CHAPTER TEN
THE FORTUNE THAT WAS TOLD WITH TAROT CARDS
Setos, the Dogberry of Tlamco, lived in a pretentious square house where the disused Laurel Hill Cemetery is now located. The house was gay in stucco ornament and artistic coloring. The surrounding grounds were extensive, and the rambling enclosure was altogether the most elaborate private establishment in the city.
Quick, active, energetic and scientific, Setos had, also, the cunning of a schemer and the ambition of a dictator. In stature, he was short and pudgy, with a round, fat body and with disproportionately small extremities. He made many gestures with his arms and carried his straight stiff thumbs downward. His finger-nails were narrow, indicating obstinacy and conceit, while his thick and stubby fingers showed that he was cruel and selfish. Setos’s eyes were small and gray.
In addition to long ham-like ears was a nose which was a cross between a hook and a beak. The thin lips and square jaws completed a countenance which reflected a bold and uncertain temper. The man had a nervous habit of clasping his coarse, fat hands, especially when excited or over-anxious. Withal, he was inordinately vain, not of his good looks certainly, but of his achievements—and, his godliness.
Akaza had a way of looking straight through Setos’s mean, shabby nature which mightily irritated this entirely self-satisfied man. Setos always imagined that he was being put upon in the civic councils, and he was determined that the visitors should imbibe something of his greatness at the fountain-head.
It did not require much diplomacy nor persuasion to induce Kerœcia to pay Ildiko a visit before leaving Tlamco.
“When Eko Tanga says farewell, to-morrow,” Setos said to her, “it will save thee embarrassment to spend the remaining days with Ildiko. It would not be politic to take thy leave at the same time, because of the ill-concealed distrust between the Monbas and Eko Tanga. Shouldst thou go immediately after, it would be discourteous to the government of Ian. Let me urge thee strongly to continue here for a time.”
“Give me leave to add my prayer to thine, father,” said Ildiko, quick to see the importance of the move to herself. With Kerœcia as her guest, she would have the eyes of the whole city on her for a time. “Rahula do persuade our friends to make us happy,” she concluded with a pretty, affected lisp.
“I am wholly in thy hands,” responded Kerœcia. “Thy request lines with my desires. I am weary of public function. Besides, I am enslaved by curiosity concerning thy mode of living. Thou art not of the Azes.”
“Rightly spoken,” said Ildiko. “Thou art justified in seeking to know the domestic habits of Tlamco. It is not granted me to read signs like Rahula, but I can see the drift already.”
There was nothing malicious in Ildiko. Kerœcia colored quickly, but made no reply.
“Who knows but that I had ulterior motives in asking the fair lady to remain with us?” said Setos, pompously. “I hope for a son-in-law, some day, and Ben Hu Barabe is entirely to my liking.”
Ildiko, frivolous and vain, never doubted that she had made an impression in that quarter. A keen eye would have detected the sudden pallor of Alcyesta and the protective movement of Kerœcia. Self-centered Setos did not look at Rahula; therefore, he did not see the swift, half-fearful glance she gave Alcamayn, nor did he note the suppressed excitement of Orondo.
Kerœcia understood that the official character of her visit was at an end, and she experienced a feeling of relief. Setos anticipated this. He knew that the commercial benefits to be derived from a closer association of the two people were yet unrealized, and he did not intend to lose an opportunity to profit by the situation.
Will it jar on the sensibilities to discover that Setos took advantage of, and swindled the Monbas in every transaction following? He did this in order to make a reputation for zeal and shrewdness among his fellow councilmen.
It was Friday, the day of the bath, and not long before the time appointed for the departure of the high-priestess. Ildiko, Alcyesta, Mineola and Kerœcia were taking a siesta while deft-fingered maids brushed the hair spread out over their shoulders to dry after hammam and massage. They were seated on cushions piled on the still heated flagging, near the play of a perfumed spray. Their finger tips, nails and palms had been beautified, and the flat-iron shaped pumice-stone rubber had been industriously applied to the bottom of the feet, until each one was as soft and pliant as a baby’s untried sole. Long loose-fitting robes tied at the waist with striped silk, were the only garments worn.
The bathers regaled themselves with an ice-cream water-melon, which had been buried in an artificial snow-bank since early morning. Setos knew how to manufacture ice, but he preferred to follow the custom, long prevalent in Tlamco, of packing the snow in winter and bringing it down from the mountains as needed for daily use. A water jar made of porous clay, and completely covered by a fine growth of timothy grass had been filled with mead and hung in a window where a draught of air played upon it. The Azes believed that a turquoise prevented contagion, and that an emerald had the quality to purify water; so, the patera drinking-cups of silver provided were ornamented with them.
