Once Upon a Winter's Night (32 page)

“Dangerous or no,” said Camille, “I could not let them keep my belongings. And were it not for the words of the crone—were it not for your words—they would have.”

Lisane sighed. “I thought you would set camp wearing inside-out clothes, for then they would not have taken your goods.”

Camille’s eyes widened in realization. “Ah, I see: ‘Even when night lies on the sward, Wrong-side-out stands sentinel ward.’ Oh, Lisane, ere I came unto the Spriggans’ cavern, I thought the crone’s words—your words—nought but the babblings of a mad old woman.”

A slight smile fleetingly crossed Lisane’s face. “Ah, me, mayhap I should have made my warning more plain . . . Still, I knew not for certain the Spriggans would come upon you, only that they might, or so the cards did say.”

“The taroc cards.”

“Aye.”

“Then this time they did say true.”

Lisane nodded.

Camille squeezed her hand, and Lisane grinned and squeezed back. Then she stood. “I have some broth warming, and ’tis time we began putting some strength back into you. Too, I would hear your full tale.—But first . . .” Lisane felt of Camille’s forehead, then smiled and opened the window, swinging it inward, allowing fresh air to waft through. Momentarily, Thale looked up at this movement, then resumed cropping grass.

 

Two days later, Camille was finally strong enough to venture outside. It was then she discovered that Lisane’s small two-room dwelling was wholly within the massive trunk of a great willow tree more than a hundred feet tall, its long swaying branches hanging down all ’round, though sunlight clearly shone through.

“That’s why they name me the Lady of the Bower,” said Lisane, “for does it not look as such?”

“Oh, it’s much more, my lady,” breathed Camille. “ ’Tis a place of wonder.”

Camille walked about the massive girth. There was but one door into the trunk, and it a bright yellow hue; two windows looked out on the world—one in each chamber. Both the door and the windows had willow-bark shutters, such that when they were closed, the trunk looked entirely whole, and nought could be seen of the dwelling within.

Shaking her head at the marvel, “Indeed, ’tis truly a wonder,” said Camille as she came to the sward, where Lisane sat on a blanket.

Lisane smiled, then poured tea, and they sat and sipped the drink, while tasting small, sweet cakes. Scruff chitted and scratched about for insects, and Thale stood nobly by.

After a while, Camille said, “Lady, I think it is time I returned your bed to you. I will sleep on the pallet in yon chamber where you have been.”

Lisane shook her head. “Nay, Camille. I oft arise in the night and read the cards by candlelight. I would not disturb your sleep. Think no more of it.”

Camille started to protest, but Lisane pushed out a shushing hand and passed Camille another small cake.

And as the day slowly went by, Camille took in fresh air and basked in the sunlight, warming in the rays. Finally, Lisane said, “I shall read the cards for you this eve.”

Of a sudden Camille’s heart clenched, for though she was not yet well enough to venture onward, she felt a pressing need to go.

 

Lisane glanced up at Camille. “Remember, with all the cards, though I might name them he or she, they could just as well be the opposite: female instead of male; male instead of female.”

Camille nodded, murmuring, “I will remember.”

“Remember as well”—Lisane tapped the remainder of the deck—“there are four cards yet to come, but not until after the reading of the wheels, for they will speak to the whole, and I would not have their influence ere then.”

On the table in the candlelight, upon a silken cloth spread o’er the oaken plank, a great circular array of cards lay, rings within rings, concentric, the cards facing outward, away from the center, or inward toward. Camille sat on one side of the table, her eyes wide in wonderment; the Lady of the Bower sat opposite, and she slowly shook her head in dismay. “There are so many swords, Camille, so very many swords, here about the center.”

“Is that to the good?”

“It means great conflict.”

“Do you mean combat, fighting, bloodshed?”

“Mayhap. Yet it can also mean confrontation, a great physical effort, a testing of wit, any number of things. Think of conflicts, Camille, and how so very many different kinds there are: conflicts of the heart and mind and body and spirit and soul; conflicts from within and without. Why, this illness from which you are on the mend, it, too, is a conflict of sorts.”

“Oh.”

