With his back to the rest of the camp, no one else had seen Baethen steal a kiss.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” He said to the rapidly-blinking adventurer. The man hadn’t baulked at risking life and limb against the Red-Dragon’s spawn but now he’d been downright thunderstruck by something simple as a kiss. “Got caught up on it all.”
With that, Baethen gave Miro a pat on the back and then he stumbled to his cot and let the tiredness take him away into sweet oblivion where his cheeks didn’t burn something fierce.
----------------------------------------
When Baethen awoke, for a moment he’d thought it had been just a dream wrought of being bereft of sex for so long—a round and half was an eternity for Baethen’s sensibilities—but no. He’d really kissed him.
For his part, Miro said nothing of yesternight. He played the role of mentor without comment as if it had really just been a figment of the imagination but Baethen knew better. He also knew worse because Baethen felt a tad disappointed that it hadn’t led to anything more.
The march took hold and Baethen practised again and again with his card-chains, loosening and tightening his grasp on his arcana.
His highest investiture was in Magus—investitures were the four major archetypes in which a card could fall into. These were human constructs based around the minor arcana or suites rather than actual descriptive categories. Cards could designate parameters such as staves, sceptres, chalices and pentacles but you wouldn’t find clauses regarding investitures; at least, so far as Baethen knew.
The four major investitures were Magus, Tower, Communion and Chariot with a fifth and unnumbered minor investiture of the Excuse—the last one was a deck of wildcards that didn’t quite fit in with the rest, being the domain of Unnumbered Loken God-of-Fools and Fata-Morgana the Tenth Lady-of-Fate-and-Draw. Magus required staves and will, erring towards high-brow artisans and magicians and performers and the like. Tower required sceptres and effort, erring towards warriors and guardsmen and blacksmiths and the like. Communion required chalices and clout, erring towards priests and magistrates and officials and the like. Chariot required pentacles and trespass, erring towards warlocks and witches and sanctioned sorcerers proper that had a Church-signed dispensation to traffic with the darker side of sorcery; these were fewer than few and farther than far between.
Even though Baethen had a card with the arcana of [Death] which fell under the purview of the Chariot investiture, he was not considered a warlock due to his deck skewing towards fire and air without breaking any of the Four Accords. The Hermit and Hangman also weren’t necessarily forbidden arcana either though the Devil, the Beast, and the Red-Dragon always were, independent of card portfolio. [Kindlers-Breath] had a permutation that allowed the card to steal another player’s breath and, in that case, it was a banned card that would get you excommunicated from the Church and branded a heretic should the truth spread.
The Black Legion, specifically the Inquisition, would chase Baethen to the ends of the Dreadsea should he be found out to possess such a card. Any card that sacrificed something of someone else was intrinsically considered evil as it violated the Four Accords which were Taboo, Thievery, Murder, and Pox. Should a card trespass upon any of these four cardinal sins, then it was banned and put on the Black List which all cathedrals and holy cartomancers were versed in.
Had Baethen been saddled with [The-Devil] card when his [Lynchpin] formed, he would’ve been sent to the Legion then and there at just barely twelve-turns-old, to fight as fodder on the frontlines against the Nezarrem. Unlike with a normal card that could be removed from one’s soul-deck, a Lynchpin was intrinsically tied to, and irrevocably part of, one’s Babel. Twenty-one—which also happened to be Baethen’s number of turns as of now—was the minimum age that soldiers were sent to war but warlocks were no longer considered human, having sold their souls to the Fifteenth.
How could a card make a child into a man before the law, responsible for his sins? Or, better yet, how could a card make a man into a monster?
Digressing from such a morbid topic, Baethen’s thoughts turned towards his ever-mysterious lynchpin-card. It was collecting cobwebs in his soul-deck, dormant all his life ever since his twelfth Turn. Here and there he found himself guessing at the card’s effects as the portfolio amounted to just three obtuse words and a singular arcana.
A card never had a singular arcana—the Rule-of-Three forbade it. A hand must have three cards, a set must be divisible by three before it can be removed from the hand without rivening, and a card must have three arcana.
[The-Fool] and [The-Jester] were similar in scope and authority but not entirely the same. Where the Fool took to complete and utter chaos, the Jester was a trump-card that flipped the table, so to speak, in the favour of the player. It added chaos, yes, but it was controlled rather than unleashed like with the Loken aspect of the Unnumbered-God.
