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hardship, support, rejection, fearing rejection and loss, failing to notice support when it is offered
The Pentacles castle was on high alert when Sir Dale arrived with his wagon-train. A band of Wildlanders had been seen roving in the nearby foothills of the Hindamar Mountains. Some of the farms had been raided and everyone was showing signs of stress. As things were sorted, goods stacked and soldiers sent on errands, the young lovers were eventually escorted to their rooms by a rushed servant lad. The servant did not stay nor did he offer any help or directions. The two guests felt cold, lonely and a little neglected. There was no food nor hot water for a bath, so they sat quietly around their lighted candle wondering what they should do. They began to feel unloved and even a burden to have been left alone like this.
With their usual efficiency, the Pentacles made their arrival, in the middle of a military crisis, a smooth transition from disorder into order. There was no panic or fear that the Wildlanders would attack the castle itself, but nevertheless, the captain of the castle guards, Captain Lohan, made sure his men were fully prepared.
“Men, you know what to do, you’ve trained for this many a time, so just get on with it. Sergeant Rollin, I know that it’s late but see that your men attend early morning roll call and ensure that they have had a wash and a meal before retiring,” ordered Captain Lohan in his clipped, sharp voice. He kept it just soft enough not to waken the castle residents.
“Sir, we’ll be in bed shortly. The stores are being put away as we speak; the horses fed and watered; wagons and equipment oiled and polished. I’ll see that it’s all done properly before I retire,” replied the stoic Sergeant.
When Page Alice finally dropped into the lover’s room she saw them both sleeping on top of the bed. She lit the fire, gently woke her guests and then took Eve to the kitchen. There she helped her gather food and drink for the couple’s supper before she herself retired.
“Well, it’s time for bed, Eve, I’ll come for you just after dawn. We’ve a big day ahead and you’ll want to meet everyone and take a walk around the grounds. It’s not big but it’s nice here, welcome to my home.” Alice gave Eve a peck on the cheek and left her to find her own way back to her room with a plate of cold meat, cheese, some bread and a jug of cold beer.
“I was wondering when you’d get back to me,” yawned Follin as he helped her unload the food onto their table. Having found the kettle he put it on the fire to boil. “I can’t wait for the morning, this place looks fascinating, even in the dark. I bet it’s ten times better in the light of day.”
“Well, let’s just finish supper first. There’s a bowl for the hot water over there by the windowsill. We’d better have a wash, some food and then it’s bedtime for us, I’m bushed,” said a very tired Eve.
⇔
The next morning they woke to the sounds of the household and a noisy rooster, crowing earnestly outside on the high wall that enclosed their garden. Follin rose and looked sleepily out of the window to tell the cock to be quiet. In surprise, he discovered their rooms opened onto a secluded, overgrown courtyard. He quickly woke Eve, jumping on the bed like an excited child seeing snow on a winter morn for the first time.
“Eve, darling! Look, a courtyard all to ourselves. Come on, there’s chickens and a rooster. I wonder if they live here too.” He pulled her upright and helped her put on a warm coat. Eve wasn’t always at her best in the mornings, but seeing her husband so excited she caught his enthusiasm. Together they crept out to explore their mysterious-looking courtyard.
“Hey, look, under the vines, it’s a table and some chairs. It looks just like the Magician’s, Mage Hermes workbench. When I visited him he had a place just like this. And look, over there, the two pillars look like Hera’s archway to her sacred glade. This place is magic, I can feel it!” He shuddered, not from the cold but from the energy that suddenly surged through him. Instead of feeling elated, however, it made him feel cold and clammy.
“Yes, I can feel it too, there’s earth magic here, it’s strong but...” Eve stopped talking to close her eyes, the better to feel the pervading energy field.
Follin was now seated on one of the chairs after clearing the vines from it.
“Eve, the magic... I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s not like what I felt in Hera’s Sanctuary. There’s something wrong with it.”
“That’s what the High Priestess told me, she said we had to help her heal the Empire’s energy somehow. It’s magic but... I think it’s depressing.” She slumped down in the chair next to Follin and her face fell into a look of forlorn helplessness. “This is hopeless, I don’t think I’ll be of much use to anyone. I’m not a magician, I’m not even anything like you are. You’re smart and clever, you’ve spent almost half of your life living this path of the mystic. Your father was a mage, you already have magic in your blood. But me, I’m just a grubby, herb-scrubber with dirt under her fingernails.”
