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possessiveness, control, selfishness, arrogance breeds stagnation
The poise and conduct of the men-at-arms and the horse cavalry made for a fine parade as they escorted the Pentacle’s wagon-train out of the Emperor’s castle. They now progressed carefully along the rough, forested track into the Pentacles Kingdom. The orderly lines of horseman and soldiers was perfection itself. The men-at-arms marched to the beat of a single drummer who, every now and then, tapped out a rhythm which set the soldiers singing martial songs interspersed with songs of love, happiness and the rewards of a job well done.
The trek north to the Pentacles castle, nestled in the Hindamar Mountain foothills, took more than a week. The journey was always considered quite treacherous, so the soldiers and wagoneers were constantly on the alert for danger.
Follin rode with Mavor and Allen, their snide remarks and black looks suggested something had transpired between themselves and their master, Sir Dale. It didn’t bother him too much, but he felt a sense of rejection and loneliness.
Eve though, was having the time of her life. She sat at the front of the wagon with the white-haired wagoneer, old Frailbones. He was of medium build but his powerful frame and clear, intense gaze, belied his name.
She was delighted to be back in the forest again. The girl from the Mystic Isle knew the names of most of the trees, shrubs and the herbs they passed, and what she didn’t recognise she asked her companion.
When she could she sang along with the soldiers and she laughed when they did a special skip-step to the changes in rhythm, all orchestrated by the flamboyant drummer.
Eve kept up a constant conversation with her companion but every now and then she would answer a query directed to her from the small carriage window behind her. Alice and others of the Pentacles court, preferred to stay and chatter inside the warm wagon. The girls huddled inside were curious and kept asking Eve about what she was doing with the High Priestess Hera and Mage Hermes. They’d heard snippets from the other court members while at the Emperor’s castle, but that only increased their desire to know more.
Eve was born and raised in a small northern village on the fabled Mystic Isle. Her parents were healers and she spent most of her time growing and gathering healing herbs. During times of hardship she lived with her grandparents in the forest and so had little time to mix and develop relationships with others her own age. When she’d met Follin she was barely out of puberty, she was just a naive teenager. It was only a few years later that she was forced to flee her village, alone, after the Wildlanders had invaded her village leaving in their wake starvation and disease.
Their union had been brief, but before Follin left to continue his quest, Eve had managed to learn the name of his village. With nowhere else to turn the young woman decided to search for her lover, she was sure she would find him. After months of searching she finally came to the door of his family home, only to find it abandoned. The next few years were spent as a lay-healer, living on the charity of the townsfolk she served. It was tough but she loved it, knowing in her heart that one day Follin would walk in the door.
She didn’t expect that soon after they were united she would be asked to take a journey to meet the ruler of the Empire of the Four Tarot Kingdoms. She went from a nobody to a somebody in what was a whirlwind of excitement. Now everyone wanted to know her and sought out her friendship - she was treated as someone special. She liked this unaccustomed celebrity status, in fact, she liked it too much.
The Mystic Isle girl enjoyed teasing the girls. She wasn’t going to give away any secrets nor was she going to share her knowledge with them. In her eyes she had duly earned the right to study under Mage Hermes and the High Priestess. There was no way she would give away her treasured position of superiority either.
“Eve, why don’t you tell us about Mage Hermes? He’s such a nice old man but so secretive. What is he really like? Come on, you never tell us anything,” called Alice from the tiny wagon window. The court girl’s cries sounded like a chorus behind her.
But Eve was adamant, she enjoyed her position of superiority and played on it. “All in due time, ladies, all in due time. Maybe tomorrow night, or when we arrive at the castle. Or... maybe the night after, that might be better, when I’m not so tired...”
Old Frailbones couldn’t help but overhear their conversations. He noted how Eve teased the girls of the court and he was not impressed. He decided he should say something.
“Missus Eve, begging yer pardon fer me saying so, but why don’t you tell the wee lasses a bit of what ye’ve seen and learned? It won’t hurt, and it might make them feel a wee bit special too.”
Eve swung her head around to look at Alice through the window. She then turned to Frailbones considering her response. “I’ve earned the right to study with the magicians, these courtly girls are just silly little things who wouldn’t understand what I said anyway. Why should I tell them anything?” she said with a toss of her head sending her long, blond hair out of her eyes.
“Aye, now lass, don’t be too hoity-toity with those beneath thee. They didn’t have your opportunities in life nor are they special like thee. They be nice girls and ye nay want them or anyone in our kingdom thinking thee too haughty to talk to.” The old man kept his eyes on the path and deliberately didn’t look at Eve as he spoke, but he glanced at her as he ended his little lecture. “Pride comes a’fore a fall, me pretty young lass, ‘tis best to make a friend by being a friend.”
“I’ve got more important things to do than make friends, Frailbones. Why do I need these girls as friends anyway? My friends are the Emperor’s magicians,” she said trying to sound mature and wise. Suddenly it occurred to her that she was acting rudely, especially to her friend, Alice. Alice, she reminded herself, had been so kind to her too. Eve now felt herself blush at Frailbones’ gentle scolding and she dropped her face so he wouldn’t notice.
