nervous, 'Yes, Perfect.'

'Is something wrong... _again_?' the Perfect asked.

It was an opportunity for Valentia to point out that there was something wrong with her deck of cards.

But would that reflect badly upon her? It was _her_ pack of cards; cards that had _chosen_ her.

And it was a seriously _flawed_ deck.

Yet the Perfect had clearly noted Valentia's distress; she wouldn't be pacified this time with yet another lie from Valentia that nothing was troubling her.

'You said "potentially",' Valentia replied, thinking quickly. 'I mean, a little earlier; you said " _potentially_ the Deck of May'at _is_ the world" – and I was wondering what you might mean by that. Is it flawed because it no longer contains the World Card?'

Damn! She hadn't meant to say _flawed_!

'The Deck of May'at can never be _flawed_ , Miss Levannah!'

A Perfect was not supposed to glower, but Perfect Keldrik had drawn remarkably close to achieving such a hardened stare as she continued to look Valentia's way.

'If there ever _was_ such a card,' the Perfect continued, once again gathering together her gentle presence, 'then it has been _denied_ us for good reasons. However, Valentia, I _do_ grant you that, yes, the Deck of May'at is _potentially_ the world because it helps us aspire to and perhaps even achieve ENship; enabling us to aid the suffering World Soul to recover by becoming one with the light. But this can only ever be such a _higher_ state of _being_ that it can _never_ be represented by a _card_ , not even a card within the Deck of May'at, which can _otherwise_ reflect, even _initiate_ , other states – for such a card would _potentially_ be a summation of every other card, and therefore, yes, it would _potentially_ be the world itself.'

Valentia cringed as Perfect Keldrik so slowly and painstakingly corrected her false beliefs. There was a moment, too, when Perfect Keldrik briefly looked aside, glancing down towards and quickly shuffling through the student review papers on her rostrum, her eyebrows rising in surprise as she doubtlessly read the report on Novice Levannah; a student of immense potential, whose demure grace made her a suitable candidate for Perfection.

'But...wouldn't such a card, anyway, upset the balance of the deck?'

Valentia was secretly grateful that another student, a girl with a full mane of otherwise dull-looking hair, had taken all the attention away from her, even if the question was at odds with her own query regarding the missing card.

Of course, Valentia knew, the girl was quite right to point out that an extra card would upset the otherwise perfect balance of the Deck of May'at, which was based upon multiples of seven: the Pleroma, or Higher Arcana, consisting of sixty three cards; the Syzygies, or Lower Arcana, being formed of forty two, making one hundred and five in all.

And yet, as everyone also knew, there were also four cards that served as links between the two levels, the Call, or Creations, linked to the tones of musical instruments whose frequencies were proven to induce higher states of transcendence.

Shouldn't there therefore also be a fifth card, it had been claimed through the ages, one representing the highest state of all?

Moreover, just as there were Five Shekhinas, there were also the Five Light Elements, along with their counterparts, the Five Elements of the World of Darkness. Then there were the Five Limbs of the Great Nous, the lower forms of the higher _Shekinahs dwelling within_ the soul of any man or woman.

So shouldn't there be _Five_ Calls, or _States_ of Creation?

'Yet an _extra_ card,' Valentia almost unconsciously found herself intoning, blurting out this nonsense before she even had the chance to stop herself, this nonsense she had heard spouted by Charlatans dealing out their fake packs amongst drunken fools, 'would bring the _total_ number of cards up to one hundred and ten; symbolising a life of holiness and virtue.'

Perfect Keldrik was once again having to struggle to hide the fact that she was glowering at Valentia.

'A life, Miss Levannah, that – _although possibly ending painfully_ – nevertheless glorifies not only the individual's soul but also those of a similar mind. Yes, I _have_ heard of these _myths_ , thank you.'

Valentia squirmed.

What _had_ made her say such stupid things?

'So, what _do_ you suggest, Miss Levannah?' Perfect Keldrik was still staring directly at Valentia. 'For, as we have quite clearly had _no_ such card handed town to us amongst the _regular_ Deck of May'at, do we, then, conjure one up for ourselves from our own imaginations? Do we, perhaps, have it illustrated, then printed? Do we, in other words, simply _make it up_ ; and simply, too, to assuage _your_ sense that something is missing from an _otherwise_ infallible pack?'

'No, no! Of course not!' Valentia vehemently replied. 'That would be...sacrilege!'

'Sacrilege, yes!' the Perfect firmly agreed. 'Also illegal. But perhaps even worse than all these things, Miss Levannah, is that the very best we could hope for is that such a move would weaken the pack's effectiveness; although I personally would seriously fear that tampering with the deck in this manner would be akin to tampering with creation itself, resulting perhaps in a complete change in our way of life, or maybe even precipitating changes within the makeup of the very world. Is _that_ what _you_ would wish for, Miss Levannah?'

Valentia shook her head miserably, keeping it low, ashamedly hiding her face.

She'd been made to look a fool!

_She'd_ made _herself_ look foolish!

She turned up the next card in her deck, the one that should be Mind, or Truth, the Shepherdship of the fifth and Lower _Shekinah._

_Of course, the card wasn't there._

It was, instead, yet one more card she didn't recognise.

The Fool.

*

# Chapter 4

Jenny's smile looks a little foolish, the way she's still hoping all the cards are going to come up telling her that her love for Davey Jacobs is all going to work out just fine and dandy.

And here I am, presented with a card that's somehow screaming at me that the whole world's in jeopardy.

Honestly, I mean; just what sort of books, games or movies have I been delving into lately that's set me off thinking along these morbid lines?

It's not even like the card's illustration is all doom and gloom; far from it, in fact. There's a glowing crown, naturally, what with the card being titled the Exalted and Enduring Crown; there are also what could be five beautiful maidens, perhaps even goddesses.

_Intent, or Thought._

_Understanding._

_R_ _eason._

_Intelligence._

_Mind, or Truth._

As I take in each goddess, these words appear in my mind so strongly that, at first, I think I must have read them, that each goddess must carry a title.

But no; there's no script written anywhere on their flowing gowns.

'These are the things we all need to help us come to terms with whom we really are,' I suddenly find myself intoning to Jenny, pointing out each goddess as I spell out their individual meanings.

_' Intent, or Thought. Understanding._ _R_ _eason. Intelligence. Mind, or Truth.'_

'But...they're also _beautiful_ , aren't they?' Jenny says, like her whole world's collapsing, like mentioning things like intelligence and reason and mind aren't the things she'd be expected to draw upon to capture the heart of Davey Jacobs.

Then again, they're not the things I'd be expecting her to take advantage of either, in that respect.

I mean, she's a pretty enough thing, is our Jenny; all long blonde hair, the skinny legs that just might turn out all right once she gets a little bit older. Face maybe a little bit too pinched, if I'm being a bit harsh – which, yeah, I do tend to be – but her smile would melt any old granny's heart.

Davey Jacobs should count himself lucky she fancies him. He's not going to turn out too well given a couple of years, you ask me; that cute, almost upturned nose might look oh-so adorable at present, but that kind of thing just doesn't work on an older boy, does it?

If little Jenny here's supposed to use her intelligence, I'd say it's to garner the sense to blow wee Davey out.

Not that she's going to like hearing that, of course.

I'm about to make something up, come up with some rubbish about 'your inner beauty shining through'; that kind of thing.

Instead my mouth shoots off without waiting for my own inner Shirley MacLaine to engage.

'If you're not prepared to nurture and use these abilities, there can be no hope for any of us.'

Her heart's sinking; I can see it in her eyes, the way even her smile fades, even though she's gamely attempting to hang on to it.

At the _very_ least, I could have said something along the lines of, 'All these thing are beautiful in their own right; that's all the illustrations really mean.'

But no, I have to give it to her straight; intelligence is all that matters.

Well, and all the other things, of course; you know, Intent, and what have you.

It's all a bit hard on a girl whose only intent is to get snub-nosed Davey to ask her out. Girls like Jenny live and breathe beauty, whether it's picking up tips from mags, following certain celebs on the web, or making sure they're buying the right shampoo.

Trying to tell someone like this that beauty's not so important after all is akin to brutally ripping out their soul.

'I _think_ what the card's _trying_ to say, Jenny,' I continue, struggling to get her smiling for me again, 'is that, maybe, you know: you've just got to ask yourself if Da– if this boy you're hoping to go out with is really _worth_ it?'

She's brightening a little; she's holding back the tears, leastways.

'I mean, the card's saying, in effect,' I add, 'that you're too _good_ for him – that, you know, you should give him the push; the elbow.'

For extra effect, I give a sharp jerk of my elbow.

'Does that make any sense to you, do you think?' I add, acting all innocent like.

She thinks about it, pursing her lips a little, her way of showing she's pondering deeply.

She nods.

'You're right,' she says, thankfully, surprisingly, if also hesitantly. 'What's the last card say?' she asks, glancing optimistically towards the deck I'm holding, impatiently waiting for me to turn over and deal out the next card.

I flip over the card.

Yeah: it's _another_ card I don't recognise.

Shepherdship, or Aletheia.

Truth.

*

As the class filed out of the lecture room, a shamefaced Valentia was expecting to be called back at any moment by the Perfect, finding it hard to believe that she wouldn't be allowed to leave without receiving a more directly delivered admonishment for her behaviour.

Not that she exactly relished being allowed to leave like this, with all the others. They each made their disdain for her plain, avoiding her even as they made their way down the rather cramped, narrow corridors, any looks cast her way being only ones of astonishment that anyone could be so stupid. They were each already pairing off, some grouping together a little, and yet she was out on her own.

And if she were out on her own, that meant some other girl would also be without her Twin.

Then again, the pairings presently taking place would no doubt be nullified by the choices determined by the cards, choices that would normally be made before the newcomers had the opportunity to forge their own partnerships based on shallow similarities, rather than the more substantial qualities necessary for a true Twinning.

Valentia sensed that the others might even be openly laughing at her if it weren't for the sternly watching presence of the Lord, the Last Prescient, his head upon its glittering platter stationed at the very end of the corridor, from where the realistically rendered eyes appeared to be taking everything in. Above the recess in the wall housing his head, there was also a painstakingly detailed crucifix, albeit one so old it portrayed the Lord's whole, torturously wracked body rather than tending towards the later, even more horrendous tradition of depicting him already decapitated, his skin stuffed with sharp shards of straw.

Naturally, no one really believed these carvings of the Last Prescient possessed any ability to sense their real feelings; but neither could anyone be sure that the Perfects, or maybe even one of the Twelve Magistri, weren't tracking their behaviours with individual readings of the cards.

They had just witnessed, after all, Perfect Keldrik's swift interpretation of a swift shuffling and fanning of her deck as she had done little more than intently stare at Valentia. Whatever that reading had revealed, it had been disturbing enough for her to call a halt to their first lecture, insisting that they would be recalled for a fresh start the next day.

If any of the other students held any animosity towards Valentia for the cancelation of their introduction to making the most of the Deck of May'at, no one displayed any signs of anger or even frustration; for these emotions, of course, were frowned upon even more than jeering laughter.

Valentia sighed with relief when she at last reached the door to her cell, almost tripping over the doorway's slightly raised lip in her urgency to get away from everyone else. Briefly tempted to irately throw her silken pouch of cards upon the low, simple bed, she instead slipped the deck out of its purse, determined to search out those oddly illustrated cards that had instigated her unconsciously wild and reckless behaviour.

But...the new, unusual cards were no longer there.

Valentia rapidly scanned through the top of the pack again and again, but the Fool, the Chariot and the Magician – the three cards that had originally so disconcertingly appeared in her deck – were definitely no longer there.

Aletheia, Ennoea, and the Exalted and Enduring Crown were all back in their regularly appointed places within the deck.

Yet...she hadn't _imagined_ the presence of the other cards!

She had _definitely_ seen them!

_Definitely_ held them in her hand!

But then again, why was she so upset by this? It meant, after all, that her deck was complete once more.

It was how it _should_ be.

To be sure that the cards _had_ vanished, that they must, after all, have been nothing more than the overactive imaginings of her overly excited mind, Valentia quickly flicked through the lower part of her deck.

The three alien cards _definitely_ weren't there.

No, wait!

There was another, foreign card.

The Moon.

And that brightly shining sphere seemed to be screaming at her.

Danger!

Deception!

And, finally, Valentia knew _exactly_ what the Moon was trying to say to her.

Get out of here; now!

*

# Chapter 5

Wow; what _were_ those cards?

Where _are_ those cards?

I'm flipping quickly through my deck, trying to find them once more.

But they're not there!

They've gone – _vanished_!

I _saw_ them; I _know_ I did!

Little Jenny; she saw them too, didn't she?

What did she say?

Something about how beautiful the five goddesses were?

There aren't five beautiful goddesses on any Tarot card I know of!

And what about that last card I'd dealt out for her?

_Aletheia_.

Now _that_ card had screamed out even to poor little Jenny that unrequited love can lead us into darker areas.

I saw it first in her face; the shock, the distress.

'That...that's _me_ , isn't it?' she'd stammered.

I'd shaken my head.

'No, no; of course not,' I'd said, quickly going on to explain that the cards don't work that way.

The problem was, the illustration was somehow so full of longing, it even seemed to emanate it, such that it flooded into me; and, obviously, into Jenny too.

No wonder Jenny thought it was directly referring to her own experience.

This Aletheia, Truth, well – she was undoubtedly gorgeous. And yet her head was turned slightly, her expression both rapt and wistful, her adoring gaze focused only on a glorious light hovering unreachably high above her.

And where she herself blocked out this light, there was shadow, a darkness increasing in its intensity until it was a completely solid black that oozed around the card's edges as if granted its own form of life.

'It's a card,' I'd said to Jenny, still hoping to leave her on a high note, 'hoping to make you aware that being _captivated_ can mean being _kept_ captive; which can only lead to the darkness of sadness. It can bring out the _worst_ , rather than the _best_ in you.'

I'm not quite sure were all that came form; I'd wondered, for a brief, horrifying moment, if I'd gone too far.

No one likes to hear their unrequited love will be forever unrequited, do they?

But Jenny smiled, if a little weakly.

Then she'd given me a nod of her head, a sign that she understood, that she agreed it all sounded reasonable, her smile thankfully brightening once more.

'Thank you,' she said. 'You're right.'

She'd gone off happy, maybe even, I hoped, enthused.

Yet now, that card, Aletheia – along with the other card, the one with the crown – had gone. It had vanished, as completely as if it had never really existed anywhere but within my own imagination.

Unless, of course, I'd dropped it as I'd wound my way along the school corridors, caught up in the rush to make it in time to the next lesson now that the bell had sounded the end of the break period. I'd been accidentally jostled a number of times as I'd sorted through my pack, looking for the cards; yes, I could have dropped them, quite easily.

I draw to a halt so suddenly, those behind me partially collide, partially skip and trip as they have to abruptly skirt around me.

Glancing back the way I've come, my heart sinks: if I've dropped the cards, at best they've been picked up to be disinterestedly crammed into a packed bag or a too-small pocket – at worst, and more likely, they've been trodden into a messy pulp by hundreds of carelessly hurrying feet.

_*_

'They're coming for you!'

Valentia couldn't, of course, be sure that she wasn't going mad, that she wasn't hearing voices.

Still, she rushed to the door, intending to look out on and check the corridor running outside her room.

The door was locked.

She couldn't open it, not even when she frenziedly tried turning the key protruding from her side of the lock.

She worriedly felt around the edges of the door, seeing there that it had become welded as one with the framing.

It was a Deck of May'at generated sealing; what else could it be?

The window!

Whirling around, she dashed across the small, barely furnished cell, reaching for the wooden shutters she'd closed when leaving for the lecture – even though she'd been assured that her meagre belongings would be safe, that there was never any stealing in the Cloisters, that locks were only necessary to ensure seclusion.

She feared the shutters might also be sealed, immovable, then – as they thankfully responded to her sharp tugs on the handles – that the opening itself might now be filled with stone or steel plate: but the breeze coming in off the outside courtyard (the breeze she had tried to shut out by closing the shutters, her cell already too icy for comfort) was still blowing cold against her skin.

Valentia triumphantly swung the shutters fully open, wondering how the Perfects hadn't foreseen that she was probably slim enough to slip out of the window.

She looked out on the courtyard, the green of the lawn, the tangled limbs of the wondrously spreading oak tree dominating its centre.

But she was staring hopelessly out at it though iron bars that hadn't been there the last time she'd looked.

*

# Chapter 6

The cards are probably little more than a filthy, muddy mush now.

Despite my fears that it would be a hopeless trip, I retrace my steps back down the corridors, searching out any signs of iridescent colour beneath the countless shuffling feet.

_Dropped chocolate bar wrappers. A rainbow toned wrist bangle. Some sort of amusement park pass._

_But nope, no weird cards. Not even a torn sliver, a trace of badly shredded paper._

_Suddenly, I feel strangely drained by their disappearance. Exhausted, like I've been madly exercising for the last few hours (yeah, even though I'm nowhere_ _near_ _mad enough to put my body through anything like that!)._

_I'm also abruptly aware that someone has drawn up close by, hovering over me._

_' Hey, what've you been telling Jenny about me?'_

_Oh oh; it's_ Davey Jacobs.

_Looking down his snub nose at me like he's close to killing me._

_*_

_Naturally, the bars were real: completely solid._

_Valentia reached for and pulled on them, as if madly hoping that her crazed, panicked mind had somehow simply imagined them._

_If conjured up by readings of the Deck of May'at, by a group of Perfects, or by a_ Magistri, _they might even be harder than manually forged iron._

_Then again, would they really have gone to so much trouble to imprison a mere Novice?_

_A Novice who, so far, has had no opportunity to learn anything substantial?_

_A Novice with a deck remaining under at least partial control of the Perfects or Adherents?_

_The formation of the bars might have been hurried, maybe even casually and weakly applied, in the belief that she would be incapable of rescinding the charm. If so, the bars might still retain an unnatural fluidity, having had so little time to become permanently set in place._

_Valentia had seen, on a number of occasions, how an Adherent's careful manipulation of the cards could cause even the most hardened of matter to dissolve, to reform in new shapes, conjuring up powerful forces as if from out of nothing but a vibrating wind._

_Better still, she had witnessed the Charlatans with their poorly rendered emulations of the Deck of May'at, all of whom had been more open in their choice and formation of cards._

The Third Messenger, Hierodule of Heaven.

The Third Messenger is the full awakening of the Divine Lady, who had previously been rendered unconscious after her devourment by the shadows.

Valentia quickly fanned through her pack, seeking out the card, lying just under a third of the way down the deck. Slipping it out from the rest of the pack, she placed the card face up upon her bed, such that it would form the first point of a pentangle, the last card of which would point towards the object requiring transformation.

The Maiden of Light, Music.

An aspect of the Third Messenger, the redeeming goddess who welcomes the renewed soul.

Valentia concentrated on the meaning of the card as she placed it on her bed, where it formed the second point of what would be the completed pentangle.

It is the Third Messenger who evokes the Twelve Virgins of Light, calling on them to entrance the darkness.

Third Virgin of Light; Enmity against darkness.

Eighth Virgin of Light; Falsehood, and understanding what is false.

Ninth Virgin of Light; the Art of Metalworking.

Valentia placed the fifth and final card of her formation such that the pentangle's point directly faced the wall where the barred window stood.

The darkness of iron must move for me and the Light I possess!

_In her mind, she imagined a new card, one in which the iron of a barred window flowed as if it were nothing more than a film of dark pitch upon flowing waters._

_Thinking only of this, she stepped towards the window, reaching out with her hands towards one of the gaps lying between the bars as if she were plunging them into water, as if she were about to wash her hands clean._

_She twisted her wrists as she pulled her hands apart, drawing her palms closer towards the inner edges of the bars._

The darkness of iron must move for me and the light I possess!

_She felt the supposedly hard edges of the bars give way._

_Then she pulled the bars aside, collecting up, too, those bars standing alongside them, as one would pull apart a raft of rotten reeds to drink the cool water lying beneath the floating stalks._

*

# Chapter 7

Davey Jacobs has always had it in for me: ever since I sort of, well, _implied_ that blossoming love was on the cards for him with _his_ love interest, Felicity Guilds.

All he had to do, I'd confidently informed, was join her out walking her dog, Susie.

How's it my fault that _he_ thought he'd go one better and borrow his neighbour's dog?

I mean, doesn't he know anything about the birds and the bees and _dogs_?

Poor little Susie blossomed with love all right; a litter of five mongrel pups.

Now Felicity not only avoids Davey, but also the bus stop where it all happened.

Now it seems my own relationship with Davey Jacobs has taken another turn for the worse.

_Just what the heck has Jenny been saying to him?_

_Surely_ _she didn't just saunter up to him, telling him I'd told her he's not worth worrying about?_

_I mean, the only thing bright about poor little Jenny is her hair colour, but_ _surely_ _..._

_The way Davey Jacobs' snorting down at me, maybe she did._

_' I saw her earlier with you and that bloody pack of yours!' he sort of snarls. 'Then she swans past me later with her nose in the air like I'm something she's accidentally picked up on the bottom of her shoe!'_

_' Ah, well now...' I begin, stalling for time yet again as I try and think up an adequate response to Davey's perfectly reasonable accusation. 'We'll be late for class; maybe we can talk about this later?'_

_With a nodding of my head, I point out that the corridor is rapidly clearing as everyone else quickly files off into their classrooms._

_' Since when were_ _you_ _in a hurry to get to class?'_

_Touché._

_He's got me there._

_My reputation unfortunately goes before me._

'Maybe I could give you a reading to help you work out why Jen–'

'I don't need _another_ reading!' he growls, bringing his snub nose so close to my face that I can feel his hot breath on my flesh. 'What I _need_ is you to tell Jenny that whatever you've told her is rubbish, right? You got that?'

To add to the force of his demand, he grabs me by my arm, his grip tight and painful.

I grimace.

'But my cards are all I've got to–'

'Yeah, all you've got to help you pretend people like you, right?' he sneers.

He contemptuously pushes me back, almost throwing me aside.

'Because otherwise, we might all notice you're big-headed, hateful, frigid – and, frankly, quite a bit scary, yeah?'

Now that _does_ hurt; I'm fighting to hold back the tears.

I don't want him to see how much he's hurt me.

But that's the truth, ain't it?

And no one needs any special cards to realise it

*

Once the window's bars had parted before Valentia's lightly wielded hands, they thankfully remained in position alongside the stone frame, solidifying there once more as if this is how they had originally been wrought and fixed into place.

Valentia breathed a sigh of relief.

The truth was, she hadn't been sure she could do this.

The most she had witnessed a Charlatan achieving was the bending of a spoon or, at best, giving a slight twist to a knife's hardened blade.

But she had been desperate. Added to this, the unexplained presence of the unusual cards had also encouraged her to attempt this complicated use of the deck, for they signalled that her pack wasn't completely under the control of the watching Perfects and Adherents.

They would never allow an otherwise true and perfect Deck of May'at to be sullied in this way.

They must be unaware, then, that these weird changes of the cards were taking place.

Valentia turned back towards the bed to scoop up her cards, slipping them into their purse.

A card had once again changed.

Death.

There's no equivalent card in the Deck of May'at.

Yet there it now lay, on top of her coarse bedsheet.

She didn't have time to work out what it might mean for her.

She turned it over, slotted it back into the deck, pulled the purse's string tight, dropped the purse into the pocket of her Novice's gown.

Hurriedly dragging the cell's single chair over towards the window, and clambering up onto it, Valentia glanced nervously about the courtyard, making sure no one was about; then she scrambled out of the narrow window as nimbly as she could, silently cursing her cumbersome gown.

Slipping down to the ground on the other side, dusting her gown to remove any dust or dirt, she once again glanced everywhere about her, hoping no one had seen her exit the cell.

In fact, she also hoped no one would be around to see her once she set off walking across the courtyard, or back down through the Cloisters' many corridors.

Someone might recognise her.

Someone who knew the latest intake of Novices had been told to retire to their cells.

She shivered, a cold surge coursing through her.

Perhaps the _Death_ card's meaning was much plainer than she had originally thought.

*

# Chapter 8

_Brrr_!

Suddenly, I'm cold.

_Freezing_ , in fact!

Thankfully, Davey Jacobs has pushed off, no longer threateningly looming over me.

But...I'm cold because, somehow, I'm now standing outside.

Standing outside in a place I don't recognise.

A square courtyard, only with grass in its centre and a huge, spreading tree.

And in place of my warm uniform, I'm wearing an overly-tight gown that could have been made out of nothing more than a cheap bedsheet.

*

Davey Jacobs blinked in surprise, briefly wondering if he was imagining things, if he'd gone crazy.

A second ago he'd been furiously staring down on a tearful Lilith Waltemath, one of the most unpopular girls in school.

Now, in her place, there stood the most entrancingly beautiful girl he had ever seen.

*

# Chapter 9

What's happened?

How did I get here?

Where _is_ here?

It's like a cathedral's cloister, only with one side of the square, the one I'm standing against, being more of a solid wall, with a line of small, glassless windows. On every other side there's a covered walkway, the upper parts of the walls overlooking the lawn regularly interspaced with arched openings, once again much as you'd expect to see in our older religious buildings.

The gown I'm wearing, too, sort of reminds me of what we see monks wearing whenever we see a movie.

I step out onto the grass, expecting it to sort of dissolve away as soon as I do, the way these things do in dreams.

Because this has to be a dream, right?

Maybe I'm unconscious.

Maybe that rat Davey Jacobs knocked me out!

_That_ would explain why he's no longer here!

I can feel the grass beneath my feet.

Reaching up, I can also touch the leaves and stems of the spreading tree.

I can also sense something heavy knocking against the side of my thigh.

Something deep within a pocket.

Reaching in and pulling it out, I immediately realise it's a silken purse containing a deck of cards.

Loosening the pouch's string, I slip the cards out into an open palm.

I instantly recognise the styling of the cards.

They're the same type of cards that had started to mysteriously appear amongst my Tarot deck.

And this looks like a full set of them!

In fact, yes; I _know_ it's a full set.

Because they're _whispering_ to me, like I'm holding in my hand a whole nest of fairies, elves and goblins!

They're all saying different things, all eager to talk to me, or at least to each other.

Some of the voices, however, seem to be coming together, to at last agree on what they want to say to me.

Get out of here!

*

Valentia was only slightly less bewildered than Davey Jacobs.

Who _was_ this boy?

Where _was_ she?

'How...how did you do _that_?' the boy hovering over her incredulously stammered.

He was wearing a strange kind of uniform. Then again, so where the other boys and girls she saw walking along the corridors just before they vanished through doors leading into other rooms.

She'd taken part in a Transference, she instantly realised.

But how?

She hadn't been Twinned with anyone. She'd never even practised a Transference, either; she, like so many people, had simply witnessed one taking place as either an Adherent or Perfect had found it necessary to briefly swap places with his or her Twin.

Taking advantage of the boy's almost fearful confusion – obviously, _he'd_ never seen a Transference before – Valentia slipped away from him, striding quickly down the corridor, realising she needed somewhere quiet where she could try and work out how all this had happened.

On either side of the corridor, large sheets of glass broke up the walls every now and again, opening up onto classrooms full of even more uniformed children. Glancing down at her own baggy clothes, Valentia saw that she was also wearing a similar – if slightly more scuffed – jacket and skirt.

She was also carrying some sort of false leather bag, one that weighed quite heavily on her shoulder, as if full of books.

It was all so strange.

She had never seen anything like this place before.

She wasn't even aware that such places existed.

Although it had classrooms, it was a whirl of unnecessary movement and noise in comparison to the Cloisters. And why would anyone wish to use so much glass in a place of learning, opening everyone up to all these distractions, making any attempt at contemplation virtually impossible?

As she made her way along the corridors as quickly as she could without risking drawing attention to herself, she also began to unbuckle the shoulder bag, recognising that she would need her Twin's Deck of May'at to either offer directions out of this strangely constructed building or give her an idea as to why she had been drawn here.

After all, there was no mental connection with her Twin that she was aware of.

She had no choice but to try and find her answers amongst the cards.

Fumbling around in the bag, pushing aside what felt like poorly maintained exercise books and what could be pencils, she sighed with relief as her fingers closed around a box of a size that would be ideal for holding a deck.

Excitedly pulling the box clear of the bag, she was at first relieved to see its top was graced with what appeared to be a copy of a card's illustration, only to instantly groan in disappointment when it dawned on her that it was of a different styling to the designs she had been expecting.

It was very similar in its use of colour and images, in fact, to the cards that had been mysteriously appearing amongst her Deck of May'at.

But most amazing of all was the title of the card.

The World.

*

# Chapter 10

Which way _is_ out of here?

Across the lawn.

The cards whisper to me once more.

On the far side of the tree, and virtually completely hidden behind the mass of tangled branches, I can just make out the edges of what could be a doorway opening up into the corridors stretching out on either side of the lawn.

Striding out across the grass, I have to swing around the bulk of the spreading tree, yet even so have to duck every now and again to avoid a particularly low-lying branch. I'm viewed a little oddly by the handful of people gracefully walking beneath the covered walkways, as if I'm guilty of unseemly behaviour, perhaps even a little mad.

Like me, these people are draped in simple gowns, although the colouring and the material appears to differ amongst them. Once again, I'm struck by the thought that I've somehow magically ended up within a religious building, maybe even a monastery or priory, although I'm not aware of any orders – even their modern counterparts – that allow the free mixing of men and women that I see going on here.

Despite their disdain for what must be my unruly behaviour, no one makes any attempt to stop or even call out to me. By the time I've stepped through the entrance leading from lawn to walkways, no one bothers giving me a second glance.

Either way I look, halfway up the corridor there's a doorway – this time complete with heavy wooden doors – leading off from the cloistered courtyard and into another section of the building.

_Left_ , the voices whisper.

Not right.

As I stride purposely towards the door chosen for me, I keep my head down, wishing my gown was one of those with a large hood, trying my best to avoid drawing attention from the other gowned monks and nuns as they walk past me. Even so, even with my head low, I can see enough of the corridor out of the corners of my curiously whirling eyes to recognise that a great deal of the stone work appears clean and new rather than discoloured and worn over the ages.

It's a regularly maintained building, then, as you'd expect of one still in use. Thankfully, the door is similarly well cared for and oiled; it opens easily and silently on my turning of the large iron handle, my push against it.

I step into what could be termed either a small room or a short corridor, with doors at either end and a third one facing me, just a few strides away across a stone slab floor.

Straight ahead.

The cards, once again, have chosen the door I must take.

*

Val's excitement on first seeing the World card swiftly faded.

There was absolutely no sense of power emanating from the box of cards.

This _couldn't_ be the missing World card.

The entire pack remained silent within her hand.

A false pack, then.

An _illegal_ pack.

What _was_ her Twin doing with a deck like this?

Although the presence of a few of these cards within her own Deck of May'at had seemed to somehow prevent the Perfects from maintaining control over it, it was hard to believe that such a pack was powerful enough in its own right to enable Transference.

Her Twin _must_ have a Deck of May'at _somewhere_!

Val frenziedly searched through the shoulder bag once more, this time pulling out both exercise and technical books in her eagerness to find the cards she needed.

But there were no more other packs of cards.

Val was dismayed.

How was she supposed to gain some form of control over getting back to her own life?

She looked once again at the strange, boxed deck of cards she held in her hand, hoping she could detect some clue on how she might use them.

The World card featured on the box's front was formed from images she recognised.

A naked lady, wearing nothing but a slip of cloth that coiled about her like a snake, and holding two torches with flames at each end – the four lunar aspects of new, half, full, and half again. In each corner of the card, there were the heads of a lion, a man, a bull, and an eagle, representations of the summer and winter solstices, along with the vernal and autumnal equinoxes.

The girl is Nature, then, whose seductive beauty can captivate us unless we recognise that the entrapping coils of the serpent can also lead to our ascent, illuminating us and guiding us out of our darkness.

It was reassuring to her that the cards contained symbolism she recognised. She hadn't taken the time to study the earlier cards she had seen appearing within her own pack.

Lifting the box lid clear of its base, she tipped the complete deck of cards out into her palm.

At last, there was a response, a delicate whispering from the cards.

Do not be afraid.

It was such a weak calling, however, that Val feared it might not be a conversation with the cards she was experiencing but, rather, her own sub-conscious attempting to allay her fears. It might even be some weak connection with her Twin, although there were no other signs that this was taking place as it should be.

Although she had been walking through the school's winding corridors without paying much attention to where she was heading – her focus being more upon the nature of the cards than anything else – Valentia was relieved to see that she had nonetheless come out into an area reminding her of a foyer, with its desk and busily occupied receptionists, its chairs, the way it opened up and directed your gaze towards a short flight of steps on the outside, steps dropping away to a courtyard of laid stone slabs and surrounding grass.

Strangely, the steps lay beyond yet another wall of glass, rather than through a doorway, but as Valentia approached it, seeking out any signs indicating some form of opening, the glass split apart and slid aside to allow her through.

Even as the glass opened up for her, she was startled by the assailing noise, the stench of the strangest, most choking smells.

As the sheets of glass closed behind her, she paused on the top of the stairs, looking out in dismay at the chaotic scene confronting her.

She'd had no idea anything as hellish as this existed anywhere on Earth.

*

# Chapter 11

Stepping through this second door is like entering an endless space of complete silence, of the scents of herbs and flowers.

I assume this is the body of the cathedral itself, but it's one that's formed from a towering dome, with chapels leading off it like smaller versions of itself. These chapels are surprisingly dark, as if virtually windowless, and yet high above me the very centre of the soaring dome is a blaze of light, the meeting point of innumerable rays streaming in through carefully situated windows set within the curves of the ceiling.

Hanging from the very centre of the dome, such that it appears to be hovering within this sparkling sphere of light, is a huge crucifix, but one that's badly damaged, the head of Jesus having been sacrilegiously sliced off at some pint.

