Elemental Ascension, page 2
Ash flinched. “So that's how you got me to retrieve your apples.” He rolled his narrowed eyes. “Made me feel sorry for you by touching me? I didn't know Cartomancers could use Psychometry. Sneaky.”
“Evidently, there is a lot you don't know. I didn't touch you, but—”
Ash laughed. “This ought to be good.”
“You can be forgiven, Ash. Your pain vanquished. Your honour restored.”
Unsettled, Ash pulled back further. “What, can you read minds too? How do you know my name? Redemption for my crime is impossible, so I wouldn't waste your gift on me.”
“I can offer other ways to validate my visions. Chiromancy? Hydromancy? Though, what use are palms and tea leaves when the cards do not lie?”
“Oh, you're an Oracle,” Ash replied.
It explained the man's wider skill set. Hopeful, he allowed the Oracle to examine every crease of his palm. He was silent. After several minutes, the old man confirmed there was no mistake—the sun was setting on Ash's poor luck. He fished the cards from his pocket and unravelled them carefully. Ash cleared a space on the table for the Oracle's cloth to lay, then as his frail hand fanned the cards in a semi-circle, Ash selected one at random, remembering exactly what to do from his last encounter with a Cartomancer. First came the signifier card—one Ash connected with.
Before Ash could turn the card over, the Oracle identified it. As he dug deep into his abilities, the old man's dominant hand twitched, and his eyelids flickered as he studied the information flooding through his sixth sense.
“The Fool.”
And it was. Upon the smooth surface, an artist's depiction of a foolish Alchemist hung from a delicate branch atop a cliff, balancing on a crumbling rock whilst holding a precious stone. It was shiny and round, but otherwise plain and colourless like the Land's currency. Despite his surroundings and predicament, the Fool was laughing.
“Your signifier. This card represents innocence. Card zero of the major arcana: a blank slate. Many believe the Fool to be reckless, but he is blissfully ignorant, awaiting the turmoil of life to stimulate him.”
Ash's voice quivered when he replied because he resonated with the Fool. His gut grumbled with untrusting, suspicious butterflies.
“Tell me more.”
The Oracle calmly said, “You are free, but you have been on the run, hated by two groups, who hate one another. You could risk the life you have now for a new beginning, though you are unsure it is possible. Yet, you will do so anyway. The truth dangles precariously. Why? I wonder. You already hold the answers, but are careless with them.”
He admitted reluctantly, “You're correct that I have nothing to lose now—anything I can do to fix my plight is worth a try. So I take the odd task here and there. I don't think I have been foolish, necessarily.”
“The Fool is the card before the cards,” he replied.
Ash selected a second card from the deck and flipped it, startled by the image of another major arcana card, which he knew to represent life events.
The Chariot.
Remaining silent to test the blind Oracle's authenticity, Ash awaited an explanation.
“Ahead of you, there are two paths, pulled by horses as is represented here.” The Oracle tapped the sketch with a crooked nail, sensing the card's meaning without needing to see the image. “The black horse leads you on a dangerous adventure and the white horse to a continuation of your current existence. Each road has its perils. You are to be held accountable not only for actions you take that affect your life, but for what happens to others because of your decisions.”
Ash was unresponsive and deep in thought.
He added, “The Chariot represents determination and travel. You will embark upon an important quest.”
He brushed the Fool aside and placed the Chariot, Ash's first official card, in the centre of the cloth. The determined driver of the carriage glowered, connecting with Ash's short-sighted soul.
Around them in the marketplace, passers-by gave the working Oracle a wide birth. They scowled at him as they actively avoided the stall's perimeter. Ash pulled another card, beginning to trust his wisdom.
“The Hanged Man crosses your path,” the Oracle immediately added. “Your world is inverted at the moment. You are hanging around, wasting time. You are wanted, too, Ash the Elemental, and could move on, but are waiting for a sign.”
He planted the card horizontally, facing up across the Chariot to signify this temporarily blocking his call to adventure.
Ash replied in a whisper, “I have been waiting for ten harrowing years.”
