Tarot Tales
By Mythili Mukunth
Mythili’s first chapter written during the fantasy fiction workshop derives its inspiration from tarot cards, specifically the Rider Waite tarot deck, to create an ambitious landscape of adventure and magic.
Chapter 1
One winter morning, a booming, incessant knock on the door rippled through Landour Manor. The servants ran to open the door to a queer looking man who had come looking for the master of the house, Master Alfredo the First. This man wore the most colourful mismatched clothes and had pale, white wrinkled skin. Each wrinkle had a story to tell and his aquamarine green eyes seemed to peer into one’s soul. They led the tall gentlemen into the study and ran to inform their master.
Master Alfredo was most astonished to see this unexpected guest, his old and dear friend, Magus the magician. Magus was the appointed Wise One to protect Efferston, a quaint little town with all sort of odd folk that populated it. Odd folk for normal humans, of course, but no one in Efferston would bat an eyelid seeing a three-legged man or a witch with matted purple hair that trailed behind for a mile. Efferston’s citizens were pixies, goblins, dwarfs, elves who happy coexisted with wizards and witches too.
Warmly greeting him with genuine affection, he clasped his cold hands and thought of offering him a hot beverage but the look in Magus’ eyes stopped him. “What troubles you, my friend, and what brings you here?” asked Master Alfredo gravely, his heart pounding. Magus replied, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper, “The time has come for me to bid adieu to you as I make my journey to a place from where one never returns. I have something to ask of you, which I hope you won’t refuse, for it is a dying man’s last wish that you must respect.”
“Please don’t talk in riddles, Magus. I give you my word. You have only to ask and it shall be done,” said Master Alfredo growing more alarmed and anxious by the minute. “Come, let us go to a secluded corner where no eavesdropping ear may hear our conversation.”
“Lead the way, Alfredo, and I shall follow you.”
“Let us go to the library. It is the safest place,” said Master Alfredo.
Soon they had seated themselves comfortably on large, red satin chairs and Magus took a minute to take in the magnificence of the library. The sheer size of the library was overwhelming to say the least. Corner to corner, rows and rows of books of every conceivable title jostled for space and attention. It was the perfect place, thought Magus.
He cleared his throat and began. “Alfredo, I have something that I will leave in your safekeeping and when the Chosen One is destined to find it he shall. These two things have great significance and must not fall into undesirable hands. Therefore, they must be hidden with care until the time is right. The library is the perfect spot, so tuck it away between two books till it is found.”
He put his hand into his cloak and drew from its depths a yellowed newspaper. Master Alfredo could not make out what was so precious about a common newspaper. Magus, then, drew from the folds of the newspaper a bag. “This is no ordinary bag. It has magical properties, which I cannot reveal to you. This newspaper is a safe that will keep it protected and the newspaper can neither be discarded nor torn for it is bewitched with strongest magic to repel human hands.”
And so it lay there, the newspaper, undisturbed and collecting dust, wedged between Tales of the Brave Warlords of Moorland and a book on Dragon History.
***
Master Alfredo the XVI was the current owner of Landor Manor. People far and wide knew him only as Master Alfee. Master Alfee was kind and generous, but hid this behind a stern countenance that commanded attention and respect. Skylark was his utterly devoted servant. Skylark belonged to a family that for five generations or more served the Manor. He was a naïve, fun-loving simpleton whose antics bordered on buffoonery and his gaffes left Master Alfee often very exasperated. But his heart bore no greed, malice or deception of any kind. He was an ordinary looking man; not too tall or too short and not particularly handsome or fair but when he smiled it could light up a room for it came from the depths of his being.
Skylark was rearranging and dusting the books in the library one fine morning sitting on a high stool, when his hands reached out and drew from the shelf a yellowed newspaper. Wondering what this old paper was doing amongst the books, he opened it hoping to peruse it a bit when he heard Madam Buffay’s strident summons. Knowing that he could not ignore her even for a minute — everyone was well aware of her sharp tongue and her even sharper repartee — he threw the paper on the desk just as Madam Buffay pushed open the heavy wooden library door.
Madam Buffay was a stocky well-endowed woman with perennially pink cheeks as clucked and fussed like a mother hen. She spotted Skylark just as he was about jump off from his high stool. Venting her displeasure and making it quite apparent, she threw with a thud, parchments and other important documents that Master Alfee wanted dispatched to Master Gregory’s Manor with haste. “Saddle your horse, Skylark, and leave at once carrying with you these most important documents. It is already well past noon and Master Gregory’s Manor is an overnight journey from here. I am most annoyed that you disappeared all morning and you haven’t even finished dusting yet.”
“Madam Buffay,” said Skylark rather timidly, “Dusting took longer than expected. I do apologize.” Brushing his explanation aside Madam Buffay exclaimed, “There isn’t a minute to spare in mindless chatter. You must be on your way. I have prepared a rucksack with an early dinner that you can have on the way and some pie should you be hungry again.” She hustled him out of the library to prepare for his journey.