Despite the cathedral's awe-inspiring size, there are very few people about, and those that I can see have their heads bowed as if in contemplation. Even so, I decide against walking straight ahead towards the large doors lying almost directly opposite me, fearing that passing beneath the floating Christ might cause some of them to look up if they heard my footsteps echoing nosily on the tiled floor. Instead, I keep to the circular edges of the building, taking what is undoubtedly a longer route but also probably a safer one too.

When I step outside of the dim, lower areas of the cathedral, the sunlight seems unnaturally bright for a moment while my eyes adjust to the change

The scene is much as you'd expect just outside a large church, with carefully tended grass and trees, the only difference being, perhaps, that it is surrounded by a number of other buildings connected to the cathedral. Even more unusually, it's all surrounded by high walls that could at first be mistaken for the protective battlements of a castle, until you notice they have no defensive parapets. Similarly, the gateway facing me across the green is flanked by gracefully soaring towers, yet the large, oak doors lie open, and no one seems to be standing guard there.

Maybe all these walls are simply a way of ensuring the monks and nuns living here can safely cut themselves off from the world, much as the Amish do, for there are no modern vehicles here, only horses and carts.

This time I head straight across the green, rather than keeping to the edges as I did inside the cathedral, following a path of bared earth etched into the grass by constant passage. I'm in a bit of hurry, to get outside, to get a better idea of where I've ended up, and once again I receive the odd scandalised glare of a monk or nun, as if any signs of or attempts at haste are frowned upon here.

What is it with these people?

Haven't they ever seen anyone run before?

At the gateway, I find myself looking over yet more grass, and more trees, as well as a poor excuse for a road that's more dirt track than anything built to take a car, let alone a truck.

And, once again, the only traffic I can see passing by is pulled either by a horse or an ox or two.

It's all just so _medieval_.

Is that it?

Have I somehow been whirled back far into the past?

Damn!

I _was_ always being warned not to meddle with those bloody cards, wasn't I?

*

Valentia was scandalised by the noise and filth being spewed out by the horseless carts rushing past her at ridiculous speeds on the road stretching out before her.

She knew, of course, that such modes of transport had been proposed and even developed long ago, but as far as she was aware vehicles like these were used only rarely, and then for particular tasks that unfortunately made them necessary.

Every carriage roared like an enraged beast.

Who would want to live like this, amongst growling machines so damaging to the wellbeing of the soul, even the whole order of the universe itself?

How could the people living here ever hope to live a life of calm and tranquillity, let alone attain fullness?

What could be so important about the goods or people being carried that they required transporting over great distances, and with such outrageously impatient haste too?

Is that why she and her previously unknown Twin suffered such a perilously weak connection; because here the darkness of matter completely overwhelmed the imprisoned Light of the soul?

Why _would_ her Twin choose to live here?

Their connection was so weak as to be completely intangible, but for the fact that Valentia had been Transposed here; although if that had been by design or by accident, she of course couldn't be sure.

It usually took place by mutual agreement, and then only after certain cards had been drawn, typically involving one of the Four Calls.

What card had she drawn?

One she had never come across before; _Death_.

Of course, the relevant cards could have been drawn by her Twin; but then where was her ( _his_?) Deck of May'at?

It made no sense at all.

Even so, despite her doubts, Valentia began to quickly, deftly sift through the deck of cards she had inherited from her Twin. She found the Death card, took it up in one hand; and, although its whispering was so faint she had to strain to hear it, she sighed with relief that it could converse with her after all.

It was not always a card of an _actual_ Death, it seemed.

But in this case, in _her_ case, it most _definitely_ was.

*

# Chapter 12

'Over here! You need a lift; you need _me_!'

In between waving and shouting at me, a woman indicates the old cart she's standing by as if she's proudly unveiling a statue dedicated to those who recently fell at the battle of Agincourt.

It's a bit like how gypsy caravans used to look (no – how they _will_ look, hundreds of years from now!), a sort of home on wheels that the poor old nag at the front has to aimlessly drag around.

The woman's a bit gypsy like herself, I suppose, in the way that you could call Madame Rosa 'Fortuna' Lee a gypsy, leastways. You know; all flouncy, brightly coloured blouses, lots of earrings, tumbling dark hair, and everything else we've got used to seeing in the movies or the fortune-telling booths.

'Lil, isn't it?' the woman persists with a warm smile, another urgent wave of her hands. 'I knew you'd be here!'

How the heck could she know I'd be here?

_I_ didn't know I'd be here!

'Come on, quick!' she declares more insistently than ever, as if she's scolding some tiredly lingering child. 'You need to get away from here, don't you?'

Well, yeah; _that's_ true.

Does that mean she can get me back to my own time?

Seeing as how fortune telling's a sort of another way of dealing with the future, isn't it?

Basically, what other option's open to me?

None, right?

So I sprint across the road to where the woman has parked her caravan, taking care to avoid being run over by the ox cart swiftly trundling towards me at about two miles per hour.

'Who are you? How'd you know my name; and that I'd be here?' I ask the woman worriedly before I make any attempt to step up onto the cart.

'I'm Sepharial,' the woman answers, beaming like she's amused rather than irritated by the rush of questions I've thrown at her. 'As for everything else, I read it all in the cards, of course!'

*

The Death card's whispered explanation of its own meaning only served to reassure Valentia that she was right in presuming it couldn't have been responsible for the Transference.

And if it hadn't played a role in getting her here, then neither could it be used to help her get back to her own land.

She needed help, she realised; even if that meant asking a Perfect or Adherent, which was tantamount to surrendering herself to the authorities.

The problem was, there wasn't anything she could see that was in any way familiar to her.

Even the buildings were of a strange, terrifyingly dominating style, similarly imperiously looming over her no matter which way she turned. The bustling throngs of people, too, seemed odd, rushing on to some other place without displaying any interest in or liking for where they already where. Many were loudly, aggressively talking, but appeared to be in disgustingly public conversations with their Twins as opposed to communicating with any one close by.

There was no need for that! A conversation with a Twin should remain private, unless there was good reason to keep, say, a council meeting properly informed.

What was amazing, however, was that all these people should be Twinned: surely they couldn't _all_ be Perfects or Adherents – besides which, not one person she could see was acting in the more refined manner expected of anyone of such high standing.

She didn't _feel_ that these were the right people to ask for help.

She glanced everywhere about herself one more, seeking out _anything_ she might recognise as familiar, berating herself for failing to remain perfectly calm, perfectly composed.

Then, at last, she saw it; something she should have known all along to search out.

The Mystica Cruxificio, the crucifixion of Light by the Darkness; a cross, proudly displayed on top of what must be a place of worship.

*

# Chapter 13

Sepharial is so eager to get me up into the seat of her caravan she's just about throwing me up there as she gives me a hand clambering onto the stepboard.

She keeps on nervously glancing back towards the cathedral gate like she's expecting a horde of angry monks and nuns to rush out at any moment accusing her of abducting me.

You ask me, I think they're probably glad to see the back of me, going by the distasteful looks they cast my way whenever I went anything above a gracefully languid walking pace.

Just to make sure she's not set upon by a pack of irate Mother Superiors, Sepharial wraps a thick woollen shawl about me as she helps me up onto the bench seat, like she's under the impression the boring gown I'm wearing might draw unwanted attention to me.

Listen, Sepharial, I feel like saying, a Kardashian could wear get up like this and fail to be noticed, even if she were threatening to jump off the Eiffel Tower.

As a surprisingly nimble Sepharial slides onto the bench seat alongside me and picks up the reins, she calls out to her horse to start moving, the caravan briefly violently jerking and rocking as it's dragged across the rocky ground to the more packed earth of the road.

Not that travelling on the road could be called smooth riding; wherever we're going, I hope it's not far.

'Did the cards also say where you have to take me?' I ask curiously.

She shakes her head, but smiles, like not knowing where you're supposed to be heading can hardly be regarded as a major problem.

'I _was_ hoping you'd be able to tell _me_ ,' she nonchalantly answers. 'I presume you have a Deck of May'at, yes?'

Realising that she could only mean the pack of cards I'd found within my gown's pocket, I reach beneath the shawl and pull out the silken purse containing the deck.

'How do they work?' I say as I loosen the purse's string and prepare to slip the cards out into my palm.

With a horrified widening of her eyes, Sepharial immediately covers the cards with a reaching out of her own hand, glancing nervously about herself once more as she appears to check that no one has witnessed what's happening between us.

'Put them away,' she hisses fearfully. 'Surely you know it could mean death for me if I'm seen this close to a deck without at least an Adherent in attendance?'

Death? A dear rent? Surely I can't have heard her correctly. Still, I slip the deck back beneath my shawl, back into my gown's pocket.

'Why do you need this pack to tell us where to head for anyway?' I say, holding myself back from adding that the only place I need to be headed for is back to my own time, thanks! 'Why not use the one you used to tell you I'd be here?'

I think it's a perfectly reasonable question, of course: but Sepharial is suddenly – and, I suppose, thankfully – frowning in puzzlement rather than fear.

'I don't have a Deck of May'at,' she answers, 'I have to make do with a Deck of Duat.'

Wow, great; that's _two_ decks of cards I've never heard of before.

And from what I'm hearing here from Sepharial, it doesn't seem like this new one of hers is going to be any more use at getting me home as this so called Deck of May'at is.

I mean, it's one thing saying these cards can foretell your future; another thing completely to expect them to say you're _from_ the future – let alone believing they're somehow going to help me get back.

*

It was an odd shaped temple; not domed, as Valentia would have expected – which, of course, was why she had missed seeing it earlier – but squared off and angularly roofed, the cross itself surmounting a steeple atop a cuboid tower.

Even as she fearfully wove her way through the innumerable vehicles unstoppably rushing along the road, she began to wonder if she hadn't made a mistake. The building seemed remarkably neglected, the stone ominously considerably darkened by the fumes spewing from the rear of every materially-powered cart hurtling past her.

Her doubts were put to rest as she entered the comfortingly calm silence of the building, its porch being instantly recognisably dim and cool. Ahead of her, through the inner doors, she also caught glimpses of the collected light that would be hovering amongst the darkness, the sphere of illumination in which the Crucified Lord would be bathed in.

Stepping through the doors, the reassuringly cool air continued to envelope her, but she was surprised to see that the building's many windows had somehow become seriously unaligned, for the light was being simple diffused around the upper areas in a hazy glow, rather than being concentrated and condensed into a glittering globe. It was undoubtedly a beautiful light, one of many brightly glittering colours, yet it lacked the all-important focus of the crucifix, which shockingly lay amidst the dimmer areas despite being raised above the floor on an arching wooden screen of elaborate carvings.

In this unfortunate darkness, the Crucified Lord seemed forlorn and drained of hope. Where was the Light to redeem him, to free both him and us from the ever-encroaching Darkness?

The closer she drew towards the crucifix, frustratedly staring up at it as she tried to fathom the reasoning behind its odd positioning, the more she frowned in puzzlement.

What she had at first taken to be a shard of shadow gradually took on more substantial form, forcing her to change her mind, to wonder if the carving had suffered serious damage; for a slender beam of wood – perhaps even a rod of iron – appeared to have fallen and struck the figure, deeply embedding itself within the side of the Lord's ribcage.

No; it wasn't damage, she realised.

It had been deliberately formed as a part of the carving, a spear thrust into the Lord's side, the shade of red paint used for the wound the same as that used for the wounds used on the feet and hands.

Why would anyone wish to draw our attention to the side of our body?

As she pondered this, Valentia curiously reached for and touched the side of her own ribcage.

What role could a wound in our side play in saving the World Soul?

'Ah, the doubting Thomas, I see!'

The tone of the voice coming from the darkness behind her was one of amusement, maybe even admiration, yet it startled Valentia.

She whirled around, to find herself facing a man shockingly dressed almost entirely in black, the only item of white being a thin band curling about his neck.

He smiled, however. Valentia sensed he meant her no harm.

And then, suddenly, it dawned on her what the man had meant by 'doubting Thomas'.

'The Twin, you mean?' she replied, frowning a little, still not quite sure why he would refer to the Twin of Jesus the Splendour.

'Twin?' Now _he_ was the one frowning doubtfully; but he almost abruptly brightened. 'Oh, the _name_ ; the name Thomas _means_ twin, of course!'

'And Didymus; his _other_ name – that _also_ means Twin.'

'Why, yes, yes; so it _does_! But I was referring, of course, to Thomas's _doubt_ ; his doubt that Christ had risen until he placed his hand within the _wound_ of the Lord.'

With a rising of his eyes, he drew Valentia's attention back to the wound caused by the embedded spear.

Of course!

How foolish she'd been!

There were tales she'd heard that Jesus the Splendour had suffered a wound to the side of his chest, just like the one portrayed here.

But that would mean this depiction of the Crucified Lord wasn't a representation of the Last Prescient but, rather, one of Jesus the Splendour – no, _not_ Jesus the Splendour, but Jesus the _Man_.

It didn't make any sense – did it?

Why, Val wondered with steadily growing horror, would anyone wish to portray _his_ suffering?

'Jesus the _Man_?'

Valentia glanced doubtfully back towards the man dressed in black, seeking either confirmation or repudiation of what seemed to her to be a ridiculous idea.

The man's whole demeanour brightened once more.

'" _Ecce homo_ : Behold, the _man_ ," as Pilate is said to have exclaimed on seeing our Lord brought before him wearing his crown of thorns!'

Valentia glanced over towards one of the brightly stained windows responsible for bathing the air in rainbow shades; it was full of illustrations, ones reminding her of the paintings the Lord himself had created for Arzhang, his book of instruction. Obviously, these windows were also intended to be pictorial renditions of the scriptures, yet they weren't scenes that she recognised: at least not until she at last caught sight of something familiar, even if oddly dominated by the presence of a dancing woman – a severed head being presented on a platter to a king.

The nearby window, however, was instantly more recognisable and reassuring to her; there were the Giants, the 'sons of Elōhīm', there scenes of what could be the planets being formed. Another window, however, was full of yet more puzzling images, the only illustration she found in anyway auspiciously recognisable being the Heaven's Gate, here shown as a blaze of light in the sky, while Roman soldiers were emblazoning this symbol of their sun god on their shields.

'The _Chrēston_?' Once again, Valentia doubtfully glanced back towards the man, pointing up towards the window as she sought his verification that this was indeed the familiar if now admittedly archaic symbol.

'The _Christos_ , or Chi-Rho,' the man happily corrected her, 'as it appeared to Emperor Constantine as a vision in the sky, assuring him of victory and the introduction of Christianity throughout the empire!'

Valentia frowned as she stared back at the window; there were too many similarities with the _Chrēston_ to be ignored. There was the squashed x-like Chi of the intersecting celestial circles, the Sun's passage through the Zodiac crossing the Celestial Equator at the points of the Equinox, when Night and Day are equal. There, also, was the hairlock-like Rho, the bright-eyed Moon leading us from the darkness, or the _labrys_ , the Axe of the regenerating, emerging Sun of the Horizon.

Yet this man appeared to interpret its symbolism, its meaning and inspiration, in an entirely different way.

'Do you need any help?' the man asked Valentia, noting that she appeared increasingly confused, his tone carrying hints of worry. 'Maybe I can explain things to you? You _do_ look puzzled, I must say!'

'Are you an Adherent?' Valentia asked hopefully, even though she feared what the answer would be. 'I mean, can you help get me back? I've undergone a Transference with my Twin, and I don't seem to have any control over it – I don't even seem to have any _communication_ with her!'

'Get back? Twin?' The man repeated Valentia's comments as if he were totally at a loss to understand what she might mean. 'I'm sorry...I really don't follow what you're expecting me to do, I'm afraid!'

'The cards,' Valentia persisted, hoping he was confused only because he didn't realise that the Transference had taken place without her knowledge or permission. 'I've simply appeared here, uncalled, and find myself holding cards I don't recognise!'

As she spoke, she reached out to show him the deck of cards she held.

'See? It's not a Deck of May'at,' she said.

The man's eyes widened in horror as he saw the cards she was holding.

'Please; you really shouldn't be _meddling_ with cards such as these, you know,' he warned her. 'They might be responsible for your confusion, you do realise that?'

'Of course,' Valentia replied. 'That's precisely what I mean; how can I hope to reverse the Transference if I don't have a Deck of May'at? I was hoping, maybe, you could use yours to hel–'

'Please,' the man said, trying his hardest to remain calm and unflustered, 'surely you realise I don't believe in things like your cards?'

'You don't believe in the Deck of May'at?' Valentia was incredulous. She was also growing increasingly distraught, anxiously glancing around at this strange place of worship. 'Then you can't help me to get back?'

'Look, if you're lost,' the man said, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a cellphone 'I think it's the police you need, don't you?'

As he raised the slim, rectangular phone to his ear and switched it on, the screen lit up with the man's chosen screensaver, a gloriously painted image of the Garden of Eden.

'Wait!' Valentia exclaimed excitedly, seeing the phone as a card, as some incredibly sophisticated version of the fifty-ninth card, of Adam and Eve, of Victory. 'Is that what you call cards here? You've transformed it into _machinery_?'

Valentia was truly horrified; didn't that completely negate the whole point of the Deck of May'at? Wouldn't using machinery effectively imprison the cards within the darkness of matter?

The man grimaced apprehensively.

'It's a _phone_ ,' he snapped exasperatedly. 'I need to call the police; _obviously_!'

' _This_ is how you contact your Twin?'

'Twin? Why are you _fixated_ with twins,' the man irately demanded before being distracted by someone answering his phone call. 'Hello, yes; I have a girl with me who's lost and...'

_Go! Go now!_ the cards whispered urgently to Valentia.

*

# Chapter 14

'The Deck of Duat? That must be some other kind of deck for predicting the future, yes?'

Just how many packs of cards did there use to be?

I suppose they were more into that kind of thing back in medieval times.

Then again, is it really the middle ages or what have you that I've been really thrown back into?

We're passing what could be a small town, lying down towards the base of a valley. A smattering of small chimneys rise up from it, belching smoke. There's also the muted clatter of machinery, like there are old style mills down there.

But I don't mean 'old style' in the sense of way back in the thirteenth century. These buildings are more like the ones you see in illustrations of Dickens' time although – thankfully – there are only two or three of them dotted around an otherwise pollution-free town.

So, does that mean I've been somehow thrown back into the Victorian era?

Not that I _really_ find that in any way shocking.

Or even unlikely.

If I have _somehow_ been thrown back in time, well; it's no big deal, far as I'm concerned.

I've always been a believer in otherworlds.

Always accepted that there just has to be 'something out there' beyond our normal means of understanding life.

I mean, it's all there, isn't it, the proof?

All those books you can buy.

All those internet sites.

They just couldn't exist, could they, unless there were millions of people who just know it all _has_ to be true? Despite what all these so-called scientists and experts put out in the newspapers and on the TV in their efforts to keep us ignorant of what really lies everywhere around us.

Sepharial peers my way, her brow furrowed, like she's wondering if I'm being serious that I've never heard of this Deck of Duat. Then she grins.

'Even for a Novice, you must have led a pretty secluded life,' she chuckles. 'Before they enter the Cloisters, I'd've thought most people would have come across a least _one_ Charlatan – or would have _heard_ of them and their "illegal" packs, leastways!'

Calling me a novice seems a bit harsh; but, compared to her, I obviously am, seeing as how she managed to read in the cards that I'd be whisked back here into the past.

Some of the carts passing us are surprisingly well built, some of them even sporting what look like inflated rubber tyres.

My knowledge of history is definitely flaky, but I could have sworn they weren't around in Victorian times.

Maybe everyone's got it all wrong about our past after all?

'Look behind you, back into the caravan,' Sepharial says.

Swinging around in my seat, I find myself looking through a high, small window opening up onto what must be the sheets of a high-bunked bed. Lying beyond it, I can just make out the rest of the neatly and ingeniously configured caravan, with its minute stove, table and chairs.

'See on the bed there?' Sepharial continues. 'There should be two decks of cards, one in a silk purse, the other of leather?'

I nod.

'Yeah; do you want one of them?'

'The one in the leather purse; take that,' she replies. 'That's the one I use for teaching, rather than readings.'

Reaching in through the window, I pick up the leather-pursed pack of cards, unstringing the pouch even as I turn around in my seat once more.

Once again, Sepharial anxiously reaches out with her hand to push the cards lower into my lap.

' _Don't_ let anyone _see_ them!' she hisses. 'Sheeshh, girl! Where _were_ you brought up?'

'Having these cards can _also_ get you killed?' I ask in surprise as I begin to slip the cards out into my palm.

Sepharial shakes her head, turns back to face the road along which we're slowly heading.

'A few years in prison,' she answers. 'Maybe my hands severed, when the cards reveal I'm a regular offender.'

I begin to carefully fan out the cards in my hands, making sure I hold them low, out of sight.

The Novice; Judgement; The Hanged One.

The styling's different, of course, but I recognise the symbolism of these pictures; only I'd call them The Fool, The Last Judgement, and, yes, The Hanged Man.

These are Tarot Cards.

*

'No, wait, please: it's only to help you!'

As Valentia made her way down between the building's neat rows of seating, the man dressed in black made a few vain attempts to call her back, urgently waving his free hand even as he remained in conversation with his Twin. He made no effort to chase after her, however, and she breathed in relief when she exited the disturbingly strange building.

And yet, of course, she was still in trouble; still amongst the terrifying confusion of this bewildering place.

She needed to restore some means of contact with her own Twin – and quickly, too, before the endless chaos of noise and rushing people thoroughly affected her composure and calmness.

She reached into the shoulder bag once more, hoping to find some clues to her Twin's identity. As she scrambled urgently around in the bag, she slipped the deck of cards back inside, freeing up both of her hands.

Pulling clear some of the exercise books, she was astonished by their scruffiness, their complete lack of neatness and order she would expect of any Twin. There were books on mathematics, of course, but there were also forays into science, as well as an odd work that appeared to be relating curiously detailed myths, despite being entitled 'History'.

The writing was careless, ugly. Rushed. The learning, or perhaps the teaching, seemed naive and shallow; quite remarkably childish in fact.

There was nothing that Valentia could find discussing the Deck of May'at, or any of the scriptural works.

There was, at least, a name appearing with regularity upon the front of the exercise books; Lilian Waltemath.

There was also a regularly occurring date.

But – that _couldn't_ be right, could it?

If it were, it would mean she was now over two hundred years in the future.

*

# Chapter 15

'I recognise these.' I exclaim excitedly to Sepharial. 'We call them Tarot Cards.'

The more I shuffle through the cards, the more I'm certain that I'm correct, for more and more familiar images appear before me.

A card here called The Sage, which is the Hermit. Another named Fusion, but with entwining figures that could only be The Lovers. Fortune; quite obviously the Wheel of Fortune. Ruination, a card with all the symbolism of The Tower.

'We?' Sepharial gives me an inquiring look.

'Where I come from; where I want to get back to,' I determinedly reply.

'Well maybe where you want to get back to is where I'm supposed to take you?' Sepharial says with a grin. 'If that's the case, maybe we don't need your cards; maybe you can just go tossing them off our cart, seeing as how I'm worried they might be leading someone right to us right now.'

'They can do that? The cards can call out for help, or something, you mean?'

She shakes her head, gives me another weird look, like she can't believe I don't already know all these things.

'No; they're _you're_ cards, right? So they're not going to do _that_! But the Perfects, the Magistri; they could be using them to trace wherever you are, seeing as how you're still a Novice, and haven't quite mastered yet how to stop things like that happening.'

'Should I get rid of them?'

Didn't she say she could be put to death for simply being near these cards? So what does that mean for me, when I'm the one who's actually got them in my pocket?

She shakes her head again, smiling this time.

'Seeing as how _my_ cards didn't warn me of any dangers coming from the Deck of May'at, I can only assume they're not tracing it for some reason. Besides, the chances are they'll be the only real means of you getting back to wherever it is you've landed here from. But the most important thing at the moment is getting you as far away from the Cloisters as we can manage before we take a look at your cards; even so, it would be _nice_ to be given _some_ clue as to where it is you'd like to end up.'

'Back in my own time; is that possible? Could the cards do that?'

I look up at her hopefully, maybe even a touch too pleadingly.

'Your own _time_?

She doesn't look at me; she keeps her eyes firmly on the road ahead. But she says it like I've finally just gone and proven to her that I'm flat out crazy.

'The future; I'm from the future. This is Queen Victoria's time, yeah? And I can tell you that she dies pretty soon around...er, well, yeah she's gonna die and then her son, her son...Richard, is it?...well then _he'll_ become king and...'

_Damn_!

Why didn't I spend more time catching up on my history lessons?

'There's no Queen Victoria, my dear,' Sepharial chuckles. 'There's no queen at all; unless you count those in the cards, of course.'

'No queen? Then...who rules here? A king? What _year_ is this?

She laughs again, this time perhaps a little nervously.

'Now aren't these questions you should already know the answers to? My cards didn't say anything about you coming here from another time!'

'But they're just cards, right? They can't get _everything_ right?'

Her expression now is one of total confusion.

'You _are_ a strange one, there's no doubt about that! How can a child of the Cloisters even _think_ cards have no powers? All right, so my cards aren't based on the ancient Mes, like your Deck of May'at there; but they _are_ taken from the Egyptian Book of the Dead, every illustration you see there copied from the walls of the Temple of Puteoli, south of Rome!'

'Ancient Mess? What's that?'

Poor old Sepharial looks more scandalised than ever.

'M _, e, s_ ; but it's _pronounced_ as in _Mes_ opotamia – the instructions that grant being to the world, the universe.'

She shakes her head, like she sees no hope for me.

'Sorry,' I say. 'As I say, I _am_ new to this world, remember?'

Sepharial shrugs, as if she accepts this as a good enough reason for naivety.

'I suppose the cards _did_ say you were from a world of darkness.'

'It's not _that_ dark there!' I protest. 'No darker than _here_!'

'Really? How strange.'

She frowns, pouts, as if this is truly puzzling to her.

'At least it's not a place where you can be put to death simply for having a stupid pack of cards!' I snap defensively.

She rewards my ridiculously childish outburst with the most derisive look she's managed yet.

'A "stupid" pack of cards? How on earth did a girl like you ever earn a place in the Cloisters? Just what _did_ you learn in Classes?'

She shakes her head in disgust, turns to face the road once more, whips the reins so they gently slap across the flank of the horse.

'That "stupid" pack of cards in your pocket potentially possesses more power than you could possibly imagine; provided it's being wielded by someone who _knows_ how to utilise its powers, naturally!'

What would my usual response be when someone – particularly someone I don't even know! – humiliates me in this way? Why, I'd snap straight back, naturally!

Instead, I feel ashamed, sense I'm throwing away an amazing opportunity to learn things about these cards that no one back home remains aware of. If I'd learned how to use them properly in the first place, rather than simply pretending that I understood them, then maybe I could use them now to get out of here.

Maybe, come to think of it, I wouldn't even _be_ here!

Sounding suitably chastened, I try and make amends by showing interest in the other pack, this Deck of Duat.

'And these?' I ask as I begin flicking through the cards once more. 'Are these just as powerful?'

Sepharial shakes her head, even sounds regretful when she says, 'No; which is why the punishment for possessing a pack isn't anywhere near as harsh as the death sentence I'd receive for holding a copy of the Deck of May'at. The Deck of Duat aren't cards of Light but of Darkness: not of life, but of the afterlife – which is what _Duat_ means. Hence they can be used for determining characters, even possible courses the future will most probably take; but they can't be used to _manipulate_ the world about us.'

Darkness and the afterlife? Wow, no _wonder_ we're warned not to mess with this things!

The card I'm looking at now is indeed one of an overbearing darkness, despite the way it portrays a regally garbed woman suckling a small boy.

The Empress.

She's no Queen Victoria, that's for sure.

And that makes me think back to how I was hoping Sepharial could tell me what year this was.

'So, you say no queen rules here, right?'

She nods in reply, her grin one of bewildered amusement, like she's wondering when all these crazy questions come to an end.

'A king, then?'

'What use would we have for a king?'

She pouts, mystified by my query.

'So what year – okay, okay, so humour me, right?' Her exasperated grimace briefly unnerves me. 'What _century_ is this?'

She sighs, realising these questions aren't going to go away until she answers me, no matter how ridiculous she might think it is that she has to tell me what year it is.

'The early nineteenth century, of course.'

'But...I'm _sure_ you would have had a king or queen then...' I point out unsurely.

'The Rule of the Deck of May'at is far more certain in its pronouncements than any king or queen could possibly hope to be. It could be the very fairest kind of rule, too, if it weren't for the all too human weaknesses of the Twelve Magistri: who, of course, have the most influence over the wielding of the cards.'

'Er...is _this_ supposed to be here?' I ask, leaning a little over towards Sepharial, showing her the stylistically different card that's shown up amongst the pack, an image more in keeping with those I've come across in the Deck of May'at.

Ala; The World of Darkness.

Sepharial's eyebrows rise, like the appearance of this card amongst the Deck of Duat is the most bewildering of all the things she's seen and heard today.

'No; the decks must have somehow become a little mixed up! That's one of the Four Calls, or Creations, that...'

Sepharial's explanation was suddenly being drowned out, as if the huge bronze drum featured on the card was being frenziedly beaten, its ponderous roaring uncontrollably surging through me.

In the blink of an eye, Sepharial vanishes.

So does her horse, and her cart.

And her world.

For I'm back home; weirdly hovering by the edge of the road, like I'm seriously contemplating throwing myself under the nearest approaching bus.

*

Naturally, Sepharial had witnessed Transferences taking place amongst the Adherents and Perfects; and yet she still started a little in surprise as Valentia abruptly appeared alongside her in place of the other girl who had been sitting there.

'I wasn't expecting _that_ ,' the woman admitted, chuckling. 'Normally, there's a _touch_ more warning that it's about to happen!'

' _I_ wasn't expecting it _either_ ,' Valentia confessed bitterly, frustrated by her lack of control over the operation. 'Where am I?' she added, glancing everywhere about herself curiously. 'What can you tell me about my Twin?'

Sepharial's eyebrows rose high on her face, even as she grinned in wry amusement.

'What can I tell you about your Twin? Now _that's_ a phrase I _never_ expected to hear!'

She curiously scrutinised Valentia, as if trying to take the measure of this new girl.

'But at least, you know you _have_ a Twin! Which makes you a _little_ more savvy than your other half! She _insisted_ she was from the future, would you believe?'

Yes, Valentia thought, she _would_ believe it.

Maybe the time difference explained the lack of contact between them.

And yet; _Transference_ had taken place, not once, but twice now – and _that_ required high levels of interaction.

It abruptly dawned on her that there _must_ be a symbiotic connection between them, no matter how minimal; otherwise, how would she have understood what was being said to her, what she was reading, in the world of her Twin?

It was inconceivable that the languages would still be the same; not in a world so vastly different from her own!

'I'm Sepharial, by the way.'

Valentia came out of her reflections half dazed with confusion as she realised the woman alongside her was introducing herself, offering her hand in greeting and friendship.

'I'm Valentia,' she replied, taking the hand; then instantly holding herself back from divulging anything more about herself.

How _stupid_ could she have been?

She didn't know this woman; she knew _nothing_ about her!

Worse still, the woman had all the appearance – what with her manner of dress, the gaudy styling of her caravan – of being a Charlatan.

And Valentia had just admitted to this woman that she remained unaware of what her Twin was like!

Yet, when the connection between her and her Twin remained so weak, what other way was there for her to find out anything about her Twin other than to ask this woman for information?

'What a strange pair you are, and no mistake!' the woman laughed. 'There's her all naive and foolish, and here's you, all clamming up and keeping your thoughts to yourself!'

'Well, _I'm_ not so naive that I don't realise you're a Charla–'

Valentia's imperious attempt to explain why she felt she couldn't trust the woman came to a halt mid sentence as the ground ahead of them began to violently erupt, their horse rearing back in a whinnying panic as the earth cracked, shattered, then rose up in rapidly ascending mounds of crumbling soil.

The thunderous roaring of a groaning, tortured earth swiftly gave way to the pained wrenching and shrieking of hurriedly warping wood, the rising soil tumbling aside as huge, already fully formed fir trees shot up from beneath the ground, soaring seemingly ever-upwards in a thick showering of stones and earth.

The rising, tightly packed trees took with them an unfortunate cart, the horse and the driver thankfully breaking free and jumping clear. A small house lying in the way of the lines of trees extending off to each side of the road exploded into rubble.

As the hailstorm of stones and earth became nothing more than a mist of fine dust, as the grumbling of agonisingly wracked earth faded to be replaced by the fearful neighing of horses, the shrieks of startled men and women, it soon became apparent that the trees formed a dense, dark wall, one stretching off in either direction as far as the eye could see.

There was no way that Valentia and Sepharial could travel any farther along the road.

*

# Chapter 16

I thought I'd wake up where I last remember being before I was whisked back into the past.

Standing in the corridor, with that idiot Davey Jacobs leering over me.

Instead, here I am by the side of the road, like I've been sleepwalking.

If I have, I've managed to cross this road without being run over, which is pretty miraculous in its own sweet way.

So, is that it? Was I knocked more or less senseless by Davey?

Did I just imagine being whirled back through time?

Then I realise I'm still holding my Tarot Cards in my hand.

Then I look down at them.

They're not my Tarot Cards.

They're the Deck of Duat.

*

'They've found me!'

Valentia stared fearfully at the wall of trees that had so abruptly sprouted into life before her.

'Just what _have_ you done, girl?'

Sepharial's own astounded gaze flicked from the wall to accusingly rest upon Valentia.

'Nothing, I swear,' Valentia assured her. 'I don't know what I've supposed to have done!'