“It nears the fourth hour since we commenced our bath,” commented Kerœcia, helping herself to a drink from the ewer. “We have talked about everything I know. Now, what shall we do?”
The daintily carved orange-wood spoon in the hand of each listener was hastily returned to the yellow flesh of the melon, freckled with black seeds, and three pairs of eager eyes focused on the speaker.
“I will tell thee what I should like to do,” cried Ildiko. “I should like to talk about love. I intend to marry within a year.”
“O—h, dost thou?” they all exclaimed, in a breath. “Hast thou decreed who shall be party to this resolve?”
“Yes—and no. In Atlantis, the parents often select a husband or wife for their children. But one is not compelled to accept their choice,” she answered.
“Has a selection been made for thee?” queried Alcyesta.
“Yes. My father and Rahula have partly agreed that I am to marry Alcamayn.”
“Oh! Ho!” was all that could be distinguished, as the wooden plates were quickly set aside, and a general readjustment of cushions closed in around Ildiko.
“I am not sure that I am pleased,” that young lady went on to say. “I would rather select my husband myself.”
“No one of our tribe can do that, except our high-priestess,” rejoined Alcyesta. “Does thy religion allow thy priestess such liberty?”
“Truly not. Our priestesses may marry if someone asks them, but they cannot help themselves. Oh, that I were a Monbas high-priestess!”
“What wouldst thou do?” asked Kerœcia, with a smile, while Alcyesta did not seem to breathe.
“I would propose to thy Chancellor, Ben Hu Barabe,” she averred.
“Ben Hu Barabe is already betrothed,” replied Kerœcia. “He will espouse my beloved Alcyesta, when we return home.”
“How fortunate thou art!” said Ildiko to Alcyesta, but slightly abashed. “I can always marry Alcamayn. I should be puzzled to know what to do in thy case,” she continued, addressing Kerœcia.
“I fail to see why,” answered the priestess.
“There is more than one among the Azes and Atlantians who would speak if he dared.”
Kerœcia blushed and looked confused. Alcyesta and Mineola asked in a breath:
“Who are they?”
“Use thine eyes and find out,” replied Ildiko. “We have only one marking of the sun-dial for beauty sleep. Then we must array ourselves becomingly for the sake of Orondo, Alcamayn, Hanabusa and Ben Hu Barabe who arrive at the dinner hour.”
The high-priestess had arisen in the meantime.
“Not a wink of sleep to put a little rose in thy cheeks and add diamond sparkles to thine eyes?” chattered Ildiko.
“Not this time,” declared Kerœcia. “I must away at once as I have promised early audience to one of our friends.”
“May the assurances he brings thee be good and comforting,” murmured Ildiko, already half-asleep.
“May the Lord of the Lapse of Time enfold thee completely,” answered Kerœcia, with a careless nod, as she passed out of the chamber.
Orondo usually stood with his right foot forward, as if on guard, his broad, powerful shoulders thrown back, and his chest well out. In civilian’s dress, he wore an agate-headed serpent of scarlet leather around his head. On his neck was a gorget of leather set with gold bosses, from which hung a long, black cloak, bordered with fur. He had on a short apron-like skirt of leather, with a triple row of gold bosses around the bottom, and edged with a heavy leather fringe.
Wrinkled leather buckskins and gold-bossed sandals completed his costume.
Wearing no beard, his straight black hair fell well down over his shoulders. He was a patient, faithful worker, self-reliant, reserved, proud, firm in friendship, but an unrelenting foe. Slow to anger, he was like a bull when aroused.
Orondo’s voice in speech and song was mellow and agreeable. A countenance that glowed with animation, added much to his dauntless appearance. It was not like him to parley or waste time in useless subterfuge; but whatever he attempted he went straight about. So, desiring to consult Yermah, he marched into his presence without any preliminaries.
Noting his perturbed manner, the Dorado laid down a brush-pen he was using, and said:
“Something has interrupted the even tenor of thy well-ordered life, Orondo. Can I serve thee?”
There were curious white and red lines on the swarthy face, and the features looked pinched and drawn. He was exceedingly quiet, but there was an unusual brilliancy in the piercing black eyes.
“I have come to ask thy advice and blessing in a matter of great import to me,” he finally answered. “The point of superior years counts but little between us; but thou art my chief, and I love thee well.”
“Of that I am fully assured. My blessing and good wishes thou hast only to command. Give me to see the matter lying deep in thy heart, that I may judge for thee,” replied Yermah, fully aware that a crisis of some kind was at hand.
“Duty demands that I render strict obedience to my superiors, of whom thou art one, and the command is that I shall take a wife from the native women of this country.”
