Tarot Academy 4 - Sarah Piper Page 0,75
hovers on the tip of my tongue, as bold and sweet as candy. “…fire?”
They beam at me like proud parents.
I beam too. I laugh. I’m nearly exploding with it. I’ve never felt so free, so alive.
“Oh yes, my Black Sun.” The druid places his hand on my shoulder, his eyes alight with the same brilliant heat coursing through my heart. “More fire than you can ever imagine.”
Twenty-Six
STEVIE
Cities kneel before the flames
Thus begins the deadly game
When hope is lost the Star shall fall
As Death arrives to conquer all
From the ashes, called to rise
With blackened hearts and golden eyes
Souls imprisoned in a tomb
Soldiers marching for our doom
“Well that’s an uplifting piece, isn’t it?” Biting back a sigh, I set down the page and flip through the rest of printouts from Kirin’s backups, looking for anything that might give us a clue about Ani’s condition.
It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since he said my name, and not another word since. Not a groan, not a twitch of his eyelid, nothing. Physically, he’s completely healthy. Professor Broome has him on a magickal IV, and she’s keeping him in a magickal stasis to prevent his body from atrophying, constantly monitoring him for any signs of distress.
He looks like Ani. He feels like Ani.
But he’s completely unreachable.
Even at a high dose, the dream potion shouldn’t have rendered him comatose—not like this. And while we may not know exactly what’s causing his condition, it’s not hard to see the hands of the Dark Arcana at work.
Unfortunately, Mom’s prophecies are about as clear as the red mud at the River of Blood and Sorrow, and after weeks of research, Kirin and I are no closer to helping Ani than we are to figuring out how to defeat our enemies.
“What do you think this one means?” Kirin asks, gently massaging the knots from my shoulders. He’s sitting behind me in an armchair near the fireplace, and I’m on the floor in front of him, trying to relax into his warm touch. His hands are powerful and precise, and at any other time, I’d kill for a back rub like this.
But with every verse I read, my muscles grow tighter, the tension inside me coiling like a serpent.
When hope is lost the Star shall fall…
I glare at the words on the first page again, wishing they didn’t affect me so strongly, but how could they not? The phrase is a bone-chilling reminder of the prophecy Lala shared about my so-called suicide, and I can’t help but take it as a warning.
Thus her ache shall find no ease, so shall the daughter of The World surrender to the emptiness, to the void within and without. By her own hand, of her own volition, The Star shall fall. Henceforth she shall take her eternal breath in utter darkness…
As confusing as Mom’s prophecies have been, none of them have come to me by accident. The fact that this latest one references the falling star, along with the arrival of Death and golden-eyed soldiers rising from the ashes? To call it a “doomsday prophecy” doesn’t even scratch the surface.
It feels a lot like some of my visions—an army of ghoul-like mages swarming the campus, incinerating anyone in their path. Is this what we’re facing now? Is this the future waiting for us on the next horizon, the last great loss in a chain of hundreds more, the ache that will finally—if Mom and Lala are right—push me over the edge?
And what of my Arcana brothers? I would never leave them. Even at the end of the world, if only one of the men I loved remained standing, I wouldn’t leave his side for anything. Me surrendering to the emptiness? Willingly ending my life? That could only mean one thing: the men I love are doomed to die.
Souls imprisoned in a tomb… Soldiers marching for our doom…
I blink back tears, the words blurring like tiny ants marching across the page.
“What do you think it means?” Kirin asks, peering down over my shoulder. “All that fire imagery is a little intense.”
“What it means is my mother was fucking stoned when she wrote this.” I grab the stack of papers and chuck them across the room, frustration and helplessness colliding inside me, pushing me to my feet. “I am so done with this emo Arcana poetry. Fire, flames, death-death-death. Why couldn’t she just write about sex and breakups like everyone else? Maybe include a few guitar chords, make a whole song out of it all. What good