“What interrupts—no, prevents—your voyage is your reluctance to surrender. Trepidation curses the opportunity for a glorious victory—you are apprehensive of the ultimate sacrifice and this shall delay your decision to allow the black or the white horse to take the reins. Do you remain upside down, or risk seeing the world in a new light?”
Ash knotted his fingers as he admitted aloud that trepidation was not his curse. His curse led to jitters for a future he was persuaded he'd never see. He had only allowed his discomfort to progress because he thought he deserved it; his world had been upside down for so long, and this was his reality now. For ten years he'd seen his face on wanted posters, and Ash was convinced nothing could undo the Land's hatred of him.
“You cannot prevent the outcome, only walk your chosen path to its end and trust in...”
The Oracle pulled Ash's next card for him, interrupting any thoughts or questions he pondered, and placed it to the left of the others.
“...Justice.”
“A card I pulled back when they hanged me—Justice is in my past,” Ash told the man. He swallowed hard. “Ideally, before I leave the Land, justice is what I want again. But there is none in my future for those who wronged me. Justice for my mistakes is still ongoing, and I feel the punishment no longer fits the crime.”
Ash scowled at the cards on the stall and then at his shaking fingers—none of this was news, but his cards so far were reminding Ash to look within. He'd avoided contemplating his future for so long. But now the curse wiggled through his veins and sent each digit into spasm. His future reading was two cards away, but he already predicted he'd pull another major arcana card there... Death.
Frustrated, he shook his wrists and reached for another card. The Oracle slapped at him.
“No more.” He gathered the cards to tidy the stall.
“That's it? All you've given me is the state I'm in now, and where I once was. It's a potential problem and an outcome I've longed for since my life went to hell! I have six cards left to pull; I know how this works!”
“No. More. Cards.”
Ash protested, but the Oracle wrapped the cards and tucked them back in his pocket.
“We are out of time.”
“But, you can't—”
“In three days you will meet a young Human woman at the Lawful Hand Tavern,” the man said. He gestured at the far side of the market square, despite being unable to see it. “She needs help, so get her safely to Dragonborn. The fate of magic, and the future these cards speak of, rests in their hands.”
Ash's eyes widened at this order. “Dragonborn?” He shook his head, sending droplets of sea water flying from his hair. “You're an Oracle, you ought to know I'm banished, cursed, and assumed dead! I'll be killed for treason if I return to the Isle. You have the wrong Elemental, my friend.”
The old man swayed as black Necrosis petals scattered across his mind's eye; flashbacks of hopelessness and torment overwhelmed him. If he told Ash of the mystery woman's pregnancy or the young man's recent blindness, he'd deem the quest impossible, flee Blackheart Dock, and turn his back on the girl as he had with the rest of the Land's inhabitants.
Ultimately, Ash would die. But, he would let Ash discover his options in three days.
The Oracle blinked away many more disturbing images of the Shaman's cruelty and steadied his balance against Ash's frame.
“My gifts make me weary,” he said, “but there is no mistake. You can resolve this endless struggle for power and control across the Land. The fate of magic has been foretold. When you follow the black horse, you, Ash the Elemental, are at my prediction's centre.”
Ash's eyes were wide and fearsome. “I don't—cannot—believe in ancient stories. It's too late for me to be following black horses and going on adventures.”
“Then follow the white horse.”
Ash felt instant remorse for the altercation. “Look, I'm sorry but I can't.”
“You are a good man with a strong heart,” the Oracle said.
He tapped Ash's arm and directed his gaze to a cloaked figure carrying his sack of apples, moving at a fair pace through the marketplace. She lowered her black hood. Ash rolled his eyes and turned from the Oracle, stunned by his abilities.
“You're following me, Deerbolt. Don't you have a ship to sail or a thief to imprison?”
“Aye, but I have plenty of strong men to do my bidding.” She winked. “As we're a day behind schedule now, I have some time on my hands. Can't think why.” She paused as if to change her mind, then deposited the sack at his feet. “You don't deserve these, but they are not yours to waste.”