Long did Lisane study the array, Camille silent, waiting. Finally, Lisane took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then circled her left hand widdershins above the wheel of cards, followed by her right hand, circling deasil. She then opened her eyes and said, “This is what I see,” and she began speaking of the meanings of the cards and their relation to one another, and as she spoke, she touched each card: her right hand for those upright—facing inward—and her left hand for those reversed—facing out.

“Here at the beginning are the Two Lovers, upright. I can but think the card bespeaks of you and Alain. But flanking are the upright three of swords on one side and the upright four of swords on the other, and here is the Tower, upright. Respectively they mean separation, isolation, and disaster. Immediately at hand is the three of cups, reversed, signalling a reversal of circumstance, and what was good now causes pain. It is directly followed by the nine of swords, and upright it means despair, anxiety, misery. Camille, this is what has been.”

Lisane looked across at Camille, who nodded, tears brimming. Lisane reached out and patted her hand, then spoke on:

“Here is the two of cups upright; it indicates harmony between two souls, yet I think this card does not represent you and Alain, for its position in the array seems to point to two souls you do know, yet mayhap in truth do not.”

“How can that be?” asked Camille, a puzzled frown upon her face.

Lisane shrugged. “I cannot say, yet these cards flanking, this one upright, the six of cups, signifies friends, while this three of cups reversed speaks of a test or tests, the double-edged nature of intuition, and since it is reversed, your intuition, or mayhap your first thought, may be wrong.”

“Oh,” fretted Camille, her worried gaze upon the cards, “But I hope that does not mean something ill.”

“Camille, in this case it merely means you should not always take things at face value.”

At this, Camille relaxed a bit, though apprehension yet lurked in her gaze.

And on Lisane spoke, touching cards, explaining, as she moved ’round the array, coming ever closer to the center. Finally her reading of the wheels—the rings within rings—came to an end, though she was not yet finished, for some specifics remained and four cards were yet to come.

Camille shook her head and pointed at three of the cards. “I don’t understand. The King and Queen and Page of Swords all reversed, all against me. Enemies unknown?”

“You do know the King, yet not
as
a King. Who he is, I cannot say.”

“Hmph! Neither can I,” replied Camille. Then she pointed at another card in the array. “And you say this represents me? The Naïf? Why so?”

“Ah, Camille, you are quite guileless and trusting, which is both to your good and ill; yet, remember, there will come a time when guile will win the day.”

Camille turned up a hand. “I am who I am, Lisane. If that means I am guileless, then so it is I am.”

Lisane smiled faintly in reply, then frowned at the cards. “I have never before seen this arrangement of Hermit and Fortune and the three of wands and pentacles: the Hermit, aiding, and see how the threes point; and the pentacles might indicate treasure; and the Wheel of Fortune aiding as well. I know not what it means, unless it is three recluses or mentors tied to destiny.”

“Haven’t I already met two? The Lady of the Mere, and the Lady of the Bower?”

Lisane laughed. “Indeed. Even so, I think this hermit or these hermits yet lie along the way.”

Lisanne paused, her brow furrowing. “Camille, here you are greatly opposed by two beings unrevealed: by the Magician, and by the Priestess, who in this array appears to be but an acolyte of the Mage; yet the Mage is somewhat off center—not directly engaged in your immediate quest; even so, I believe he is somehow responsible; the acolyte, though, seems more involved in the events, albeit from behind the scenes.”

Baffled, Camille looked at Lisane, and the Lady of the Bower shrugged. “As I say, the cards speak but arcane messages, yet one thing seems clear”—she touched a card with her right hand—“this one will aid, the Minstrel, for he is surrounded by good omens; even so, he is not the ultimate key to your quest, yet he is someone who can greatly help. He represents wisdom.

“And here is the card of Strength, and I believe can you find the one who is represented by the Minstrel, he will lead you to Strength.”

“Do you know any minstrels?”

“Oh, Camille, the one so represented does not have to be a true minstrel, but someone with much wisdom, much lore.”

Camille shrugged. “Nevertheless, my question remains: do you know any minstrels, especially those with much wisdom, much lore?”