'And yet you seem sure these trees were formed purely for your benefit?' Sepharial sceptically pointed out. 'Have you _any_ idea of the control and power – of the _danger_ – it takes to bring something like this into being?'

Leaning forward on her seat, Sepharial looked out and up in awe at the dark, looming barrier of densely spaced trees. The trunks were set so close that the spreading, intertwining branches formed a pitch-black wickerwork. Yet the line of trees, spreading off in both directions, seemed to go on forever, vanishing over the horizon like a black curtain that split towns, having torn down walls, even houses.

'A Magistri's work, at least; if not two or more!' she breathed, mingling both wonder and admiration. 'Why would they risk compromising their grace for the sake of a _nobody_ , I wonder?'

She wryly gazed Valentia's way once more.

Valentia was quite aware what Sepharial meant by her claim that the Magistr had endangered their souls in the creation of so much matter, such a great deal of darkness.

'Quickly; your cards!'

Sepharial's demanding tone, along with urgent gestures of her hands, brooked no argument. Valentia, realising that the deck was undoubtedly responsible for her being traced, hurriedly dragged the silken purse of cards from her pocket, hastily handed it over – too hastily.

The purse string hadn't been properly tied, the cards inside moving around far too loosely, too uncontrollably if you were foolish enough to handle them hastily.

A card slipped out from the deck, from the purse.

It fluttered down between Sepharial and Valentia, landing face down upon the seat.

Sepharial and Valentia exchanged fearful glances.

A card was never said to _accidentally_ fall from a Deck of May'at.

And one that fell face down was an indication of an imminent envelopment of the Darkness.

*

# Chapter 17

What did that woman – _Sepharial_? – say this deck was capable of achieving?

Eagerly flicking through the cards once more, I recognise a few more of the images, even though they're not the same as those forming my Tarot Pack.

The Star here is one of some kind of queen wearing a crown like a star, with some kind of leopardskin-clad maid presenting her with two bowls, one with what could be a plant in it, the other something like a weird duck swimming in water.

A card entitled Vehemence – which I reckon has _got_ to be The Devil – shows this huge, dark serpent, with what could be a brightly glowing knight attempting to get past it.

They're just the Upper Arcana, it seems; yet Sepharial certainly seemed well upset when I said they were just a pack of cards, that's for sure.

Wasn't there something about them being based on the Egyptian Book of the Dead, right?

Sounds impressive; all that Egyptian thing always goes down well with kids whenever I'm trying to impress them with all the mumbo jumbo you need to deal out with cards like this.

Wait!

Didn't Sepharial say this Deck of May'at or whatever it was was even more powerful?

I urgently reach into my pocket, hoping the other deck of cards is still there.

Nope!

Damn!

Of course; they were in the pocket of the gown, which I've unfortunately ended up leaving behind!

(Not that the gown would've gone any way to helping me set any new fashion trends, naturally; but I could've always nipped home and changed!)

Still – what _am_ I complaining about?

I've got a deck of cards that I somehow retrieved from the _past_!

Just how magical, amazing, is that?

They've just _got_ to have _some_ special powers, yeah?

I glance nervously about me, suddenly aware that someone might have seen me appear out of thin air by the side of the road.

Thankfully, no one's gaping my way; which, of course, they would be if I'd just suddenly come into being right in front of them, _Terminator_ -like.

No one saw _anything_ , I reckon.

Far too busy getting on with their lives, dealing with their own worries.

Should I tell anyone I was somehow whisked back into the past?

A doctor, maybe?

Someone who specialises in mental troubles?

Because, let's face it, that's who'd I'd ultimately end up having to explain my experiences to, isn't it?

Like, just _what_ do I say?

That it was a sort of Victorian, sort of medieval kinda time?

Like I can't tell the difference between a Robin Hood movie and one featuring a murderous Jack the Ripper?

Like I'm _totally_ stupid?

Who'd believe it?

How could I _prove_ it?

Even if the cards show up to be a couple of hundred years old, who's to say I didn't purchase them in some kind of antique emporium?

Nah!

It's not worth it, is it?

What I _should_ be doing is giving this new pack a try out.

All I need is someone gullible, someone none too smart...

Ah, well, whaddya know – here's _Jenny_!

*

Valentia anxiously reached for the card that fallen onto the seat between her and Sepharial.

As she turned the card over, she sighed with relief.

'The Twelve Virgins!'

The card was indeed _Eldership_ , The Twelve Virgins of Light.

Sepharial, however, appeared more fearful than ever.

Indeed, she glanced nervously about herself, as if expecting something horrendous to happen to them at any moment.

'It was face _down_ , remember?' she hissed apprehensively.

Valentia frowned in puzzlement.

'There's no dark side to the Twelve Virgins,' she pointed out, surprised that Sepharial didn't seem to realise this; after all, Sepharial's awareness of the Deck of May'at seemed in all other ways quite astonishing. 'They don't have their dark counterparts, like the Five _Elements_ of Light.'

Sepharial shook her head miserably.

'They do now; the Twelve Horsemen – creations and eyes of the Twelve Magistri.'

'But...that would go against everything...'

Valentia couldn't believe the Twelve Magistri would undertake anything so scandalous as to misuse the creative abilities of the cards in such a way; to form dark counterparts of the Light would be sacrilegious.

'Everything you've been taught to believe about the World of Light?'

Sepharial grimly completed Valentia's unfinished sentence for her, bringing her own statement to a close with a sharp nod of agreement of her head.

'And if the Magistri know where you are,' Sepharial continued, ominously looking back towards the towering dark wall of trees, 'then I suspect the Twelve Horsemen can't be far behind.'

*

# Chapter 18

Jenny's been let out of class early.

Now why would _that_ be, I wonder?

Surely...I mean _surely_ she hasn't gone and smacked Davey Jacobs, has she?

You know; taking my advice to give him the push a bit _too_ literally?

Which, I'm afraid, poor little Jenny might just've done, come to think of it.

She's certainly _grinning_ a little crazily.

Uh oh; she's just gone and scoped me too!

She's waving, happily; heading my way!

I can't exactly run away now, can I?

So I wait while she navigates a safe passage across the busy road.

Once she's safely across the road, she sprints towards me, her face as glowing and joyous as an angel's.

Like she's enjoyed an epiphany.

A life-changing revelation.

That _is_ what happens when you find out you can strike out at someone who's been cruelly pestering you and – lo and behold! – they go off sobbing that _you're_ the bully!

Please, please don't tell me she's ended up putting poor old Davey Jacobs in hospital with a dig of the elbow to his ribs!

'How can I _possibly_ thank you enough?' Jenny shrieks excitedly as she draws up close to me, just about throwing her arms around me she's so elated. 'Those cards of yours – they're just _so_ amazing!'

Oh no!

It really _isn't_ looking good, is it?

'Really?' I blurt out in a mingling of surprise and horror, immediately correcting myself with a more calmly delivered, 'I mean, well yes, of course; they really _are_ , aren't they?'

She beams.

She doesn't tell me what's happened.

'Sooo...what happened, exactly?' I ask worriedly, adding even more anxiously, 'How come you're out of class so early?'

'Well, it was a _test_ , wasn't it?' she replies gleefully, like that explains everything. 'I mean, I'm usually so _terrible_ ,' she thankfully continues, ironically with information that anybody could've told me, 'but in this case, well; I got _full_ marks! And I handed in my paper so quickly, Miss let me out of class, as she didn't want anyone else to be tempted to whisper to me, asking for answers!'

Ask Jenny for _answers_?

To what?

The most fashionable colour of eyeshade?

The best hair dye?

Just what sort of test had they put her through?

And how the heck can my cards have had anything to do with Jenny doing well at it?

'I just put him out of my mind, just ignored him,' Jenny elatedly clarifies, 'and suddenly, my mind was so clear of all that ridiculous clutter, all the answers just came to me, like they'd been hiding away in my mind somewhere all along! I just couldn't believe it!'

Yeah; I can't believe it either.

The only thing about Jenny you could call bright is the colour of her hair, and that's fake.

'But...wasn't Miss a bit, you know, well...like wondering how you'd done it?

I have to ask, don't I?

Thankfully, Jenny doesn't latch on to any doubts _I_ might have about how she'd managed it.

'Sure she was!' Jenny happily admits. 'I mean, I was never any good at tests before, was I?'

I nod, but fortunately refrain from doing so too eagerly.

'So, when I put my hand up to say I'd finished so early – well, you should've seen her face! She looked ever so suspicious. She called me up to the front of the class, and started checking my paper – and you could _see_ she was expecting it all to be wrong. But _every_ answer was _right_! And there was _no_ way I could've cheated!'

I smile wryly, like I agree that there's only one explanation; that it's all down to me and my fabulous cards.

But what I'm really thinking, of course, is just how is that in any way possible?

How could nothing but a pack of cards have suddenly helped turn Spinning Jenny into the school's resident genius?

That's just _not_ possible, is it?

It's not even like Tarot Cards are supposed to be able to do anything like that anyway!

Jenny's staring at me all wide-eyed, like I've opened her up to a whole new way of seeing the world.

I can't let her down, can I?

'I wonder,' I begin hesitantly, reaching forward a little to show her the new pack I hold in my hand, 'would you like another reading? One from a pack far more ancient and wise than the Tarot?'

I've got no shame, have I?

*

Taking both the Deck of May'at and the loose card from Valentia, Sepharial deftly shuffled the pack. Once she was satisfied that the deck's order had been completely changed, she slipped out a single card and, apparently without taking a look at it, spun it around before gliding it back into place amongst its siblings.

'It's not perfect,' she pronounced dourly as she handed the cards back, 'but it'll have to do for now.'

'That's it?' Valentia was visibly shocked, observing the deck in her hand as if it were the most unusual thing she had ever held. 'That's all it takes to block the Magistri from tracking me?'

'Girls these days!'

Along with her exasperated sigh, Sepharial despondently shook her head.

'It's only a _temporary_ blocking,' she patiently explained. 'And even that's achieved by knowing _which_ card to turn, and where to place it back within the deck; plus, it's what's going on up _here_ , of course, that _really_ counts!'

She tapped a finger against the side of her head.

'It's not just a matter of being fully aware of the cards meaning; you have to connect with the _reality_ of that meaning, including its source, its origins.'

Leaping down from her seat, she started to stride towards the wall of trees.

'I can see I'll have to teach you how to create a more permanent blocking; but for now, we have to figure out a way of getting through this damn wall – and _quickly_ , too!'

*

# Chapter 19

I deal the cards out quickly, without having to think about it.

It's like the cards are whispering their own intentions to me once again.

The pattern I'm laying them out in is one I don't recognise; but this is the pattern they're _insisting_ I use!

There's a middle column of five cards, flanked by two further columns of three.

All the cards are face down, apart from the second to the top of the middle column. It lies between four flanking cards like the centre dot on the Five side of a die.

Similarly, the card directly below this one is centred between the two cards lying to either side, leaving the two lowermost cards of the main column extending beyond the bases of the smaller flanking columns.

The revealed card is Triumph, reminding me of The Chariot of the Tarot, even though the two sphinxes that draw the chariot are themselves being pulled along in a procession by groups of men.

In this case, it's the _meaning_ of the card I'm really going by, of course.

Far from being enthralled by the uncovering of a card plainly entitled 'Triumph', however, Jenny frowns in bemusement, even a touch anxiously.

Are you telling me our school's freshly appointed genius can't see that this is a good card?

Then it dawns on me; 'Triumph' isn't written in English.

It's formed from an entirely unrecognisable script.

So...how come _I_ can understand it?

*

Sliding down from her seat, Valentia followed Sepharial as she strode towards the tree wall.

Everyone else was giving the freshly contracted barrier a wide berth, quite rightly fearing that such an abrupt creation of matter was an unnatural extension of the Darkness. It wasn't that they were unused to seeing Perfects or Adherents create elaborate structures, of course; but such creations were deliberately limited to the reformation of available stone into buildings, or weeds into wheat or gardens, whereas this was a vast expansion of materials: an abrupt _formulation_ as opposed to a _controlled_ _accumulation_ of substance.

Even so, no one but Valentia and Sepharial had been panicked by the appearance of the wall. There had to be a perfectly rational explanation for its formation, after all; it was simply the case that no one outside of the Elect would be aware of those reasons, for no one outside of that refined circle _needed_ to understand either the purpose or the motives behind the wall's creation.

Surely, it would only be a brief imposition upon their lives. For now, however, any tasks or meetings previously arranged to take place beyond the barrier would have to be postponed. As for those who had suffered any damage – such as the poor man whose cart had been ripped apart, the householders whose homes had been shattered – restitution and repair would be available as soon as an Adherent could attend the site.

Naturally, Valentia couldn't afford to be so complacent; she _had_ to get to the other side of the barrier, and quickly too, before the arrival of these Twelve Horsemen Sepharial had referred to.

Intently taking in the dark wickerwork of interlocking stems, she looked for a way through, perhaps by partially writhing along snake-like beneath those branches not scraping along the ground, partially weaving her way through any spaces above those that did.

Surely it shouldn't be impossible for a lithe girl like herself?

'I'll try and get through,' she said determinedly, stepping closer towards the trees. 'Thank you for your hel–'

Quickly reaching forward, Sepharial held Valentia back from progressing any farther. She nodded off to her left, drawing Valentia's attention to a hare that appeared a little more undecided about risking making its way through the warp and weft of the wall.

'Wait,' Sepharial declared ominously.

The hare suddenly leapt forward, having decided to accept the risks.

It ducked, leapt, spun, working its way deftly through the thickly woven branches, a blur of brown amongst the all-enveloping blackness.

There was a cracking, a creaking, of disturbed, of snapped, branches.

At a tangent to the hare's weaving course, there was a rush of pure, impenetrable darkness amongst the branches; and, like the onrush of a huge spider attracted by the tweaking of its web, a spider unhindered by its own dark threads, a wolf leapt out upon the hare.

There was a sharp, short riving of flesh, a flash of showering scarlet blood.

And then the wall was purely dark once more.

*

# Chapter 20

The cards are quite clear; Jenny's remarkable intelligence, veiled from everyone for so long, will at last be recognised.

Success in a glamorously high profile career beckons.

In fact, the cards are amazingly specific about this.

Within ten years of leaving school, she will be a force to be reckoned with amongst the fashion industry, working in both design and photography.

In eighteen years (yes, they're _that_ specific!) she will be the editor of Italian Vogue.

_Italian_ Vogue?

The only Italian I reckon Jenny knows is Mamma Mia.

Not surprisingly, Jenny is ecstatic with my reading. She almost rises up to her feet and kisses me she's so overjoyed with the future I've spelt out for her.

I didn't even need to turn all the cards over to tell her this.

Unlike with the Tarot, I turned over the card nearest to me, then gradually worked my way up, taking in the previously revealed Triumph card – naturally – on the way, but leaving others – including, weirdly, the uppermost one – uncovered.

Jenny didn't seem to mind I left so many cards lying face down – but then, why should she?

I'd give my right arm to have a future like that set out for me.

But...it can't be what's _really_ going to happen to her, can it?

I mean... they're just _cards_!

And yet I'd felt, as I was reading out each card's meaning, that I was telling the truth; that this was the _only_ way it could be for her.

It all seems so unnaturally glamorous, so ridiculously unlikely, that I almost choked a number of times as I struggled to hold myself back from continuing spouting this nonsense; but like a child who's set off running downhill, I couldn't stop myself from just getting faster and faster in my declarations of unalloyed success.

'Wow!' Jenny sighs elatedly. 'Like, just _wow_! I can't _wait_ to tell _everyone_ about this!'

Oh wow!

My own nascent career as a fortune-teller has just hit the skids.

*

If there was anything left of the hare, Valentia didn't want to see it.

It was just a part of the darkness of the trees now, just as the wolf had been; a creature of the very darkest fears, the most substantially deep shadows.

'Tha... _thank_ you,' she managed to stammer to Sepharial.

'A dark creation, and no mistake,' Sepharial growled angrily.

She looked hopefully towards Valentia.

'It's your deck of cards – and _only_ that – that's going to get you safely through here, my dear!'

After a brief, pained grimace, Valentia hung her head in red-faced shame.

'Should I take it,' Sepharial asked, 'that that means you don't know how to use them in that way?'

Valentia nodded.

'I don't suppose you could show–'

'Show you how? Certainly; if you want the Horsemen to _catch_ us!' Sepharial snapped impatiently. 'We don't have _time_ , girl!'

Sepharial apprehensively glanced back along the road, as if expecting to see the dust clouds heralding the rapid approach of the Twelve Horsemen.

'There's nothing else for it, I'm afraid!' she sighed resignedly as she spun back to face the tree wall.

Then, from a deep back pocket of her dress, she pulled out a purse of midnight blue velvet.

And from that purse, she casually slipped out an elegantly printed Deck of May'at.

*

# Chapter 21

I'm dead.

It's going to take hardly any time at all for my prediction regarding Jenny's amazing future to circulate around the entire school.

Then _no_ one's going to take me seriously anymore.

As it is, the ones who have already heard are taking it in turns to mock me, wondering out loud if 'Madame Fortuna' could promise _them_ a glittering career as a Hollywood star, a future President of the United States, or fame as a pop icon, conquering the world.

Yeah, I get it; there's no way Jenny's going to get any more straight 'A's for any other future test, let alone end up editing Vogue.

The humiliation is unbearable.

I've come down with some bug circulating around school, I tell Mum.

There's quite a lot of kids suffering from it, I lie.

I'll be fine, if I can just rest; just take a few days off school to recuperate, and stay clear of those kids who are still contagious.

Bless her, Mum buys it.

I even get to hoping my 'few days' can be spun out into two weeks, but eventually even she realises her sweet, innocent little daughter ain't always telling the truth; and I find myself back at school halfway through the next week, dreading what I'll have to go through.

Soon as they see me walking back to school, the kids are gathering, nudging each other, whispering excitedly.

I feel like screaming at them.

Go on; get it over with then!

Make fun of me!

Ridicule me!

Then, at last, a girl breaks clear of the others, rushing over to me.

'Lil, Lil; could you read _my_ cards for me, please?'

I don't answer, of course.

I grimace, waiting for the next line:

I want to be a supermodel!

I'm destined, I think, to be the first woman on Mars!

Come on girl; spit it out!

But instead of any of the mocking lines I'm expecting, she just stands there with a hopeful, pleading grin.

Then another girl joins her, and another.

'And _my_ cards, please Lil: I want to know what _I'm_ going to be!'

'Then me _next_ please Lil!'

And the weird thing is; I think they're all being perfectly serious.

*

'You've got a copy of the Deck of May'at?'

Valentia stared at the glistening pack that Sepharial held in horrified disbelief. She was even more astonished to see – as Sepharial began to quickly deal out the cards face down in the empty space before her, as if the cards were landing upon an invisible rostrum – that it was a beautifully made copy too, for even the backing pattern of each card had been carefully finished and rendered.

'You could get yourself killed!' she added.

'I reckon I could get myself killed just being with _you_ , girl,' Sepharial wryly observed.

She was spreading out the cards in the three columns of a Syzygetic Column of Glory, each position representing a Gate's access to a higher state as well as a sphere of planetary influence; the order determined not so much by each planet's apparent proximity to man but by the sequence of approaching them, as ordained within Ariadne's thread-like navigation of Arachne's web-like labyrinth.

With a deft twist of her wrist, Sepharial expertly spun over and revealed the face of the card second from the top of the middle column, the position influenced by the Fourth Daughter of the Living Spirit, Testimony.

It was a card from the lower order of Consorts, its image one of Twin Perfects: their torsos overlapping in the card's centre, while their heads lying out to the edges take in different viewpoints of the world.

_Transgressor_.

The other viewpoint, of course, being a firm declaration; 'I have _not_ transgressed the Law or any other meaningful rules.'

It was far from being an auspicious revelation in light of their attempt to thwart the aim of a creation of the Magistri.

If Sepharial was unnerved by the card, she didn't show any sign of it.

Rather, she rapidly opened up the deck remaining in her hands, fanning it out before her on the invisible desk in an arching rainbow of colour. Then, her face etched with concentration as she linked mind with meaning, she began to lightly touch and bring out the cards she would require to attempt her task.

She drew out the first card.

His Five Limbs.

As if in a semi trance, and starting with the position closest to her, at the base of the central column where Earth stands, she laid her chosen card upon the back of the one she had left lying face down.

Valentia shuddered as she saw and understood the reasoning by Sepharial's first choice of card.

Each of the Five Limbs of the Great Nous – lower forms of the _Shekinahs of_ _Intent, Understanding,_ _R_ _eason, Intelligence and Truth_ _,_ _lying within_ each soul – was a powerful force in its own right; and yet here Sepharial was calling on all five to aid her in overturning the creation of the Magistri.

It was a card of reforging; of the Craft of the Smith.

A well-chosen if ultimately dangerous force.

The second card Sepharial chose, one she placed in the position of Selene the Moon, the First Gate, was a direct challenge to the Fourth Daughter's insistence that there be no transgression; for this was _The Sovereign of Glory_ , the Second Daughter, who controls The Three Wheels of Fire, Water, and Wind.

With a sharp jerk of her head, an urgent moving of her eyes, Sepharial indicated to Valentia that she wanted her to get back up on the cart.

'Be ready to move!' she hissed commandingly, her attention otherwise remaining undiverted from her careful placing of the cards.

As Sepharial made her way up through the combined columns, her choice of cards had to become quicker now she had set such powerful forces in motion. Naturally, too, she chose the Pathways that would lead her safely past the Fourth Daughter, for she would be far from helpful in this particular case.

That meant the final goal, the Crown, could only be approached after both the Seventh and Eight Gates were covered with their own cards; and even as these were being set in place, the sky directly above the wall of trees was darkening – the whirling of irate squalls, of water-drenched clouds, of clashing, sparking ions, setting in motion a now unstoppable rumbling, an ominous internal flashing, a weaving of blackest matter and fiery heavens.

Observing the warring of the influences already awakened and unleashed, Sepharial – with a satisfied, perhaps even relived sigh – wisely drew back from covering and claiming the sway of the Crown; it was enough, she could have silently murmured as she whisked the final card back amongst its companions.

Amongst the wheeling elements, there was a cracking of conflict, a flashing of unwarranted obstruction; and fire streaked down from between them all, a forking, sizzling flame that rushed through a section of the wickerwork of trees lying directly below, setting everything it touched alight.

*

# Chapter 22

While I've been away, nursing my wounded pride, just about everyone in school has come to recognise that dear little Jenny might be a previously unrecognised genius after all.

On the strength of what she'd learnt from the reading of my cards, she'd insisted that she be allowed to join what passed for the school's photography club, despite the discouragement of its disillusioned founder Mr Dolby (who was hoping what was left of his personal photographic equipment wasn't broken completely beyond repair). She'd taken to it as if the camera were her third eye, utilising what could only be an innate insight to capture people in such a way that their characters shone out from between the prints' framing as if their souls had been briefly bared.

Her photographs had been proudly put on display in the entrance to the school hall by a reinvigorated Mr Dolby who – at last forgiving those who had destroyed his original enthusiasm though bouts of petty theft, carelessness, and downright ineptness – even happily included the efforts of his far less talented members, albeit pinning up rather than carefully framing these shots of blurred dogs, badly lit football matches, and unfocused fishermen.

The difference between the insipid works of the older club members and Jenny's detailed prints was that between night and day, darkness and light; and that was because Jenny instinctively employed these very qualities – the waxing and waning of natural sunlight, even the absence of light, the shadows of night – to instil form, movement and life within her portraits.

A leer.

A smile.

The rising of an eyebrow.

The lowering of a chin.

A twist of a leg.

The straightening of the body.

Jenny could take the simplest of gestures or moves to bring to light the most elementary hopes and desires of her subjects.

And it was to me that those very same people now came, demanding that I help them fulfil those very same, most dearest wishes.

*

As the crackling light streamed through the tightly packed trees, it seemed to any onlooker that its passing alone was more than enough to cause the dark stems to spark into flame.

It could only be yet more work of a Perfect – perhaps even the Magistri – those self-same observers could only assume; and many turned away, realising it was no business of theirs.

The wind whirled, fanning the fires, bringing to the flickering flames the oxygen they fed upon, aiding them as they darted from branch to branch, trunk to trunk. It was soon a searing inferno, yet one strangely controlled, for it raged only within strict confines, a narrow corridor of flame running directly opposite Sepharial and her hovering cards, everyone of which was now urgently vibrating along with the energies they had helped unleash.

Even though she was seated upon the cart, Valentia could feel the blast of heat beating violently hard at her skin, the flames furnace-like in their intensity.

Such an intense firestorm soon devours its fuel.

And so it was here, too, the already dark stems rapidly charring, blackening all the more, but now lifeless, dead. The charcoaled stems cracked, splintered, falling to the earth as nothing but shadowy trails of dust.

Next the rains wheeled, the heavily laden clouds bursting, the deluge shattering the last of the obstructing husks and, with a series of irate hisses, dousing the glowing embers scattered across the floor.

'Quick; we must get through before the trees begin to grow again!'

Sepharial urged Valentia into immediate action even as, with a clutching gesture of her fingers, she hurriedly drew the hovering cards back towards herself, back towards where they could nestle once more within the folds of the deck.

As the cards slipped home, the rain abruptly ceased, the wind died; the clouds dispersed, as if they had never been anything more than the misery of a darkened mood.

With a cry and a harsh slapping of the reins to spur the horse forward, Valentia sent the cart rushing headlong towards the charred valley. She briefly feared that she'd started up too quickly, that Sepharial was too old and cumbersome to leap aboard such a wildly careering cart; yet Sepharial surprised her once more for, reaching up for the edge of the seat's footrail with a grasping hand, she nimbly hauled herself aboard using the protruding steps as if her riotously billowing dress hid the far lither body of a young girl.

A blackened gash running through already darkly towering trees, the gorge Sepharial had created could have been a slash of night tearing though the darkest pitch. On entering it, all light seemed to be abruptly snuffed out, the steadily rising plumes of smoke hindering any of Val's attempts to penetrate the darkness more effectively than any sea fog. She dreaded striking, at any moment now, some more substantial obstacle than the charred remains the horse and cart was crushing beneath its hooves and wheels.

As it was, the cart rocked and jolted, such was their speed. If they hit anything approaching the size of an undisturbed stump, then the caravan would shatter and splinter as readily as the charred trees had crumbled earlier.

And if the trees had already begun sprouting and growing beneath them, as Sepharial seemed to fear – then that would be even worse, Valentia was sure.

Yet it seemed that the combined effects of the electrical storm and the unimaginable heat of the furnace had cleared the way for – although the cart careered and swayed violently, almost to the point of tipping over a number of times – Valentia could at last see the slender but apparently widening band of beckoning light waiting for them on the other side of the dark valley.

'Faster, faster!' Sepharial urged; and even as she cried out her warning, Valentia heard the sound of fresh growth erupting from the earth around them.

*

# Chapter 23

'I want to be a _super_ model!'

'I always thought I'd make a great footballer!'

Yeah, yeah; you and a million others!

Trouble is, since they've seen the miraculous improvement in little Jenny's prospects, suddenly I'm regarded as some kind of fairy godmother sort; you know, 'I'll make all your dreams come true; all you have to do is wish upon a star!'

If only, eh?

Truth is, I'm just some miserable (okay, so I _admit_ it!) downtrodden, downbeaten girl who's just been trying to hold her head above water by pretending to have some _minor_ powers of _prediction_!

I can't _turn_ people into the famous stars they want to be!

_Nobody_ can!

All right, so Jenny surprised us all; but that's obviously because she had all these amazing latent abilities just swimming around inside her waiting to be released.

It's got absolutely _nothing_ to do with me _or_ my cards!

How _could_ it be?

Just how do I get out of _this_ one?

Wow – and I'm actually _panicked_ by all this!

There's a weird throbbing in my heart, like its vibrating too fas – no, _wait_! It's my _cellphone_.

No – it _can't_ be: _that's_ in my bag!

It's the _cards_! The cards in the inner breast pocket of my jacket.

They're _whispering_ to me again!

*

The saplings spouting just ahead of the careering wagon presented no problem; they were crushed and splattered, in an instant by the pounding hooves, the whirling wheels.

But the ones lying off to the sides weren't touched, and the rapidly spreading and thickening branches of the swiftly growing trees thrashed viciously at the passing cart. Worse still were those trees that managed to avoid the battering of both the hooves and the wheels, sprouting up beneath the chassis in bent arches that, as they strengthened, briefly whipped the caravan up into the air.

Then there were the wolves.

Being a creation of the shadows, they'd temporarily vanished from this gouge in the darkness, along with the trees. Now they returned, launching themselves at Sepharial and Valentia, leaping out towards them from the darkness itself, even, it seemed, from the higher branches.

And the trees spouting into life ahead of them were no longer saplings, no longer so easily crushed by their headlong rush, each one slowing them down, each one giving its brethren time to grow, strengthen, and slow them down all the more.

*

# Chapter 24

Don't worry.

We'll handle everything.

Leave it to us.

The deck of cards whispered their reassurances to me.

Reaching inside my pocket, I drew them out, slipped them out of their purse into my palm.

One card seemed to delay a little longer than its companions.

It protruded out from the rest of the deck.

The Lovers.

At least, that's what this card reminds me off.

Here it's called _Fusion_.

But the image is familiar, with its entwining couple.

Is that the answer, then, to my problems?

A _boyfriend_?

I chuckle nervously at the stupidity of it all.

The card chides me – I'm _sure_ of it – for _being_ so stupid.

_This_ is _unification_.

An offer of something far stronger than any normal relationship.

A meeting of...Twins?

Can that be _right_?

That's what the card seems to be _telling_ me.

The card is sliding back into the embrace of its companions, like it's the reverse of that trick where a magician causes a single card to rise up from the folds of the rest of the pack.

And now another card rises up to take its place.

But this one continues to rise until it's free of the pack, until its hovering in the air before me.

Whaddya know; it's _The Star_.

It shares the same name as the card in my Tarot.

But this is a star-crowned Seshat, goddess of wisdom and knowledge.

How do I know that?

Because the card is _telling_ me who this is.

A priestess is presenting two bowls to Seshat – one of earth, one of celestial waters.

How do I know that they're celestial waters rather than anything more down to earth?

Because the bowl also contains a bird, the Bennu, who flies over the Great Waters of Nu.

So, is _that_ what all this is about?

I'm some sort of reincarnation of some ancient Egyptian priestess?

You know, like you see in the movies?

Once again, the cards chide me for my stupidity.

_Pay attention!_ they snap.

We're offering you something far, far more wonderful!

*

Presently, the speed of the onrushing horse and cart was enough to violently bat aside the wolves attempting to leap up towards the high-seated Valentia and Sepharial.

So far, even those wolves falling down upon them from out of the higher shadows had similarly been fortunately struck by the loftier sections of the caravan's living quarters.

The more the cart slowed, however, the more its effect upon the remorseless attack was weakened.

And the more the cart slowed, the more it was slowed down, with each rapidly thickening sapling of the swiftly spouting trees becoming ever more of an obstacle to the caravan's progress.

Sepharial rose up from her seat, precariously standing up on the footrail, even as the cart was jolted from side to side, and rolled first up then down.

She had produced a single card from her deck, and now she held this out before her, her head down in concentration, her gaze focused upon nothing but that card.

The card glowed; and then an abrupt burst of light erupted from it.

Light which rushed through the wolves much as opening the door of a darkened room suddenly disperses the darkness.

Yet the effect upon the sprouting saplings was even more amazing, the light rushing out before the caravan as if it had taken on the nature of water, of the waves of a great deluge.

The light washed over everything lying before it, obliterating every burgeoning tree, every remnant of the charred trees.

Valentia was astounded.

What card must Sepharial have drawn upon to release such power so quickly, and without any configuring pattern, or the support of any other cards?

It had to be one of the highest, most dangerous cards.

But Valentia only had time to briefly consider this: she urged the horse on to take advantage of the wonderfully clear pathway opening up before them.

They rushed along with the ball of light, hurtling through the darkness of the wall of trees.

*

# Chapter 25

'The cards say...well, I'm _sorry_ , Bobby – but they say you _won't_ be a supermodel.'

Sheesh!

I mean, _unbelievably_ Bobby appears _surprised_ by this declaration.

Doesn't this girl ever take look a look in a _mirror_?

That would be confirmation enough for anybody _normal_ , I'd reckon.

You know the sort; face with all the delicate detailing of a long-forgotten spud.

To be honest, despite Bobby's obvious disappointment, I'm relieved the cards haven't promised her she'd soon be appearing on every edition of Vogue.

It just _ain't_ gonna happen!

Not unless the whole world suddenly changes its view on what beauty's all about, leastways.

There are other cards to uncover.

'A poet; you're going to be a _famous poet_!' I find myself excitedly blurting out as I spin over the next card.

Damn!

Bloody _stupid_ cards!

*

Valentia didn't have to order the horse to a halt after they at last exited the dark gorge carved out of the wall of trees.

He was so exhausted after the strain of dragging the cart over obstacle after obstacle that he quite naturally slewed to a complete stop. He would probably have done so no matter how much anyone attempted to urge him on.

Sepharial spun around in the cart's seat, nervously peering back towards the dark woodland. Already, Valentia saw, as she also turned around in her seat, the rapidly sprouting trees had almost complete filled in the backend gouge they had just ridden through.

And yet, far from displaying any signs of elation at the way they had manage to thwart the attempts of the Magistri to block their progress, Sepharial frowned worriedly.

'They're coming,' she intoned almost unconsciously, so intent was she on staring back towards the darkness of the trees, 'I can _sense_ them.'

Gazing at the thickly set trees, Valentia couldn't see how anyone – any _thing_ – could navigate its way through them. But yes, she too could sense _something_ ; like the way you can sense an oncoming storm, or something lying in wait deep within the darkness.

