1 - The Boy Who Flunked Out

The headmaster’s vestibule had an old, brass clock that slowly ticked away the seconds. I’d become quite familiar with it, as I’d had many occasions to visit the office these past three years at the Seekers Guild. I watched the indomitable second hand chase past the minute hand for the thirty-third time since I sat down, nursing the bruised jaw and swollen eye from my latest scuffle. Both seemed to throb in time with that second hand.

Idly, I rifled through my Deck of Wills, feeling the familiar cards beneath my fingertips. These weren’t the bloodstained suits I’d been found cowering in three years ago. Those lay held in trust, awaiting my graduation to full guild reader. These were my own interpretation of the nine suits and twenty-four major arcana that made up the Deck of Wills. Thus far, I’d only managed to bond with a paltry two of them—making me one of the weakest Soul Seekers in the guild.

The big ash door at the end of the vestibule swung open, and I narrowed my eyes at Tanlith Guifoyle, star pupil and the reason for my presently aching face. He shot me a smug look as he passed, barely failing to hide the limp where I’d kicked him in the knee before he hit me with the four of spears. I might not have been able to do much with the deck, but hands and fists will sometimes trump magic, if you can get the good jump on someone.

Sometimes. Not this time. In my defense, he was spreading rumors about me. Probably. I’d seen the Sycophant arcana hanging inverted above his head. Ladder climbing, two faced, rumor mongering. The meaning for the card came unbidden in my brain—drilled through countless repetitions.

“Darcent, if you would.”

I looked at the academy headmaster. The man was mystic from the ground up. Starting at the guild master’s sequin-studded slippers, raising to the tip of his fluffy, white beard, and then his knees above that. By the time I reached Master Hedwins’ eyes I began to sweat under the weight of his crown. The guild master always had at least three cards in his crown, and sometimes as many as five or six. And it was tough to examine them without giving myself a nosebleed. And I’d already had one of those today. I peeled myself from the chair and stowed my deck.

His office was a wide octagon, appropriate for the octogenarian. That’s a word I learned in my letters class, and it meant someone who was fucking old, though the elf didn’t look a day over five hundred thousand. I matched the slow, awkward shuffle of the guild master until he shot me a glare. He eased himself into his large, clawed throne of a chair and I sat on the bare bench polished by so many butts that the wood shone as if freshly oiled. A fire roared in the hearth, despite the warmth of the summer day. Layered in robes, I have to imagine that underneath, the guild master was a stick-man, made from little more than splinters.

He leaned forward and steepled long, bony fingers over his desk. I finally brought myself to look above his head. The Lich was present, as it was with most powerful mages and scholars. But so was the Lost Child, inverted. Change, transition, discrete endings.

Hedwin would have to be wheeled out of this academy, which meant the card wasn’t about him. It was about me. “You’re kicking me out?” I demanded, rising to my feet.

Master Hedwin looked taken aback but recovered quickly. “Darcent, it’s been three years since you’ve come to the academy. And though you’ve broken nearly every rule we have, I’ve tried my best to protect you. More than I ought have done. And yes, part of that is fondness for the excitement you’ve brought to these halls, and some of it is the circumstances of how you entered them. But my personal feelings aside, you’ve yet to build any true talents with the deck, or the tea leaves, or the birds. And I can’t have infighting among seekers. It’s time to face reality, my boy.

I pointed above his head. “What about the crowns? I’m the only one that can see them!”

The headmaster nodded sadly. “Yes, the wills do seem to speak to you directly in a strange way I’ve not encountered before—even for a Soul Seeker. But how connected are you to the deck? How many of the wills have you manifested?”

I sagged against the bench. “Just the three of dragons and the two of knaves.”

“Three years, and you’ve evoked only two suited cards, Darcent. And they are dragon-courted cards. One of the worst omens for a soul seeker, an omen of those who do not flourish in the guild. Case in point, most of your peers have manifested at least twice—some triple—that number. In that time, you have also connected with no major arcana and parleyed no suit masters. Most students who fail to accomplish either leave after only two years. I’ve allowed you to stay for three. Despite pressure from alumni.”

“You’re talking about Guifoyle’s old man?”

“Lord Gillis Guifoyle is a celebrated member of this guild and an esteemed member of the community.”

I raised a finger. “Wasn’t he also one of Margot Bethane’s lieutenants? You know, the crazy witch whose blood they found me in?”

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Master Hedwin sat back. “Nearly a third of the mages in Dragonmaw sided with the Fel Witch at one point or another. The general amnesty forgave those transgressions under such times of duress.”

I crossed my arms. “Uh huh. And the fact the City’s new dueling arena is named Guifoyle Stadium has nothing to do with it, I’m sure.”

“Contributions from alumni are tradition—Darcent, this is not about the Guifoyle boy! Nor the scuffles you two insist on dragging yourselves into. It’s about your nature, your future, and the truth. The truth has ever been and shall be the primary concern of seekers. You have your deck, yes?”

I produced it, holding the thick pack of carved wooden tiles.

“You think you belong in the guild academy, yes? Fancy yourself not just a seeker, but a Soul-Seeker? Then do a reading for me. Here and now.”