When the library fell silent once more, it rumbled and muttered to itself, “I snigger in utter contempt that fate has chosen to bestow an honor on this buffoon what many better deserving men for centuries have not been given. This Fool is yet unaware of the part that he is to play which will alter the course of his life’s path. Oh! I moan and rally at fate in anger! Was there no one worthier than this scrawny lad with no brain or brawn? How will he succeed?”
***
Meanwhile, Skylark, riding his horse hard, whizzed past green verdant grasslands oblivious to anything. He breathed in the fresh air and felt the slight nip of the cooling breeze. The green grasslands gave way to a different landscape and somewhere along the way rose dense wooded forest on either side of the road. The thick cover of the trees made the fading light of dusk faintly prick through the gaps like specks of dust. Darkness was descending and Skylark could hear the ominous sounds of thunder in the distance with bolts of lightning flashing. The air in the forest smelt stale and moldy with none of the freshness of the grassland. Skylark felt queasy. Every spooky story he had ever heard played out in his mind. Forests were notorious for people getting lost and he certainly did not want to be any hungry beast’s dinner. The forest seemed to be never-ending and he did not want to spend even a minute in the forest let alone spend the night huddled under a tree. In the distance, a gleaming light of gold streamed through the darkness. Hope pulsated through his veins. He hoped that some kind woodcutter or hunter who lived in the cottage would offer him shelter for the night. He spurred his horse intent on quickly reaching the beckoning light.
***
Dormonic, the Devil, heard a knock on his door. He hated to have to interact with people, which is why he chose to live in this obscure location. Gnashing his teeth, he went to answer the door.
Skylark stood at his door shivering and soaking wet. He begged for refuge from the rain and shelter for the night, all the while stuttering to introduce himself for the cold had chilled him to the bone. Dormonic wanted to swat him away like a pesky fly. Fully prepared to refuse, he opened his mouth but for reasons unknown to him he found himself leading Skylark into his cottage. Dormonic ushered Skylark to the fireplace and while he warmed himself, Dormonic went about warming a meal for Skylark and a put out a bottle of his best wine for Skylark to drink. Dormonic was hospitable when he felt that there was something to benefit from it.
Skylark ate the meal with relish and the wine served to loosen his tongue. A short while was enough for Dormonic to learn all about his beloved Master Alfee. Unbalanced by all the wine that he had consumed that night, a staggering Skylark finally picked up his belongings to retire for the night, when he tripped on his own foot and the contents of his sack scattered across the floor. Dormonic bent down to help Skylark gather his things and Dormonic knew something profound was about to happen. While gathering the hopeless fool’s possessions, a yellowed newspaper peeped out. Dormonic casually looked at the date printed on the newspaper and did a double take for the date was several centuries ago. He was about to examine this newspaper further when Skylark swooped it out of his hand muttering his apologies for being a clumsy oaf and haphazardly stuffed it all back into his sack and let himself into the room that Dormonic had pointed out to him earlier that night.
Soon loud snores rent through the stillness of the night but Dormonic could scarcely hear them. His mind was whirring away. He slipped into the room as silent as death. The faint candle light drew spidery patterns on the wall. Skylark was hugging his belongings close to his chest. Dormonic gently tried to prise Skylark’s fingers away, but Skylark stirred in his sleep and hugged his belongings even tighter. So Dormonic decided to wait and see what he could do.
The next morning, Dormonic headed off into the forest to chop some firewood and bring back two pails of water from the stream for Skylark to refresh himself. When Skylark excused himself to go and freshen up, his belongings would be unguarded and Dormonic could take a look at them once more. This plan put Dormonic in a cheerful mood and he was on his way humming a gay tune.
When Skylark awoke, he found that he was alone in the house. He wondered when his host might be for Skylark was most anxious to be on his way. He still had a great distance to cover before he could reach Master Gregory’s Manor. Skylark wanted a swig of water to quench his thirst and on the way to the kitchen he found the door to another room ajar. He peeped in just to have a glimpse. There, right in the middle of the room, was a mirror in the rarest shape of a pentagon. Skylark walked in and was surprised to find that the mirror wasn’t showing him his own reflection, but of people elsewhere. He put out his hand and touched the mirror, and felt himself pulled into the mirror. A loud voice pierced through the air: “A prophecy, a prophecy I come to tell the Fool. A journey will bring you to your destiny and like a fair maiden destiny will guide you by your hand to places you have never been and the people you have never met will play a part in the story that is yet unknown. Make the pieces of the puzzle fit and join the dots to connect. One thing will lead to another and the Fool he will no longer be. A high priestess will emerge and she will be your guiding light. More than this I cannot say and even if you beg me I cannot stay.”
Mythili Mukunth is based in Bengaluru, India. She has always loved words, and this is her first attempt at fiction!