It felt like the darkness itself, only unhurriedly drawing closer, despite – or maybe even _because_ of – the forbiddingly black line of trees.

Sepharial still held the deck of cards in her hand, at some point having returned the card she had drawn back into the pack. Even so, she whirled around on her seat, reaching up towards the window lying between both their heads, scrabbling around with a hand amongst the soft bedclothes.

'It's not there!' Sepharial moaned miserably. 'Your Twin; _she_ took my deck!'

Valentia couldn't understand what she could mean; wasn't she holding the deck in her hands?

Sepharial had withdrawn her hand from the window. Now she was once again silently sifting through the deck she already held, seeking out a card with her fingers, her instincts, rather than with her eyes, which remained fixed upon the trees.

She pulled out the card, raised it up before her once more, as she had when standing up on the cart's footrail – and once again, Valentia was frustratingly unable to see it, for Sepharial held it facing the dense woodland.

What was Sepharial hoping to achieve this time? Valentia wondered.

And how, once again, was she intending to achieve it with nothing more than a single card?

Just who _was_ this woman?

A Charlatan?

No; not with _these_ powers!

'Who _are_ yo–'

'Shuushhh!' Sepharial commanded irritably, indicating with a nod of her head, a blaze of her eyes, that Valentia should look back towards the forest once more.

'They're almost here,' Sepharial hissed as quietly as she were able. 'We have to remain as quiet as _possible_!'

'Who, who's almost her–'

The question drained from her lips.

She could see for herself now who was following them.

It was a heavily armoured knight, mounted upon a horse; and yet he silently emerged from the thickly packed wood as if it presented him with absolutely no hindrance.

As if, indeed, he was of the darkness lying between the wickerwork of stems; or, perhaps, as if he were drawing that darkness out of the wood along with him and his steed.

He wore armour that possessed not the slightest gleam, that made not the lightest clank of metal.

Similarly, his horse made no sound as it confidently strode across the dark earth.

Behind the rider, another emerged from the darkness of the trees; and then another.

Even before the rest of the troop emerged, Valentia instinctively realised there would be twelve of them.

These were the Twelve Horsemen.

*

# Chapter 26

Who's the most shocked – me or Bobby?

That's a hard one, I've got to admit.

I mean; Bobby – a famous poet?

_No_ way!

But it turns out Bobby's shock is all down to a completely different reason to mine.

'How...how did you know?' she stammers nervously, all wide eyed with total surprise.

'Er...know _what_?' I ask edgily.

'About me writing poems? I've never told _anybody_ ; not even my mum and dad!'

I could look surprised, pause while I try and think of a good answer to this quite reasonable query.

But I'm an old hand at this, aren't I?

Using every opportunity, ever lucky discovery, to foster the idea that I've got these remarkable, almost witchlike skills.

It has to be a little love poetry, I guess. Setting down the agonies she feels over her unrequited love.

Nothing more than that. Something we all tend to try now and again, right?

But if I can guess that, if I can say out loud that I've read it in her cards, all while putting on a suitably mysterious expression; well, then it all adds to this idea that I have these remarkable powers, doesn't it.

But I _don't_ say, 'It's _love_ poetry, right?'

Instead, I tap the top of the deck of cards I'm holding in my hand.

'Well, it's the _cards_ , see? _They_ know!'

And as I say it, I know it _has_ to be the truth.

And this idea that it _has_ to be the truth just ends up being reinforced with every new card I uncover.

They whisper out their meanings to me, the way they wish to be interpreted. The whispering's so clear to me I fear that Bobby must be able to hear it too, but she shows no signs of hearing anything other than my voice, my own reiteration of the cards' declarations.

'You're writing about nature, life; trying to work out the _meaning_ of life.'

Booby nods enthusiastically; smiles, like it's a relief that her secret has been bared.

'But you don't think your poems are any good,' I continue, wishing I hadn't said that, hoping Bobby doesn't take it to heart.

She blushes, a touch ashamed.

'You're being too hard on yourself; you're good. Far, far better than you realise.'

Oh oh; now I'm dreading what's going to happen next, fearing that the cards are getting all a bit too carried away with all this.

'You have to send your best ones off to the magazine; the magazine you read, down at the library?'

Bobby's shocked, the kind of look on her face that says she can't possibly understand how I would know she reads these magazines.

She shakes her head miserably.

'No, I _can't_ ; I'm _not_ good enough. They'll be _rejected_!'

I spin over another card.

'They'll be _accepted_ ,' I tell her more firmly, more confidently, than I actually feel. I mean, just how many latent geniuses is this school – well, it's hardly _Eton_ , is it? – supposed to be hiding?

But I don't think I'm in control of my voice anymore; I think the cards are.

Whatever the reason – and even though I'm cringing inside as I say it – I find myself adding;

'You'll receive commissions; for other poems.'

'You'll be a success; _trust_ me; that's what the _cards_ say!'

Wow, no wonder Bobby's beaming like all her dreams have just suddenly come true.

Because, if the cards _are_ right, well; all her dreams _have_ just suddenly come true.

Is that what they do, these cards; detect and then divulge the secret desires of anyone who requests a reading?

If so, that's really, really remarkable in its own right; but do they _have_ to promise all this _success_?

Can't they just say something along the lines of, 'Well, you know – just keep on working on it! And who knows; one day, you _might_ have the job of your dreams!'

That's what _I'd_ say, leastways.

But no; the cards aren't having it _that_ way.

It's success _all_ the way, as far as _they're_ concerned!

What _is_ it with these cards?

Are they _trying_ to get me into trouble?

*

The first of the horsemen to exit the wood languidly, disinterestedly, glanced about themselves, taking in their surroundings.

There was nowhere to hide from them, Valentia fearfully realised. The cart was in full view, out in the open, where they had slewed to an immediate rest after rushing through the temporary gorge created in the wall of woodland.

Outrunning the horsemen wasn't an option either; their horse was exhausted. Even if he hadn't been so worn out, there was no way that any carthorse could successfully avoid being chased down by well-trained warhorses, even those carrying fully armoured knights.

As if the horse agreed with Valentia's miserable summation, he expelled a dissatisfied snort.

The lead horsemen suddenly and directly glanced their way.

It was as if, Valentia realised curiously, the horsemen had paid them absolutely no attention, had even failed to notice them, until the horse had spiked their interest with its disgruntled grunt.

Sepharial whipped around angrily, glowering at Valentia as if she were the one responsible for the snort. Her eyes wide and expressive, Sepharial's indication was clear; she wanted Valentia to quieten the horse, and instantly too!

Valentia couldn't understand why Sepharial was so irritated.

Why was it so important that they should all be quiet, when they were obviously in plain view?

Unless...the horsemen were _blind_?

The two horsemen who had heard the snort had set their mounts unhurriedly trotting towards the caravan; and yet they appeared unsure about the precise direction they should be taking, as if it had been the sound alone that had drawn them this way. The slight swaying of the riders' heads, the slight changes in their postures upon their horses; all these were the moves of men attempting to peer ahead, to make out details previously eluding them.

And yet, these horsemen were far from being men, Valentia realised.

Their armour was of stone, not iron.

Their faces were of chewed earth, the worms still squirming through the damp soil.

Their suspicious eyes were hot coals, glittering embers that seemed to burn the air they so callously peered through.

Their horses, too, were of a mix of earth and stone – and perhaps of rotting tree trunks – such that mount and rider seamlessly blended.

After Sepharial's brief, sharp chastisement of Valentia, she had instantly returned to holding her chosen card out before her, towards the oncoming riders, her air of concentration now more intense and urgent than ever.

Valentia had at last caught a brief glimpse of Sepharial's card.

Of course!

It was _Eldership_ : The Twelve Virgins of Light evoked by the Third Messenger to entrance the darkness.

It was an immensely powerful card to call upon, one rarely used, least of all on its own, with no other cards to constrain its influences.

And worst of all, Sepharial held it upside down, a twisting of the light into its dark twin of shadows and night.

The Twins of the Virgins; the Twelve Horsemen.

It abruptly dawned on Valentia that the horsemen _weren't_ blind, of course.

Rather, it was the remarkable powers of Sepharial that had once again come into play; she wasn't attempting to _entrance_ the darkness, to _draw_ their attention – she was instead calling upon the veiling effects of darkness to ensure they were _ignored_.

Somehow, Sepharial had made herself, the caravan, and Valentia invisible to this cavalry of the darkness.

And _that_ was why it was so important that Valentia _somehow_ prevented their horse from making _any_ more noise.

*

# Chapter 27

Course, soon as word gets around – which is in about five, ten minutes tops – that I've ' _promised'_ Bobby she's gonna be a poet, well, the clamour from everyone to have their fortunes told just about explodes.

They're like a horde of zombies, drooling over me like I'm the only source of brains about here. I'm seriously considering fighting them off with either a sharpened stick or, better still, a screeching chainsaw.

Instead, the cards are whispering to me; _Don't worry;_ we'll _handle it._

Sure you will, I think.

By 'promising' them all they're all gonna be superstars!

And as for _my_ future, well, _that's_ plain enough to see: I'll be dead – either metaphorically, or perhaps even literall, ripped to gloriously scarlet shreds by all these disappointed zombies.

*

Valentia's intention to rush back towards the unsettled horse was stilled with yet another ferociously chiding glare from Sepharial.

Through a furious combination of widened eyes and nods of her head towards first her own cards and then those lying in Valentia's pocket, the old woman made it quite plain that she was expecting the horse's neighing to be controlled through use of the deck rather than any vain attempt at physical restraints.

Even as Valentia withdrew her pack of cards, however, she remained at a loss; yes, she was fully aware of the _theory_ of using certain cards, placed within a circular formation, for steadying animals.

Yet not only was she incapable of setting the cards out as if on an invisible rostrum, as Sepharial had earlier, but she also feared it would all take far too long; if the two curiously approaching horsemen had begun to suffer any doubts that they had heard anything after all, all it would need would be another dissatisfied snort from the horse to reassure them that something or someone was attempting to hide from them.

The strain on Sepharial's face was showing now; however she had conjured up her cloak of invisibility, now that the horsemen's suspicions had been awakened it was obviously taking even greater powers of concentration to maintain the illusion.

How could she achieve this remarkable artifice with _one_ card? Valentia wondered.

Just who _was_ this woman?

She had required only _one_ card, too, to roll back the swift regrowth of the woodland, thwarting even the desires of the highly accomplished Magistri.

If a mere _Charlatan_ could accomplish _all_ this with _one_ card – then why couldn't she, one of the Cloisters' chosen, utilise nothing but a single card to cause a creature to resist its most basic instinct to cry out?

Then she had it.

_Terror_.

The card of The _Lower_ _Shekinah, in her truly darkened form._

It had, naturally, to be a card that would otherwise be best avoided. One whose powers you only drew upon when the situation was at its most dire; and only then along with a carefully considered gathering of other cards to control it, to limit its effects.

_This_ was how Sepharial was drawing on the power of a single card; she was accepting the risks, controlling the card's undoubted hazards in _other_ ways – _Intent,_ _Understanding,_ _R_ _eason, Intelligence, Mind._

Unusually, _dangerously_ , she wasn't using these _cards_.

It was, rather, _Sepharial's_ mind that was bearing the brunt of the single card's own intent to burst free of its confines; Sepharial's _mind_ that was in danger of being forever razed, incinerated into little more than a juicy pulp – made ancient and senile long before its time.

And so if Sepharial could accept such perils, then who was Valentia to shirk her own responsibilities?

As if responding to her acceptance of her task, the card rose up from amongst its brethren.

Now there was _no_ turning back.

*

# Chapter 28

The cards keep on promising _every_ brain-dead zombie that he/she is going to be famous!

I mean – come on!

What're the chances of that, right?

Me, I wouldn't have said any _one_ of them could look forward to a future brighter than any of the other millions of dumb kids just hoping to get safely through their school days without being bullied.

Are these bloody cards just _trying_ to get me lynched?

Just how many top golfers, Pulitzer journalists and Nobel Prize winners can there be in the entire _world_ , let alone attending this dumb-assed school?

There's got to be a _limit_ , yeah?

Not, it seems, according to my cards.

Roll up, roll up; a promise of instant fame can be yours at the flick of a card!

Strangest thing of all, of course, is that kids who had previously never shown any form of promise whatsoever are somehow suddenly stirred into action by the cards' declaration that, Hey, whaddya know? – you _have_ got potential after all!

Before you know it, they _are_ potting those golf balls like the clubs are extensions of their arms, reporting stories as junior writers on local newspapers, and conducting the kind of science experiments that would have shamed the young Dr Frankenstein.

As for Bobby, yeah, that magazine published her poems; poems that are just a _tad_ maudlin in _my_ estimation – but heck, what do _I_ know?

Having a _positive_ attitude does seem to work after all!

Is _that_ how the cards do it?

They just give people the _confidence_ to unleash previously hidden potential?

Or do they just, somehow, recognise the deepest desires simmering away inside of everyone?

Maybe it's a bit of both; maybe these kids were just meandering through life, thinking they weren't good enough to fulfil their secret, innermost longings to actually achieve something in their otherwise miserable, unexciting lives?

Maybe the cards just gave them the reassurance, the kick, they each needed to get on in life.

Either way, it's all pretty remarkable, I've got to admit.

' _Go for it!'_ the cards say, speaking to these kids through me.

' _You_ can _do it!_

And lo and behold, they _do_!

At this rate, every parent for miles around will be trying to get their kids into this school.

Maybe, just maybe, I should bring all this to an end.

You know; sort of tell all the other kids clamouring for attention, for their own share of fame, that, No, sorry; all those doors of opportunity are being shut now, I'm afraid.

Yeah, that's right: _I'm_ shutting them!

I mean, just how well would that go down, do you think?

I'd have to count myself lucky if I got away with simply being tarred and feathered rather than summarily lynched, right?

So, for the moment at least, I might as well keep on letting these poor kids benefit from the kind of breaks they'd normally never have a chance of even getting a sniff at.

What harm can there be in it?

It's not like all this is magic, or anything, is it?

It's nothing more than a set of cards; giving kids the confidence to be themselves.

*

Valentia held up the card before her and – following the example set by Sepharial – concentrated hard upon its meaning, as if directing all its power and influence towards the horse.

The Lower _Shekinah had turned away from everything she loved, her lust incarnating as_ son and daughter, devourers of what little Light remained within Earth's creatures.

Of course, Valentia didn't wish to permanently draw out all of the Light from the horse.

She simply wished to reveal it, to briefly _control_ it.

To use its own innate light to calm the darkness of matter and fear.

The light appeared at first as a shimmering haze around the unsettled horse; and Valentia realised she would have to work quickly, before too much of it was withdrawn from the poor creature.

She had to think of – to focus _only_ upon – the profound love and desire that the Lower _Shekinah had originally felt for the Upper Shekinah; the love that, unfortunately, had inevitably being an_ _unrequited_ _love, unintentionally bringing pain and darkness – and therefore also the world of matter – into existence._

_This_ would be the calming influence that would steady the horse, that would mingle with its own hovering light, caressing it all into a soothed tranquillity.

Valentia couldn't be sure how long she would have to keep this up. (Nor would she ever be able to work out just how long she _did_ have to maintain it.) Yet at some point she at last sensed that the edgy horse was reabsorbing its own reformed and manipulated light, calming as it did so, allowing evermore light to seep back, to reassure it all the more that there was nothing to fear.

Recognising that the horse had been sufficiently soothed, Valentia glanced about herself, to see how Sepharial's own, far trickier task, was progressing.

Sepharial was exhausted, so unstable on her feet that she seemed in danger of stumbling back towards the cart. She was slowly lowering her card, no longer capable of keeping it raised up before her, and obviously far too weary to continue controlling the released energies.

A startled, fearful Valentia looked back towards where she had last seen the curious Horsemen; but, thankfully, they were no longer there. Looking further about herself, Valentia realised, with a sigh of relief, that the horsemen had ridden away, joining their ten companions making their way along the dusty road, now too far away to hear anything but the loudest bray from the horse.

Her own controlling of the cards' energies had evidently taken far longer than she had presumed. As this realisation dawned upon her, she experienced an abrupt slumping in her bodily energies, the weariness that she had somehow briefly held at bay suddenly overwhelming her.

Sepharial, of course, was in a far worse state than she was.

Sepharial had not simply had to control the Light: she had had to confuse and confound those of the Darkness – indeed, men whose very life and movement came not from the Light, but almost wholly from the Darkness.

Despite her own tiredness, Valentia dashed forward to offer support to Sepharial as she began to totter unsteadily on her feet.

'You _did_ it!' Valentia exclaimed in awe. 'You held them off: even though I was _sure_ they could _smell_ us, or something!'

The horsemen had drawn so close to them that Valentia could have sworn she felt their hot breath enveloping them; or had that simply been the heat of her own fear, the breath of the horsemen actually being cold, deathlike?

'I don't think they were _entirely_ fooled,' Sepharial admitted morosely as she steadied herself and gathered her thoughts. 'But we'll see: we'll see.'

As she spoke, one of the riders who had curiously approached them suspiciously glanced back, sniffing the air, as if sensing things were somehow being veiled from his sight.

The gaze from his burning eyes seared though the air towards them – and yet Sepharial's enchantment must mercifully still hold, Valentia realised with a soft gasp of thanks: for the rider turned once more in his saddle, and rode away with the rest of his dark troop.

*

# Chapter 29

No kid wants to be left out; they all want my cards to promise them a successful, exciting life.

And who can blame them?

Truth is, I went through a thoroughly nerve racking period when I felt sure that my run of luck – or should that be the luck of all these kids? – just couldn't possibly continue.

It just _had_ to be some form of Russian Roulette, right, the way every kid coming my way just happened to have a glowing life lying ahead of them?

When, though, was I going to be asked to read the future for a kid who didn't really have one? You know: the kid who's gonna end up with the bad marriage, the crap job, maybe even homeless? And what about illness, maybe even death, right?

Are the cards gonna come right out with it and give it straight to some poor kid?

And as I clicked my way through more and more empty chambers, all I could think of was that the _next_ one, well; that _had_ to be the bullet, yeah?

The _bad_ news.

The _terrible_ predictions.

But it never came – or, at least, it hasn't come around _yet_. Despite me getting through about ten readings a day.

What are the chances of that, eh?

What are the odds that so many kids have such incredible _promise_?

I'll tell you what the chances are; just about zero.

There's no way that any one of the kids at this dumbass, dead-end school could expect even the merest taste of the glittering careers I'm promising them, truth be told.

And yet, once they've spoken to me, once the _cards_ have spoken, well; suddenly, just like wee little Jenny, just like previously no-hoper Bobby, the kids are transformed into these super-talented prodigies that IBM, Rolls Royce, Victoria's Secrets and any other company you could mention would sell their grannies to get their hands on.

These aren't _predictions_ , are they?

These are... _transformations_.

The cards are _transforming_ deadbeats into world beaters.

Just on the turn of a card.

Just on the whispering (to me) of a Magus, the Sun, or a High Priestess.

Crazy, huh?

_I_ think it's crazy.

_I_ think _I_ might be crazy!

But what _other_ explanation could there be?

It _is_ magic; what other word is there for it?

_How_ it works – the Devil only knows!

But then, it has to be _white_ magic, surely?

I mean, all this, it's nothing but pure _goodness_ , right?

Helping everyone live their _dreams_ – in fact, lives _beyond_ their dreams!

_Black_ magic is when you're using it to _harm_ people, to achieve _personal_ gain.

We're all agreed on _that_ , aren't we?

All that drawing pentacles on the floor, summoning the darkness, invoking Beelzebub?

Yeah; it's not like I'm involved in anything like _that_ , is it now?

*

'Why would the Magistri need soldiers like _that_?' Valentia asked, recalling with a shiver the way the two horsemen had curiously strayed around the invisible cart as if somehow aware that _something_ was being hidden from them. 'As far as I knew, the Magistri have no need at all for _any_ soldiers! There hasn't been any major wars for _centuries_!'

They were travelling once more, setting themselves on a course running at a direct tangent to the way the horsemen had headed. This, of course, entailed journeying over rough, rolling land; but that was preferable to coming across the horsemen once more.

Sepharial smiled at Valentia's earnestly delivered question.

'And _why_ , do you think, has there _been_ no major wars? _Because_ the Magistri's Twelve Horsemen have ensured the peace, of course!

Valentia nodded in recognition of the sense in Sepharial's answer.

'They were alive, thinking; and yet made of...what? Earth, stones?'

'And you, my girl? What do you think _you're_ made of, but matter?'

Valentia nodded again, but this time with a resigned chuckle.

'Still; stones and soil – they don't _usually_ have the light of life!'

' _Their_ life is of the _darkness_ ; and yet the Magistri are prepared to use them for their purposes.'

Twelve Horsemen; Twelve Magistri. Is there a connection?'

Naturally,' Sepharial replied, interrupting her own response with a few clicks of encouragement to the horse, 'for each one of the former acts as the eyes and ears of the latter.'

'Then...the Magistri would have known I was here if the Horsemen had been able to see us?'

Sepharial gave a confirming nod of her head.

'If, of course, the relevant Magistri were bothering to access the capabilities of their Horsemen. Normally, the Horsemen are simply left to their own devices; though, of course, some form of alert takes place within the Magistri whenever the Horsemen come across anything of special interest.'

Valentia peered at Sepharial with even more curiosity and suspicion than the two horsemen had mustered.

'And you; just who are _you_?' she demanded. 'How do you know _so_ much? Where do _your_ powers come from? And the deck; that's no _copy_! That's a _real_ Deck of May'at; and yet, it seems to me, no one is keeping track of it – or, maybe, no one's even _aware_ of its existence, correct?'

Sepharial's nod of agreement was this time accompanied with an amused laugh.

'I'm the one sent to save you from your own foolishness, it seems.'

'So...my observations are _correct_? And yet I'm _still_ foolish?'

'There are some things you notice; and yet there are many things you don't.'

'Such as?'

'Well, you obviously flatter yourself you are _quite_ correct in your assumption that my Deck of May'at is a true one – and yet, if that were true, then why would I worry that your Twin had taken my other deck of cards?'

Valentia briefly paused to give a little more thought to this.

Yes, she remembered now; earlier, Sepharial had turned in her seat to reach back towards the caravan's small, high window lying between both their heads – only to groan in disappointment.

' _It's not there.'_

Isn't that what Sepharial had said?

' _Your Twin took my deck!'_

Yes, yes; she had _definitely_ said something along those lines!

'So...' Valentia said curiously, 'why _were_ you worried? Why did it matter that this other, necessarily _inferior_ deck has been taken, when you had a true Deck of May'at to work with?'

Although Sepharial chuckled as if once more amused by Valentia's naivety, her smile was kindly, even a touch concerned.

'You have so much to learn. The Deck of May'at is perfect for _our_ wold, the world of trapped Light. But what of the world of Darkness; the world from which the Horsemen were drawn?'

Valentia once again thought back to earlier in the day, this time to Sepharial's battle to control the senses of the suspicious Horsemen, using the forces of the Light in her attempt to control that which was of the Darkness. Yes, Sepharial had been successful: yet hadn't Valentia herself wondered if it would be possible, feared that it wouldn't?

A deck that controlled the Darkness would have been far more effective, far easier to use. Naturally, it would be a deck that would necessarily have to be handled with extra special care; it would be inherently even more dangerous than the Deck of May'at, even easier to inadvertently misapply.

A deck that could draw its wielder ever further into the Darkness.

'Is that what it was, this deck?' she asked. 'One that controlled the Darkness?'

'It is a deck _of_ the Darkness. Of Duat; the Underworld.'

'The Deck of Du'at?'

Valentia was intrigued; she had heard rumours that such a deck existed. But that was all they had ever been as far as she had been concerned; nothing but rumours, a myth.

'I see you have _heard_ of it,' Sepharial said, noting the sudden spark of interest in Valentia's eyes.

Valentia nodded, dreading that answering in any other way might reveal an embarrassing eagerness to learn more.

'Then perhaps you're not _completely_ beyond hope,' Sepharial grinned, turning to closely observe Valentia's every reaction as she next asked, 'Would you like me to teach you how to use the cards?'

*

# Chapter 30

It's not the done thing, to try and read your own future in your own cards.

But, well; I've got to try it, haven't I?

Got to try and distance myself from what I already know about myself, what I want the cards to say about me.

Difficult, yeah; but not impossible, right?

Cleanse my thoughts; wipe away all memories of what I'm hoping to achieve in my life.

Make my mind a complete blank.

One of only shadowy recollections; one of darkness.

Yeah, _that_ ought to do it.

*

'To use the Darkness is to gradually drain yourself of the Light. Naturally, I presume you have already been taught that, when we speak of the _Light_ , it is merely a simple term to describe something far more complex...'

As Sepharial once more deftly laid out the cards on the table they had set up outside the caravan, she stared intently into Valentia's eyes, seeking understanding there.

'We mean all that is free, fluid, flowing,' Valentia intoned, recalling the specialist, higher-form of teaching she had received since the school principle had first detected her natural aptitude for working with the cards.

Sepharial chuckled.

She couldn't fail to recognise one of many instructions drilled into those deemed to possess sufficient potential to be considered as a future Cloisters' students.

In the flickering glow of the lantern's flame, the images on the cards took on a semblance of life. Everywhere else about them, there was nothing but the darkness of night, bar the odd curling sliver of lantern light reflected back now and again by the coiling limbs of an ancient tree's huge roots.

They had set up their camp within the almost cavern-like corralling of a section of the tree's colossal, writhing roots, a place both sheltering them from the wind and the worst of any inclement weather, while also shielding most of the light of their own fires and lanterns from anyone passing by. The tree itself must have towered incredibly high at some point in its life, only to be cut down – doubtlessly to provide the materials for the structures and belongings the Perfects would refuse to be associated with, lest it tainted their purity and threatened drawing them towards the Darkness ('You must always try and avoid _material_ solutions: it is the only way to remain pure') – and leaving in its place this still impressively gigantic stump.

'And yet within all of that which is "free, fluid, flowing",' Sepharial said, controlling her chuckling and taking on a more serious tone, 'we must always recognise that there is the _potential_ for the _formation_ of all that which we seek to avoid.'

Valentia briefly wondered if she caught a hint of sadness, perhaps even grief, in Sepharial's eyes as she elaborated on her comment.

'Our utilisation of the Light can inadvertently lead to our undoing; for it is _from_ the Light, of course, that Darkness first arose – and therefore can come into unintentional formation once more. Never forget that it is not just that the Darkness _comes_ from the Light; it is given _birth_ to by the Light in what should have been the Light's purest and most wonderful form.'

Of course, Valentia had already received a great deal of instruction regarding the obvious dangers of _manipulating_ the Light; and yet she had never heard the warning delivered with such a sense of pain, of a complete understanding of the reality lying behind the rule.

'Have you ever been in love?' Sepharial abruptly asked, taking Valentia completely by surprise; for this was not the usual way of teaching administration of the Light, even when discussing the _profound agonies of the_ Lower _Shekinah that gave birth to the darker elements._

Sepharial immediately asked another question.

'Have you ever suffered _unrequited_ love; as we hear the Lower _Shekinah suffered?'_

Valentia shook her head.

'No; I've never been in love – not _really_ , I think. There _was_ a boy, but – no, it was all so childish; not _love_ at all!'

'Then if you _think_ so, perhaps it _must_ be the case,' Sepharial replied. 'So, _fortunately_ for you – yet _unfortunately_ for your understanding of the use of the cards – you have never experienced the way something so originally and intentionally wonderful inevitably turns into the most bitter of waters: _free_ , _fluid_ , and _flowing_ , and yet _tainting_ and _hardening_ everything it touches.'

As she talked, Sepharial at last cast her eyes down towards the cards she had finished laying out upon the table.

'As you will discover, Valentia, we all wish to be loved; and we can be hurt and hateful when we also discover that there is no natural reason for us to receive the love we desire.'

She touched a card, studying it curiously.

'You must hide; hide beneath the cart,' she said calmly.

'Hide?' Valentia grimaced in confusion. 'To avoid love, you mean?'

Sepharial swiftly scooped up the cards, at first slipping them into one of the many pockets hidden throughout her dress, and then thinking better of it.

'No; you must hide, because the _Horsemen_ have returned.'

*

# Chapter 31

The cards are voiceless.

There's no whispering; no promises of a glittering future.

They'd talked to me, of course, when they'd first reassured me that I should just leave everything to them, that they'd handle it.

But now I want to ask them about my future; well, unfortunately they're just _cards_ , and nothing more.

For _me_ , at least, they can say nothing.

I can't even read any meaning into their silent images; they might as well be illustrations in a book on fairy tales for all the information they're granting me.

Pretty pictures, that's all they are.

Does that mean I have no future worth mentioning?

Or is it simply that, as I've heard said so many times before, it's impossible to read your own future in the cards?

The cards, then, are simply _hiding_ their knowledge of my future – for my own good, of course.

If love or fortune is in the cards, then they're not going to spoil it for me by flagging it up so early that I go and spoil everything by taking it all for granted.

I mean, who _really_ wants to know that their life is going to be full of unalloyed joy and success, right?

It would be crazy to want _that_ , yeah?

Bloody _stupid_ cards!

I feel like chucking them as hard as I can against the nearest wall!

*

It was the same two Horsemen who had earlier suspected Valentia and Sepharial's presence, despite the latter's veiling charms.

The Horsemen hadn't been fooled by Sepharial's charms after all: at least, not enough to _completely_ eradicate their suspicions.

Obviously, they had sought permission to leave the troop and circle back to investigate.

Crouched beneath the cart, Valentia's view of the two riders was necessarily limited, yet she recognised them as soon as they dismounted; for each trooper was distinctively armoured, the plates of stone and ancient timbers differing in shape and material form.

Their dismounting was accompanied with the sound of a forced dis-rooting of long-established plants, as if man and horse were really one rather than entirely separate creatures. Their placing of heavy feet upon the earth was the harsh scraping of stones.

Their voices were formed from the rasping of countless pebbles rushing through each other on a seashore.

'There is nothing to fear from us,' said one as he confidently strode towards a cowering Sepharial, casually adding, 'As long, of course, as you have no _reason_ to be fearful.'

'We are soldiers of the Magistri,' explained the other, this one stepping aside from and separating from his companion, his searching gaze focused upon the darker areas of the camp,'but we do not concern ourselves with inconsequential Charlatans.'

Valentia had to hold herself back from gasping in surprise.

A Charlatan discovered by either a Perfect or an Adherent would instantly be held firm in a binding enchantment. In spite of the soldiers' reassurances, however, Sepharial kept up her pretence of being terrified by their presence.

At least, Valentia _presumed_ Sepharial's fear was a pretence; she hadn't shown any signs of dread as the Horsemen had approached their encampment, displaying instead only a resourceful sense of urgency.

'There's no point attempting another veiling if they weren't wholly taken in last time,' she had explained to Valentia, ushering the young girl towards the cart and helping her to quickly slide down into the shadowy darkness lying between its wheels.

'But they'll see me _here_ ,' Valentia had protested, even though she couldn't think of any adequate place nearby in which she could successfully hide.

'Just keep quiet; trust me!' Sepharial had insisted, taking the deck of cards she had hurriedly scooped up from the table and sliding it beneath Valentia with a harsh, 'Don't let them see _these_!'

'Then...then if you _already_ know what I am,' Sepharial was saying now, her voice trembling and unsteady, 'then...why do you come seeking me out in the night?'

'Because...maybe you aren't an _inconsequential_ Charlatan?' the Horseman now standing close by replied with a clattering chuckle.

'In what way could _I_ be of any interest to _you_?' Sepharial asked diffidently.

The solider whipped his arm forward as if about to strike her; and yet, instead, he simply placed a long finger beneath her chin, raising her face up towards his own.

'You seem... _familiar_ to me...' he rasped quizzically.

*

# Chapter 32

Who'd want to know that a flawlessly enviable life awaits them?

Well, everybody in school, it seems to me.

And, frankly, it's all becoming way too exhausting for me to continue like this, carrying out now about fifteen or twenty readings a day.

It's surprisingly draining, this use of the cards to set out someone's future for them.

Because that's what I'm _really_ doing, isn't it?

_Promising_ them a better life?

Formulating that better life for them.

No wonder no wants to be left out; no wonder there's now an endless stream of people wanting to be told their future is going to be perfectly rosy, entirely wonderful.

And I can't refuse them, can I?

Can't tell them that, 'No, sorry; it's all over.'

How well would that go down?

'No one else gets to have a wonderful life.'

'Just be satisfied with the dead-end jobs you were originally fated for!'

You just _can't_ say that, can you? Not when you've proclaimed that all these other kids, these friends and classmates of theirs, have the most glorious futures awaiting them.

They line up now to have their cards read.

In the breaks, on a morning, even on an evening if I don't mange to get away quick enough.

I have to tell them, there's no point lining up during the shorter breaks; I just don't have the time to read the cards for all of you.

Even in the longer lunch break, I can only manage four readings at most, and that's only by eating my own lunch so fast it lies heavily on my stomach for the rest of the day.

It's a curse, I reckon, this ability to determine someone's future.

I just want to hide away somewhere, where no one can find me.

Instead, here I am, out in the open, seated at a desk as the excited clamour around me increases in ecstasy with every turning of a card, every fabulous promise of riches and fame. Everyone's treating me now like I'm some performing puppy dog, whose sole-appointed role is to entertain them.

As an ecstatic Lara Graceforth – the 21st Century's Marilyn Monroe, only without the tragic marriages, affairs and death – almost launches herself up from the chair in her eagerness to join her equally enthralled friends, an excitedly trembling Gillian Watson slips into the vacant seat before it has a chance to go even slightly cool.

She's so caught up in the thrill of having a glamorous future set out before her that, unlike me, she doesn't notice the commotion taking place back towards the end of the line. Some of the kids there are suddenly, uneasily, sidling off, others joining them with a disappointed groan as the commotion swiftly eases its ways down the line like a Mexican Wave going completely array.