The Captain nodded to acknowledge the Oracle's presence, who smiled despite being unable to appreciate her beauty. She flicked up the hood, then disappeared without a word more.
“Humans for you!”
With a sharp tone to his voice, the Oracle corrected him. “Captain Deerbolt is a Velocal.”
“To be a Velocal she would have to be experienced in the laws of Alchemy or have suffered severely at the hands of an Alchemist,” Ash countered. “In sailing, she is a fast-learning genius. But in magic? No. Why would you have me escort one to Dragonborn on a quest to be beheaded or something equally... final?” Ash gulped.
“I will look past your discriminatory views and lack of charm when I repeat you are a good man,” the Oracle said, bending to collect the sack. He offered it to Ash and chortled. “I can predict your future, Ash the Elemental, but I cannot walk it for you. I withheld your reading because I knew we would be interrupted, but also because you cannot yet be trusted to do the right thing. The Equos departs for Land's Edge tomorrow eve. Believe you are capable, though you do not have long. To make it to Dragonborn in time, follow the black horse and book your passage. Use these apples, if they would help.”
“No, no,” he grumbled, “Deerbolt's ship is the Cerulean Grace now—she changed its name from the Equos, which means...” Ash laughed and shook his head. “It means 'the Steed'.”
The Soothsayer shooed Ash away. “Hurry now, pest. Be on your way. It appears this black horse waits for no one.”
Ash took two apples from the sack and bit into one. Then he returned the rest to the Oracle. “You're wrong about me,” he said through a juicy mouthful, stowing the other apple in his satchel for later. “Lucky for you—and this mystery Human woman—I have nothing left to do around here but wait to die, anyway.” He grinned and set off walking. “My chariot awaits.”
Chapter Two
The Lawful Hand Tavern
The Lawful Hand Tavern was teeming with drunken, middle-aged men. Some were on leave from the marketplace's demands, while others purposefully avoided their neglected housewives. Most, however, had walked uphill from their work in the shipyard.
A few of the Cerulean Grace's Human repairmen recognised Ash from his reckless jump overboard, and they raised a tankard as he entered beneath the tavern's sign—a clenched fist and thick iron letters, swinging above the creaky wooden door. He scraped between their filthy bodies to avoid bumping any shoulders; if he were to be blamed for a brawl and thrown out, Deerbolt would refuse his passage to Land's Edge the next day. He didn't want to waste his valuable ticket, and there was no use lingering here any longer.
The men's barking laughter and a heavy mist of tobacco smoke, intermingled with the harsh drift of week-old body odour, violated his senses. The candlelight did nothing for his orientation. He coughed and had to squint to find a quieter place to sit.
Once taverns such as the Lawful Hand were Ash's only sanctuary on return from Open Country. Its sharp aroma of ale and dark confines provided shelter, hot broth, and warmth from chilly winter eves, back when he was a sworn Dragonborn Guardsman on the run with snow-filled boots and a bounty on his head. Those days were now far enough behind him to escape, but never forget. These days, such taverns were cauldrons for conflict and disarray, especially in the summer, where the richest and most powerful of the Land did business. The Order was now more of a government than a clan, and only those with Astral Alchemy were members. Ash had always thought of them as a cult. They fought for control against those less fortunate than themselves. More often than not, the Order won. Ash noticed them gathering behind the bar, planning their next conquest. Here, they birthed unfair taxes, and brutal laws, negotiated property purchases, and nursed development opportunities.
Ash kept himself to himself in such places. Any stranger who recognised his face or name still held the right to execute him for treason, and Ash would have no means to defend himself against the men seeking information about, or revenge for, something they could never understand—the Isle of Dragonborn, and its ruthless, yet loyal, Guardsmen.
