Reversed

Reversed

A Fortunes of Fate Story

By

Alexa Grave

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Haunted Unicorn Publishing

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REVERSED

Copyright © 2016 by Alexa Grave

ASIN B01ENYSFDM

Cover Art “The Magus” by Alexa Grave and Emily Bartle

Cover Design and Formatting by Haunted Unicorn Publishing

Edited by J. Gunnar Grey

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away. No part of this
publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the
permission of the author.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Darney pressed his hands to his ears. The screaming
continued in his mind, though. The cards howled. And the heat from them in his
pocket throbbed against his hip – seventy-eight tiny hearts, skipping beats
from their wounds.

That rotten child had done this.

Many people didn’t like what the cards told them, but the
little girl had been the first to react so violently. The poor Fool card
whimpered, creases refusing to even out after she crumpled it. At least half of
the other cards were singed. Fire. Of all things, she had to use fire.

Delilah, his mother, had warned him, told him to protect the
cards with enchantments. Such magic would have kept them safe for the most
part. The fire wouldn’t have touched them. But he didn’t know how, couldn’t find
the magic she claimed he had.

The magic he yearned to find.

He traveled from town to town in hopes that the next reading
would be the trigger, the one that would spark the glow inside of him. And then
he could truly bond with his cards – they’d be an extension of him, not just a
deck of friends he kept close.

Curse Delilah. Some mother. She wouldn’t even help him
enchant them, but had told him these cards were his responsibility when she
gave them to him.

And then she had abandoned him, left him to wander Fate
while she disappeared to who knew where. Probably wherever his father was from.
The only information he had ever gotten out of her about that was some cryptic
answer about another world.

The woman had raised him with cryptic answers, intent on him
finding his own way, even when young. He’d always wished she’d been warmer,
more loving. Perhaps he would have found his magic already if she had.

But if he could find Delilah now, she’d know how to mend the
cards. Last time he saw her, she’d told him it was time for a change, for her
to shift from purple to green. Whatever that meant.

So, that didn’t leave him with many options. Either he
discovered whatever magic he was supposed to have, or he needed the help of
another, someone who knew the power of the cards and how to heal them.

The only person Darney thought of made him wish he had
burned up in the village fire. He might just as well burn alive, asking for
his
help.

The clamoring of the cards refused to abate, though, which
was why Darney headed west, forcing one foot in front of the other on the
wooded path. He couldn’t abandon them, not like Delilah had abandoned him.

He ventured into the trees, gathering some kindling, then
set up a small fire, pattern-perfect so as to burn evenly. Not too big, or the cards
would shiver in fear – he had made that mistake a couple nights ago. They were
traumatized.

After nibbling on some hard cheese and stale bread from his
worn leather pack, Darney pulled the cards out of his pocket and spread them
far enough away from the fire so that no sparks would jump on them, but close
enough so he could see part of the images on their faces.

Per usual, the Magus card stalked him at the center of the
heap, reversed, staring up at him, accusing him of not being who he was
supposed to be – labeling him a charlatan. The confidence of the mage on the
card was wiped when reversed, like something had drained the vibrant colors
surrounding him. And the Magus held items from all four suits: sword, staff,
cup, and pentacle, and a snake in the shape of an infinity sign twined around
the staff, biting its tail.

No, the mage didn’t hold those objects. They were a part of
him. They belonged. Unlike Darney. The blue cat eyes that glinted in the
backdrop looked woeful upside down, a perfect reflection of how Darney felt.

The mage had escaped the fire, and it seemed to call the
damaged cards to it, so it could protect them. What Darney should have done.

He scooped the cards up and stuffed them back in his pocket.
His own guilt was enough – he didn’t need it from the Magus, too.

Darney shut his eyes, yearning for sleep, to forget what had
happened. But the screams wouldn’t let him.

* * * * *

Darney didn’t see another soul on the path. Few traveled it,
with good reason. The man at the end of it drove people to preserve their
lives, and to do that they avoided him.

But he had magic. Great magic. Magic Darney needed. And
wished he had.

He pressed his hand to his pocket – the screams and whimpers
hushed for a moment, comforted by his touch. Then they returned with fresh
vigor when they realized his touch couldn’t heal them. Caring wasn’t enough.