Even Diana Fullgood, the next in line after Gillian, makes a quick exit with an irate yelp; and then, at last, now that everyone but me and my very latest subject have cleared off, I can see what all the commotion is about.

A teacher.

Miss Dukesferry.

She's approaching us with a stony face.

Perhaps sensing my own growing unease, Gillian finally gets around to looking up from the cards I'd started laying out before her.

She squeaks, a mix of horror and disappointment. Then, with a pained squeal and a resigned, irritable hiss – 'Remember _I'm_ next, Lil!' – she rises from her seat, leaving me to face the wrath of the now hovering Miss Dukesferry.

As Gillian vanishes around the corner of the door to the student lounge, Miss settles down into the seat facing me.

'Now,' she says calmly, sternly observing me across the table, 'what can your cards tell me about _me_?'

*

'What have we here?'

The gruff question came from behind her, low and clear.

Before Valentia could turn to see what the Horseman had found, she was suddenly being dragged backwards, out from beneath the caravan, her ankle caught in a hard, tight grip.

She couldn't put up any resistance to the hard pull, the iron-hard grip. Fortunately, however, she retained the presence of mind to ensure the cards remained in the darkness beneath the caravan.

The soldier effortlessly hoisted her up into the air, such that, still hanging by her one leg, she found herself swinging upside down, looking up into the leering face of stones and worm-strewn earth.

The eyes flared like the freshly stirred coals of a fire, the glow magnified and shielded by quartz. His grin was a fracturing crevice, the darkness within broken only by the slick shine of slithering worms, of hurrying beetles.

Sepharial had warned Valentia to keep quiet; but what was the point of remaining silent now?

'Let me go!' Valentia cried out.

Or at least, that's what she had _intended_ to yell.

Yet all that came out of her whimpering mouth was a petrified yelp, followed by a pathetically short and subdued snarl.

The Horseman chuckled richly; then contemptuously cast Valentia aside.

She landed ungainly, on all fours, despite her best attempts to maintain a more resilient pose. Even as she steadied herself, however, she found it impossible to rise to her feet; no matter how hard she tried to stand up, she scampered around on the ground as if she were nothing but a playful little puppy.

In fact, too, she was still whining and snapping like an over-excited, scared puppy.

'Nothing here so far but this mangy little dog,' the horseman who had dragged her out from beneath the cart growled to his friend as he continued with his searching of the camp.

And then it dawned on an abruptly peeved Valentia.

Sepharial had somehow used a veiling charm after all; but one ensuring the Horsemen could only see Valentia as an excitable little puppy.

*

# Chapter 33

See?

Now even the teachers here want in on knowing what kind of future awaits them?

And, once again, who can blame them?

Who wants to be stuck here, forever trying to instil times tables into dumb, dead-beat kids who're more likely to end up _waiting_ tables?

And me, I've just gone and made their future lives potentially all the more miserable, haven't I?

For while they end up stuck here, the no-hope kids they've struggled to bring up to at least an average level of intelligence are moving on to fame and glory.

Gawd, how _that_ must suck, right?

Who could stand that, seeing the kids you'd looked down on as your inferiors in every way, coming back for reunions in their stretch limos, their sparkling diamond necklaces, their Cartier watches

Well, Miss Dukesferry for sure ain't going be looking on in envy, it seems.

There's a non-fiction book deal on the horizon for her; even though, as yet, she hasn't even thought of sitting down to write the first sentence.

No doubt, though, she's writing it down _right_ now!

The lounge is empty now, bar me. Everyone's filed off to their classes, whereas I'm in no hurry to go anywhere, Miss Dukesferry having assured me I was excused attending; she wanted me to finish her reading so bad, she'd promised to claim she'd sent me off on some important errand if anybody got around to asking why I wasn't in class.

She'll be late to her class too, of course; but I'm not sure she's too bothered about all that sort of thing anymore.

For the first time in quite a while, I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself.

If the teachers start lining up, begging me to tell them their futures, there's _got_ to be something in it for me, right?

Which means the cards are finally working to _my_ advantage rather than – as I was beginning to fear – to the advantage of everybody _but_ me.

I was starting to feel just a little...well, _used_ , if you must know.

Like the cards were the ones really in control of this relationship, not me.

Like I was the one being manipulated by the cards, not the other way around.

Like _I'm_ the appendage, not them.

But hey, if I'm going to start having people like teachers hanging on my every word – people who can ease my way through life – well, what have I got to complain about?

'You still got something against me?'

The harsh anger in the voice, the accusation, caused me to whip my head around in surprise.

It was Davey Jacobs, storming in through the doorway.

I should have known, shouldn't I, that Davey doesn't feel in anyway constrained by class times?

He's obviously still sore at me, humiliated in some way by whatever happened earlier between us.

Before I can reply to his question, he continues with his snarling complaint, his irate advance towards me.

'You _owe_ me, Lil!' he spits aggressively.

And once again, he's threateningly hovering over me.

*

The Horseman with Sepharial glanced towards the table and its two chairs.

'Is someone _else_ travelling with you?' he gruffly demanded.

'You know how Charlatans make their living,' Sepharial answered confidently. 'People come to me, asking for their cards to be read – their futures to be determined.'

The Horseman accompanied his amused grin with a slight nod of his head, as if granting her that there were indeed many fools about these days.

Next he focused on the now barely flaring campfire, taking in the stew pot that Sepharial had used earlier to cook their evening meal.

'You eat well, for one, it seems,' the Horseman observed, taking in both the size of the pot and the still soiled plates and goblets lying alongside it.

'Sometimes, someone will eat and drink with me,' Sepharial said, but not so quickly that it might arouse suspicion. 'I appreciate the company; the chance to learn what's going on in the world.'

Without any hint of a warning, the Horseman whipped around on his feet, fiercely grabbing Sepharial by her throat.

'I _do_ know you!' he rasped, abruptly bringing his stony face close to hers. 'Yes, yes; I _do_!'

'Then if you recognise me,' Sepharial replied as calmly as she could manage while being held so agonisingly tight by the throat. 'You know you owe me your _life_.'

A still cowering Valentia heard all this, of course, but – unable to follow Sepharial's reasoning – she could only think she mustn't have heard it clearly.

With his free hand, the Horseman drew his sword of iron hewed directly from the stone. He placed its sharp tip hard against the underside of Sepharial's chin.

'No,' he hissed venomously. 'I think I owe you my eternal _death_!'

*

# Chapter 34

Am I going to vanish again?

I mean, like the last time Davey Jacobs was menacingly leaning over me like this.

I can only hope, can't I?

His fists are clenched.

His teeth bared.

He's not in what you'd call a _good_ mood.

' _Owe_ you?' I say, like this is all a complete surprise to me.

Like I've completely forgotten that it was one of my earlier card readings that had spurred little Jenny into giving him the long deserved brush off.

Like my earlier vanishing trick was just something he imagined.

His face is so close to mine I can see the spit forming between his clenched teeth.

It _ain't_ a pretty sight, I can tell you.

Gawd only knows what a delicate little thing like Jenny had ever seen in this Neanderthal. He was just asking to be dumped, the way he thinks everyone should just kotow to any demand he makes.

'You _know_ why you _owe_ me!' he spits (literally, I'm afraid).

'Look, I'm sorry about Jenny, but–'

'But _nothing_ , Lil!' Davey snarls, just about snapping my head off with his bared teeth. 'So I want _you_ to make it _up_ to me, right?'

He prods me hard with an extended finger.

'I'll have a word with Jen–'

He cuts me short once again with another fierce snarl.

'Forget the _words_! What I want is a _promise_ ; a promise that I'm going to be rich and famous, just like all the others who have come to see you!'

'I'm not quite sure it works _exactly_ like that–'

He prods me again, this time so hard it feels like his finger is about to penetrate my rib cage.

'You think you're kidding _me_ , Lil?' he guffaws bitterly. 'All these idiots and uglies I've seen suddenly getting top marks in subjects they'd previously had no hope at all in?'

His eyes narrow suspiciously.

'How'd you do it, Lil?' he hisses accusingly. 'Those cards; it's all down to the cards, somehow, isn't it?'

'Okay, okay,' I admit resignedly, drawing the purse of cards out of my school bag. 'Let's try it; let's see if you're going to be rich and fam–'

He cuts me short again.

But this time it's because he's just snatched the deck out of my hands.

And now he's running for the door.

*

The Horseman has decided he's going to kill Sepharial.

Valentia can tell this through the tone, the anger – the sheer _hate_ – in his voice.

Yet, for some odd reason, Sepharial doesn't seem to be aware of this.

Either that, or she's remaining remarkably calm, as if resigned to her fate.

Why isn't she spinning some card, some charm that–

She doesn't have any cards on her!

They're all still haphazardly scattered beneath the wagon!

'If only...if _only_ I could make you suffer the way _I've_ suffered!' the Horseman snarls.

Valentia doesn't have long, she realises.

She hopes that she still looks like a puppy – at least to the second Horseman, the one still toppling things over through the encampment, the caravan, in his search for whatever it is he's searching for: proof that Sepharial is lying, maybe, maybe even her, Valentia – a terrified puppy scrambling for cover amongst the darkness lying beneath the cart.

She sorts through the cards, hurriedly, haphazardly, hoping something strikes her, some pattern she can make use of. But it's dark, so dark under here, away from the flickering of the slowly dying fire.

Through the spokes of a wheel, she sees the Horseman angrily pull Sepharial even closer towards him, towards the point of his blade, the two of them silhouetted by the background of thick roots, writhing in the false life given them by the dancing flames.

Then, suddenly, he's no longer pulling her closer, closer to his blade.

He pushes her back.

He swings his sword.

Savagely.

Accurately.

And, with a crunching pop, Sepharial's head parts from her body.

*

# Chapter 35

'If you try and use those...well, you might wish you were dead!'

I scream out a mix of a warning and threat as Davey Jacobs ducks around the corner of the door.

Leaping out of my seat, I rush out after him. But the corridor's empty, this being an area where it almost immediately branches off into a number of other corridors, all heading off in different directions.

I can hear him running, but the echoing of the heavy footfall only makes it all the more confusing.

I hesitate, glancing down the corridor running alongside the classroom I've just exited, swiftly reasoning he's not taken this one unless he's managed to somehow slip into the closed classrooms lining either side. It's a quick decision, yet I've taken long enough for him to gain a substantial advantage on me.

Turning back, I try the two corridors branching off in the complete opposite direction, flanking a row of classrooms like the two prongs of a pitchfork.

I don't see him running down the first corridor. But he's not down the second corridor either, because now he's had time to reach the end, to choose the corridors running off another branching.

I run down this corridor anyway, as it's the only choice I'm left with.

'Davey! Those cards are _dangerous_!' I yell as I run.

Sure they are; I mean, I might actually have to kill him myself if he refuses to give them back.

*

Under the force of the blow, Sepharial's head briefly soars into the air.

Then, of course, it drops, falls towards the ground.

Then, more unexpectedly perhaps, it rolls; rolls towards Valentia, who's lying, horrified, in the darkness beneath the cart.

The girl holds her breath. Shocked, fearful.

Sepharial's head only stops rolling when it lies virtually face to face with Valentia.

Sepharial's eyes snap open.

' _The charm is broken_!' she hisses.

What?

Valentia is startled; confused as well as terrified.

Then it dawns on her – the charm veiling her as a puppy.

With Sepharial's death, it could well dissipate in seconds.

Both Horsemen are now hurriedly rampaging through the camp, throwing things aside in their eagerness to search out proof or whatever else it is their looking for that demonstrates Sepharial was up to no good.

And still the cards lie before her like nothing but dead pieces of paper.

Silent.

Bewildering.

Uncommunicative.

'She _is_ here!' one of the Horsemen growls furiously. 'I can _smell_ her now!

It's _her_ ; _she's_ the one the Horsemen are looking for, Valentia realises with yet another fierce surge of dread.

Their boot tread, the chaotic clash of things being cast aside, the irate slash of iron swords through veiling wood; all these noises were also rapidly drawing closer.

_Stop panicking!_ she screams at herself.

Think!

The odd ripple of an orange glow brushes over the cards as she swiftly sorts through them, granting the images a semblance of life, just as the flickering flames appeared to make the tree roots writhe.

The Mother of Life.

The card flicks over before her.

The First One called upon the Mother of Life, Lasting Ladyship, to respond to the formation of the shadow elements: to attack the very _roots_ of the darkness.

Even though it meant sacrificing her own daughters.

Life.

Darkness.

The _roots_.

'What have we here?'

The gruff question came from behind her, low and clear; just as it had only moments ago.

She was suddenly being dragged backwards, out from beneath the caravan, her ankle caught in a hard, tight grip.

But this time, of course, the Horseman wouldn't mistake her for a puppy.

'I must give the Darkness _life_!' Valentia wailed with a pained heart.

*

# Chapter 36

Davey is much easier to find that I'd feared.

I'd felt sure that, once again, I'd be delayed as I glanced down the wrong corridors.

But, although he's down the second rather than the first corridor I peer down, he's easy to catch up with because he seems to have fallen, perhaps even knocking himself unconscious.

Well, whatever happened to him, he's lying on the floor, as still as if asleep, and still clutching most of the cards in his hands, just a couple having slipped adrift.

I gratefully snatch these up as I make my way towards him.

Triumph.

The card the Tarot calls The Chariot.

It's lying across his prone body, the illustration representing the guiding of the soul on its journey between the material and spiritual worlds, both the darkness and the light pulling him with equal measure, equal strength; for if one is to prevail, if one is to prove stronger than the other, his course will not be straight – and that, of course, is dangerous as you travel through the darkness itself, even if it is the light that flatters itself it knows all the answers.

Davey is so still, I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear he's soundly asleep, journeying through his dreams. There's no resistance or movement from him at all as I prise the deck from his hand.

In fact, he's _unnaturally_ still: he doesn't even seem to be _breathing_.

I place my free hand close to the end of his nose, seeing if I can feel any exhalation of air, any cold or dampness caused by his breathing.

Nope; nothing.

I shake him, hoping to wake him up, hoping to find I'm scaring myself for no reason at all.

'Davey; wake _up_ , Davey!'

Should I scream for help?

Would I look a fool?

Is he just _pretending_ to be dead? To get his own back on me, to humiliate me?

' _This is as it must be!_ ' the cards hiss malevolently.

*

Just as he had when he believed he'd caught nothing more than a boisterous little puppy, the Horseman effortlessly held Valentia upside down before him.

'Got her!' he declared proudly.

'Harslem!'

He spun around as his friend shouted out a warning from somewhere behind him, somewhere off to his right and slightly above him.

The second Horseman was standing on the cart's driving seat, his rummaging through the caravan's window halted as he worriedly peered out into the night.

The backdrop of darkness was undulating, rolling, like a raging sea.

Like a rush of surging floodwater, a thick river of darkness swept out towards them.

It rushed towards and curled around the Horseman standing upon the cart's seat, his startled attempt to hack at it with his sword fruitless.

It coiled about him, enveloping him; then it whipped back, the Horsemen vanishing into the darkness with an uncharacteristically terrified shriek.

*

# Chapter 37

The cards: could I use the cards to revive Davey?

_You would be awakening things you don't understand_ the cards hiss again, this time their tone at least having a hint of warning rather than that of a command.

'Even so; I need to do it!' I hiss back at the cards quietly, hopping no one can hear me, not wishing to appear completely crazy to anyone who might overhear.

The choice is not yours to make.

Davey can't just _die_ like that! Not just so I can take you back off him!

_Why not? We were not_ his _to use?_

Then _you_ did this? You _killed_ him?

His spirit has moved on elsewhere for a while; what is so wrong with that?

So _wrong_?

He's _dead_!

_That's_ what's _wrong_!

_Obviously, you are not aware of your condition,_ the cards reply nonchalantly.

My _condition_?

_It shall all be explained to you quite soon,_ the cards assure me.

Soon?

Explain it _now_!

But the cards remain silent.

Leaving me with a dead Davey Jacobs to explain away.

*

As his shrieking companion disappeared into the enfolding darkness, the Horseman holding Valentia abruptly dropped her, callously letting her fall to the floor like a piece of discarded waste.

Spinning around, raising his sword, he made to rush out into the darkness, no doubt intending to rescue his friend.

But the darkness rushed out to meet _him_.

As if it were an immensely thick, unbelievably long serpent, it wrapped about him in an instant. Smaller tendrils of darkness were snaking everywhere, tying his arms, gagging his mouth, stilling any attempt at resisting, at even screaming.

Then, as before, the darkness whipped back, lifting the Horseman cleanly off his feet, swallowing him up as if ready to devour him.

From deep within the darkness, the Horseman was at last allowed a squeal of fear: and then the sounds were those of flesh being torn apart, of stone being brutally rendered.

Valentia remained where she was, squatting down upon the floor.

Was there any point in attempting to hide beneath the cart once more? Valentia wondered fearfully,

Could she use the cards again, this time to halt whatever it was she had awoken amongst the darkness?

She jumped, startled by a scuffling as the darkness to her side shifted, parted.

It billowed aside, like a theatre's curtains.

'Well, well: what _have_ you done _now_ , girl?'

It was Sepharial, grinning from ear to ear, her head once again firmly attached to her shoulders.

'What?' Valentia nervously scuttled backwards, crab like. 'But – I _saw_ you killed! Your head – it was _sliced_ off!'

' _Sliced_ off?'

Sepharial gave her a puzzled frown; the head that had been supposedly sliced off clearly responding as if no such thing had ever happened after all.

'I _saw_ it! You even _spoke_ to me! The head, I mean; it _spoke_ to me!'

'A _head_ speaking to you?'

Sepharial laughed; it was, after all, such a ridiculous notion.

'Maybe,' Sepharial pointed out, 'you were simply terrified out of your wits – which is no disgrace, not when faced by the Horsemen! – and the darkness was playing tricks on you?'

Valentia was the one now frowning in bafflement.

'I wasn't just _imagining_ it!' she insisted, adding more doubtfully, 'I _saw_ ...I...it was _so_ dark. The flames – the _fear_ – I suppose, yes; they _might_ have _confused_ me.'

She didn't believe this for one moment, of course; but what other answer could there be?

When she had granted this monster amongst the darkness life, had she also, somehow, brought Sepharial back to life?

'The _darkness_!'

Valentia urgently rose to her feet, anxiously staring out into the darkness surrounding the caravan and its weakening camp fire.

'I brought it – something _out_ there! – to _life_!'

'Don't we know it, girl!' Sepharial chuckled once more, standing alongside her now and peering out into that same darkness.

'An _accomplished_ act, I _must_ say!' she continued with yet another – but this time more impressed – guffaw.

' _Accomplished_?' Valentia repeated uncertainly. 'But...I don't know what it _is_ I've awakened!'

With nothing more of a raising of her eyebrows, a reaching out to her side with a hand, Sepharial drew the cards fluttering up towards her from where they had lain hidden beneath the cart.

If she could do that, Valentia wondered, then why didn't she do it before, when she needed to?

As the cards flowed into Sepharial's hand, one slipped out from the deck a little higher than the rest.

_The Living Spirit_ : creator of the ships of the Sun and Moon, formed from the undefiled Light she had caused the Darkness to relinquish.

The card glowed, throwing out light.

The vast roots of the one-time tree snaked and snapped in the darkness, a freshly awakened Kraken, its uncountable tentacles stretching out, flailing as if eager for more tasks to fulfil.

There was no sign of the Horsemen. No sign, either, of their horses.

Thankfully, Sepharial's own horse was unhurt, asleep by a more stilled section of the roots.

'Now; what do we _do_ with your _creation_ , child?' Sepharial asked, adding – as if ensuring Valentia wouldn't miss the import of the query – 'Now that you have granted it the spirit of _life_?'

*

# Chapter 38

I can't just _leave_ him – not like _this_!

What do you _do_ with a dead body?

Even if you don't care a jot for the poor man – and yeah, not even I'm _that_ callous, not even when it comes to Davey Jacobs! – you have to do _something_ , don't you?

Cry for help, for instance?

And then try and explain how he _comes_ to be dead, when you and the now motionless but recently vibrantly lively Davey Jacobs lies before you on the floor.

'I just _found_ him like this; _honest_!'

Yeah; and I'll still be saying that, won't I, years from now from behind a prison cell's bars?

He'd stolen my cards.

And we were the only ones either excused or absconding from class.

Oh, and everybody knew how we'd had previous boisterous disagreements.

Hardly takes a Miss Marple or Monsieur Poirot to point the finger at the most probable culprit, does it?

_Death on the Nile_ it most assuredly isn't.

_Shit!_ – as the exposed murderer would doubtlessly exclaim.

But I _can't_ just _leave_ him here, can I? Out in the corridor, I mean?

It's hardly _dignified_ , is it?

Maybe I should drag him off somewhere?

Maybe I should make damn sure that I look like I'm his murderer, yeah?

'Oh, I just thought I'd move him somewhere warmer, officer. You know; before rigor mortis set in?'

Clink! Clunk!

I can already hear the handcuffs being snapped around my wrists. The key to the cell being casually thrown away.

_Why aren't these damn_ cards _helping me?_

_Speak_ to me, goddam you!

You can't just _leave_ me like this!

_Help_ me!

*

'We can't just _leave_ it –not like _this_!' Valentia declared, recognising that she had unwittingly created a monster.

With any luck, of course, the _rest_ of its roots might stretch so deeply underground that it has to remain here.

Yet even so, any travellers seeking shelter in the valleys lying between its winding stems – just as they had done earlier in the evening – would soon find themselves in danger.

What was this monster supposed to live on now, after all?

It had already devoured the Horsemen, their horses.

Yes, they might have been constructed mainly of stone, of earth; but could Valentia ever really be _sure_ that this beast would continue to be satisfied with nothing but such things as its sustenance?

'Can't we?'

Sepharial's tone was that of a lecturer, a teacher hoping that she can force you to recognise and face up to the true nature of the problem.

'Won't the charm simply _wear_ off?' Valentia asked wistfully. 'Or, can't I just, well; _rescind_ it? _Cancel_ it?'

'Simply let it be the remnants of a tree once more, you mean?'

Once again, Sepharial's tone was that of a lecturer; and a dissatisfied, disappointed lecturer at that.

'Well...that _is_ possible, isn't it?'

Valentia at least recognised that her own tone was that of a naive student, one about to be admonished and set straight.

'This is a _creature_ of _your_ making!' Sepharial said, indicating the tentacles writhing in the air above them with a slight raising of the glowing card. 'You have granted it life, spirit; _human_ sensibilities. To take that _away_ is to _murder_ it.'

'Then...what do we _do_?'

' _We_?' Sepharial repeated ominously.

The creature writhed, flexed its many thick, black tentacles; each whirling in the dark sky as apparently haphazardly as Valentia's own thoughts swirled around in the grey dullness of her mind.

*

# Chapter 39

The cards _must_ have an answer; they've accomplished so much, things I wouldn't have believed possible!

I'm flicking through them like a crazed woman, hoping something strikes me, something among the wildly toned images that will scream out at me; _This_ is the one!

_This_ will bring Davey back to life!

Never, ever, though have I felt that the cards couldn't be more useless.

How _can_ they solve this problem for me?

Why should I expect nothing but a bunch of stupid cards to bring someone back to _life_?

Ruination.

Yeah, that just about sums everything up for me; but it's hardly any help telling me what I already know, is it?

Justice.

The weighing of the heart.

Very _apt_.

Very _useless_!

_The Sovereign_ ; that would be the _Emperor_ , yeah?

No.

_The Reaping_ – or, in other words, _Death_.

No!

The Hanged One.

Wow! That's probably even _worse_ , isn't it?

_Useless_.

Every single card – _useless_!

*

Within the darkness, there was flare of orange light.

A miniature sun, rising swiftly, descending even faster.

Then there was another, and another.

A fourth, a fifth, a sixth.

With a low thud, each fell from the darkness to strike the even darker form of the creature, the flames flaring all the more, illuminating the monster's scaly skin of rippled bark.

The fire arrows were too small, of course, to cause such a vast beast any injury or concern. At worst, they were nothing more than the mere pricks of irritating insects.

Yet just as an insect bite can carry the diseases that spread through and wipe out a man in days, even hours, the flames carried by the arrows took on an unnatural urge and ability to leap from one area to another, hungrily rushing across the whirling darkness as if it were fresh pitch rather than aged, dried wood.

Now the creature realised it was in danger after all.

Shrieking in fear, in agony, it began the vain attempt to rip its deepest roots from the thickly packed ground. The flailing tentacles flared brightly with each frenzied yet fruitless lashing out at the dark air. Thinner roots cracked as, already mostly burnt through, they finally gave way under the extra pressure of the beast's attempts to force itself up out of the ground.

Valentia was astonished by the unnaturally rapid spread of the fire; it was as if it were also alive, and eager to devour this beast of the darkness.

The glow from the swirling flames was now intense, illuminating the whole of the camp in an orb of wildly flickering light, as if they were caught up in the last shrieks of light of a fearfully dying sun.

Alongside Valentia, Sepharial frowned worriedly.

'The flames are _charmed_ ,' she stated calmly when she realised Valentia had caught her thoughtful grimace. 'A Perfect at least; a Magistri more likely.'

Yet more flames rush towards them out of the darkness, yet these are lower to the ground, and far slower that the previously high-soaring barbs of fire. Their nevertheless swift approach is accompanied with the thundering of heavy hooves; of hooves made of stone.

The overheated trunk of the beast is now regularly exploding, its very skin violently rendering, its heart shattering, its innards scattering everywhere as flaming droplets of lava. The branches, too, are cracking everywhere now, even the very thickest of them, the blazing timbers crashing heavily to the ground in a hailstorm of red sparks.

The beast squeals, its cry shrill and agonised as its briefly granted life painfully seeps away.

'Well, that's _one_ problem solved for you,' Sepharial nonchalantly declares as the flailing tentacles slow, sag, and finally drop towards the earth, 'but I'm afraid a whole _new_ set of problems are just opening up for you!'

*

# Chapter 40

Davey Jacobs coughed, spluttered.

He could have been vomiting up a vile pond water he'd swallowed while drowning.

I jumped back, startled.

He hadn't been dead after all, thank God!

And yet he'd seemed – so _still_!

So _lifeless_!

'But you were...'

I can't say it.

I can't say _dead_.

Quite obviously, he _hadn't_ been dead, had he?

Otherwise, how would he be alive once again?

Impossible, right?

Quickly, I gather the slightly fanned cards more tightly together, slipping them out of the way – out of sight – into my pocket.

'Did you knock me out?' Davey snaps, even though he's still a touch dazed, his voice slurred. 'How'd you _do_ that?' he wonders, rubbing the back of his head, as if I must have thrown something hard at him as he'd run away.

'No, not me,' I tell him, thankful it's probably mostly true. 'Maybe you ran into something?'

'Like _what_?' he snaps again. 'Are you saying I'm a complete idiot? An idiot who runs into walls?'

Wow; touchy or what?

'Well, you're okay now, anyway,' I say, hoping I can calm him down, wondering if I can even make him forget how he'd ended up here in the first place.

Thankfully, my cards are now out of sight. Maybe that's enough to make sure Davey doesn't begin to start figuring out that he'd taken them from me, that he'd been running away with them.

'You were running, remember?' I say innocently, trying to instil false memories into his mind while it's all still a little blurry for him. 'You slipped; maybe somebody had spilt something, or dropped something, earlier?'

He runs his hand over his head once more, frowns quizzically, like part of his mind is continuing to shriek at him that, No, that's not _really_ how it all happened!

But, going by his increasingly puzzled expression, he can't figure out how he'd really ended up here.

Which means he has to choose the story that's least embarrassing for him, of course.

'Yeah, I slipped; slipped on some idiot's spilt drink, I bet.'

He rubs his head again, trying to ease the pain of a non-existent blow to his skull.

He kicks out at the floor, like his humiliating fall is all down to the non-existent spill of some non-existent person's non-existent drink.

'People should be more bloody careful!'

He clambers back to his feet. I don't bother offering him any help.

He should be thankful he's alive, shouldn't he?

*

The Horsemen rush out of the darkness, only becoming fully visible as they emerge into the dying glow of the still burning tree roots.

Their flaming arrows are strung, nine of them now aimed directly at Sepharial, one at Valentia.

Valentia briefly fears that Sepharial might make some effort to stop the Horsemen, conjuring up yet one more spectacular charm of the cards.

But she makes no move, other than to smile wanly, to bow her head a little in greeting to the troop of Horsemen.

There's an eleventh Horseman, one who rides much more unhurriedly than the rest.

It's a rider who's far less impressive than any one of the towering Horsemen, each of whom appears impregnable in their heavy armour of slate and stone. A rider wearing hardly any protection at all, the horse being completely unarmoured, while she wears what could be nothing more than a typical, hooded riding cloak, its hanging too loose, too slender, to be hiding any metal suit beneath.

As the rider languidly trots into the waning glow, however, the cloak's colour becomes more or less obvious.

Purple.

Or, rather, a glittering amethyst.

The amethyst of the Magistri.

The Magistri draws closer, bringing her horse to a halt only when she is at last directly facing Sepharial.

'Now carefully hand over your cards,' she orders with calm, confident authority. 'Naturally,' she adds with equal calmness, 'I mean both the girl's _and_ your own, _Sepharial_.'

*

# Chapter 41

'Did you have an odd dream? I mean, while you were out; while you were knocked unconscious?'

Well, I have to ask, don't I?

I mean, isn't that more or less what happened to me? I was briefly unconscious, or something; and ended up being whisked back into this weird version of the past.

Has Davey Jacobs been there too?

Problem is, Davey still looks a tad dazed.

Even now, he's moving a little clumsily, a little uncertainly.

Suppose that's par from the course, when you've just come back from the dead, right?

He gives me the sort of puzzled frown that's more irritated than quizzical.

'Dream?' he snaps. 'I was _knocked_ out; not _asleep_!'

Well, that answers that for me then, doesn't it?

No, he didn't end up back in our past.

Or, maybe, he did end up there; but refuses to admit it actually happened.

It's hardly likely that I'd've believed it either, if it hadn't been for the deck of cards I'd somehow managed to bring back with me.

'Idiot!' Davey snarls, more or less pushing past me even though there's no reason for it; I'm giving him plenty of room to move on down the corridor.

He's still embarrassed that he 'fell' of course; that I saw him lying 'unconscious'.

He storms off down the corridor, still rubbing the non-existent bruise on his head.

Typical boy; make out whatever's happened to him is someone else's fault rather than his own.

You've got to laugh at his childishness, haven't you?

My chuckle becomes a bit of a choke, catching in my throat.

Suddenly, I'm feeling a little weak, even a touch dazed myself.

I find myself unsteadily reaching out for support against the nearest wall, almost fluffing it, almost letting my hand slip, such that I'm unable to prevent myself crumpling to floor.

Fortunately, I manage to keep reasonably upright, even if I am sagging quite a bit, as exhausted and light-headed as if I've been forced to run around the sports field for the past hour.

I'm staring down at the floor, everything around me abruptly darkening.

It's also noticeably colder.

The floor's different; it's stone. _Worn_ stone.

The wall I'm touching; that's stone too.

Uneven, _cold_ stone.

Looking up, I see for sure that I'm no longer standing in the school corridor.

It's more like some ancient, maybe medieval-style church.

Have I been whisked back into that weird past again?

*

Valentia felt quite regal as she rode on the horse that had been provided for her.

Now that she had thrown back the hood of her cloak, the Magistri riding alongside her was more princess-like than mysteriously threatening presence; she was so surprisingly young and beautiful that Valentia would have put it all down to charms were it not for the fact that no one would risk darkening their souls for something so trivial.

Moreover, it was doubtlessly an impressive column that Valentia was now a part of. It might have lacked the colourful heraldry of brightly painted shields and elaborately embroidered silks, but it more than made up for it in its undoubted sense of purpose, the sense that this was an unchallengeable band of stern-faced warriors.

Besides, there _were_ incredibly bright ripples of colour running through these riders, these horses, of stone.

There was glistening white, grey, even black marble, with veins of red, blue or green. There were flecks or even undulating layers of gold, silver, and many other metals. Then there were the gemstones, of every colour imaginable, reflecting and refracting even the moon's dim light into rainbow-toned shards.

As with any normal suit of armour, the helms were topped with ferocious looking beasts; yet these, being of the very same composition as the warriors, had all the appearance of being ready to flutter into life at any moment.

The saddest part of the column, as far as Valentia was concerned, was the caravan.

Not, of course, because of its elegantly carved and brightly painted exterior. Indeed, anyone seeing this column (not that there _were_ any people to see it at this time of night) would doubtlessly assume it had been brought together for no other reason than to escort the carriage and its occupant.

And, in a way, that was true.

Inside the caravan, Sepharial was tightly bound in chains, her one-time home now serving as her prison.

Valentia remained unsure about how she should feel about this.

Naturally, she couldn't help but feel sympathy for Sepharial, who had helped her escape, who had given her invaluable instruction in utilising the powers inherent in the Deck of May'at.

And yet...

'How long did you think you could avoid us?' the Magistri had asked after demanding the handing over of the decks of cards.

'I'm ...I'm _sorry_ ,' Valentia had abjectly replied.

'Not _you_ child!' the Magistri had richly chuckled, indicating Sepharial with a nod of her head. 'I mean _her_!'

This time, the Magistri had made it quite clear to Valentia that that she was addressing Sepharial by drawing even closer to the older woman.

' _She's_ lead us on _quite_ a merry chase over the centuries, haven't you my dear?'

*

# Chapter 42

How old would a medieval church look in Victorian times?

Not much different to how they look now, I suppose.

So yes, I think this probably is a medieval church.