“Sometimes a friend be low as be high, me lass. When we stop for lunch I think it wise for ye to make your peace with the lasses. They’re fascinated by you two Mystic Islanders. We folk of the Pentacles make honourable allies, we stick to our friends through thick and thin. A Pentacles friend gained, be a friend for life.” The two stopped talking as they neared a clearing where the cook had gone ahead and was busy preparing lunch.
While the small force of men-at-arms were preparing for their midday meal, Sir Dale sent his three squires forward to scout the path ahead. As soon as they were out of sight, Mavor called out to Follin, riding behind them.
“You gutless worm! Can’t fight your own fights? Sir Dale told us off for initiating you into your squireship. He said we weren’t to touch a hair on your precious head, we have to treat you with respect. What rubbish is that you told him?” He screwed up his face and shouted disgustedly, “Huh! You know nothing of warfare, you don’t know a damn thing about swords; how to polish one; how to sharpen or even how to wield one. If it comes to a fight we ain’t going to rescue you, Follin, you’re just a stupid fool. And if you want anything from us you’ll have to squirm in the dirt like the islander worm that you are and beg for it.”
Mavor looked at his friend, Allen, and laughed. “You’ll never learn our fighting tricks and skills, never, we’ve earned it the hard way. Since you’re Sir Dale’s pet, his ‘golden-haired boy’, you’ll have to ask him what to do, if you dare. You’ll be the fool you’ve always been without that learning. You should have kept your mouth shut and not crossed us.”
Follin looked at them and intuited that they wouldn’t have taught him anything anyway. He wasn’t one of them, a Pentacles, he was an outsider, a Mystic Islander, a nobody, a freak. The older squire kicked his spurs into his horse and galloped ahead, Allen joined him leaving Follin alone.
Only a few minutes had past when he saw Allen and Mavor galloping, fast, back towards him. They both wore an expression of shock and fear as they skidded their horses to a halt.
“Follin, get back to the wagon train! Tell Captain Bleecher, the captain of the guard, and Sir Dale, that there’s a foot patrol of Wildlanders ahead. We’ll stand-to here. If they approach we’ll do what we can to hold them up a bit, then we’ll fall back on the wagons. Now go!”
Follin spun his horse around awkwardly and galloped as best he could without falling off. As he came towards the Pentacles campsite he cried out the news to the first soldiers he came to. Immediately a well-practiced defensive perimeter sprang into existence.
Captain Bleecher yelled for his men-at-arms, they dropped what they were doing and raced for their weapons to stand in ordered rows, ready for his command. Sir Dale hurriedly grabbed at his armour and called for Follin to assist him. The girls and other members of the knight’s household began packing up their food-stuffs and loaded their wagons. Although everything was done at speed, no-one panicked. The first platoon of men-at-arms began marching out with Captain Bleecher in the lead within moments.
An armed guard remained behind. Follin noticed Frailbones string a bow and stand by his wagon, watching the tree line. He had an arrow knocked ready on the string.
“Follin, to me!” called Sir Dale. “What manner of weapon can you wield? Bow, sword, knife, slingshot?”
Follin was raised on a small farm in the country. As the eldest son he’d spent most of his childhood in the forests hunting food for his family.
“Sire, I am quite good with a hunting bow.”
“Good.” To his sergeant, he called, “Rollin, give the boy a bow and a quiver of arrows.” He turned back to his new squire. “I’m sorry I haven’t had time to spend with you, but the report from Ivan is that you gave of your best in your training. If you can do justice to the bow you’ll be worth your weight in gold this day.” He paused for a moment, thinking before he continued. “Have you ever killed a man?”
The young squire was shocked, he hadn’t thought of killing before, but now it was raised he felt uncomfortable.
“Sire, I’ve never killed anything larger than a rabbit. I did try to shoot a deer once but it was too fast for me. I’m not afraid to protect my friends and family, and you Sire, are now both.” Follin reflected. “I will kill if I need to.”
Sir Dale didn’t hesitate. “Good, because I can hear fighting ahead. Just remember, archers are vulnerable to close-quarter fighting.”
As they rounded the bend they saw Mavor and Allen. They were on their horses fending off a half-dozen enemy soldiers. Their horses pranced and kicked as the two flashed their swords inflicting only minor wounds. They skillfully kept their enemy at bay, wheeling and turning their horses in a series of complicated maneuvers.
“Mavor! Where are the rest of the enemy?” called Captain Bleecher, leading his men at a run towards the fight.
Mavor looked up sharply, he panted his reply. “In the forest, trying to get around us, this is but a part. We saw perhaps twenty enemy but there may be more,” Mavor grunted loudly, swinging his blade at the head of an opponent.
Realising they were outnumbered, the half-dozen or so soldiers assaulting the two squires, turned and fled into the forest.
“Hold!” screamed Captain Bleecher, “Squires, on me!”
Mavor and Allen headed his call and trotted their horses to their Captain.
Sir Dale, just arriving with their mounted cavalry, called loudly, “Squad one, to the right and skirmish one hundred metres. Squad two, the same on the left flank. Send runners to report when you have cleared the area. Follin, you race forward along the road and scout ahead two hundred metres, watch your flanks. Report back what you see, you have one minute so get moving.”
