Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability Chapter 5 - 5: Card
Previously on Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability...
Chapter 5: Card
Lumian’s attention eventually shifted to the drink held by the lady.
The spirit, distilled from sugar and fermented cherries, possessed a color and consistency that typically charmed women. While other fruits could be used as a substitute for cherries, the flavor profile would only be marginally different.
Cordu’s Ol’ Tavern maintained a meager supply of premium spirits, including the Kirsch that Madame Pualis had grown fond of during her travels to Bigorre, the provincial capital.
Madame Pualis was the spouse of Béost, who served as the local administrator and territorial judge. Her family held noble lineage until their titles were revoked during the era of Emperor Roselle.
Lumian was aware of her secret role as one of the mistresses to the padre, Guillaume Bénet, though this remained largely unknown to the rest of the village.
Averting his eyes from the woman, Lumian walked toward the bar counter.
Sitting there was a man in his forties, clad in a linen shirt and matching trousers. His brown hair had thinned significantly, and his features were etched with the lines of years of manual toil.
This was Pierre Greg, the father of Reimund.
Yet another Pierre.
Lumian had previously joked with Leah, Ryan, and their companions that at least a third of the tavern’s patrons would look up if someone shouted the name Pierre.
In this village, one had to specify a family name whenever mentioning a Pierre or a Guillaume to avoid confusion.
Because many families reused the same names across generations, it was nearly impossible to distinguish between them without adding specific identifiers to their monikers.
Reimund approached his father’s side and inquired, “Papa, why don’t you go to the square and chat with the others?”
The village men typically gathered beneath the ancient elm or at someone’s house to spend their time playing cards, dice, or chess while trading gossip—after all, frequenting the tavern required money.
Holding a glass of deep red wine, Pierre Greg turned to his second son and replied, “We’ll go later. There shouldn’t be many people at the square now.”
This immediately sparked confusion in Lumian.
He had already noted how unusually empty the square was of the village men.
“Uncle, I want to ask you something,” Lumian stated directly.
Pierre Greg grew instantly cautious.
“A new prank?”
Lumian tilted his head, signaling for Reimund to take the lead.
Reimund paused briefly to organize his thoughts.
“Papa, how long ago did that Warlock legend you shared with me take place? You know, the one where nine bulls were needed to haul the coffin.”
Pierre Greg took a long drink of his wine, his brow knitting in confusion.
“Why are you bringing that up?
“Your pépé told me that story when I was just a young boy.”
The Riston Province, home to Cordu, along with the nearby provinces of Aulay and Suhit, sat in the southern reaches of the Intis Republic. Known for their vast grape harvests, these regions produced wine so cheaply—especially the lower grades—that in certain years, it was consumed as freely as water.
Reimund felt a pang of disappointment, given how much time had passed since his grandfather’s death.
Suddenly, Pierre Greg added, “Your pépé claimed that he saw it with his own two eyes when he was but a young man. It spooked him so much that he became deathly afraid of owls. He was convinced that their evil talons could snatch his very soul away.”
The eyes of Lumian and Reimund lit up with excitement at the same time.
“Did pépé mention anything about where the Warlock lived or where he was buried?” Reimund asked with urgency.
Pierre Greg simply shrugged. “Who cares?”
Undeterred, Reimund was about to push for more details when Lumian stopped him with a light touch on his shoulder. Lumian announced loudly, “The river awaits us.”
As Reimund prepared to depart with Lumian, Pierre Greg suddenly recalled a detail.
“Hold up, Reimund. You’ll soon be a Greenwatcher, won’t you? There’s something you need to be aware of.”
Greenwatchers were tasked with the vital duty of patrolling the highland pastures and nearby fields to stop illegal grazing and protect young saplings from livestock.
Lumian paid little attention to their talk and slipped away to the tavern’s washroom.
Upon exiting, he took a roundabout path toward the foreign woman who was still nursing her Kirsch. Her age remained a mystery.
He didn't intend to start a conversation, but he studied her closely. He figured the information might be useful later, much like how he had used Ryan, Leah, and Valentine to spy on the padre’s scandalous behavior.
After several subtle glances, Lumian was about to head to the door to wait for Reimund when the relaxed lady in the orange dress looked up.
Their eyes locked before Lumian could look away.
Lumian felt a wave of awkwardness; even his usual thick skin couldn't shield him from the sudden contact.
A flurry of thoughts raced through his mind.
Just as Lumian reached a decision, the lady cut through his thoughts with a smile and asked, “Been having dreams, have you?”
Lumian felt as if he had been struck by lightning. His mind went blank and his thoughts seized up.
After a tense silence, he managed a strained smile and replied, “Dreaming isn’t unusual, is it?”
The woman rested her cheek on her hand, measuring Lumian with her gaze. She laughed softly and said, “Lost in a misty dream, perhaps?”