I also presume I've not actually been sent back to medieval _times_ , as it _wouldn't_ look old _then_ , would it?

It would look brand new, right?

Glancing about me, I realise calling something this small, this simple, a church is flattering it way too much; it's a chapel maybe, little more than four walls whitewashed and daubed with very faded pictures. There doesn't really appear to have been too much stone put into its construction either, the supporting arches built into the walls constructed of brick more than anything else, it seems to me.

The chapel's colours rarely stretch outside the brown spectrum, unless you're counting the relatively bright glare of a small number of undersized, arched windows haphazardly set about the place. High up, however, there are three such windows placed closely together, set so that they have to follow the curve of the ceiling.

The light emanating from this trinity of windows illuminate a ceiling that, unlike the rest of the murals, don't follow the usual round of religious images. Rather than the pious saints portrayed elsewhere around these walls, the ceiling looks more like something drawn from illustrations of the Kabbalah, a tight-knit formation of what could be circled stars; okay, so you have to cheat a little bit to see this, moving the central trunk down a touch, but this main column even appears to be launching up from some kind of pyramid painted just above the windows.

I suddenly sense that I'm not, as I'd first thought, alone.

Maybe my eyes are still taking time to adjust to what is relatively little light in here, compared to the brightly illuminated corridors of school.

Someone else is seated towards the centre of the chapel; a woman, I think.

She's also crouching slightly, her head down, as if praying. But if she is praying, it's a rather tortured prayer, for she's holding her hands up before her as if her fingers have been mangled, perhaps permanently warped, the strained position you'll stretch them into when making a cat's cradle of a loop of string.

Then the fingers relax, as does her whole body.

She straightens, standing up with a sigh of relief, of triumph.

There wasn't any seat after all.

Just as, of course, there wasn't any loop of string.

She sees me, grins. Takes a short burst of steps towards me.

It's _her_!

The woman I'd met before when I'd somehow been whirled back into the past!

What _was_ her name?

Did she even _give_ me it?

I can't _remember_.

But one thing's _sure_ ; I _have_ somehow ended up back in the past once more.

'What–'

Before I can ask my question, the woman vanishes.

And the next thing I know, I'm back in the school's corridor.

*

The Magistri had _known_ Sepharial.

She had even known that the Charlatan owned a perfectly illegal pack of the Deck of May'at.

But then again, the Magistri had, apparently, been pursuing Sepharial for _centuries_.

Did _any_ of this make _any_ sense, Valentia wondered.

Not even the Magistri could live for _centuries_ ; could they?

Maybe, just maybe, the Magistri had been talking in the sense of _factions_ of people, chasing and avoiding each other for hundreds of years.

Maybe there was a group of Charlatans who, somehow, had achieved remarkably high levels of power and control over the Deck of May'at.

'You seem _puzzled_ , child.'

The Magistri was smiling warmly at her.

Their horses were only lazily trotting, there being no apparent rush to arrive at their destination, wherever that was supposed to be. They weren't going back towards the Cloisters, Valentia realised, for the column had merely continued heading in the direction she and Sepharial had been travelling in before they had intended to rest for the night.

'You've arrested – _enchained_ – Sepharial,' Valentia replied, briefly fearing that she might have put far too much of an accusatory emphasis on _enchained_ , 'yet you don't appear to be taking any precautions holding _me_!'

Even as she said it, Valentia realised just how ridiculous this sounded.

Why would ten Horsemen and a Magistri have to take _any_ precautions to ensure they held her?

Obviously, Sepharial was a different matter altogether.

Despite the impressive array of power they wielded, the Magistri and her ten Horsemen _were_ worried that Sepharial might cause them problems.

Despite being stripped of her cards, Sepharial was still regarded as being a potential danger to them.

'We're not _holding_ you, child,' the Magistri assured her with a surprised laugh.

'But...haven't you been _chasing_ me? I mean; I _left_ the Cloisters.'

Once again the Magistri chuckled, perhaps because she couldn't fail to note Valentia's touch of disappointment that the Cloisters hadn't regarded her absconding as being so important after all.

'Anyone can leave the Cloisters any time they wish,' the Magistri pointed out kindly, adding with only the most light hearted hint of disapproval, 'although, yes, we _do_ expect any one leaving to leave behind the _cards_ they have been granted. But, as I'm sure this was nothing more than an _oversight_ on your part, I'm also quite sure the authorities well regard this as being perfectly forgivable!'

Hiding her sigh of relief, Valentia glanced back towards the caravan where Sepharial was being held.

'But what of Sepharial? Will _she_ be treated leniently?' she asked concernedly, ashamed that she had failed to make any real protest over Sepharial's treatment and imprisonment.

Sepharial had helped her in her escape from the Cloisters. She had also made an attempt to train her in the use of the cards.

The Magistri shrugged.

'That isn't for me alone to decide,' she admitted. 'I suspect she will have to be imprisoned for a while, at least until we find some way of ensuring she has no contact with the cards.'

'What had she done? She caused me no harm at all, you know?'

'And yet, in truth, we have _rescued_ you from her,' the Magistri replied. 'Who's to know what false and dangerous track she would have led you down if you had stayed with her?'

Valentia had seen for herself the amazing power Sepharial wielded, power that could only be invoked by risking the purity of the soul.

Had she been summoning such powers for so long that her soul had become completely tainted?

And...would Sepharial be blamed for the deaths of the two Horsemen?

Yes, of course she would; unless Valentia confessed that _she_ was the one responsible for their deaths.

'Your soldiers; the ones that died,' she began unsurely, wondering what words she should use.

'Yes?'

Cocking her head, the Magistri observed Valentia curiously.

'I thought I was in danger; I didn't realise they were there to _help_ me...'

The Magistri waved away her concerns with a dismissive flickering of her hand.

'Of _course_ you thought you were endangered!'

She leant closer towards Valentia, whispering conspiratorially.

'To be perfectly honest child, it's somewhat of a relief to at last see their numbers reduced; they've been the bane of the Magistri from way before any of us can remember!'

'Yet they work _for_ you, don't they?'

The Magistri nodded.

'Yes; and when first brought into being, they were essential in preventing the threat of war. Now, however, they merely taint us, a source of the darkness far outweighing any good they bring to our world.'

Valentia had to stop herself from asking why the all-powerful Magistri didn't simply dismiss these stone warriors; hadn't she, after all, been faced with and failed to address a similar problem once she had given life to the tree roots?

The Magisti chuckled as she glanced back towards the caravan and the imprisoned Sepharial.

'Ironically, the Horsemen have come up with something good after all; helping us to at last catch up with their creator.'

*

# Chapter 43

I _had gone_ back into the past

I just _know_ it.

I can still feel that deeply penetrating cold.

My eyes are once again struggling to adjust to the change in light; this time painfully, as too much light is flooding in

'What are we doing here?' I'd tried to ask the woman who was with me in the chapel.

But she'd only smiled; perhaps ignoring me.

And this time, _she_ also vanished.

Which means – what?

That she had also been whisked there from somewhere else?

I mean, she didn't vanish the last time I'd found myself seated alongside her on her caravan.

It was _her_ time, after all.

_I_ was the one who shouldn't have been there; so it made sense, in a way, that I later vanished again.

I can't figure it out.

I'm still feeling ridiculously exhausted.

Still unsteady on my feet.

Weak as a kitten, just about.

Drained, like all the blood's been sucked away.

The cards!

I urgently reach into my pocket, making sure they're still there, suddenly fearing that my new flight back into the past might have been nothing more than some ploy by the woman to retrieve the deck.

Phew!

They're still there, thankfully.

So, whatever my trip into the past was about, it wasn't anything to do with returning the cards.

Why was I whisked there again?

Why was the woman there? Even though, like me, she wasn't _really_ supposed to be there.

_Sepharial_.

_That's_ the woman's name.

So she _did_ tell me it after all.

She'd told me that using the cards can drain you. Drain you of the Light.

Or at least, I _think_ she told me that.

I mean, she _must_ have done; mustn't she?

*

The column, Valentia realised, appeared to be drawing close towards the end of its journey.

Ahead of them now there lay an immense fortress, the likes of which Valentia had never expected to see, had never thought there would ever be a need for.

Perhaps, like the stone warriors, it had been created 'centuries' ago, when such things were necessary.

It was a continually recurring term, wasn't it? _Centuries_.

Centuries ago, when there _were_ wars.

When the Horsemen had been brought into life.

When _Sepharial_ had created them.

Meaning she was indeed _centuries_ old.

_Impossible_!

If Sepharial was indeed the creator of these stony warriors, how dark must her soul be?

The fortress increasingly looming over them as they neared it hadn't been constructed, like the Horsemen, through the use of charms.

Even from a distance, Valentia could see that the fortress was hard and angular in its construction, rather than following the more smoothly flowing form of a creation of charms. Naturally, the forming of a fortress – full of dark connotations – wasn't something any Prefect or Magistri would wish to be involved in.

This, then, was why the great tree had been felled, its strong, long timbers essential in the fortification's necessarily physical construction.

Behind her, Valentia heard first a surprised cry and then the urgent pounding of hooves.

Whirling around in her saddle, she saw that a Horseman was furiously riding towards the Magistri.

The column behind them had more or less drawn to a halt, the caravan stopped and surrounded by dismounted warriors.

The charging Horseman yelled out to the Magistri.

'The prisoner has _escaped_!'

*

# Chapter 44

Restraint.

The card says it all, doesn't it?

I've been drawing on the powers of this Deck of Duat for far too long.

No wonder I'm drained.

I reckon this card is what we'd call Temperance in the Tarot.

Moderation. Frugality.

A clear warning, you think, or just a coincidence that it happened to be the card I'd found face up on top of my deck when I pulled it out of my pocket?

It's not like these cards are into _coincidences_ , right?

I can't even recall if this was the card that was on top of the deck when I'd gathered everything up.

It's illustrated with what looks to me like two Egyptian gods, one good, one bad; the light and the darkness.

But I could be wrong.

It's not like I'm the expert on Egyptian myths and beliefs; everything I know I've picked up from the internet. Which, yeah, means more conspiracy theory rather than fact.

It's Horus, maybe, and Set. They were enemies, weren't they?

The tempering of bad traits with the good, the unification from within.

Ah; so _that's_ what this card means.

It just told me, of course; just in case I was reading the wrong meanings into it.

The meanings are _similar_ , I suppose; albeit, perhaps, the _Restraint_ I have to show here revolves around my better nature curbing my more – shall we say? – _wayward_ side, I suppose.

The corridors are once again a chaotic flow of girls and boys of numerous ages, of numerous sizes, making their way from one class to another. I'm in no hurry to attend my class; I still feel totally wasted, like I've had a bad case of flu and I'm still recovering.

Heading towards me, in a clutch it's going to be near impossible to force my way through without barging into just about all of them, are half a dozen giggling girls, all from a lower, younger class than me.

They've seen me, eyeing me curiously, like they know me. They're pushing each other now and again, like they're egging each other on to approach me.

'Yeah?' I say nonchalantly, realising I'm not going to get past them until I bring up whatever it is they have on their mind.

I'm just going to have to disappoint them, aren't I?

'Could you read my–'

The three girls who have all just spoken at once break out into nervous laughter.

'You want your cards reading, right?' I say blankly.

All six nod eagerly in reply, like they're those plastic dogs and what have you you put in the back window of your car.

'Well I...you see...'

As I try and make my excuses, disappointment floods every little face standing before me.

'Oh, okay, yeah – go on then!' I sigh resignedly.

After all, there's only six of them, right?

What harm can there be in a few more readings?

*

The cell was much like the one she'd been given while studying in the Cloisters, only much less luxurious.

It was also only locked physically rather than through charms, but – devoid of her cards – that meant Valentia had no chance of escape.

So, it wasn't just a fortress; it was also a prison.

And the Magistri had lied; they _were_ holding her.

Maybe, though, that was because Sepharial had somehow managed to escape.

Up until that point, the Magistri and her soldiers had treated Valentia as if she were a honoured guest rather than either a criminal or a suspected threat who had to be incarcerated.

Then again, she realised, up until that point they hadn't reached the prison either.

It could have all been nothing more than some clever ploy to make sure she didn't make any attempt to escape, or to help Sepharial.

Not that Sepharial had needed any help, obviously.

How _had_ she managed to escape?

Her cards had been taken from her.

Before a tightly bound Sepharial had been locked in the caravan, the interior had been quickly turned over by the Horsemen, under the instructions of the Magistri to search out anything that might enable an escape – no matter how improbable it might seem.

Yet the improbable had happened, hadn't it?

Just who was Sepharial? Valentia wondered, finding herself amazed once again by the Charlatan's powers.

'Let me guess; you're wondering how I did it, aren't you Sepharial asked her.

Lost in and completely distracted by her thoughts, Valentia whirled around to answer that nagging voice that had seemed to emanate from behind.

'Yes, of course–'

Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

A grinning Sepharial was standing there.

*

# Chapter 45

Now what?

How the heck did _that_ happen again?

More to the point, how do I get _back_?

Just as it had happened only a couple of hours ago, I've been whisked into that small, ancient chapel once again.

Sepharial showed up once more too; and, of course, vanished before I could get any explanation out of her.

This time she'd taken more than a couple of steps.

Rather, she'd seemed to take quite a number of hurried steps, but it was like it was all taking place in some other time plane; all blurred, all somehow radically fast, and yet all also incredibly slow.

Nah, that doesn't make any sense, does it?

But then, does anything in my life make any sense anymore?

Like, when she vanished, I'd thought, Ah well, here we go again; I'll be back in school in a moment.

And yet, here I still am; imprisoned in a chapel I've just found out is locked. The old, heavy door won't budge an inch.

Even in Victorian times, then, they had to lock up their churches to stop lowlifes nicking the silver and the roof lead.

There's a table near the door, full of printed leaflets. Weirdly, most of the things here are in what seems to be French. A few seem to have been translated – German, Spanish maybe – but if there had ever been any English versions, they've been taken.

The leaflets also contain an awful lot of colour photos of the chapel too, like – once again – the Victorians were actually far more advanced in their technology than we give them credit for.

_Saint Christophe_ ; that's what I reckon the chapel's called.

Montsaunès.

Is that the town, do you think?

Templiers.

The _Templars_ , maybe?

Yeah, that would make a whole lot of sense; weren't they into all sorts of stuff like the Kabbalah and secret knowledge and what have you?

Secret knowledge?

I could do with a bit of that right now to help get me out of here.

*

'How _do_ you _do_ that?'

Valentia anxiously stepped back and away from Sepharial.

'Oh, it's easy, 'Sepharial replied casually. 'I simply transport myself to a place where there are _no_ walls, no _chains_.'

Valentia frowned quizzically as she took this information in.

'You can _do_ that? You have _another_ deck of cards?'

Sepharial shook her head.

'Of course not! They're _so_ hard to come by, as you should know. And my own particular deck – along with yours too, naturally – are now _extremely_ well protected. Only a fool would try to retrieve them.'

'Then you don't _need_ the cards?'

Sepharial half groaned, half chuckled.

'Haven't you been listening at _all_ to what I've been teaching you?' Sepharial sighed, adding more resolutely as she lightly tapped her head, ' _This_ is the real source of power; the cards only help us _concentrate_ on the particular matter in hand. Let me show you how–'

'Wait!'

Valentia halted Sepharial in mid flow with an outstretched and raised restraining hand gesture.

'Maybe I don't _want_ to go with you!' she added as assuredly as she could manage.

Sepharial grimaced in puzzlement.

'You'd rather remain _imprisoned_ here?'

'They said they'd _rescued_ me from you.'

' _Rescued_?' Sepharial glanced sceptically around the four bare walls. 'It's an odd way of _rescuing_ you, don't you think?'

Valentia still hesitated.

'But – who _are_ you?'

Valentia seemed to recall asking Sepharial that very question once before; but had she received an adequate answer?

Quite obviously not.

'Ah, let me guess,' Sepharial answered with an amused guffaw, 'they've been _slandering_ my good name once again?'

' _You_ created those _Horsemen_!' Valentia snapped accusingly.

Sepharial shrugged resignedly.

'Do you think I _wanted_ to?' she began, her gaze questioning, probing. 'There was so much discontent, a spreading of the belief that people were being deliberately denied material goods. There had been no need for soldiers for so long, but now there was a real threat of a revival of war–'

'You tried to overthrow the _Magistri_?'

Valentia had never been so shocked.

'No, no!' Sepharial protested adamantly. 'I _was_ one of the Magistri; how else do you think I acquired my control of the decks? But no one was prepared, as I was, to create the Horsemen who would prevent the outbreak of war: it was the risk of my life against the loss of life for millions!'

'Then why do the Magistri _chase_ you?'

'Because _I_ had risked what _they_ were too petrified to attempt; protecting the Light through administering and controlling the Darkness! Yet what was the alternative? How much Darkness would the return of wars inflict on the world?'

'If this is the truth, why weren't you _thanked_?' Valentia scornfully asked.

'They feared my very presence would taint their precious souls.'

'Then conjuring them up _had_ darkened your soul?'

Sepharial nodded miserably in agreement.

'And...you're _centuries_ old,' Valentia reminded herself, her mind in a whirl as she began to contemplate how this could be possible. 'You're _still_ using the Darkness!'

'No!' Sepharial insisted. 'At least, not in the way you mean; it wasn't _intentional_ , this seemingly everlasting life, but merely an unexpected repercussion.'

' _Merely_?' Valentia snorted dismissively. 'So living for centuries wasn't something you'd desired all along?'

Sepharial's eyes flared irately.

'You think living for centuries is a _wonderful_ experience?' she snapped.

Rather than immediately launching into yet another furious retort, Valentia paused at last to consider Sepharial's explanation.

Everything Sepharial had said made sense, she realised.

And yet...there was still something troubling Valentia.

'One more thing;' she said coolly, 'why do you think I'm imprisoned, when I haven't committed any crime? It's not illegal to leave the Cloisters.'

For a brief moment, it appeared that Sepharial wasn't prepared to answer Valentia's question.

'Because they're scared of you,' Sepharial at last flatly replied.

'Scared?'

Valentia chuckled uncertainly, nervously. Was Sepharial trying to make some uncalled for joke?

'Why on earth would _they_ be scared of _me_?'

'It's in your cards, of course,' Sepharial said. 'You're fated to create the World Card.'

*

# Chapter 46

The _cards_ ; would they be any use in getting me out of here?

Possibly – but I can't think exactly how they would enable it.

Looking about the small chapel for any other way of getting out of here, I glance up once more towards the Kabbalah-like spheres decorating the ceiling.

Come to think of it, they remind me of something else; the formation of columns I found myself putting the cards out when I'd first returned form the past with that Deck of Duat.

The pattern the cards more or less _insisted_ I use!

A middle column of five cards, flanked by two further columns of three.

Strange thing is, looking up like this, I get that weird sense you sometimes do when concentrating on the décor of a ceiling that I'm actually sort of hanging upside down, looking down at the floor.

Like the Hanged Man in the Tarot.

Or the Hanged One, as my new deck calls it.

Thinking of the card like this, I find it's sort of superimposed over the columns, albeit with that central set of spheres sliding down a little, so it's more like the Kabbalah pattern; like, maybe, I'm getting a little dizzy, a touch light headed, craning my neck back at a slightly painful angle and focusing so intently upon the ceiling's decoration.

The Hanged One's head overlaps the sphere hovering just above the pyramid: the pyramid that, I'd guess, represents Earth.

His bent elbows touch the lowest spheres of the two outer columns.

The main column's second sphere is where his hands are tied behind his back

The leg he's suspended by stretches up, his angled foot lying over the next sphere of the central column, a foot pointing off towards the last sphere of the outer column.

As for the second, bent leg, his knee touches the sphere just below this one, while the foot lies upon the second sphere of the adjacent outer column; a foot pointing upwards towards the last sphere of _this_ column.

Like the feet are pointing towards the two spheres that serve as jumping off points towards the central column's highest and last sphere.

What's the chances of that, do you think?

But as I've said before; when it comes to the Deck of Duat, it's not like these cards are into _coincidences_ , right?

*

'Fated to create the World Card?'

Valentia accompanied her repetition of Sepharial's declaration with a nervous laugh.

'No, no,' she continued, her voice now insistent, a touch irritated at the foolishness of it all, 'there's been some _huge_ mistake: I just _asked_ about the World Card in class, _that's_ all!'

Sepharial shrugged, pouted her lips, raised her eyebrows; the expression of someone unimpressed by a defensive statement.

'It's a question _many_ have asked in class,' she pointed out, 'yet I don't know of any who've been _imprisoned_ for asking it.'

Once again, she indicated the confining four walls with a glance of her eyes, a casual wave of a hand.

Valentia's shoulders fell a little as she sighed in resignation.

'Then _how_ do we get out of here?' she asked almost reluctantly.

'Of course, you know the ten positions of the Syzygetic Column of Glory?' Sepharial asked, raising her hands before her such that they were crossed at the wrists, as if tied, while her fingers and thumbs were held pointing upwards in a replication of the positions of the ten spheres. While the longest fingers quite easily formed the central column's ends, a thumb more uncomfortably took up the role of another of its spheres, while the other hand's little finger was wretchedly stretching out to play the part of the remaining sphere.

'How will that help, without the cards?' a bemused Valentia asked, even as she tried her best to copy the ungainly, clawed forms of Sepharial's hands.

'The Book of Formation of Our Lord Mani ordained a spiritual covenant between the fingers and tongue; they will speak for us as we take the Path of the Hanged One – you know of the Hanged One, I take it?'

Valentia nodded.

'Arachne, or the Goddess Inanna?' she said, making sure her understanding of the Hanged One was similar to Sepharial's idea of it.

The Goddess Inanna's corpse had to be hung in her sister's domain of the Underworld before her rebirth, while Arachne briefly appeared to hang herself, only to transform into a spider that could continue to weave the labyrinthine fate of each person.

Sepharial gave her own, accenting nod.

'Either will do for our purposes; for, just as the Five Limbs guide us through life, we use the Hanged One's limbs as our guide, _imagining_ the cards on the end of each fingertip – bringing them to life in our mind through _Truth, Intelligence,_ _R_ _eason, Understanding,_ _and_ _Intent_!'

As Sepharial measurably and firmly intoned the calling out of each card, each delivered with ever more force, the relevant illustrations appeared over Valentia's fingertips, vibrating there as if she had brought out each card from her deck, touched it – and it had become _imprinted_ upon her _mind_.

'Sixth is The Melding of the Five Limbs, Reforging the Whole!'

The vision of the card whirled around Valentia's fingertip, such that she sensed – for the very first time – that she was actually _touching_ its message, its import.

'Now comes the _humbling_ , the _negation_ of self; and only in this way can the Exalted and Enduring Crown be ours!'

Valentia was struggling to keep her hands and fingers in the awkward positions she'd forced them into. She felt her body shivering, quaking.

She felt like she was going to fail.

A darkness was enveloping her.

'Where are we supposed to be _going_?' she wailed, hoping to make a second attempt, to follow on behind Sepharial if she failed to travel with her.

'As I said, where this prison doesn't exist!' Sepharial seemed to yell back, the only way of cutting through the hard pounding and surging of blood in Valentia's head. 'Which is the _Underworld_ , of course!'

*

# Chapter 47

That's odd; the spheres seem to be whirling, as if I've been looking up too long – as if the blood's draining from my head, and I'm becoming quite dazed.

As they spin, the sepia tints vanish; they become, rather, whorls of bright colour, rainbow-like in their intensity.

The vibrating tones settle a little, becoming illustrations. No, not just illustrations; cards.

Not Tarot cards, however; neither are they, as I was beginning to expect, cards from the Deck of Duat.

These are cards from the other deck, the Deck of May'at.

Once again, I recognise the illustrative style. I even, I think, recall some of the actual cards appearing before me.

Even though the cards can't really be there, they're whispering to me, as if they really are lying there before me, as if they've somehow being brought into existence, reality.

They are talking in awed tones of an ancient goddess; a goddess who decides she will visit the Underworld realm of her sister, dressing up in her finest regalia to do so.

And yet at every gate she has to pass through, she can only do so by divesting herself of one of her attributes.

First she removes her headdress, losing all consciousness of the seductive world of matter.

Next she leaves behind her necklace and her ability to speak.

Then she discards the twin egg-shaped beads representing sex and fertility, for she _herself_ is about to reborn.

The inviting allure of her breastplate is also parted with, for the attraction between two humans is only a lower form of love.

From one hand, she takes off the golden ring of the false sense of wholeness. Then, with her other hand, she sets aside her measuring rod, no longer flattering herself that she knows the measure of the world.

At the last gate, she disrobes, casting off any erroneous and debilitating beliefs in her self-importance.

And...there is something _else_ the cards are whispering, something sounding increasingly urgent.

A twin.

Only through accepting our twin can we expect everything to be revealed to us.

Twin?

Didn't that woman, Sepharial, say something about a twin?

Or was it the cards?

_Fusion_.

Yes, I'd drawn that card once, when I was attempting to determine what I should do, when the cards were assuring me they'd handle everything.

It was a card like the Tarot's _Lovers_ , with its entwining couple. Yet then as now, the cards had whispered to me, chided me even; _this_ was about _unification_.

A meeting of... _Twins_!

'Where _are_ we?' The girl's anxious voice comes from close behind me (but wasn't the door locked?). ' _This_ is the _Underworld_?'

I spin around a little to see who's speaking, wondering why she thinks this place is the Underworld.

I mean, yeah, it's gloomy, and boring – but calling it the Underworld is a bit of a stretch, even so.

The girl, despite her worried grimace, is incredibly beautiful. She's gazing everywhere about her like she's somehow completely lost, puzzled, maybe even a touch frightened.

What makes it all even more puzzling for me, however, is that she's standing alongside a woman I recognise.

It's Sepharial; and she's smiling at me like she knows _perfectly_ well where we all are.

*

Lil wasn't prepared to let Sepharial get way once more with out offering any explanation for what was going on.

She darted towards the woman, reaching out as if prepared to grab her, to hold her until she had some form of answer pointing to where they where.

'Sepharial! What's going on here?'

'Ah, Lil,' Sepharial breezily replied, as if it were a casual meeting out upon the street, 'I thought maybe I'd find you here!'

'You thought you'd _find_ her here?'

Valentia's frown of puzzlement deepened.

'In the _Underworld_?' she continued, her bewilderment increasing with every word. 'Who _is_ she?'

Retaining her casual air, Sepharial reassuringly touched Valentia upon her arm, just as she also took Lil by the arm to gently bring them both face to face.

'Lilith, Valentia,' she said gaily, in the manner of introducing two people for the first time, 'may I present to you – your _Twin_!'

*

# Chapter 48

My _twin_?

Wow; if _only_!

This girl is _everything_ I'd like to look like!

I have to hold myself back from laughing at something so obviously preposterous.

Mind you, this Valentia doesn't look very happy about it, like she's been insulted. And I can't say I can blame her, really.

'My _Twin_?' she says, with all the distaste of someone who's just been told they're a direct descendant of Hitler. 'But it _can't_ be! Not _here_ : not in the _Underworld_!'

What _is_ with this girl and the Underworld?

Has she got some sort of phobia or something?

'This _isn't_ the Underworld!' I say, perhaps more sternly than I should have, adding, as I turn towards Sepharial. 'Oh, and by the way, it's _Lillian_ , thanks; _not_ Lilith!'

Sepharial gives me that knowing smile once again, like she's _perfectly_ aware of who I really am. She turns to this Valentia, her face full of concern, her hand still reassuringly touching the girl's arm, like this girl is some delicate wallflower who has to be caressed through everything she does.

'In your case, yes; your Twin _is_ of the Darkness!' Sepharial says to the girl, answering her question like I'm not really here, like I didn't just speak.

'But she's _alive_!' the girl insists, demonstrating that maybe she isn't quite as stupid as I'd first taken her to be. 'There's no one alive in the Underworld!'

See? Regular font of knowledge, ain't she?

Maybe, though, I'm being a bit hard on the poor dear.

If she's with Sepharial, she probably just found herself popping up in here like I did, like Sepharial has done a few times now.

'Look,' I say to the poor girl, trying to be more consoling this time, hoping I can hide my exasperation with her, 'I know it's a bit of a gothic horror in here, but–'

'The Underworld serves as a kind of limbo for those spirits who have failed to ascend towards and become a part of the Light,' Sepharial says to the girl, treating me once again as if I'm just one of the chapel's murals. 'It grants them a second chance of redemption, albeit one more difficult than ever to achieve, for they are now more than ever a part of the Darkness of the material world.'

'Of course!' the girl exclaims, like someone who's just figured out the meaning of life (and managing to ignore me every bit as successfully as Sepharial, as if I'm nothing but some regular part of the surroundings). 'Where I ended up before – the worshipping of Jesus the Splendour – it all makes _sense_ now! In the legends, he descended into the Underworld to rescue the souls held there! But it still doesn't make _any_ sense for my _Twin_ to be here! Twins are supposed to be able to _help_ each other!'

I'm tempted to set her right on a number of things this time, not just on the ridiculous way she keeps on calling this place the Underworld.

But what's the point, right?

No one's _listening_!

Naturally, Sepharial just talks yet again to this Valentia, like _she's_ the brains of the unit – if we really _are_ some sort of set of twins, however _that's_ supposed to work.

'But what if, say, only a Twin of the Darkness can help you fulfil your destiny to find the World Card?'

What?

Twin of the darkness?

I mean, come to think of it, didn't she say that a little earlier too? I'd let her off _then_ , thinking I'd misheard her, or maybe I was just being a little touchy.

But I really, _really_ can't just stand by any longer just taking these insults form these two morons.

It makes me sound like some kind of Bride of Frankenstein, doesn't it?

'Look, look,' I insist, stepping forward between them this time with a raising of my hand to make sure they pay attention to me at last, 'can we please just _stop_ with all this Sister of Darkness stuff, like I'm some sort of evil entity?'

Finally, Valentia observes me intently, even if she gives me the blank stare of someone who's surprised I'm still there.

She turns to Sepharial.

'You said you were _expecting_ her to be here!' she declares accusingly (although, even when she's furious, she's still enviously pretty). 'How long have you _known_ she's from the Underworld? Why didn't you tell me earlier?'

Gawd!

They're ignoring me _again_!

Just what _is_ it with these two?

'It's only since a number of things started coming together that I began to suspect it might be the case. She was such an _odd_ Twin–'

'Please! I _am_ here, you know!'

– 'then there was the revelation of your destiny in the cards. And, finally, here we are; she's here in the Underworld!'

Oh great; now even Sepharial seems to have bought into this zany idea we're in the Underworld! Then again, they believed in all sorts of superstitious rubbish back in their time, didn't they?

'How many more times do I have to say this?' I snap. 'This _isn't_ –'

'How can a Twin of the Darkness help discover the World Card that leads to the triumph of the Light?'

If this is what having a twin's like – always interrupting, and insulting you to boot! – count me out, thanks!

'This _isn't_ the Underworld!' I manage to finally, irately blurt out. 'It's some weird chapel back in your own time, that's all!'

Sepharial glances up at the chapel's ceiling, raising hopes in me that I've managed to get her to see sense, to admit were just stuck in some regular little building back in a more gullible age.

'And if you're in a bad mood in _your_ world,' she says to me, her eyes still on the ceiling, where the cards still hover, the Hanged One still hangs, 'doesn't everything somehow become even worse? Doesn't every one around you also become irate?'

She's reaching up towards the ceiling, as if she can also see the cards there, as if – just a touch crazily – she's hoping she can touch them, gather them up.

'Well, yes, of course...' I admit uncertainly, realising she's got a point about the way anger always seems to spread, '...but, well – that's just life, isn't it?'

Ironically, Valentia's now the one looking pitifully at me, as if I'm the one who's touched in the head.

Naturally, I _get_ it; my world _sounds_ like it _is_ the Underworld, doesn't it? You know, being so full of malice, meanness, cruelty and what have you.

I mean, life is hell, yeah?

But not _literally_ , right?

*

'There are things we still need to work out, obviously.'

Still reaching up towards the chapel's ceiling, Sepharial wriggled her fingers as if she were drawing in invisible threads.

The cards hovering over the mural's spheres flipped, turned – fell.

And as they tipped and fell, they released what appeared at first glance to be countless other cards, as if they had all been resting and hidden on top of the visible ones. At the same time, the Hanged One disintegrated into perfectly rectangular shapes, the pieces falling as so many more individual cards.

The shower of cards slowing fluttered down through the air, a snowstorm of bright colours. None struck the floor, however, each halting its fall on reaching a point more or less level with Valentia and Lil's heads, drifting instead into a circular, rolling swirl – some clockwise, some anticlockwise, some even perpendicular, weaving at speed in and out and around the tracks of every other card without, amazingly, causing any clash or interruption.

Valentia was alarmed at the ease with which a Deck of May'at had been created, seemingly from the very air itself. Lil, blissfully unaware of any prohibitions regarding the creation of a Deck of May'at, was delighted, however, by the entrancingly chaotic whirling of the resplendently illustrated cards.

'Reach out and take a card!' Sepharial commanded the two girls.

Lil was the first to confidently reach out a hand into the raging whirlpool of what could be described as a swarm of locusts, or a wild party of fairies, depending upon your frame of mind.

A card snapped into her hand.

Dragging the card clear of the furious mêlée, Lil revealed it to Sepharial and Valentia.

The Moon.

The Moon of the Deck of Duat.

'Yes, _that_ makes sense,' Sepharial said, eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

*

# Chapter 49

The Moon makes sense?

Ah yes, of course; the _darkness_ , right?

So, that means Sepharial's expecting Little Miss Goody Two Shoes to grab the Sun, I'll bet!

The _Light_ , see?

_Twins_ of _Light_ and _Darkness_!

I mean, I'd be the _first_ to admit I'm no saint – but making out I'm some sort of denizen of the darkness is stretching it all a bit, I reckon!