Follin looked at his wife as she slumped forward, her face in her hands. He stroked her blond hair gently.
“Eve, are you OK?” he asked, lifting her chin so he could look into her eyes.
She saw the concern in his and smiled awkwardly. “Can’t you feel it? Are you blind to the hopelessness of this place? It’s lost, Follin, it has lost its magic and now it’s helpless. Eve stood up and went inside to lay on the bed, her face in her pillow.
The young man leaned back in his magician’s chair, he closed down his mind as he simultaneously raised his awareness. Follin could feel the magic, it was unwholesome, yes, but it wasn’t hopeless - it just wasn’t right. As he delved deeper he became nauseous and dizzy, but with a flash of insight he came back to consciousness.
In that short meditation, Follin saw the problem but not necessarily the solution. He felt for the courtyard’s change point. It was elusive but he caught it and held it. As he wrestled with the change point he managed to swing it back to a point where the unwholesome energy returned to a state of balance. Follin anchored the change point into the magician’s seat and table - he felt the cellular layers of wood bind the magic tightly. He wasn’t sure how long it would stay that way but he now knew what to do to change it. It could be tuned to a peaceful harmony as often as he needed while they were staying there.
‘So that’s what’s happening,’ he thought to himself as he lay beside Eve on the bed, ‘the Kingdom has four Tarot elements. Each element has its own power and they all tap into the High Priestess’s Sanctuary. So is this a problem within her Sanctuary or is it within the castles?’ He pondered this over and over until Page Alice came to take them for their breakfast.
It was mid-morning, the sun shone brightly into their cozy courtyard when Follin returned to their rooms. Eve had agreed to go exploring the castle with Page Alice. He decided that he needed to talk this problem over with Mage Hermes.
⇔
“Follin, I’m sorry but I can’t help you at the moment,” answered the Emperor’s Mage. He was busy trying to gather a pile of parchment scrolls in his arms, but they seemed to have a mind of their own. “I’ve got work of my own to do, and as you know, Eve is very much part of it right now. There is so much preparation ahead of us. You have your own work to do, and, at the moment, I’ve got to get these blasted scrolls to Eve for her studies.”
Mage Hermes looked at Follin over a pair of small glasses perched on the end of his nose as three more scrolls fell and rolled across the floor. “Besides, you seem to have solved the problem for now. I understand the Emperor wanted you to undertake an individual quest earning you right of entry into his magical assembly. But he’s grooming you for more than magic, my son,” he said as Follin bent to the floor for the umpteenth time to gather the scrolls as even more dropped to the floor.
“I thought I was supposed to help you and Hera repair the Sanctuary and the Empire? I thought my magic was needed? I just don’t understand,” Follin replied, his face now creased in confusion.
“Your magic is indeed needed, Follin, but the Emperor needs you to develop it in a very special way. That’s why he sent you on this quest to the four Kingdoms - and beyond. Now you had better find Sir Dale, he’ll explain to you what your next task is. I think you might like it. And don’t worry about Eve, I’ve given her a few tasks of her own to do. When the sun sets, Hera, my sister, the High Priestess, will begin teaching her as well. That poor girl has so much to learn yet so little time.”
The old Mage’s eyes twitched as they carried the scrolls and equipment from his alchemy rooms to Follin and Eve’s sunlit courtyard.
“Eve is very sensitive to all forms of energy,” he explained, “and we need her to study it’s subtle forms and ebbs and flows in each Kingdom, beginning with this one, the Pentacles.”
The Mage now eased himself into the chair and arranged the scrolls across the table surface. As he did so his sharp eyes lifted to stare at Follin. “My son, is this your work? I can feel the changes you’ve made here in the courtyard. Hmm, very interesting indeed...” the Mage closed his eyes all the better to feel the weaving of energy that Follin had performed that morning. “I can feel the subtle fabric of the Pentacles energy. You’ve managed to anchor it to this table. Now that, my son, was very clever. In fact, I don’t think I need to do any work on it myself, it’s perfectly suited to my lessons.”
The cock was perched on the high stone wall and crowed in agreement, some of his hens were scratching in the unkempt garden beds inside the private courtyard. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day in the Pentacles Kingdom.
“Son, the Pentacles Kingdom have much to teach you and Eve. I think you will both enjoy your time here. Now it’s time for you to find Eve and bring her here for her lessons. Then you had better find Sir Dale to begin your own.”