Darney eventually crossed into the mage’s territory.
Gnarled, leafless trees twined their branches toward the sky. That part of the
forest was dead, yet alive at the same time. Darney felt the heat and
heartbeats of every single tree, just like from the cards in his pocket. He
shuddered. Not a place he’d rather linger.

The path finally ended. Two ancient trees stood sentinel at
a wrought-iron gate, so old that it was more rust than metal. Beyond the gate,
steps led up the side of a large hill, disappearing around a bend. He couldn’t
see the house from there, a fog hanging low, but he’d heard tales about it from
those who had escaped the mage’s wrath.

No use prolonging the inevitable. He stepped up to the gate,
which swung open on its own accord. Unsettling – clearly its intention.
One
step at a time, just one step at a time. Ask for help, then leave. Or flee.
The gate clanged shut behind him.

Darney climbed and climbed – no end in sight, no house in
the distance. The stairs spiraled up the hill and hours passed, the sun
plunging below the horizon. Would he ever reach the man he’d come to see? It
was a mountain, no mere hill.

He paused, the fog dancing around him, stuck his hand in his
pocket, then pulled out a card. The Tower, its facade cracked. Several voices
muttered in his mind – the cards seemed confused.

Darney wouldn’t fail, no matter what the card implied. He
slipped the Tower back in his pocket and continued walking. Magic had to be
behind this endless mountain. Strong magic.

He’d come to the right place.

No matter how long he had to walk, he wouldn’t stop until he
found the mage. Seventy-eight little lives depended on him. He plodded on, his
determination growing inside.

And the fog cleared, perhaps from his pure focus, his
unwillingness to relent, revealing a three-story mansion towering in front of
him.

Two even more ancient trees marked the left and right
corners of the house. Something rattled in their branches. At one time, the
mansion had been white; he saw that under the dirt and grime and peeling paint.
Now it stood gray and dreary. Pillars decorated the outer ramparts, and
gargoyles, tongues sticking out in comical positions, dotted the roof.

One of the gargoyles moved.

Darney stepped back. Wait, no, it was only a bit of debris
stuck to a wing and flapping in the wind. He wouldn’t let the house deter him.

Well, he was there; time to face the monster. He stepped up
to the door, took hold of the heavy knocker, and banged it against the wood.
The door creaked open, darkness revealing nothing within.

The cards stopped their wailing, unsure of where their
master was taking them.

Darney nearly turned around to rush back down the stairs,
but the Fool card sobbed, reminding him why he was there. He propelled himself
over the threshold.

The door thundered closed and candles came to life all
around him, lighting the entire foyer. A large candelabra hung above him, the
metal as rusted as the gate. The entryway was tidy enough – artwork of purple
vistas of Fate on the walls and a fancy table surrounded by a couple of chairs,
a pile of moth-eaten books on one of the cushions. The embroidered rugs were
worn, and dust covered everything. Nothing too sinister, just wealth fallen on
hard times.

Two gargoyles perched on the newel posts on either side of a
set of spiral stairs leading up. Weren’t those things ugly enough outside? One
seemed to wink at him. It had to be a trick of the candlelight.

Past the stairs, and at the end of a long stretch of rug,
wooden double doors stood, beautiful carvings etched in the cherry-brown.
Darney squinted at the etchings – they were familiar. He pulled out one of the
cards from his pocket. The Hanged Man. He flipped it over, not wanting to consider
the implications of his draw. Sure enough, the pattern on the back matched the
carvings in the doors.

The doors slid open, disappearing into the walls. Movement
rippled in the shadows through the opening.

Darney shoved the card in his pocket and took a step back.

A small man stepped out. The top of his head was as high as
Darney’s armpits, at most, and Darney was no giant. His long hair glinted white
in the flickering flames, and a tattered once-purple robe hung on his slim
frame. He clasped his hands together and beamed a smile. “Welcome.”

Was that the mage everyone feared and fled from? No, it had
to be a servant. But by the disarray of the house, no servant tended to the
place.

Darney looked closer and saw the hardness in the man’s black
eyes. Not black; a deep purple that almost seemed as dark as a moonless night
sky. Welcome, indeed.