The girl's reaching into the whirling cards.

She's grabbed one!

She looks at the card.

She doesn't look very happy.

What is it?

The cards are unusually silent; maybe they don't want to give us too much help in figuring all this out.

Maybe they figure out it has to be all down to us this time.

Valentia shows her card to Sepharial.

_Sepharial_ doesn't look very happy either.

She looks, frankly, _mystified_.

There's no ' _that_ makes sense' from her _this_ time.

Her favourite little girl's not the bright and shinning little star she thought she was, maybe?

The girl lifts up the card a little more, so that now I can see it.

It's from the Deck of May'at, naturally.

But it's also mainly a picture of the _Moon_.

*

The Just Justice; Holy Purification.

The Moon dominated the card, forming the central fork of three pathways.

One led towards the Sun, but a Sun small and distant, as if completely inaccessible.

Sepharial studied the card intently, with the furrowed brow of someone attempting to make sense of the apparently nonsensical.

'The _three_ paths of the soul...'

She looked towards Valentia, her expression now that of a person simply speaking her thoughts out aloud in the hope that someone can help her make sense of her thinking.

'Ascending to Paradise, via the Column of Glory of first the Moon and then the Sun; or falling back towards the world; or to hell.'

Like Sepharial, Valentia spoke as if she were merely intoning her own thoughts; but as she came to the word 'hell' she glanced Lil's way.

'A _good_ Moon – and a _Dark_ Moon.'

This time it was Sepharial's turn to look towards Lil as she came to her reference of the _dark_ moon.

Lil could have squirmed under their thoughtful, intense gazes; but, instead, she warned, ' _Don't_ start all _this_ again!'

'The Dark Moon lies beyond the Moon we can see,' Valentia kindly explained, noting Lil's confusion and growing irritation. 'It's more like a sphere of dust, absorbing light rather than reflecting it; holding in her darkness.'

Despite Valentia's well-meaning attempt to sound consolatory, Lil bristled at her reference to 'holding in her darkness'.

'I've never even _heard_ of it!' Lil said brusquely. 'Surely we'd _all_ know if we had _two_ rather than just _one_ moon!'

With a mere flick of a few fingers briefly directed towards Valentia's card, Sepharial caused both the Sun and the Moon to rise up from it and whirl within the air between them all like miniature planets.

'In a similar manner to the way the Lower Shekinah's unfulfilled love for the Light gave birth to the Darkness, legends say the Moon felt slighted when her attachment for the Sun was severed: a self-diminishment resulting in the a _k'lifah_ , or husk of evil – the Dark Moon.'

As she spoke, the whirling planets acted out their roles, a dark husk separating from the Moon, twirling about the Sun as if she were her sister's shadow; and then, with another brief flicking of Sepharial's fingers, the planets spun back towards their relevant positions upon the cards, the Dark Moon rushing towards Lil's card, where it was rapidly absorbed by the image – and, it seemed to Lil, forming a dark shadow there where there had been none before.

'So now I'm a _husk_ of _evil_?' Lil snorted furiously, only to continue more humorously, 'Look, look; I'll be the _first_ to admit I'm far from perfect – yeah, so I can be a _bit_ mean when the mood takes me, and I get a _bit_ irritated when people expect me to do what _they_ want simply because...you know, I'm not _really_ helping make my case here, am I?'

'The husk of evil is the _legend_ ,' Sepharial explained. 'In fact, don't we all have a darker side it is in our interest to recognise, to control, rather than ignoring it and hiding it away deep where it can only become more embittered and darker? The myth merely speaks of a separating of _qualities_ , some that are still admirable and necessary if we are to be successful in life. Let me guess, Lil,' she added more thoughtfully, 'you're not the type to give up your own essential values and put on a false front to impress others, not the type to conform to ways of dress or behaviour just to keep things running smoothly. Nor are you one who follows the consensus if you believe it to be wrong; particularly if people attempt to curb your attitude by accusing you of being overly cynical and selfish. You are who you are, and others have to accept that?'

'If you mean I tell it like it is, then yeah; that's me,' Lil replied, mollified by what she regarded as Sepharial's flattering description of her. 'But if what you're saying is true, and the Dark Moon has all the best bits; then what is the Moon itself left with?'

She looked over towards Valentia, expecting her to appear at least a touch distressed by Sepharial's idea that _(in effect, for that_ was _what Sepharial was_ hinting _at, wasn't it?)_ Lil had been left with these admirable qualities, while Valentia had therefore necessarily been denied them.

And yet Valentia appeared more perplexed than upset.

'But Twins are supposed to _aid_ each other; to benefit from a _fusion_ – not be _separated_!' she stormed.

'And yet, didn't such a separation aid you _immensely_?' Sepharial calmly replied. 'It left you so pure – so unrestrained by the usual residues of Darkness that even the Perfects fear they might suffer – you couldn't fail to be seen as an attractive proposition for the Cloisters; almost, in fact, as if it was a way of _ensuring_ you would fulfil your destiny of finding the World Card.'

Although neither Valentia nor Lil noticed, Sepharial had delivered this second part of her comment in a far less assured manner than the first, as if it were something that had only just occurred to her, something that was causing her to rethink what she believed had happened.

'But was is the Moon if not Thought, Intent?' Valentia protested, adding with a frown that showed she was simply becoming evermore perplexed. 'Surely it represents the _will_ to _throw_ _off_ the darkness?'

'Throw off the darkness?' Lil repeated petulantly. 'How many more times do I have to say–'

'And yet, ultimately,' Sepharial broke in, once again picking up her tone of assurance, 'to fulfil your potential, Valentia, you have to _recognise_ your Twin of the darkness, just as the Goddess Inanna had to recognise the hold her own dark sister, Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld, had over her.'

Lil shrugged in exasperation.

'I hope all this nonsense is making sense to _someone_ , because–'

'It's _gradually_ beginning to make sense,' Sepharial reassured her.

'No it _isn't_ beginning to make sense!' Lil snapped in frustration. 'I _don't_ come from the Underworld! I am _not_ a Sister of Darkness, or whatever you want to call me! It's not even remotely possible that, somehow, I've taken on all these so-called bad qualities while little goody-two-shoe here ends up with all the sugar and spice and all things nice stuff! It's not like we're even really sisters! We're not even from the same _time_!'

'Precisely, Lil!' Sepharial exclaimed excitedly, with an air of dawning realisation. 'That's what's been puzzling me too, of course – well, apart from the _time_ nonsense, naturally – but it _does_ all make sense if the World Card can only be formed by the merging of the Light and Darkness–'

'See; you're talking _rubbish_ again!' Lil exploded. 'If you have a darkened room, and you bring light into it, all you have is light, right? The darkness has _gone_!'

She grimaced as she quickly took in the full implications of her own, blurted-out comment.

'Hey wait; you're not meaning to...'

She began warily backing away from Valentia and Sepharial, until the latter raised her hands in a gesture of appeasement.

'No, no; that's what I think I'm _beginning_ to understand through all this – the Darkness has to be an essential part of achieving knowledge, the existence, of the World Card – for what is Light without an acceptance of the Darkness?'

'No no! We can never _accept_ the Darkness!' Valentia earnestly wailed. 'We have to _restore_ the Light! We have to force any rising of the Darkness within us down–'

'Easy to say, for someone who never had a normal person's problems with their inner Darkness.'

Sepharial had been calm yet forceful in her put down of Valentia's protests.

'A strange situation, indeed,' she murmured, more to herself than the girls, as she intently studied the cards whirling about them, 'this Twining of Light and Dark. So...what does it _mean_? What are the cards _trying_ to tell us?'

Not only Lil but even Valentia peered at the chaotically spinning cards in complete mystification.

The cards seemed unwilling to offer any help, any clarification of what must be done.

Rather, they wove in and out of each other, the individual cards – even the decks – indistinguishable in their frenzied course.

'There is _no_ sense at all to _all_ this!' Valentia insisted vehemently, receiving a grudgingly acknowledging nod of agreement from Lil. 'A Twin is supposedly someone as intent to rid herself of her taints as you are; not someone who is comprised of _nothing_ but taint!'

'Hey, I was beginning to agree with you–'

'I'm sorry, I really am – I didn't mean it to sound as badly as you think!' Valentia apologised to a clearly offended Lil. 'But, you see – well, I'm every bit as confused as you are by all this _nonsense_!'

Sepharial appeared to be ignoring them, her focus being instead upon the spinning cards. She was peering at the onrushing cards with a pure intentness, as if attempting though her gaze alone to separate the swirling Deck of May'at from the indistinguishably mingling Deck of Duat.

'I don't think even the cards can be bothered to get involved in this one!' Lil joked scornfully.

On the contrary,' Sepharial answered, without taking her eyes off the cards. ' _Nothing_ has _ever_ had so much to do with the cards, I think. They've set all this in motion; they have decided it is time for the World Card to be discovered.'

She turned away from the cards, looking first towards Valentia, then to Lil as she said, ' _You're_ fated to discover it; and therefore _you_ , as her _Twin_ – yes, even though you're undoubtedly her _dark_ twin! – are somehow expected to aid her in its discovery. The message the cards are trying to tell us can only come through you _two_ ...'

She peered at them again, this time taking in the cards they held.

'But the cards have always _told_ me what to do...' Valentia replied doubtfully.

'I know these cards _are_ amazing,' Lill said more stubbornly, 'but now you're sort of saying they're controlling _all_ this, that somehow they've Twinned us or whatever it is just so we can figure out where this lost card or what have you is–'

'No, no!' Sepharial snapped, shaking her head in a mingling of frustration and irritation. 'Ultimately, remember, everything in the material world is controlled by human consciousness, the cards merely serving as a means of helping us visualise – materialise, even – our thoughts, our wishes. And the desire of _all_ this human consciousness is that you two are brought together – formed in your fusion as Twins – to accomplish...well, what? _You_ have to tell me; that's what you're _here_ for!'

'It's _impossible_!' Valentia insisted. 'It's not possible to have a Twin from the limbo of the Underworld, where the dead spirits await–'

'I'm not _dead_! And it's not the Underworld; well, at least, it's not the Underworld as I've always expected it to be like!'

The cards slowed in their spinning; they halted completely in many cases, some even reversing their course.

And then, as if stuck by a whirlwind, they were sent crazily spinning once more, but this time the decks were splitting, each heading off in a particular direction; each deck rushing towards Valentia and Lil, and neatly settling in the girls' hands behind the cards they already held there.

'Yes, yes!' Sepharial exclaimed ecstatically, turning to face Valentia once more. 'You're right, Valentia!'

She turned towards Lil.

'And so, of course, are _you_ , Lil! You're _not_ dead!'

*

# Chapter 50

Wow.

Maybe I'm supposed to be glad Sepharial's just pointed that out to me; that I'm _not_ dead!

Is that it?

Is that all I'm supposed to come up with, to help them find this ridiculous card?

I could have told them both ages ago that _I'm not dead_!

That I don't live in the Underworld!

But were they listening?

Of course they weren't!

'The Underworld _isn't_ the way it's supposed to be, is it?' Sepharial says, like _she's_ the one who's just come up with this amazing insight.

She reaches out to either side of herself, touches the deck Valentia's holding, touches the one I'm holding at the same time: the decks still fronted by the cards that we had earlier chosen (or isn't it far more likely that they had chosen us?) from the whirling packs.

'Like the _Moon_ giving up its _husk_ , the world – _your_ world, Valentia – seeing the Light, but unable to fully embrace it, finding itself unrecognised, ill-regarded: well, what else could it do but throw off its own husk, its own darkness that it felt brought it down so? And so that darkness naturally coalesced around what was _originally_ the limbo of the Underworld, becoming the world's own dark, materialistic Twin–'

'The world _split_ in two?' Valentia asks incredulously. 'That _can't_ be; there is still so _much_ darkness in our world!'

'But if there is _less_ darkness than there _might_ have been?'

Sepharial had taken her fingers away from the two cards, but now she indicated Valentia's once more.

_The Just Justice; Holy Purification_.

'The _three_ paths of the soul, remember?' Sepharial continues. 'What if, Valentia, those unsuccessful, tainted souls who fail to ascend _aren't_ allowed to _return_ to our world but, rather, have to seek redemption in the _new_ form of the Underworld; a world even more darkly materialistic, drawing their already darkened souls away from the world that seeks only the Light?'

'Then that would be _good_ for my world, and our attempts to restore the Light, surely? Valentia points out. 'There must be a _reason_ why such an event took place. Why would the cards go to all this trouble just to point all this out to us?'

Sepharial pauses only briefly while she considers this.

'Because, of course, how can the World Card – the representation of the _whole_ of creation – come into existence unless someone recognises that there is a part of our world that – at some point in our history – split off to form a new, darker world? How can a mere man or woman expect to confront their demons unless they are first willing to admit they exist; if, rather, they prefer to hide that darkness deep down within themselves, allowing it to fester and grow.'

Now, I _could_ take all these referrals to 'demons' and 'festering' as a profound insult, of course; but in this case, I'll be magnanimous (that is, I shall _not_ act like a 'festering demon') and grant that Sepharial is just trying to figure things out.

'How can we hope to achieve victory for the Light when this darker world exists outside our knowing and influence?' Sepharial says, adding even more gravely, 'I think, Valentia, Lil, that you have been brought together not only to discover the World Card; but that also, somehow, its discovery either hinges upon or will bring about the _merging_ of the Twinned worlds!'

*

'That's one _heck_ of a big ask!'

Both Sepharial and Valentia were temporarily confused by Lil's use of language, but at least understood her meaning.

Sepharial nodded in agreement.

' _Can_ two such different worlds be merged?' Valentia asked. 'And _how_ could it be achieved anyway?'

'Don't we _first_ need to work out how the worlds split in the _first_ place?' Lil pointed out, finding herself a touched surprised that she had so readily accepted Sepharial's odd premise of the Twinned worlds.

' _When_ did the worlds split?' Sepharial said, in the manner of a teacher correcting an errant pupil. 'If we find out _when_ , then, maybe, we can find out _how_. Somewhere back in the individual histories of our worlds, there must be a point where things changed.'

She looked hopefully towards first Valentia and then Lil.

'Don't look at me,' Lil pouted petulantly. 'History was never my _strong_ point! Well, not that _any_ subject was a particular strong point of mine.'

'But you must know, say, of the Egyptians, the Romans, things like that?' Valentia said hopefully.

'Sure, who doesn't?' Lil replied brightly. 'I've seen all that in the movies!'

Valentia's face fell into a miserable grimace.

'I'm not sure what the movies are,' she admitted, 'but would I be right in thinking it means you haven't got a very detailed idea of history?'

Lil nodded ashamedly.

'Sorry; you've got to wonder why I was chosen for this task, haven't you?' she mumbled sorrowfully.

'It may only be the very _tiniest_ of differences anyway,' Sepharial said, attempting to revive the girls' spirits. 'One it would be impossible to determine simply by comparing the relevant histories. Have you ever wondered how wildly different your life might have been if a certain thing you did had gone a certain _other_ way?'

Valentia nodded in agreement, only to highlight the major flaw in Sepharial's analogy.

'But we are left with only _one_ version of our lives; we don't live out _both_ directions that our lives could have taken.'

Sepharial frowned worriedly as she considered this point.

Her frown, it seemed to Lil, turned briefly into an expression of great anxiety.

'Anything wrong?' Lil asked. 'I mean, apart from me just finding out I'm living in the Underworld, and that somehow I'm expected to save the world, or something.'

'No, no,' Sepharial said unpersuasively, despite a dismissive wave of a hand, 'I was just thinking...we need the help of the cards!'

She glanced urgently towards the packs being held by Valentia and Lil.

'Yet we don't really know what _question_ to ask them,' Valentia said.

'Well, don't we want to find this World Card?' Lil said innocently, her last words quivering a touch as the deck in her hand shivered.

A card began to rise up from the pack; the World Card.

'The World Card!' Lil said light-heartedly as she proudly held the card up, adding even more jokily, 'Found it; see!'

Valentia didn't find Lil's attempt at humour in any way amusing.

'The World Card of the deck of Darkness,' she scowled, remembering how she had come across a similar card in her earlier venture into Lil's world. 'It's the World Card of the Deck of May'at we need!'

If Lil intended to make a sneering retort, she never had time to come out with it.

'But that _is_ the _essential_ difference between the two worlds!' Sepharial abruptly declared. 'The world of the Deck of Duat _already_ has a World Card! Lil, what image does it have on the dark side; on the _reverse_?'

'Image?' Lil was puzzled. 'It's just the pattern you find on the back of any card.'

Despite her scepticism, she turned the card over in her hand.

She hadn't noticed before, but the pattern was far from regular and ordered, as she might have expected. Rather, it resembled a thoroughly entangled spider's web, one that naturally became more unfathomable and a denser, impenetrable black as it all coagulated together near the centre.

'It's Arachne's labyrinthine web of the world,' Valentia explained, noting Lil's surprise.

Lil was more astounded than ever that Valentia was reading so much into the pattern on the back of a card; yes, even though it was indeed an amazing pack of cards.

'Only the individual thread of Ariadne will lead us clear,' Sepharial said, briefly staring expectantly at Valentia before switching her intense, expectant gaze to Lil. 'But as her thread appears so uniformly like so many others, we must rely on Arachne to point us towards the one we must take.'

'What? _Me_?' Lil gasped in surprise, unsure what to do next, what they were expecting of her.

Surely, she thought, they weren't expecting her to pick out a route through this impossibly tanged maze?

*

# Chapter 51

Pick a thread out of all _that_?

I mean, I might have _some_ hope if they were all different colours; that way, I might have a chance of tracing an individual thread.

But when they all look exactly the same, bar a few different wiggles; well, it's impossible, isn't it?

It's just a patch of dense blackness towards the centre!

'I...I can't do it!' I admit sadly to a still expectantly gazing Sepharial. 'It's not possible to find a way through this maze! Besides, what good would it do? It's just the pattern on the back of a card!'

'I didn't ask you to show us the way,' Sepharial pointed out. 'I only expect you to show us which ones – which threads of _thought_ , as it were – we can _discard_.'

'Surely, that's the _same_ thing, isn't it?' I point out miserably.

Even so, I run my finger over the labyrinthine pattern, hoping the cards will aid me, will whisper their guidance to me once more.

Who knows; maybe, you know, it will be like you see in the movies?

Where, as soon as I touch the right thread, we're all suddenly whisked off on this wild rollercoaster ride through all these millions of other intersecting threads; ducking, weaving, almost crashing countless times, only to suddenly veer off, or drop away, so we get safely past these dangerous obstacles after all.

Nothing.

I _feel_ nothing, I _hear_ nothing.

' _Nothing's_ happening,' I complain. ' _None_ of these are right! This isn't going to – wait!'

It's a tingling, a gentle trembling; maybe like the vibration a spider feels, when some poor sap of an insect has stumbled into her web.

And when, in surprise, I lift my finger up from the card's surface, a wispy section of thread comes with it, as if stuck there.

*

'Well, that's _weird_ '

Lil stared in astonishment at the thread slowly drawing clear of the tangled web.

She briefly feared that, if she pulled too hard, the tugging of the thread would tighten up the knotted web all the more; or, perhaps, like an old jumper, the loosened thread would cause everything to instantly unravel.

Yet, thankfully, the thread came away without causing any damage; or, indeed, any noticeable difference to the labyrinthine pattern.

'But, well – what, exactly, do I do with it?' Lil asked, peering now in disappointment at what appeared to be nothing more than a dark thread of cotton.

She looked towards Sepharial for advice.

'That's for _you_ to decide, obviously,' was all Sepharial said.

Lil looked now towards Valentia.

'Well, I suppose if _I'm_ Arachne...then _Valentia_ must be _Adriane_ , right?'

Lil stepped closer towards Valentia, reaching out with the finger that the thread was stuck to.

Valentia reached out with her own finger, until the girls' fingertips were touching, the thread hanging between them.

The girls both blinked in surprise as they felt the sense of fusion, of an overlapping, a mirroring, rushing between them.

For Lil, it was the image of the _Fusion_ , The Lovers, that appeared before her as she sensed this intertwining of bodies, of souls.

For Valentia, it was _Lumah_ , The First of The Five Resplendent Daughters of The First Woman, those Five Light Elements who must be sacrificed to allay the effects of their Dark Twins; the necessary overlapping of Ether and Earth, the mirroring of the Dark Queen Ereshkigal to ensure the release and rebirth of her sister, the Goddess Inanna.

Immersed in these thoughts, the girls experienced a blending of substances, a sharing of souls, a whirling of the threads of their lives, caught and winding ever faster on the spinning wheel of fate and time, entwining until, once again, theirs was a shared existence

The Moon and the Dark Moon, reunited once more.

*

# Chapter 52

One girl, not two.

One girl, not two, stood on the hill, so long, long ago.

Below her, two distant armies were gradually closing in upon each other, soon to blend in battle, to share in the experience of snuffing out existence, of risking the possible nothingness of death.

The Romans on one side, fighting for their Emperor.

Romans on the other, fighting for _their_ Emperor.

Which army was on the side of Light, which on the side of Darkness?

Only victory would decide.

They would meet near the river, not far from a bridge.

And the army of one emperor was twice the size of that of the other emperor.

*

_Where_ are we?

Back in our past; our _shared_ past, I believe.

Do you recognise anything about these two armies approaching each other?

She looked down upon the army closest to them, the smallest army.

It seemed a forgone conclusion that these would be the losers in any battle, a battle almost unavoidably taking place tomorrow unless one of the opposing forces decided to swiftly withdraw.

She shook her head, unable to accurately answer her own question.

They're Romans, both armies; that's not unusual for the Roman Empire, with all its many civil wars.

Romans? They don't look like the Romans I used to see in the movies.

Part of her knew what movies were; another part of her now had an inkling of what it was like to watch them.

This is the later Roman Empire, when they no longer wore the kind of armour you're used to seeing in these movies.

_Why_ are we here?

Because if we're together, then so are our two worlds; this is the time before the worlds would split.

Where's Sepharial? _She'd_ know what we're supposed to do!

Sepharial is not a part of us; we must have left her behind, I suspect.

Will she be OK?

Ha! She's Sepharial; I'm sure she'll _always_ be 'OK', as you say.

Then we have to figure all this out for ourselves, right?

It's our task; our problem – we've relied on Sepharial for aid for far too long.

So, let me guess; something is about to happen here that causes the world to split into two – your world and my world? And _we're_ supposed to _stop_ it?

She felt her body shrug.

I don't know; but yes, I presume that _is_ why we're here.

Why change it? Shouldn't we just leave things just as they are?

She felt her head shake in disagreement.

We can't; not if the Light has to ultimately triumph. As long as the worlds remain split, there will always be an unrecognised dark heart dragging down the very best of our endeavours to reinstate the rule of Light.

So; it's _my_ world that must be sacrificed, I take it? Millions – _billions_ – of live snuffed out; and it will be down to _me_ , to us?

She felt her head shake in disagreement once more, but this time her action was accompanied with a surge of profound sadness.

No; it's _worse_ than that – _both_ of our worlds will cease to exist.

_Both_? Not just _one_?

If the world _doesn't_ split, if it continues from this point on as it always should have done, then it will be a world that neither of us would recognise.

Then – we _can't_ change it, can we?

As you say, billions of lives will be lost; but all those billions of lives were never really ever meant to be. We will be _restoring_ the lives of the billions who have been falsely _denied_ existence.

She felt herself shrug doubtfully.

I'm not so sure that's the correct way at looking at what we're expected to do here. Besides, when I said we can't change it, I mean because of that time paradox you see all the time in the movies; if we wipe out our own existence, then how is it possible for us to be here in the past to change it?

She thought about this.

Unless...

Unless?

Unless...the choice is _not_ between our _splintered_ worlds and the continuation of the combined world...

What _other_ choice could there be?

That neither of our worlds have ever _really_ existed.

Although a part of me seems to be miraculously coming close to understanding what you're trying to say here, another part of me is completely lost.

Our worlds have only ever _potentially_ existed; the existence of each hinging on what actually happened here at this battle, yet both remarkably continuing undisturbed until a conscious decision is made either way. A situation similar to what you call in your world the paradox of Schrodinger's Cat; a cat who's both alive and dead until human consciousness determines which of the two possible states of an atomic particle – potentially blocking off the release of poison – is the true one.

I'm impressed; not even _I_ knew I knew _anything_ about that! So...where's _our_ equivalent of this 'atomic particle', do you think?

She sighed miserably.

_That_ I _don't_ know!

*

# Chapter 53

She felt the cards in her hand.

Which deck was it?

The Deck of May'at?

Or the Deck of Duat?

It was a large deck; the Deck of May'at, then.

We should ask the cards; they brought us here.

They haven't exactly been wildly talkative recently; especially when we've needed them most.

They've helped when they can; but obviously, there are things only _we_ can accomplish.

The cards in her hands quivered, whispered that they would help, a card already rising up from amongst the others

_The Sun_.

The Sun of the Deck of Duat.

The decks have combined, then; naturally.

Flanked by hawks, the Axe of the regenerating, emerging Sun of the Horizon stood before the squashed X of the intersecting of the Celestial Equator by the Sun's own circling passage.

As if the card had conjured it up from the previously cloudy sky, the sun flashed across the marching ranks of the army now passing close by below. Armour sparkled, revealing a similar, more graphic and symbolic image of the card emblazoned upon the shields, each soldier hoping to invoke the protection of their sun god in the coming battle.

She recognised the symbol, of course.

The _Chrēston_ , or Heaven's Gate.

Or 'The _Christos_ , or Chi-Rho, _'_ as someone, a man dressed all in black, a priest, had called it, seemingly only recently.

'As it appeared to Emperor Constantine as a vision in the sky, assuring him of victory and the introduction of Christianity throughout the empire!'

Ah; and wouldn't that mean, too, that these priests would insist that their calendar was based on the birth or death of their Lord, which took place over two hundred years before the coming of the Last Prescient?

And the window of his temple, his church, had portrayed the soldiers painting the symbol of this vision upon their shields.

It was a world of Jesus the _man_ , rather than of the _Light_.

So _this_ is the difference? A _pattern_ on a shield?

No, _not_ the pattern; its _interpretation_.

A symbol of Christ?

Or a symbol of the Eighth Gate?

*

If a world has to be sacrificed, it must be mine; the darker world.

If I agree, then I am being selfish; I have accepted and embraced the Darkness. I save myself at the expense, the sacrifice, of others. And therefore I taint _forever_ the world of Light.

If we can't decide; then can the cards?

No – not the _cards_. _A_ card – the _one_ that has set all this in motion.

The World Card?

And, as if conjured up by their request, the World Card of the Deck of Duat rose up from amongst the other cards.

*

# Chapter 54

She flicked the card high up into the air.

Sending it spinning, like the tossing of a coin.

And as it twirled in the air, the dark, web-like pattern on its rear blazed with colour, with imagery.

It was another World Card.

The World Card of the Deck of May'at, realised at last.

Amazed by this, both girls instinctively found themselves reaching up to grasp and study the card more closely.

Then one, deep down inside, withdrew from her attempt to take the card, shamed by her thoughtless succumbing to temptation.

As her hand nevertheless grasped the card, there was a blinding flash of light upon that hill, rising high above the startled army of the Emperor Constantine.

A flash of light unfolding like an exploding white lotus as Heaven's Gate opened.

*

# Chapter 55

It wasn't the World Card after all; well, not the World Card of the Deck of May'at.

It must all have been an illusion, right?

Because all I'm holding is the World Card of the Deck of Duat.

I'm staring disappointedly at nothing but the tangled pattern of its dark, web-like backing.

Valentia; she's no longer here – no longer a part of me.

Has she returned to her own world – or has she...?

I think I know the answer.

I'm standing outside my school.

In _my_ world; the world of darkness.

'Over here! You need a lift; you need _me_!'

The cry makes me look over towards the kerb, where what looks like an old gypsy caravan has pulled into the side of the road.

Sepharial is standing by it, smiling.

'I _knew_ you'd be here!' she says.

*

# Chapter 56

' _I_ didn't know I'd be here! So how the heck could _you_ know I'd be here?'

'I read it all in the cards, of course!'

'Valentia! Where _is_ she?' Lil urgently asked, suddenly glancing everywhere about herself in the hope of catching sight of her Twin.

'Well, as she no doubt explained to you, she only ever _potentially_ existed.'

'No, no; that's _not_ right!' Lil insisted anxiously. 'She was a _part_ of me; I know for _sure_ that she _really_ existed, really lived.'

Sepharial shrugged noncommittally.

'And _you_ ,' Lil persisted irately, ' _you_ were a part of _her_ world; and _you're_ here _now_!'

Sepharial pouted, as if hurt by Lil's suggestion that something was amiss.

' _I'm_ of whichever world _you_ choose it to be.'

'Whatever world I choose it to be? Then I _choose_ Valentia's world!'

'Obviously not,' Sepharial replied confidently, indicating the surrounding world with the airy wave of a hand. 'Valentia forfeited _her_ world for _yours_ ; she was _always_ so _incredibly_ gracious, wasn't she?

'Just who _are_ you?' Lil demanded with an intent, probing stare.

'Why, naturally, I'm the sorely hurt lover,' Sepharial replied with her most charming of smiles. 'Aletheia – that's the _Lower Shekinah to you –_ rewarded my loyalty through choosing _me_ as her dwelling place: so that she might revel in and protect her creation.'

Disgusted, Lil turned away, it suddenly occurring to her that it was time she headed home.

She stopped.

She didn't know _where_ her home was.

She didn't even know _who_ her parents were!

There were just blank spaces in her mind where her memories of her parents, her home, should be.

She whirled around, found herself facing a knowingly grinning Sepharial.

'I'm afraid _I'm_ the nearest thing you have to a mother, Lilith,' she said, her smile abruptly kind and considerate as she indicated that Lil should clamber up onto the caravan's seat. 'I created you for my own ends, of course; but I _am_ prepared to make amends by teaching you _everything_ there is to know about this wonderful world.'

At a loss to know what else she could do, Lil resignedly clambered up onto the caravan's seat.

As Sepharial joined her, she handed Lil a Deck of May'at.

'There's _so_ much to learn!' Sepharial said elatedly, urging the horse into a languid trot with a flick of the straps as she added assuredly, ' _You_ , Lilith; _you_ will be the _Saviour_ of _my_ world!'

*

# Chapter 0

Shush; I'm here.

You survived! How?

The way any things we prefer to forget survive – by hiding away as deeply as possible inside of us!

I didn't _want_ to forget you; I wanted you back!

And so here I am! I couldn't be sure you wished to recognise I was still a part of you – not at first, anyway.

Sepharial has won – she tricked us!

No, don't you see? The Deck of May'at _is_ infallible in its declarations!

She _overruled_ the deck; she's the Lower Shekinah, remember.

And so, as she promises, she can teach us _everything_ there is to know about the world!

And then?

And then, _we_ are the World Card!

End

The Complete Deck of May'at

The Pleroma (region of light, a fullness) – or Greater/Higher

The lowest regions of Pleroma are closest to darkness—that is, the physical world.

64 Cards: 63 (3 x 3 x 7) plus ENship

0 The World Soul ( _World of Light)_ / ENship

The 9th Heaven, above which lies the 10th Heaven, Pleroma, or Sphere of All.

The World Soul is not the one who produces evil, or even the one who does not prevent it; the World Soul is also the victim of evil through the crossing of Darkness and Light, when Light was crucified within matter (the physical world), a mystica cruxificio present in every tree or fruit, stone or soil.

We help the suffering World Soul to recover by becoming one with the light; this is ENship.

0) The Suit of Before All

Eighth Sphere Okeanos, housing the encircling stars and souls, and above which lies the 9th Heaven or The World Soul ( _World of Light)._

1 The First One (often mistakenly called _Father_ of Greatness) / Godship, Zurwān

The First One is not omnipotent but, rather, is inferior to the world of Darkness in the beginning and imperfect in the end, without our aid. Yet he himself is composed of The Five _Shekinahs (in/dwellings or_ attributes) that enable us to help.

We help the suffering First One by embracing his attributes, allowing them to dwell within ourselves, living a life aimed at becoming one with the Light; this is Godship.

2 His/Her Five Shekhinas, The Exalted and Enduring Crown

The Five _Shekinahs (in/dwellings or_ attributes) of the First One that enable us to help him/her; _Intent/Thought,_ _Understanding,_ _R_ _eason, Intelligence, Mind, or Truth_

3 Intent/Thought, The Throne

Ennoea (intent, thought), the Upper _Shekinah, comes into being to be aware of/behold the First One, and from her all the others flow into being._

4 Understanding, Charis (grace), The Exalted Sceptre

5 Reason, Sige (silence), The Royal Insignia

6 Intelligence, The Exalted Shrine

7 Mind (Male Nous, female Aletheia, 'Truth'), Shepherdship

_The beginnings of the Lower Shekinah, t_ he Enthymēsis _of the Upper Shekinah, whose overarching_ desire to behold herself becomes _unrequited love_ from which the shadowy elements of the world originate (and, when she feels rebuffed and ruefully turns away, these will become the psychical parts of the world). In this way, she is also Pandora, who is also Rhea (Ariadne/Arachne), 'Womb of Matter'.

8 The Great Spirit, Sovereignty

A merging of the Five _Shekinahs, but now also containing the beginnings of the formation of the Lower Shekinah's shadowy elements of unrequited love; that is,_ Spiritlessness (Death), Darkness, Ice, Air, Earth.

A) Lilis, The Suit of the First Call/Creation

The first of three creations, or 'calls'.