⇔
Sir Dale was with his two squires, Mavor and Allen. The two scowled silently when they saw Follin walk into the weapons room with Sergeant Rollin.
“Follin, I was just about to send Allen to fetch you.” Sir Dale turned to the three squires. “I am very proud of your performance the other day on our journey home. Allen, you and Mavor excelled in holding the enemy’s advance on the track while our troops moved forward to chase the rest back into the forest. You exhibited the kind of courage and bravery we are so proud of in our Pentacles squires. You will both be excellent leaders when you are of age.”
Sir Dale then turned to his newest squire who appeared to shudder slightly under his gaze. Follin didn’t want to be singled out, it made him vulnerable, open to criticism and humiliation by these two ruffians. “You’re engagement with the enemy was somewhat unusual. We were informed that you had magic, but what you did the other day prevented my troops from being harmed and I am always glad when bloodshed is prevented.”
Mavor’s eyes narrowed as he watched Sir Dale heap praise on what he believed was just a ‘spoiled, jumped-up islander yokel’.
“Follin, I am sending you with Sergeant Rollin, he will introduce you to our bladesmith, Master Pew. Master Pew will teach you some of the special magic of our Kingdom: the magic of turning the earth into tools for our gardens to grow our food and weapons for our security.” Sir Dale then turned back to his two squires and continued with his instructions.
Sergeant Rollin saluted and began the walk towards the nearby sound of a hammer striking iron.
“So lad, you’ve not done any sword training or bladesmithing in your village before you came to the Empire?” asked Rollin politely. Even he was a little apprehensive around the young man since news of how he cleverly used earth magic on their way through the forest.
“Nay, Master Rollin, I’ve swung an axe but never a sword nor a smithy’s hammer. I did a little sword practice with Ivan, the Emperor’s swordsmaster, but that’s all. Ivan said I needed to practice a lot more if I was to be of any use as a man-at-arms. I must admit that I found wielding a sword was really hard.” Here, Follin paused to gather his thoughts before he continued speaking. He liked Rollin, the older man was powerfully built and a wonderful swordsman with a manner that made Follin feel accepted.
“I am a bit frightened though, I’ve not encountered alchemy like the making of steel before. I hope I don’t just make a fool of myself,” said Follin, recalling how he failed so miserably at wood and metal-craft at school. He couldn’t hit a nail on the head let alone heat a blade in a fire pit.
“Now, lad,” Sergeant Rollin soothed when he noticed Follin’s unease. “Just you follow Blademaster Pew’s lessons, he’s a fine old man with a gift indeed. If there’s anyone who can teach you smithing, it’s ol’ Pew.” Rollin had over-heard the Emperor telling Sir Dale that he believed Follin found learning magic as easy as falling off a horse - and he’d seen him fall off a horse, more than once on their journey to the Pentacles Kingdom.
They walked towards a covered pavilion with a furnace, fire-pit, hammers and anvils. The noise of the bladesmith’s apprentice pumping the bellows into the fire-pit signaled the bladesmith was hard at work. The second sign was the cloud of smoke and steam enveloping the forge and the smoke-blackened smithy walls.
“Aye, ‘tis the lad from the Isle. Welcome my boy, though boy you aren’t I can see and from what I’ve ‘eard. You know some magic already I believe?” Old Master Pew held a heavy hammer in his right hand letting its head rest on the enormous anvil at his side. Without waiting for Follin to answer, Pew nodded for Rollin to head back to his soldiering and continued to chat with this new apprentice, recognising Follin’s unease.
“You don’t need to know much about magic ‘ere, young lad. I’ll teach thee what thee don’t know and ye’ll pick up the rest, no doubt. Sir Dale said you’re a bright one so let’s get started.” Without a pause he pointed to a solid-looking stool for Follin to sit on. “Now just sit there and watch what me and the apprentice ‘ere be doing till I tell thee to move. And don’t touch metal till thee has learned to recognise if it’s hot or cold.”
Follin spent most of each day observing, fetching charcoal, shoveling it into the furnace, tidying the smithy and sweeping the floor. He was general rouse-about for both the smiling apprentice, Justin, and the bladesmith himself, Master Pew. Although initially disappointed that he wouldn’t be learning to be a bladesmith from day one, Follin set to with a will, doing his tasks diligently. As each day passed he joined in with the light-hearted banter and humour of the old master and the young apprentice.