Follin had to manage his bow, a quiver of arrows and his horse, all at once - and without falling off. He slipped in his saddle and almost fell several times. As he passed Mavor and Allen he noticed their grim faces were focused on the bushes on both sides of the track - they ignored him completely.
At two hundred metres Follin pulled his horse to a halt and looked around. It was quiet and the gloom of the unfamiliar forest was intimidating. His instincts immediately prickled at his skin. He let himself sink into a light trance as he sent his mind into the forest on either side of the track.
Enemy, there were enemy here, hidden, watching him. Not many, perhaps a dozen but some were archers and he knew these would kill. They weren’t interested in him, they wanted Sir Dale, and his wagons. ‘They’re more hungry than savage. They’re just people, a bit like me,’ he thought.
Follin felt something else, the soul of the forest itself. It spoke to him in sensations describing the danger hidden within its branches and undergrowth. Follin could feel a power, he touched upon it momentarily, intuitively feeling for, and finding its change point. With a twist of his life-force he turned the change point of the forest. The young Mystic Islander urged the forest to put terror into the hearts of the enemy and to give his people safe passage.
There was movement among the trees as the Wildlanders began to move back to the main track in small groups. Follin watched as they now began to scamper in fear. Some screamed of the horrors in the forest as they ran.
Remembering his orders Follin pulled his horse’s head around and galloped back to his Knight to report.
“Sir Dale, the forest hid more of the enemy. I asked the trees to frighten them. They’re now running away.” The Knight saw that his new squire wasn’t being proudful or seeking praise, he just presented his report clearly and factually. Follin then led his horse back to his position in the train.
The captain overheard the report and frowned. He spoke to Sir Dale to confirm what they’d just heard. The scouting parties on each flank were now reporting in, they confirmed that the enemy appeared to be running away. Sir Dale trotted his horse to stand beside Follin.
“You evoked earth magic?” Sir Dale inquired.
Follin wasn’t sure if he was going to be punished for performing what to him was basic magic, so he just nodded, waiting for the rebuke.
“Hmm, I thought only Pentacles mages had that power. Can Eve do this too?” asked the knight rubbing his forehead where the rim of his helmet irritated his skin.
“I’m not sure, Sir, she might be able to, she’s working with Mage Hermes and the High Priestess. She’s learning all kinds of magic now.”
“Hmm,” the Knight mused again then said, “Nicely done, archer, nicely done.” He looked around at his troop, checking to see that they were back in order, then urged them forward. There were no more interruptions on their trip.
Some days later their ordered lines entered the Pentacles castle, it was just on nightfall. Throughout their journey, Mavor and Allen kept their distance. After hearing what Follin had done they decided it best to avoid a confrontation with him - he was now an unknown force to be reckoned with.
⇔
Follin’s meditation – Four of Pentacles:
The image showed a king, or royalty of some description, hoarding his treasure.
‘I wonder what that means?’ he said to himself as he sank deeper into trance. As he slid into his special space, the hermitage cottage, Follin found himself sitting in the sunshine with The Hierophant beside him.
“Son, it’s been a while since we spoke and I see that you have come a long way. You now have a beautiful wife and the Tarot Empire has found need of your Mystic Isle ways,” said The Hierophant.
“Hale, Master Hierophant, yes, it has been a while since we last met. As you can see I still have puzzles to solve and this one eludes me.” He showed The Hierophant his picture. “Does this mean we should control what we know, could it be responsibility or is it greed and failure to recognise the gifts in sharing what we have?”
“That, Follin, is a good question. Let’s ask the image itself shall we?” suggested The Hierophant as he examined the picture. In the next moment the King of Pentacles was seated with them, smiling with satisfaction and holding firmly to his coins.
“My goodness, Master Hierophant, you have evoked my own earth magic and taken me away from my castle’s gold treasury.” The King of Pentacles chuckled lightly. “And this, I presume, is Follin? Well met young man and welcome to my Kingdom.”
Follin was unsure at first but slowly warmed to the King of Pentacles as they shared The Hierophant’s pot of tea and small apple and cinnamon cakes in the hermitage.
“Your Majesty, I was asking Master Hierophant what your picture meant. It looks like you’re trying to hoard your possessions but I’m not sure if this is control or greed or what?” asked Follin, feeling more confident with his query now that the picture had come alive.
The King nodded imperceptibly as he listened to Follin’s question. “It is both, both wanting to hoard and to keep control of. It can be interpreted either way. Both are necessary when one has possession of something precious. If it is knowledge then one must consider with whom to share it. Sometimes it is best to sit quiet and say nothing. At other times it is required that you share of what you know. If it be your precious possessions, once again, it is your choice if it is appropriate to share or not.”
“Your Majesty?” Follin asked. “Does that mean it is about valuing your knowledge and possessions then making wise choices as to how you use it or share it?”
“It certainly does, Follin. Sometimes a picture of geomancy is best interpreted in consideration of those others sitting beside it. But now it is time for me to return to my treasury to count my blessings,” said the King of Pentacles with a twinkle in his eyes, and then he disappeared.