Zeroth also had another name, one ill spoken of even in the light of day. Manus, God-of-Nothing. But, that way lay madness so Baethen did his best not to contemplate that aspect of Zeroth.
Like so, with thoughts racing and tumbling inside his skull, Baethen marched towards the Evergaol of Rimare-Tul.
----------------------------------------
Sometimes, all it takes is a stroke of luck. An epiphany at the right moment when all pieces click into place and the cards fall into a set.
Throughout the many nights travelling the Azure Forest, Baethen had fought and bled to better understand the [Lesser-Narguile-of-Night]. It could be channelled through his scrap-metal club but it could also be evoked by a common wood pipe. Tratvgar had shared his own to test which had given him no end of trouble in the form of teasing—giving someone like Baethen anything even barely phallic was like giving a fox the run of the henhouse.
Strangely, it wasn’t in a pitched battle that Baethen merged the card into a set. The event that triggered it was a simple walk through the woods, remembering fondly his time apprenticing under Big Yldira; she was a mountain of a woman, through and through. Easy to make laugh and easier to make you laugh, she’d taught Baethen all he knew of both smithing and the arcana that went with it.
The dense smoke of the smithy, the heat of the forge, the mastery that a smith must have to knead a lump of iron into a weapon that could kill a man. The hacking cough of a long day’s work. You would’ve thought [Strike-While-the-Iron-is-Hot] would be set that the card would fall under and you would be just as wrong as Baethen.
Cerulean blue leaves descended from above as a draft cut through the veil of the canopy, the azure falling stars turning over themselves and each other to reach the loam beneath all the faster. Rays of sunlight graced Baethen as he let it play across and between his splayed fingers. He stood there, under the shadows, grasping at something he could not touch and wanting nothing more than to be able to.
All at once, he felt as if struck by lightning and divinely inspired, everything in the world suddenly making sense in a way it never had before. And just a moment later, he fell out from the world to emerge atop the waters of Babylon.
Eternities traversed forward and back from one all-encompassing horizon to the next. Two reflections trapped above and beneath a mirror of blackest alabaster wondered who was the real Baethen and which was the pale shadow.
Babylon-script etched itself between them, beautiful and terrifying; the underlying divinity of reality itself made manifest from the ephemera in which it usually dwelt. Like the last two times, a set formation was a momentous occasion.
Mother and Father had celebrated with him then and he somehow knew, down to the marrow of his bones, that he’d never get the chance to do so again in this life. Were it not for the letters before him, Baethen’s reflections would’ve wept as one.
----------------------------------------
Harken, the [Dealer-of-Fate] stirs awake! As {Eldest}, [Fata-Morgana] takes {Rearhand} as {Dealer}.
Scouring [Akashic-Archive] for compatible {Arcanum-Deck} […]
Compatible {Arcanum-Deck} found; shuffling probabilities set to base one over mean […]
Shuffle complete, [Three-of-a-Kind] {Sets} {Drawn}; please select {Three} {Cards} to form a {Set}.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
*Selections are final; results are blind; only {One} {Card} of each {Set} may be selected. Should a {Set} not be formed in the {Allotted-Time} of {Ten-Licks}, a {Set} will be selected at random.
➤ Set I: [Stay-the-Course], [Covet-the-Red-Dragon], [Renounce-the-Devil]
➤ Set II: , [The-Crucible], [Ardour], [Enlightenment]
➤ Set III: [Night], [The-Charlatan], [The-Hangman]
----------------------------------------
Unlike with the [Lynchpin] ceremony, Baethen did not need to play against a divinity to decide his future. The only other occasion he’d need to do that was within the Evergaol proper but that was for a later time and a later Baethen.
As far as the breadth of choices was concerned, Baethen had lucked out. He could cultivate this set in a variety of different branches—from an illusionist to a forge-blade to even a warlock should he pay the miniscule price of selling his soul to Scaduphomet.
Given that Baethen didn’t want to be hunted to the ends of the earth or become one of the Forsworn, he decided to pick [Stay-the-Course] from the first, a card which influenced the burgeoning set to remain true to its previous arcana.