Seventh Sphere Kronos [originally Rhea Cronin (who is also Ariadne/Arachne – 'The Hanged One' – and thereby, later, Atermis Calliste), Time Mother of the (symbols of passing time) sickle moon/scythe used to castrate Kronos; mother of 'Handsome Bull/ Dismembered One' (Minotauros = MoonBull) Zagreus/Dionysius/Orion, who is both lover of Adriane 'Gnossis' (possessor of the Nine Starred _Gnossia Corona_ / _Corona Borealis_ , or Crown) and the father (through Rhea in her full moon aspect as Europa, 'she of the broad face') of the Twined Minos (=Moon/King)/ Rhadamanthys (Judges of the Underworld), who is also the lover of Adriane/Alcmene, 'Power of The Moon'], above which lies the 8th Heaven or The Realm of Shekinah, lying between an inner blue circle of Darkness and an outer yellow ring of Light.

9 The Mother of Life, Lasting Ladyship

The First One calls on/evokes from her/himself the Mother of Life to respond to the formation of the shadow elements.

10 The First Wo/Man, Divine Lady

The Mother of Life in turn calls on/evokes from herself the First Wo/Man who, as an evocation of the First One her/himself, is also her/his 'soul'.

11 Ishib, Her/His Five Resplendent Daughters/Sons, The Five Light Elements

The first Syzygies/Consorts of the shadow elements, each of whom must be sacrificed to contain/briefly allay the effects of her/his darker twin, resulting in Light's imprisonment in/devourment by the Darkness. Love as opposed to Strife; the charitable effects of the five Light Elements on earthly living conditions.

12 Lumah, Ether/Earth

The First of The Five Daughters, which is also the First of The Aeons, the complementary yet opposing heavenly pairs (syzygies), with the bodies of the Twins touching and overlapping in each card's centre, while their heads on the edges take in different viewpoints of the world.

13 Guda, Wind/Air

The Second of The Five Daughters, which is also the Second of The Aeons.

14 Truth, Light/Darkness

The Third of The Five Daughters, which is also the Third of The Aeons.

15 Descent into the Netherworld, Water /Ice

The Fourth of The Five Daughters, which is also the Fourth of The Aeons.

16 Ascent from the Netherworld, Fire (energy) /Spiritlessness (Death)

The Fifth of The Five Daughters, which is also the Fifth of The Aeons

17 The Sixth Daughter/Son, The Answer to the Call, Kurgarra (androgyne)

Only rendered unconscious by the devourment of the shadow elements, the First Wo/Man (Divine Lady) regains consciousness on hearing the original call from the Mother of Life and, in her/his desire to be saved, answers/responds.

18 Girbadara (androgyny), The Living Self

In the divine desire to save its lost part, the Mother of Life dons the response of 'her beloved daughter/son'; resulting in a call, The Living Self, that splits the Darkness like a sword.

B) Ub, The Suit of the Second Call/Creation

Sixth Sphere Zeus, above which lies the 7th Heaven.

19 Sagursag (androgyny), The Friend of the Lights

The call to the Great Builder.

20 The Great Builder, The Battle/Standard

In charge of creating the new world which will separate the Darkness from the Light, the Great Builder calls to the Living Spirit.

21 The Living Spirit, The Flood

Through revealing himself to the elements of Darkness, The Living Spirit causes them, in their desire, to emit some of the Light that they had devoured.

From a portion of Light that remains undefiled, she/he makes the 'ships' of the Sun and Moon; from a portion of the Light that is slightly defiled, she/he forms the stars, which are set in the Ninth Heaven (the First Heaven being Life/Hell). Devoid of most of their light, the shadows solidify, becoming Worlds.

In all, then, there are Eight Worlds/Spheres (or courses) and Ten Heavens/Skies, all consisting of various mixtures of the shadow material and the Light, and with the Earth/Hell in the lowermost part

The Enthymesis of life, the Living Spirit is the demiurge creating the structure of the material world, separating the Darkness from the Light. (Its opposite, the Enthymesis of death, is the greedy spirituality of matter.)

For the redemption of the Light retained by Matter, The Living Spirit makes Three Wheels: of Fire, Water and Wind.

At the end of the world, the Living Spirit will gather the remaining Light and arrange for it to be brought back to the Realm of Light.

22 Her/His Five Daughters, Weapons

The Daughters/Sons of the Living Spirit, given the task of watching over and protecting the regions of the world.

23 The Keeper of the Splendour, Intercourse (in the sense of Intimacy, Coupling)

First Daughter/Son of the Living Spirit holds up the Ten Heavens from above.

24 The Sovereign of Glory, Earth Treasury, Prostituted (in the sense of Debasement)

Second Daughter/Son of the Living Spirit, who controls The Three Wheels of Fire, Water and Wind.

25 The Incorruptible Adamas, Wo/Man of Light, Law

Third Daughter/Son of the Living Spirit, who fights and overcomes an evil being in the image of the Sovereign of Darkness.

26 The Great Sovereign of Honour, the Ten Heaven Sovereign, Testimony (sometimes called Libel, but in the sense of ecclesiastical law; that is, a plaintiff's written declaration, bring a suit against)

Fourth Daughter/Son of the Living Spirit, sitting in the Seventh Heaven of the Ten Heavens, guards the entrance to the World of Light.

27 Art, Atlas

Fifth Daughter/Son of the Living Spirit who, standing on the Fifth Sphere/World, supports the Three Higher Spheres/Worlds.

28 Her/His Sixth Daughter/Son, the Call, The Cult Chamber

Sixth Daughter/Son of the Living Spirit, a call sent from the Living Spirit to awaken the First Wo/Man from her/his battle with the forces of Darkness; the watching and perceiving of the sounds of the world.

C) Mesi, The Suit of the Third Call/Creation

Fifth Sphere Ares, above which lies the 6th Heaven.

29 The Third Messenger, Hierodule of Heaven

The awakening of the First Wo/Man.

Called on by the First One, the Third Messenger evokes the Twelve Virgins of Light and sets the Sun, Moon and the Three Wheels in motion. As the Sun and Moon reach the middle of the sky, the desire of the Darkness for the revealed Third Messenger and the Twelve Virgins of Light causes an outpouring of the remaining entrapped Light, the Light Soul, albeit mingled with some of their own sin.

Without the light, the Darkness falls to earth to become creatures and fallen angels; yet through the beginning of the change of seasons, there also begins the physical redemption of Light.

30 Jesus the Splendour, Gusilim (Ishtaran) the Snake

An aspect of the Third Messenger ministering heavenly justice and wise judgement; will open wo/man's eyes to knowledge of the divine truth/the soul's origins.

31 The Maiden of Light, Music

An aspect of the Third Messenger, the redeeming god/dess who welcomes the renewed soul.

32 The Twelve Virgins of Light, Eldership

Evoked by the Third Messenger to entrance the darkness.

33 First Virgin of Light, Heroship

34 Second Virgin of Light, Power

35 Third Virgin of Light, Enmity (against darkness)

36 Fourth Virgin of Light, Straightforwardness

37 Fifth Virgin of Light, the Destruction of Cities (or, rather, the removal of the misapprehensions supposed civilisation can bring about)

38 Sixth Virgin of Light, Lamentation, lamenting our state

39 Seventh Virgin of Light, Rejoicing of the Heart

40 Eighth Virgin of Light, Falsehood, understanding what is false

41 Ninth Virgin of Light, Art of Metalworking

42 Tenth Virgin of Light, Art of Cultivation

43 Eleventh Virgin of Light, Art of Weaving

44 Twelfth Virgin of Light, Art of Pottery

45 The Column of Glory, the Perfect Wo/Man, Art of Sculpting

An evocation of the Third Messenger, through which the portions of the redeemed Light scattered through the world are purified, carried up to the Moon and then, via the Sun, to the New Paradise of Light; the path that souls take back to the World of Light.

46 The Great Nous, Art of the Scribe

The Great Nous sends prophets for, as the Light making up the human soul cannot be physically redeemed, its salvation depends on a conscious effort for virtue, contrition, and a renewal of awareness and resolve by each individual. Being itself of Light, and therefore essentially good, the soul can sin only through forgetfulness, by which it loses the strength to withstand the Dark Spirit with which it is shut into the 'corpse' of the body.

With knowledge comes the will for redemption; but Matter always seeks to submerge the soul in oblivion.

47 His/Her Five Limbs, Craft of the Smith

The Five Limbs of the Great Nous; lower forms of the higher _Shekinahs within_ the soul of wo/man. The Reforging of the Whole, The Melding of the Five Limbs.

48 First of the Five Limbs: _Thought/Intent_ , Craft of the Leatherworker, the Will to throw off the Darkness

49 Second of the Five Limbs: _Understanding_ , Reflection, Craft of the Builder, building on what we have come to understand

50 Third of the Five Limbs: _R_ _eason_ , Craft of the Basket Weaver, the Crafting of the Weaving of the Self

51 Fourth of the Five Limbs: _Intelligence_ , Wisdom

52 Fifth of the Five Limbs: _Mind/Truth_ , _Awareness/Recognition,_ _Attention_ (to the Truth that we are of Darkness but ultimately of the Light)

53 The Just Justice, Holy Purification

The Just Justice judges the soul, whereupon it takes one of three paths, to 'life' (the New Paradise), to 'mixture' (back to the world), or to 'death' (hell).

On leaving the body, the righteous soul is met by one of the redeeming gods, accompanied by three angels who bear the insignia of the soul's victory; a garland, a diadem, and a heavenly robe. It then ascends to the New Paradise by the Column of Glory, the Moon and the Sun.

54 The Last God, Fear (that this is the last chance of salvation)

D) Ala, The Suit of the World of Darkness

Fourth Sphere Helios, the Sun (Summer & Winter – an imperfect and substitute Light), above which lies the 5th Heaven.

55 The Lower _Shekinah_ (misnamed The Sovereign of Darkness, Šayṭān), Terror

Ruefully turning away from that which she loved, the Lower _Shekinah_ prompts her daughter/son Ašaqlūn and Nebrō'ēl – incarnations of Lust, identical with matter (Greek hylē) – to devour the offspring of the other animals and absorb into their own bodies all the Light they possess.

56 Her/His Elements of Darkness, Strife

The Five counterparts of the Five Elements of Light: Spiritlessness (Death), Darkness, Ice, Air, Earth.

57 Her/His Son Ašaqlūn, Peace (as in Death)

One half of the demonic couple that is the Enthymesis of Death herself.

58• Her/His Daughter Nebrō'ēl, Weariness

Mate of Ašaqlūn. One half of the demonic couple that is the Enthymesis of Death herself.

The accumulated Light in the couple's bodies forms the souls of their offspring, the first human pair, Adam (Gehmurd) and Eve (Murdiyanag); but the Dark or Material Soul, made up of lust, greed, envy, hate etc, is also imprisoned within wo/man, ensuring that humanity propagates itself, and so makes an enduring prison for the swallowed Light.

59 Gehmurd and Murdiyanag, Adam and Eve, Victory (but victory for whom?)

Offspring of Ašaqlūn and Nebrō'ēl: incarnations of Lust, identical with matter, Greek hylē.

Just as the Living Spirit aroused and redeemed the First Man, Jesus the Splendour (an emanation of the Third Messenger) awakens Adam from his deathlike sleep, enlightening him to the way to salvation via recognising the true source of the Light that is trapped within his material body. But the human bondage of Light is perpetuated through copulation.

The Five Limbs, the active aspect of the World Soul, help alleviate the conditions of everyday life as much as possible; but it is not the main concern of the redeeming gods to ensure a blessed human life on earth.

_60/63_ Giants, 'sons of Elōhīm', offspring of 'those that fell' and wo/men. There are Eight Giants, as there are Eight Spheres/Worlds, featured as complementary/shadow pairs with the bodies of each pair of Giants touching and overlapping in each card's centre, while their heads on the edges take in different viewpoints of the world.

60 First Pair of Giants, Offspring of Elōhīm and wo/men; Counsel

61 Second Pair of Giants, Offspring of Elōhīm and wo/men; The Troubled Heart

62 Third Pair of Giants, Offspring of Elōhīm and wo/men; Judgment

63 Fourth Pair of Giants, Offspring of Elōhīm and wo/men; Decision

The Four Calls

Third Sphere Aphrodite (of the Evening, Hesperus; of the Morning, Phosphorus, or Light Bringer) [originally Ariadne/Arachne, Alpheta (alpha-eta), Ananke (Fate, Necessity) & Alcmene, 'Power of The Moon'], born in the foam created by the castrated Kronos: the feminine quotient – along with her Twin Hermes/Asclepius – of the Herm _aphrodite_ , above which lies the 4th Heaven.

Once again, the Four Calls effectively become Eight, as each is placed/illustrated with its complimentary paring of its response.

(The Fifth Call is effectively the vessel/receptacle containing the accumulation of all the other Calls/Creations, a doubling up with its response creating Ten [a Twinned Five]. If the Eight Giants and the Eight Spheres/Worlds are similarly granted a 0/Hidden/Other State 'Vessel/Receptacle' card [thereby both bringing their own pairings up to Ten, while also linking the Giants/Spheres/Worlds with the Ten Heavens] then the complete pack has 112 cards, or 4 x 4 x 7, or Twinned Eight x 7)

A) Lilis, The First Call/Creation

A musical instrument for tearful laments of supplication, the Lilis is a cup-shaped bronze or copper kettledrum.

B) Ub, The Second Call/Creation

A musical instrument for prayers, the Ub is one of the smaller percussion instruments like frame drums.

C) Mesi, The Third Call/Creation

A musical instrument for prayers of lamentation, the Mesi is one of the smaller percussion instruments made of bronze.

D) Ala, The World of Darkness

A musical instrument for laudatory occasions, the Ala is a strong bronze or copper drum, the Hero of Heaven, whose fearsome booming may help draw out from the body the evil Udug or Ala demon/ghost.

The Syzygies/Consorts – or Lesser/Lower

Complementary pairs, twins, of shadow and Light. A Twin Spirit can reveal the secrets of the divine message.

The bodies of the Consorts touch and overlap in each card's centre, while their heads on the edges take in different viewpoints of the world.

42 (6 x 7) Cards: 6 _Magistri_ plus 36 (6 x 6) _Perfects_

The 12 Magistri /Teachers /Apostles

Second Sphere Hermes [originally similarly Caduceus-wielding Asclepius, the reborn Kronos], particularly the Evening Star (sometimes Apollo is the Morning Star), serpent lover of Rhea, and above which lies the 3rd Heaven.

Sinner / I have not committed sin

Felony /I have not committed robbery with violence

Thief / I have not stolen

Murderer / I have not slain wo/men

Acquisitiveness / I have not stolen grain

Appropriation / I have not purloined offerings

The 72 Perfects

First Sphere Selene, the Moon (Dark & Full), above which lies the 2nd Heaven and below which lies the 1st Heaven.

Disrespect / I have not stolen any form of property, including those of the mind

Liar / I have not uttered lies

Greed / I have not carried away food

Cursing / I have not uttered curses

Adulterer / I have not committed adultery or betrayal

Insulter / I have made none to weep.

Eating of the Heart / I have not eaten the heart (I have not grieved uselessly, or felt remorse)

Assailant / I have not attacked any wo/man

Duplicity / I am not a wo/man of deceit

Interloper / I have not stolen cultivated land

Eavesdropper / I have not been an eavesdropper

Slanderer / I have slandered no wo/man

Anger / I have not been angry without just cause

Debaucher / I have not debauched the partner of any wo/man

Immorality / I have not debauched any wo/man

Depravity / I have not polluted myself

Intimidator / I have terrorised none

Transgressor / I have not transgressed the Law or any other meaningful rules

Wrath / I have not been wroth

Deaf to Truth / I have not shut my ears to the words of truth

Blasphemer / I have not blasphemed

Violence / I am not a man of violence

Dissent / I am not a stirrer up of strife (or a disturber of the peace)

Alacrity / I have not acted (or judged) with undue haste

Meddler / I have not pried into matters

Exaggeration / I have not multiplied my words in speaking

Maliciousness / I have wronged none, I have done no evil

Witchcraft / I have not wished malicious retribution upon anyone

Obstructions / I have never enviously and wilfully prevented the actions of others or stopped the flow of life

Haughtiness/ I have never raised my voice (spoken arrogantly, or in anger)

Profanities / I have not cursed (or blasphemed) any wo/man

Rage / I have not acted with evil rage

Irreverence / I have not displayed discourtesy

Seizure / I have not stolen the bread or property of any wo/man

Avarice / I have not snatched away the bread or property of the child

Poacher / I have not laid claim to any things that are not mine

Adherents

Prelates

Elect

**The Pleroma** 64 Cards: 63 (3 x 3 x 7) plus ENship

**The Syzygies** 42 (6 x 7) Cards: 6 _Magistri_ plus 36 (6 x 6) _Perfects_

**The Syzygies** plus **The Pleroma**

42 plus 63 plus ENship = 105 (15 x 7 = 3 x 5 x 7) plus ENship

**The Syzygies** plus **The Pleroma** plus the linking Four Calls

105 plus ENship plus 4 Calls = 110, symbolising a life of holiness and virtue that, although possibly ending painfully, nevertheless glorifies not only the individual's soul but also those of a similar mind.

Plus the Two Hidden/Other-State cards, the Fifth/Tenth Giant and the Fifth/Tenth World

110 plus 2 = 112 cards, or 4 x 4 x 7, or Twinned Eight x 7

The Incomplete Deck of Duat

(As based upon the order of the statues and murals of The Book of The Dead found within the Temple of Puteoli)

0 The Novice (Fool) – the initiate him/herself, on entering the temple.

1 Magus:

The god Khnemu, god of the Nile (from whom the flow of consciousness begins), with one hand pointed towards the sky, the other towards the earth and, in front of him, an altar on which the ritual equipment has been placed.

2 High Priestess:

Two pillars featuring the fertility symbols of the lotus and the papyrus and therefore signifying the sexual union/coming together of male and female that will take us to the portal of the next/under world (which is itself a vulva/lotus) and our receiver – a seated and veiled (and therefore faceless) Isis/Lenith/Lilith, holding a lotus of the Great Mother and wearing a crown of the sun/full moon and crescent moon.

3 The Empress:

Nebthet/Nephthys, Empress of the Underworld, sister of Isis, nursing and suckling the baby Horus and crowned by the signs for the sacred temple enclosure ( _hwt_ ) and mistress/lady ( _neb_ ). Nephthys, a different reflection of the same reality represented by her sister, is eternal life in transition and a necessary companion when navigating the various levels of Duat, or afterlife.

4 The Sovereign (Emperor):

The ruler holds the symbols of power, the _was_ (or crook) and flail, representing the shepherd and carer of the welfare of the people as well as the scourge, the punishments deemed necessary to sustain society. Osiris seized the crook and flail from his father Geb.

5 Hierophant:

A priest, making offerings to an altar, garbed in a leopard skin whose starry pattern symbolises not only eternity but also a warning that Anubis had branded, flayed and worn the skin of a defeated Set, who had transformed himself into a leopard to attack the body of Osiris.

6 Fusion (The Lovers):

The coming together and unification of Hap-Meht and Hap-Reset, intertwining with the fertility symbols of the lotus and papyrus plants. (These bear similarities to the Sumerian Kurgarra and Galatur, asexual creatures created by the god Enki to rescue the Goddess Inanna from the Underworld through mirroring the emotions of its queen, Ereshkigal, sister – and thereby the darker aspects – of Inanna.)

7 Triumph (The Chariot):

A shrine procession of two sphinxes/chariots being dragged by four priests of Horus and four priests of Anubis: just as the psychopomps Hermanubis (Heru-em-Anpu), who guides souls on their journeys between the material and spiritual worlds, is a unification of Horus (light) and Anubis (darkness).

8 Strength (Fortitude):

Sekhmet, the lioness goddess and symbol of strength, being offered a heart by a priestess. The Divine Measurer, she wields a knotted cord she uses to ensure sacred alignment.

9 The Sage (Hermit):

The image of the perfect man or sage, a man elevated to the role of a god, Imhotep holds in his hand the papyrus scroll, one of the sources of knowledge kept by scribes in the House of Life.

10 Fortune (Wheel of Fortune):

The Seven Hathors (or fates), who nourish and protect the soul from harm. Present at the birth of a child, the Seven Hathors pronounce his/her fate, while their red hair-ribbons can be used to bind dangerous spirits and render them harmless.

11 Justice

The heart/actions of an individual are weighed against truth.

12 The Hanged One (The Hanged Man):

The dismembered Osiris, who will later be resurrected.

13 The Reaping (Death):

Set, Lord of Chaos and Disorder; before him stands Anubis, guide and guardian of the soul.

14 Restraint (Temperance):

Set and Horus; the tempering of bad traits with the good, the unification from within.

15 Vehemence (The Devil):

The conflict of the giant serpent Apophis/Apep – the embodiment of chaos, opponent of light and Ma'at (order/truth) – and Ra; the attempted crossing.

16 Ruination (The Tower):

Two obelisks, representations of the first rays of light striking the earth, just as the initiate is now preparing for the final transition.

17 The Star:

A priestess presenting two bowls – one of earth, one of celestial waters containing the Bennu bird, who flew over the Great Waters of Nu – to a star-crowned Seshat, goddess of wisdom and knowledge.

18 The Moon:

The god of the moon, Khonsi (whose name means traveller) the Merciful, and Thoth, another god of the moon.

19 The Sun:

The light of the sun god Ra, flanked by hawks.

20 Judgement (The Last Judgement):

His heart having been found to be in balance, and therefore true and just, the initiate is led away from the Weighing of the Heart by the god Thoth.

21 The World:

Heaven, earth and everything in between; the goddess of the Heavens, Nut, hovers over Geb, god of Earth, with Shu, the god of air/space, in between.

21 (3 x 7) plus The Novice = 22: precision and balance, turning dreams into reality, strong intuition allowing the manifestation of intentions, bringing the non-physical into the physical, spiritual energy brought to the material plane and put into form. Work applied in the past may result in outstanding ascendancy or disastrous downfall.

The Faults & Vices indicated on the Pathways are linked to the 72 Perfects of the Deck of May'at, and these qualities/emotions must be recognised so that their more graceful attributes may be developed and fully ingrained over the period signified on the Pathway, whether that is a movement of a constellation, or the period leading up to either the next Solstice or Equinox, depending on which is stipulated within that particular section.

Scorpio includes what is now referred to as Libra and Virgo, and may also be replaced by a _full_ Quarter lying either side of an (preferably Autumn) Equinox. Pathways lying between Helios and the near spheres can similarly fall within either the period leading up to the indicated Solstice (preferably Winter)/Equinox (preferably Spring), or the terms of Pisces or Aquarius.

If the outer-column Pathways (as opposed to passing through the influence of the Fourth Daughter) are chosen to reach the 7th and 8th Gates, then the final connecting Pathway of Adulterer/Insulter must also be undertaken over either the term of Gemini or a _full_ Quarter lying either side of a (preferably Summer) Solstice.

Although we are undoubtedly guilty of a number of veiled or unrecognised Faults & Vices, the focusing upon and addressing of a particular paring over a set period enables us to become aware of and therefore admit to our hosting of these numerous indiscretions, and how we often unconsciously allow (or even make excuses for) them to dictate our actions.

Should the better qualities fail to become wholly ingrained, return to the Gate and choose another Pathway.

The alternative horizontal Pathways lying between the pairs of 2nd/3rd and 5th/6th Gates are utilised when taking either one of two courses of 'The Hanged One', Arachne (who, after first apparently hanging herself after besting an irate and vengeful Athena at weaving, transformed herself into a spider so that she could continue weaving the threads forming the labyrinthine fate of each person; similarly, the Sumerian Goddess Inanna's corpse is hung in her sister's domain of the Underworld before she is reborn); courses that are symbolised in the otherwise puzzling inverted, cross-legged posture of the deck's Hanged One (Hanged Man), his/her Five 'Limbs' of the head, bent arms and legs representing the tracks we must take.

Thus the 1st Gate Ares is the Head, the 2nd and 3rd Gates of Zeus and Kronos the extended elbows. The 4th Gate of the Sun is the bound hands, with the 5th and 6th Gates of the Moon and Hermes being the bent knee and upward pointing foot. The Fourth Daughter and 8th Gate are the equivalent points of the vertically suspended leg, itself offering an alternative 'leg' of the journey we might wish to take; the 'Chi' (the Double Axe of the Winged Serpent Goddess [also of the Sun, of Horus of the Double Horizon], _Labrys_ [hence _Labarum_ ], a word giving us Labyrinthos ['Home of the Double Axe'] and with similar roots to _Labia_ , lips) intersecting the 'Rho' of the crossing of the hands.

As for the earlier part of the journey, it is advisable that (like the 7 Twists of each of the Twinned Serpents on Hermes/Asclepius' Caduceus; one that spews us out and we must leave behind, one that will take us in to ensure our release) we travel first from Ares to Zeus then onto Kronos – eradicating our Obstructiveness & Haughtiness over a _full_ Quarter lying either side of a (preferably Winter) Solstice – before taking on the tasks of the Sphere of the Sun. Similarly, the Pathway of the Hanged One between the Moon and Hermes involves dealing with our Immorality & Depravity over a _full_ Quarter lying either side of an Equinox (preferably Spring).

Note that the positions of the Gates/Planets on the Syzygetic Column of Glory do not follow the order of the Spheres of Influence surrounding The Self (i.e. Moon, Hermes, Aphrodite, Sun, Ares, Zeus, Kronos) but, rather, the order we must approach them when travelling through the Labyrinth (of the Womb of Matter, of the Serpent Goddess). In such a Labyrinth, when traveling _inwards_ to discover our own centre (which means our approach towards and journey through the Spheres of Influence appear to be reversed), we find that the first _circle_ we must explore is the 3rd , which is the 5th Sphere of Influence (i.e. the Sphere of Ares/Nergal; Death, Lord of the Underworld), then the 2nd, 1st, 4th, 7th, 6th and, finally, 5th _circles_ , or 6th, 7th, 4th , 1st, 2nd, and 3rd _Spheres of Influence_ (i.e. the last and 5th circle is the 3rd Sphere of Aphrodite/Ariadne, placing us in reach of the _Corona Borealis_ , or Crown, granted to her).

In this way, as with the Goddess Inanna on her descent into the Underworld, we divest ourselves of the Seven Veils/Layers. (It may seem odd to be discarding what may appear at first sight to be good qualities, but this means we are jettisoning the old ways of thinking/living so that we may start afresh, untainted by false beliefs and habits.)

Inanna can only progress beyond the First Gate after leaving behind her Turban (head/mind); that is, she must lose all consciousness of the seductive world of matter, which always seeks to submerge the soul in oblivion. This is akin to the awakening of the First Wo/Man, the beginnings of The Column of Glory and the creation of the Five Limbs, the lower forms of the higher Shekinahs within the soul of wo/man; Thought/Intent, Understanding, Reason, Intelligence, Mind/Truth/Awareness.

To advance beyond the Second Gate, she leaves behind the small lapis-lazuli (a dark blue speckled with gold, like the heavens themselves) beads hung around her neck, in effect jettisoning the ability to speak through her throat for such capabilities are no longer applicable in the new awakening. Rather, she must now depend upon The Friend of the Lights, a series of calls resulting in the Living Spirit and His/Her Daughters/Sons's efforts to separate the Darkness from the Light.

Before passing through the Third Gate, Inanna removes the twin egg-shaped beads from her breast, discarding the aspects of sex and fertility essential for replication through giving birth; for she _herself_ is about to reborn. Similarly, the original call from the Mother of Life enables the First Wo/Man to regain consciousness and respond; and the Mother of Life's donning of the First Wo/Man's response results in another call, The Living Self, which splits the Darkness like a sword.

To enter the Fourth Gate, Inanna must abandon the 'Come, man, come' pectoral, again from her breast, for the attraction between two humans is only a lower form of love, just as Helios, the Sun, is an imperfect and substitute Light. It was the Lower Shekinah's turning away from the higher love that created the Darkness.

Passage through the Fifth Gate requires the removal from her hand of the golden ring, the discarding of the false sense of wholeness, of being perfectly self-contained, for our syzygetic darker Twin must be recognised.

The Sixth Gate demands the setting aside of the lapis-lazuli measuring rod and measuring line, again from her hand (for her hands, of course, are tied), for we can no longer flatter ourselves that we know the measure of the world. Rather, we must accept our androgynous (Herm _aphrodite_ ) nature, for it is only through the Twin Spirit that the secrets of the divine message can be revealed to us.

At the Seventh Gate Inanna disrobes, casting off the _pala_ dress, the garment of ladyship, and with it any erroneous and debilitating beliefs in our self-importance. Only in this way can we be ultimately presented with Aphrodite/Ariadne's _Corona Borealis_ , the Crown of Stars (The Exalted and Enduring Crown; we have progressed beyond the level of the Five Limbs to that of the Five Shekhinas – _Intent/Thought,_ _Understanding,_ _R_ _eason, Intelligence, Mind, or Truth_ ), precipitating our growing awareness of the Four Calls (and in Sumerian the word for ear and wisdom are the same, hence –'From the Great Above Inanna opened her ear to the Great Below').

Now, looking out from the centre of the Labyrinth that we have reached, contemplating an extension of our Personal Journey by travelling _outwards_ through the Spheres of Influence surrounding the ( _now_ Changed) Self, the _numbered_ _sequence_ of the Labyrinth's _circles_ remains the same as before, their numbering this time tallying with the Spheres of Influence – we start at the 3rd circle _out_ (but now commencing our journey with Aphrodite/Ariadne) just as we started at the 3rd circle on our way _in_ , moving onto the 2nd, 1st, 4th, 7th, 6th and, finally, 5th circle/Sphere of influence (for we are now freed from the influences/fear of death and the Underworld of Ares/Nergal).

The posture of the Hanged One can be our guide once more, only this time as the Thread of Ariadne (who is also symbolised by the serpent), rather than as a sacrificial passage through the entangling Threads of Arachne – each layer of which necessarily stripped us of the old skins (the Seven Veils) we needed to shed.

On this outward journey, leave all those things you have divested behind, while embedding only those qualities you have gained and made your own.

This time, too, the unwanted and unnecessary qualities you must deal with are those lying more or less directly opposite the Pathway you are on; so while heading from the Crown back towards the 7th Gate, you must learn to control your temptations to either be a Liar or Disrespect others, preferably over the period of Leo or, if more convenient, any period leading up to the next Solstice _or_ Equinox. (Any of the Pathways taken on your outward journey may similarly be attempted/achieved over the period leading up to the next Solstice _or_ Equinox.) The Pathway from the 7th to the 6th Gate is taken over Taurus, dealing with your weaknesses to be an Eavesdropper/Slanderer, that from the 6th to the Moon over Gemini and any predispositions to be an Adulterer/Insulter.

If you take your journey back through the 8th Gate, then your Pathway to here back from the Crown involves controlling Greed/Cursing over Cancer, that towards the Fourth Daughter Duplicity/Interloper over Gemini.

Continuing your journey on towards the Sun – whether you are traveling there from the Fourth Daughter or the Moon – encompasses your predispositions to Wrath/Death-to-Truth over Aquarius, while your Pathway to the 3rd Gate deals with leanings towards being a Blasphemer or resorting to Violence over Pisces. Inclinations to Maliciousness/Witchcraft should be brought under your control over Scorpio on your Pathway from the 3rd to the 2nd Gate, while tendencies to Profanities/Rage must be eradicated over Capricorn as you make your way back towards the very 1st Gate.

Freed of the darkness of the material world, you are enabling the ultimate Victory of the Light.

Heaven's Gate, the Chi-Rho, is associated with both the god of time Kronos/Rhea Cronin and the serpent-tailed Okeanos, who is often portrayed as the lion-headed leontocephaline, standing upon a chi-surmounted globe representing the cosmos. The serpent now coils about his body, as the snake coiling around Ra protects him during his journey through the night.

Following a discussion of the eight-gated ladder, Origen's _Contra Celsum_ refers to 'a drawing of ten circles, held together by a single circle, which was said to be the soul of the universe and was called Leviathan' (the number of circles can slightly differ; for instance, as the Realm of Shekinah lies between an inner blue circle of Darkness and an outer yellow ring of Light, it can be rendered as one, two or even threes circles, while the Spheres (or courses) of the Sun or Moon might be included. Naturally, the entrapped World Soul can also be enclosed within its own circle), this being Plato's implied symbolic image of the World Soul, the Ouroboros eating its own tail. The diagram shows 'Leviathan' twice, for the serpent also appears within the centre of the cosmos.

Between Capricorn and Sagittarius (November 29 – December 18), before the precession of the equinoxes caused a change in the time the Sun takes to pass through each Zodiacal constellation, there was once an extra sign, for Ophioukhos ('serpent-bearer') grasped the snake represented by the constellation Serpens. As with Adam and Eve, it is a victory of sorts – but has he recognised and freed the Light, or has he misguidedly torn away the protection he needs to journey through the Darkness?

End

If you enjoyed reading this book, you might also enjoy (or you may know someone else who might enjoy) these other books by Jon Jacks.

The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things (Now includes The Last Train)

The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll's Maid – The 500-Year Circus – The Desire: Class of 666

P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl – The Wicker Slippers – Gorgesque

Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – The Last Angel – Eve of the Serpent

Seecrets – The Cull – Dragonsapien – The Boy in White Linen – Porcelain Princess – Freaking Freak

Died Blondes – Queen of all the Knowing World – The Truth About Fairies – Lowlife

Elm of False Dreams – God of the 4th Sun – A Guide for Young Wytches – Lady of the Wasteland

The Wendygo House – Americarnie Trash – An Incomparable Pearl – We Three Queens – Cygnet Czarinas

Memesis – April Queen, May Fool – Sick Teen – Thrice Born – Self-Assembled Girl – Love Poison No. 13

Whatever happened to Cinderella's Slipper? – AmeriChristmas – The Vitch's Kat in Hollywoodland

Blood of Angels, Wings of Men – Patchwork Quest