Lumian’s pupils widened instantly, his face betraying a flicker of terror.
Despite his experiences, his youth made it difficult to fully mask his shock in that moment.
He silently commanded himself to relax his facial muscles before asking, “Did you hear the tale I told those three foreigners last night?”
...
The woman offered no answer. Instead, she reached into her orange purse on the adjacent chair and pulled out a deck of cards.
She looked at Lumian again, her smile becoming more radiant.
“Draw a card. Perhaps it can aid you in unlocking the hidden secrets of that dream.”
Lumian hesitated, his internal alarms ringing.
He felt a mixture of curiosity and deep suspicion.
Looking down at the cards she offered, he frowned.
“Tarot?”
The cards were reminiscent of the tarot deck created by Emperor Roselle for the purposes of divination.
The woman looked down with a sheepish, self-deprecating grin.
“My apologies, I must have grabbed the wrong one.”
She quickly tucked the 22 Major Arcana cards back into her bag and produced a different set.
...
“This is also tarot, but it’s from the Minor Arcana. You don’t have the privilege to draw from the Major Arcana pack, and I don’t have the authority to let you…”
The Minor Arcana consisted of 56 cards across four suits: chalices, wands, swords, and pentacles.
Lumian was baffled by her cryptic explanation.
The woman was undeniably beautiful and refined, yet her eccentric behavior suggested she might be unstable.
“Draw one,” she insisted, gesturing with the Minor Arcana cards. “It’s complimentary, so there’s no cost to try. It may be the solution to your dream predicament.”
Lumian let out a short laugh.
“My sister once said that free things often come at the most hefty price.”
“That may be true,” the lady conceded after a moment of reflection.
She set the Minor Arcana deck down gently, making sure not to disturb her glass of Kirsch.
“But as long as you don’t pay, no matter what, how can I, a foreigner, expect to make you pay in Cordu?”
Lumian’s mind whirled with indecision as he weighed her words.
The woman remained patient despite his hesitation.
After what felt like a long wait, Lumian made his move. He leaned in and reached out with his right hand, shuffling through the Minor Arcana before pulling a card from the center.
“Seven of Wands.” The lady’s eyes settled on the card.
The illustration showed a man in green clothing standing on a mountain peak, his expression firm. He gripped a wand, defending himself against six other wands attacking from below.
“What does this mean?” Lumian questioned.
The woman’s lips curved upward.
“I shall interpret it for you. It symbolizes crisis, challenge, confrontation, courage, et cetera.
“However, what really matters is that this card now belongs to you. When the time comes, you will discover its true meaning.”
“You’re giving it to me?” Lumian’s bewilderment only deepened.
Ignoring his question, the woman began packing away her cards. She grabbed her glass and drained the remaining Kirsch in one gulp.
With elegant steps, she walked toward the stairs of the Ol’ Tavern and headed up to the second floor.
It was clear she was staying there as a guest.
Lumian felt a pull to follow her, but he held back, his mind a chaotic mess of thoughts.
Reimund approached him then.
“What’s the matter, my friend?”
“Nothing much. That foreigner was quite the looker, isn’t she?” Lumian replied dismissively.
“I reckon your sister, Aurore, is far more beautiful.” Reimund lowered his voice. “Lumian, my pépé has been gone for ages. What should we do next?”
Lumian, eager to leave, thought for a second before responding.
“First, we could look for an elder around your pépé’s age who is still alive. Or, we could visit the cathedral to check the records. Uh, but we can think about that later.”
Recalling his recent clash with the padre, Lumian decided the cathedral should be a last resort.
As Cordu’s sole cathedral, it functioned as a seat of power and a government office, maintaining all records of births, marriages, and deaths.
Before Reimund could continue, Lumian cut in, “Let’s split up and look for candidates. We’ll ask around tomorrow.”
“Agreed,” Reimund said immediately.
...
Back in their semi-subterranean home, Aurore listened to Lumian’s story, her eyes fixed on the “Wand” card.
“It’s an ordinary card, oui. I detect no malice or enchantments.”
“Aurore, big sis, what do you make of the foreigner’s intentions? How did she know of my dream?” Lumian asked.
Aurore shook her head.
“Now that she has shown us her hand, we can only wait and see.”
“I will keep a watchful eye on her for the next few days.”
“Oh… And take this card. It may cause change. But have no fear, I will be watching.”
“Alright.” Lumian attempted to calm his nerves.
...
In the middle of the night, Lumian tucked the Wand card into the clothes draped over his chair before climbing into bed and closing his eyes.
Soon, the thick, gray mist returned to his vision.
Suddenly, he snapped awake within the dream.
He felt his consciousness clear, replaced by a sharp sense of lucidity.
Yet, the dreamscape remained, still shrouded in that same heavy, suffocating haze.