For the second, Baethen debated whether he wanted to invest into a sub-aspect of fire or whether he wanted to form an arcana sourced from mercury and fire. [Ardour] was prized by many priests, be they wandering exorcists or just plain-old parish-watchers, as it allowed them to channel their faith into blazing tongues of holy flame. Baethen wasn’t much of a zealot so that choice was out. [Enlightenment] was somewhat similar to [Ardour] in that it was a sub-aspect of fire but it was aligned purely to the Magus-Investiture rather than the Communion—most assuredly, it’d use a stave rather than a chalice. Its name gave it away, really, allowing a magi to manipulate light.
So the choice was between adding another font to juggle with the rest or take one that already made use of what Baethen had. [The-Crucible] it was then.
The last one really made Baethen think—[Night] dealt with darkness among other arcana and just wasn’t a right fit for him. He already had to contend with [Shadow-Burn] and he did not like the thought of having to deal with another drawback or expenditure that drew on that same resource.
Hangman or charlatan both dealt with the arcana of deceit and betrayal and could both make or break a set. A banned card could be dealt with by undergoing a sanctioned rivening before a cartomancer but it ran the risk of destroying a lot of effort. Charlatan had a lesser risk of manifesting a forbidden arcana than Hangman as it was borne of the Hermit; though, as always, Lady-Luck might think differently. Fata-Morgana the Tenth was a sister to Unnumbered Loken, afterall—one, a dealer of fate or and the other the shuffler of the very deck from which Fate Herself drew.
So, either Baethen took up [Night] or [The-Charlatan].
Rather than taking the would-be loss wholesale, Baethen—fool that he was—gambled.
----------------------------------------
{Hand} chosen as follows:
➤ [Stay-the-Course]
➤ [The-Crucible]
➤ [The-Charlatan]
Fusing {Arcanum} into {Set}; please wait [...]
----------------------------------------
Set Fused: [Imp-of-Serpents] ★★ (Four Card Set)
[Lesser-Juggler-of-Fire] ★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Parlour-Tricks] ★)
[Lesser-Narguile-of-Night] ★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Parlour-Tricks] ★)
[Cinderspark-Spit] ★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Forge-Maw] ★★)
[Kindlers-Breath] ★★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Forge-Maw] ★★)
----------------------------------------
Though not always guaranteed, cards could sometimes link by themselves within a set to produce an apropos card link. Somewhere just below an actual set, card links—also known as confluxes—were metamagicks that influenced their linked cards and//or were influenced by them. Baethen’s first two set formations hadn’t brought on a single conflux given he’d been in a comparatively sheltered and stable environment then.
----------------------------------------
Conflux Linked: [Parlour-Tricks] ★
Draw: [Twofold]
Drawback: [Smoke-and-Mirrors]
Arcana: [The-Charlatan], [The-Stave], [Night]
Number: [I//IX]
Suit: [Sleight-of-Hand]
Portfolio Φ: [‘The best magicians never reveal their secrets’. This {Conflux} grants the {Player} {Intermediate-Dominion} over the {Arcana-of-Deceit}, allowing them to {Manifest} {Fonts-of-Illusory-Flame} through {Will-of-Mind} via {Expenditure} of {Fonts-of-Smoke} so long as said {Fonts} are in {Touch} with their {Stave}. {Fonts-of-Illusory-Flame} are {Reverted} into {Fonts-of-Smoke} should their {Reflection} be {Caught-Within-a-Mirror}; should the {Player}’s {Fonts-of-Illusory-Flame} be caught within a {Reflection} {Thrice} within the same {Hand}, their {Stave}’s {Dominion} over the {Arcana-of-Fire} is {Sealed} until the next {Hand} is {Redrawn}.]
----------------------------------------
[Parlour-Tricks] was a twofold link, meaning it required the two linked cards under it to be drawn upon to be brought into play. Baethen had to invoke both [Lesser-Juggler-of-Fire] and [Lesser-Narguile-of-Night] on the same stave.
Illusory fonts didn’t do direct damage but could be used to bluff opponents readily. The only exceptions were phantasmal entities such as night-wraiths as those were semi-physicalised manifestations of humanity's fear of the dark; for these, illusory fonts of fire worked just as well as the real thing.