Darney flourished a bow, even as acid from his stomach
burned up his throat. “Good evening, Mage Jasp.”

Jasp wiggled a bony finger. “Ah, a smart boy. I don’t get
many visitors here because most of the people who seek me out are dumb as dirt.
Can’t get past the magic.”

Dumb or not, Darney was sure there weren’t many seeking him
out in the first place. But managing to get past the magic gave him hope that
one day he’d kindle some of his own.

“What can I help you with, boy?”

It was time to deliver his plea, beg for aid, but he
couldn’t produce words from his mouth, his tongue stuck behind his teeth. The
warmth of the cards on his hip turned cold, as if he were too late and they had
all perished due to his dalliance. He reached for them, desperate to make sure
life still coursed through them. In his haste, they spilled out of his pocket,
scattering across the dusty rug. The Magus card, again reversed, glared up at
him.

The cards whimpered and moaned, then screamed.

That coldness had been all in his head – they were just as
before, no worse.

“Tarot cards,” Jasp said. “Are you Delilah’s boy?”

Darney nodded, still struck dumb. He hoped Jasp wasn’t the
father Delilah had hinted at, but a hunch in his gut told him that probably
wasn’t the case.

“They’re wounded.”

Darney didn’t think nodding in agreement would do much good.

“Why did you come to me? You should be able to heal them
yourself. Actually, where are their protective enchantments? I sense none.”
Jasp plucked at his robe, and his smile turned to tight-lipped sternness.

Finally Darney found his voice, but it was a shade of his
true one. “I can’t.”

“Not as smart as I thought, then. Eh?” He slid closer,
peering down at the cards, then waved his hand over them, long fingernails
clicking together.

The cards vanished. The screams ceased.

No.
An emptiness immediately filled Darney, the
instant loss scoring him deep. “What have you done with my cards? Where are
they?” He grabbed the little man by his threadbare robe and pulled him close
before he considered what he was actually doing. No one manhandled a mage,
especially one such as Jasp.

“Kindly unhand me, boy. They are safe. More than I can say
for their status when they were with you. If you can’t protect them, you don’t
deserve them.”

Darney released his grip, and Jasp stumbled and fell on his
backside. The mage’s words stung, even though Darney knew they were true. What
a failure he was.

“I said kindly.”

“Give me my cards back, and I’ll consider being kind.” The
missing feeling of the seventy-eight tiny hearts broke him, enough that he was
still being stupid. He knew he acted an idiot, but he didn’t care. Without his
cards, he was nothing. He could read them like no other, even Delilah. The
fortunes he told were flawless – it was all he had to be proud of.

Jasp righted himself and brushed off some dust, which didn’t
make his attire look any better. “Oh, look, some backbone. Perhaps there’s some
hope for you yet. You can earn them back, boy. Prove your worth, and I’ll even
heal them for you. But I don’t do anything for free.” He swirled his hand in
the air and the two gargoyles on the banister sprang to life, flapping around
Darney’s head.

Darney stumbled backward into the front door.

“Nope, not as smart as I thought. Nowhere near.” Jasp shook
his head. “They’re harmless. Not much help around the mansion, as you can tell,
but they can take you up to your room for the night. It’s late. We’ll talk in
the morning.” He exited through the open double doors, which slammed shut
behind him.

“Come with me,” one of the gargoyles said, its voice harsh
and gravelly. Both bolted up the stairs, faster than stone wings ought to carry
them.

Darney hated the idea of spending even one night in a house
with gargoyles that didn’t stay put. But he mostly feared the empty feeling of
his cards’ absence, the only things in life he had. No screams tonight keeping
him awake, but he still wouldn’t sleep any better.

* * * * *

Dust wafted out of the open door, clinging to Darney’s skin.
The gargoyles led him into the dark. Before he could dig out his tinderbox from
his pack and hope to find any candles, the ugly little beasts knocked into his
back. He fell face-first onto the bed, the dust on the bedspread traveling up his
nose and down his throat.

Darney coughed and swatted at the stone pests. A candle at
the bedside flared to life, revealing that a four-poster bed filled most of the
room. A mansion like that, one would think every room was large and lavish.
Unless he’d been shown to a room in the servants’ quarters.