A barmaid walked by and delivered his drink. Ash ignored her unlike other men in the room and found an empty stool further from the noise. The tankard was cool to touch, but he cradled it, scanning the mass of locals for an out-of-place Human woman. His knees juddered anxiously as he anticipated her arrival. Then, from the cool evening air, a young blonde girl hurried inside, hand-in-hand with a male about the same age. They moved in Ash's direction but their target seemed to be a man sitting at the next table. A man Ash recognised as an Oracle. But, he wasn't just any Oracle; he was the Oracle in these parts—best known to the public for regular performances for jewels.
Ash considered intervening. In person, he hadn't dealt with this Oracle in many years, but the hot-headed senior was living proof looks were deceiving, and he was famous for it. Whatever this woman's reason was for interrupting his solitary supper, Ash knew it had better be good.
Eager to learn more about the couple's troubles, he decided to remain seated and eavesdrop. Ash learnt her name was Reverie and her companion, Kite sat uninvited at the Oracle's table. Ash soon realised Kite was her husband, and he, like the marketplace Oracle, was completely blind.
“We've travelled from Broad Wells, through the Sleeping Reeds Valley and Open Country, to ask for your help,” she began. “We lost everything on the journey. My husband was a Hydromancer before our local Shaman, Echelon, stole his vision and with it, his gift, to give me this child. Without Kite's abilities as a Seer, we won't know of any complications, and he will never lay eyes on our baby. Please, can you help us?”
Ash froze. The Oracle had not mentioned Reverie would be accompanied by her husband, much less an invalid, and he hadn't mentioned she'd be carrying an unborn baby. This impairment would surely add several days to their already perilous journey across the sea to Dragonborn, and Ash had declared as little to Deerbolt. But Ash felt empathy for the couple after hearing Reverie's story of how Echelon: Shaman of the Deeds had taken advantage of Kite's desperation for a child. Her pregnancy was showing, and although it was unlikely, he hoped the Oracle would take pity and agree to help heal him, if only for their child's sake.
“The removal of another's curse is difficult. Twenty jewels,” said the Oracle without looking up.
Reverie's brow furrowed. Her fists clenched. “But, you're the most powerful Seer we know of! We're poor, and—”
“So too would I be if I helped every sob story for free,” he said.
Ash leaned back to hear her plea and was stunned when, mid-bargain, Reverie fell silent. Arguing with those more fortunate was always to no avail. The Land had seen the effects of a ruling, rich majority in the way most Astrals of the Order behaved. Their circumstances were no different.
She inhaled profoundly, fighting back tears, and squeezed Kite's hand. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”
She aided Kite to a stance and guided him toward the door, ignoring his protest to return and demand that the Oracle help them. Ash watched with his mouth agape as Reverie passed by. He had expected the couple's prayer to be jilted, but not for lack of only twenty jewels.
They truly are poor.
Frankly, Ash was disgusted because even after payment, the Oracle's magic was no match for a curse like that. He readied his tongue and temper to deal with the Oracle himself, when the old man turned as if to address him, then thought better of it, and raised a hand.
“There is one other way.”
Ash took a deep breath and lowered his head. Reverie glanced over her shoulder as the Oracle dug inside his tunic and produced a large, ale-stained map of the Land. He unravelled and flattened it, placing a tankard at either end. His unsteady finger pointed to the Isle of Dragonborn, due north-east of Land's Edge, where a fearsome winged reptile roared above a lava-covered mountaintop.
And then he sang:
“Bless all who watch o'er the flame,
Where loyal guards are duly sworn,
For here they are re-birthed to new name,
So unto pledge their hearts to Dragonborn.”
The Oracle's words sat heavily upon unwanted ears as the room fell silent and interested eyes glinted in the candlelight from every corner. In particular, a red-headed woman in Captain's leathers now stared at the couple across the bar. She nudged her First Mate and gestured at Ash's table, pulling a beaten parchment from her pocket and studying the two. They had recognised Ash from an old wanted poster.
Time to go.
He swigged the last of his ale. Desperate to escape their gaze, he stood quickly and knocked over his stool, then ushered Kite and Reverie into a corner by the door, using his thick arms as a plough. All the while, he held firm to the female's forearm as she grumbled and protested, dragging the blind and confused man behind her.