----------------------------------------
Conflux Linked: [Forge-Maw] ★★
Draw: [Twofold]
Drawback: [The-Serpent-Covets-and-Thirsts]
Arcana: [The-Serpent], [The-Crucible], [Consumption]
Number: [XV//XIX]
Suit: [Triumph]
Portfolio Φ: [‘The Wyrm Alheadra, Great-and-Baleful, hungered for every root beneath the earth and in so doing starved to death for never could He choose but one’. This {Conflux} grants the {Player} {Intermediate-Dominion} over the {Arcana-of-the-Crucible}, allowing them to {Manifest} a {Font-of-Fiery-Mercury} from their {Mouth} through {Act-of-Body} and {Breath-of-Lung}. {Player} may {Consume} {Tokens} to {Empower} this {Conflux} and its constituent {Cards}. Every time this {Conflux} is {Brought-Into-Play}, the {Player} incurs {Brand-of-Thirst} which will {Halve} their {Phlegm}.]
----------------------------------------
The next time that Baethen fused a set, he’d have to pay special attention to the other arcana. He was treading the knife’s edge with [The-Serpent]; it was three orders removed from the forbidden [Red-Dragon] and [The-Devil]. From the Fifteenth came first the wyrms which in turn gave birth to the wyverns and then the drakes, and finally the serpents were spawned from the afterbirth thereof. There was no worse insult in Woeden than calling someone a snake for this very reason.
Mayhaps, Baethen could get special dispensation should the card be more related to fire than to the Serpent-Cast-Out. Those were known well enough as many pyromancers and mercurial magi alike brushed upon Scaduphomet’s arcana by happenstance. The investitures were a human construct, first and foremost, meaning that even though fire lay under the sphere of the Sun and thus the Magus, it could still bind to the Enemy’s arcana. There were cards of the thrice-damned Hierophant that also concurrently drew upon the Devil.
So long as it wasn’t the sacrifice-virgins-type of card, the Church’s cartomancer might write him a seal of sanctioned-authority-for-the-trafficking-of-fell-powers.
“Somehow, the bureaucracy of it all scares me more than the possibility of death by the stake.” One reflection told the other, both snickering.
Seemingly knowing that he’d read over everything he needed to, the waking dream drew to a halt, the waters of Babylon consuming themselves into oblivion. Baethen opened his eyes to his surroundings, not a moment having passed. The blue leaves fell to the black earth as did two drops of sorrow.
----------------------------------------
Thereafter, Baethen put most of his efforts into getting acquainted with his newly-minted confluxes. He kept his illusions hidden, seeing as a secret could only be kept by two people if one of them was in the grave. Even then, that wasn’t a guarantee if a necromancer happened upon the grave and the Black-Legion did not lack their holy confessors which roamed after corpses so that they might hear their sins.
[Forge-Maw] was a weapon of last resort, Baethen found out rather quick. Given that it inflicted thirst, he had used it once to get a hang of the process and then one more time to save his hide from a dread-knight.
The interesting thing about twofold confluxes was that they required bringing into play both their constituent cards. They couldn’t be evoked by themselves given they weren’t “real” spell-cards nor could they be removed from a soul-deck as confluxes could not survive by themselves, making the process of doing so both prohibitively expensive and prohibitively dumb. Cartomancers attempting to transplant a conflux into a carte-blanche most often destroyed sets and the godsleaf twain, fool’s errand that it was.
What Baethen hadn’t expected was his arcanum’s dominions catching up to him. The sheer complexity of their interactions made spell-casting of any kind all that easier as he could {Refund}, {Convert}, {Empower}, and {Manifest} fonts interchangeably. The increased endurance alone was worth it; though fights tend to end fast so does one’s stamina, be it mental or physical.
This was it—power. Baethen could have never reached this level this fast without the dangers he was exposed to, sequestered within the suffocating walls of Reordranhall. The pressure of life-and-death battles had tempered him in body and spirit, making the set formation both faster and easier. His first two formations hadn’t borne confluxes at all, in comparison.
But, he’d learn soon enough why most but the most desperate took to climbing the Evergaols. It would be his last and harshest lesson in this life. That trust could easily sour into betrayal, that the world is not cruel but rather simply uncaring.
That human lives can be measured in tokens by both gods and men.