I gulped and undid the binding on my Deck of Wills. “Uh, three cards, I think,” I said, feeling the recalcitrant cards wiggle underneath the weight of my will. I charged them with what power I could muster, bringing the two halves of the deck apart and shuffling them. One card popped out, landing face-up on the table. Master Hedwin raised an eyebrow at me.

“The, uh, two of streams,” I said, staring at the card. “Strong bonds with your community… which makes sense, uh, headmaster.”

I could tell he was unimpressed. I cut the deck twice, stacking the wills and putting them on Master Hedwin’s desk. I passed my hand over top. Two cards shot off, not flipping, but spinning like tiny thrown daggers. One lodged in the portrait of a previous headmaster. The other, vibrated from the pylon of Master Hedwin’s high-backed chair. His eyes slid to the side, regarding the card. I leaned over to see its face.

“Um… Balance. Trades made in-kind, and good matches.”

Rather than try anything fancy, I reached on the top of the deck and plucked the last card. Before I could flip it, the deck toppled, spilling one more card face-up next to the two of streams: The four of towers.

“Protection of ones self, immunity, freedom from culpability,” I finished. I didn’t put them together. I didn’t need to. The cards had wills that seemed to outstrip my own.

Master Hedwin sighed and held his hand flat above his desk it twitched toward a book on the corner, but settled over the cards. The deck—my deck, buzzed with potential. The cards pulled themselves from the desktop, his chair, and the portrait, stacking themselves neatly under his fingers. With a twitch of his finger, the deck split six ways and reconstituted itself. He took hold and performed a manual shuffle as well. For all his age, his elven fingers had lost none of their strength or dexterity. Finally, he made three cuts. Having performed the rites, the top three cards turned over, revealing the one of dragons (self preservation), the Gambler inverted (misfortune, failure of a sure thing), and the Piper of Ways, also inverted (wrong paths taken).

The gulf between our readings couldn’t be wider. Each of the three cards resonated with Hedwin’s call. He’d been a master many times longer than I’d been alive.

I whistled. “I guess that’s it, then.” I sat back and ran a hand through my hair. “I’ll probably become a petty crook now. Or an unusually handsome male prostitute.”

“I believe they prefer the term sex worker, these days.”

I raised an eyebrow at the guild master.

Master Hedwin sighed and smiled to himself. “Contrary to popular belief among the student body, the faculty, and most of the guild elders, I do occasionally leave the comfort of the academy, Darcent.” he chuckled, rifling through my Deck of Wills in a way oddly reminiscent of the idle habit I had, myself. “I lived a full life before ever I entered these halls, by the measure of you humans, anyway.” He took a moment and examined the faces of the cards. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “You carved and inked these yourself?”

I nodded.

He tapped his cheek, the way all elves seemed to do. “This are well portrayed iconography, Darcent Hmm… Perhaps there is a way for you to remain in the guild. We may have need of a new artist soon for the novices. Acolyte Drella saw Master Geldrid’s fall in her tea leaves.”

“I know, I was there.” I chuckled. “Forget the tea leaves, he took out the whole gods-damned table!”

“Language, Darcent,” said Hedwin, but he was trying not to chuckle himself. Oddly, I felt like a wall had come down, with my imminent expulsion. The guild master had always been cold and aloof as the headmaster of acolytes. But now that I no longer was one, he seemed less, I don’t know, mythical. The whole place did.

I sighed and considered his offer. It was a good deal, really. Carving cards for the novice readers? I could do worse. But I also thought of Tanlith Guifoyle’s smug, punchable face and twistable elf ears. The personal hell of watching him and others get even stronger while I carved faces in lacquer? Watching others do what I had failed to achieve? I didn’t have the stomach for it.

“If it’s all the same, Master Hedwin, I think I’d prefer the brothels. I’ll make my own way.”

The guild master relaxed, as though worried I might pounce across the table at him. Slowly, and with a great creaking of joints, he pushed himself upright and shuffled over to his safe. Inside, he withdrew two items, held in trust for me since the day I joined the guild. The first was the Deck of Wills that had been soaked in the blood of Margot Bethane. Now that I was attuned, I could tell they practically buzzed with power. Her malignant magical blood had infused the deck with her dark, otherworldly designs.

I’d supposedly used that deck to murder her. Though I had only a vague recollection of the events from that night. Either way, it was far too powerful an artifact for me to handle, now that I’d opened my sensitivities to the wills. It felt like it wanted to bite me as I slid it across the table.

The other item in the safe was an old, tarnished kitchen knife. Of the two, I was more dangerous with the latter, if we’re to be honest. It could at least give someone lockjaw.

“Please leave your robes with the seamstress on your way out.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” I lied.

“Now, please excuse me, I have correspondence to answer.” Master Hedwin looked over his desk, then under it. “Have you seen a silver letter opener?”

“No, Master Hedwin.”

It was currently in the pocket of the robe I had no intention of returning, along with the rare book on tarot practice that I’d swiped from the corner of the desk while Master Hedwin was buried in the safe. If I wasn’t going to be a prostitute—sorry sex worker, I figured I better get a leg up on being a good crook.