Now into his second week, Follin asked the bladesmith a question that had been on his mind since he had arrived at the smithy. “Master Pew, what is a bladesmith? Is it any different to a smithy or a blacksmith?”
Old Pew looked across the red flames of the fire-pit, put his hammer and tongs down beside his anvil and sat down on an aged wooden stool. He pulled a face as he nodded to the two boys to sit and listen. It was early morn and the fire-pit was still warming up.
Pointing his chin to Justin, his apprentice, Old Pew said, “Now my lad ‘ere knows not to ask a master a question like that. Not ‘ere in the Pentacles Kingdom where children are taught in their first year to recognise tree and timber; gem and jewel; leather and cloth; needle and metal masters of every form and manner - by name and by nature.” He winked at Justin.
“A blacksmith is a specialist who turns raw minerals into metals and can forge iron into anything he wishes. Aye, a smithy, the garden variety of blacksmithing, so to speak, can do just about that too but he generally is happiest at repairing damaged tools, plough shears, frying pans and kettles. But a bladesmith is a weapons specialist, a master of steel, the killing sword, spear and arrowheads. I know I’ve not spoken of the differences between metals that we’ve worked; nor have I explained the temperatures for each tool or weapon blade; the number of forge pumps per minute needed for each task; nor the reason you’ve been throwing in special powders and shoveling loads of charcoal - but today is as good a day as any to begin.”
Over the following months, Follin learned of the specific metal ores, minerals and other ingredients that went into repairing shovel blades and why a different set of ingredients were required to repair and create armour, spearheads and sword blades. The young man learned how to pump the bellows using a variety of special rhythms, and when to add more charcoal and when to leave well enough alone. His tasks were many but he loved going to the forge every day. Slowly the castle folk became accustomed to his whistling on his way to work each morning.
“You’ve earned your day off come tomorrow’s day of rest,” said Pew as he pulled his shed door closed against the stiff, evening wind. “But soon enough ye’ll begin your task of locating, working and firing ingredients to make your own blade.”
Follin shivered with excitement. “You mean I can create a sword blade of my own, from my very own ore? To make steel? Like a bladesmith?”
“Aye,” Pew spoke slowly. “Aye, lad, ‘tis time you stopped sweeping floors and wiping benches. You’ve proved that you aren’t afraid of hard work nor the heat of the forge. Thee and Justin will be taking up our camping gear and heading into the mountains with me for a few weeks. Justin will have the donkey ready along with supplies come Monday.” He nodded to his young apprentice, Justin, who had forged his own blade as part of his initiation some years previously. He’d earlier told Follin that he could swing it when they went prospecting for minerals high up in the Hindamar Mountains.
“So make love to yer pretty wives while ye can lads,” called Master Pew as the two young men jostled each other, grabbing at their gear ready to head home.
The old man chuckled. “if I had a pretty young wife that’s what I’d be doing, but alas, a bladesmith’s love-life is a little boring, even for a sprightly Pentacles lad like...” he paused and cocked his head to the side, “come to think of it, I’ve not tried it with any of the lasses from the other Kingdoms... I wonder if it’s not too late for me to try now?” The three smiled. Old Pew was uglier than Vulcan, the God of the smithy, and he knew it.
“Now get off to thy wives, young lads, and have some fun. Justin, you can tell ‘yer two youngun’s that they can come on the next trip, if their mother says they’ve been well behaved.” With a slap on the doorpost the bladesmith signalled their week of labour was ended.
⇔
Follin’s meditation – Five of Pentacles:
The image showed two poor souls walking past a place of worship. They appeared to be suffering in the snow from wounds and poverty.
Placing the image firmly in his mind’s eye he slowly eased into a deep state of trance. Once again he was at the hermitage cottage of his previous journey through the Major Arcana. This time he was alone.
He placed the image in front of him and studied it from all angles. ‘I can’t seem to see much good in this picture. It sure looks like doom and gloom, hardship and poverty of possessions as well as their spirit,’ he mused. ‘They may even be refugees displaced by war or retired soldiers unemployed and down on their luck?’
As he considered the image he had a flash of insight: ‘hardship, indeed, but right beside them was an opportunity to ease that hardship... and there, look, one seeks to help the other.’ He saw the person in front wait for the one legged man to catch up as they walked slowly through the snow.
‘Perhaps it means that through hardship there is always opportunity, and that there is no greater opportunity than friendship.’ Feeling quite contented with himself, Follin went for a walk through his hermitage forest in the astral plains to consider other matters.