Lisane shook her head. “No minstrels, directly, though I do know a bard. An Elf. Rondalo. He is one of the Firsts.”

“Firsts?”

“Those who dwelled in Faery from its inception. Yet he may not be the one, Camille, the one of the card, for as I say, this card may not represent an actual minstrel, but someone altogether different. Recall as well, no matter how named or depicted, any of these cards can represent a male or female—one or the other or both, or perhaps neither.”

Camille cocked an eyebrow at this last, but nodded. Then with her right hand she touched the Minstrel and said, “Know you others of wisdom and lore? Other Firsts?”

Lisane pursed her lips. “Raseri the Firedrake: he was one of the Firsts as well. Tisp the Sprite, yet she is quite whimsical and not given to lore which touches not on her life. Adragh the Pwca, but he is quite dangerous, yet then again, so are all those I name; even so, Adragh is one to avoid. Then there is Jotun, but him you have already met, and though he helped you across the Endless Mountains, that lies in the past, and I think he is not the Minstrel to come. —Oh, Camille, there are many who have much lore, and only by your own efforts”—Lisane gestured at the array—“is such likely to come about. Heed, the cards only indicate that which
might
be, not that which is certain.”

“Well, then,” said Camille, nodding, “it seems I should continue in the manner I started: seeking mapmakers and travellers and merchants and traders and the elderly, for they might know of the place where I can find my Alain and tell me how to get there.”

Lisane turned up her hands and then said, “Now for the last four cardinals—first the two which speak of things to be nigh the end.”

“Cardinal premier,” said Lisane, and she turned up a card and laid it directly before her, just outside the array; the card pointed toward the center. Even so, she sucked in air between clenched teeth, saying, “Devil; upright.”

“Cardinal deux,” she then said, and this time she laid the card directly before Camille and just outside the array, and at sight of the card, Camille blenched. “Death; reversed,” said Lisane.

“Oh, Lisane, these can’t be good, especially Death.”

Lisane shook her head. “Certainly the Devil upright is a terrible omen, for it means ravage, violence, vehemence. Yet at the same time it also means a dweller without, someone not allowed in.” Lisane fell into long contemplation, and Camille thought she would go mad in the silence. But at last Lisane reached out with her left hand and touched the Magician. “Perhaps this one.”

“But what about Death?” asked Camille. “Isn’t it even worse?”

Lisane shook her head. “No, Camille. Death reversed can mean death just escaped, partial change, or transformation. Even so, it can also suggest great destruction as well, and coupled with the Devil upright”—Lisane took a deep breath—“I deem it signals a disaster you cannot avoid.”

Tears welled in Camille’s eyes. “Should I forgo my search, then?”

Slowly Lisane shook her head. “I think not, Camille, for the cards only say what might be, not what is certain to come. Were it my quest, I would go on”—with her right hand she touched the Lovers—“for true love can overcome much.”

Camille nodded, and then Lisane said, “Now for the last two cards.”

Calling out “Cardinal trois” and “Cardinal quatre,” Lisane dealt two more cards and placed one to the right and the other to the left, just outside the wheel, and at the sight of these, both she and Camille gasped, startled, for they were the Moon and the Sun, both upright. Lisane touched the Moon on the right—“Somewhere between concealed enemies and danger”—and then she touched the Sun on the left—“and a promise of bliss”—she looked at Camille—“somewhere between the hidden and the revealed does your true heart lie.”

 

A fortnight altogether it took Camille to recover well enough to travel onward. “I shall leave on the morrow,” she said to Lisane that eve.

“I shall greatly miss you,” replied Lisane.

“And I you,” said Camille, reaching out to squeeze Lisane’s hand.

They sat in silence before the great willow, twilight drawing down on the land.

“Would that I had been of more help,” said Lisane after a while.

“Oh, Lisane, you nursed me back to health; without you I would have died.”

“Mayhap,” said Lisane. “But mayhap without my test in the mire you would not have fallen ill.”

Camille shrugged. “That we’ll never know. Yet there is your reading: just knowing that there is someone out there who can truly aid me has lifted my heart, for now I do have hope.”

“Let us pray that hope is enough,” said Lisane.