“I had feared from the ominous import of thy manner that some dark deed touching the honor of the state oppressed thy knowledge,” quickly responded Yermah, a feeling of relief giving place to his uncomfortable apprehension. “This is a more simple matter.”
“Not without thy consent. My heart rebels at the thought of a wife among the Azes,” answered Orondo, gravely.
“Then why mis-use desire? There is time enough. Thou hast fewer years than I. Let thy better parts speak, then come to me,” said Yermah, rising.
“This situation confronts me,” said Orondo, with agitation.
“Unmask thy feeling. I am not fully in confidence. Thou bemoanest the mandate to wed a native, yet affirm thy inner soul bespeaks its mate,” replied Yermah, shaking his head and looking perplexed.
“She whom I adore is the high-priestess of the Monbas,” said Orondo, scarcely above a whisper.
Yermah dropped into his seat as if he had been shot, and put his hands before his face as if to ward off a blow. Orondo, too much wrought up to detect feeling in another, asked eagerly:
“Thou wilt grant me permission to woo her, and if I win, wilt bless our union?”
“My vow to the Brotherhood forbids any other course. Go, go now, with my blessing, Orondo,” Yermah managed to say.
“May the Master of the Radiance shower thee richly,” murmured his auditor, as he stumblingly found his way out.
Yermah sat like a man stunned. For the first time in his life he drank deeply and long at the fountain of pain.
Orondo walked like one in a dream. He was in an exalted frame of mind, and seemed to be carried on the wings of the wind toward the house occupied by Rahula. He had won his first victory. He had permission from his civil chief. Now he would consult the unseen forces; then, he would learn his fate from the lips of his beloved. Hope was holding high carnival, and singing a merry tune in his ear, as he approached the door of the “Divination Room,” in the center of the square building.
“An humble applicant stands at thy door, Rahula,” called Orondo; “one who begs that thou wilt open to him the secrets of his destiny.”
“Upon what pretext dost thou invoke aid of the unseen powers?” demanded Rahula, the reader of the tarot cards, from behind a heavy tapestry curtain. “If of trivial import, begone at once! I will not hear thee.”
“Life and love are the subjects of my longing,” he answered. “And so urgent is my mission, I would fain discharge any obligation imposed upon me.”
Suddenly the heavy bronze bolts in the door flew apart. There was a sliding, grinding sound as the entrance was cleared, and he was across the threshold of the most noted and able professional fortune and story teller of that day.
“Welcome, Orondo. Neither pitch nor accent betrayed thee. The triplicity of mind, heart, and bodily function are wholly at thy service,” said Rahula, coming forward and placing both hands on the upper arms of her visitor, while she lightly brushed his forehead with her lips. He in turn kissed the back and palm of her left hand, thus appealing directly to her intuitional powers.
A pair of bull-headed and eagle-winged sphinxes guarded the north and south side of the square-topped golden tripod, which was supported by twigs of madroña wood, tipped with gold. This consecrated table occupied the middle of the room; and in the mouths of the sphinxes were hooks from which were hung perfumed, jeweled lamps.
In the center of the tripod was a round disk composed of various metals radiating in stripes. On the outer edge of the rim were twenty-four hieroglyphs of magic, at equal distances from each other. A tiled floor liberally spread with rugs and skins, completed the furnishings, save a duplicate stool of black under-glaze with a meander in white around it, which served as a seat for Rahula on the opposite side. The ceiling showed twelve radiations in the folds of colored silk, which started from the central canopy and ended in a frieze of twenty-four enlarged hieroglyphs, interlaced in a dragonesque meander. Pompeiian-red tapestries hung on the walls, relieved by wise sayings painted on banners of silk tissue, which were placed at intervals in perpendicular strips.
Rahula’s ample, flowing robes were of purple silk, with a circlet of jet on her head, and a girdle of the same at her waist. Around her neck was a filigree gold and silver collarette fitting close to the skin. From a recess in the wall opposite the door Rahula brought forth the figure of a youth, a young calf, a lion, an eagle, a dragon, and a dove. These were of Atlantian workmanship, in pure gold and silver, curiously blended, the feathers, hair, clothes and scales being of silver, while the bodies were of gold.
She placed these on the floor on either side of her seat, saying:
“Should thy quest of knowledge pertain to a wife, we must consult the dove,” holding the figure in her hand as she spoke.
Orondo bowed. She placed the dove in between the sphinxes, and continued:
“If children crown thy life, the youth must be their champion. Shall we consult him?”
Again Orondo nodded, and the statuette was ranged beside the dove.
“The lion has power and authority in his keeping. This emblem I shall choose for thee.” Saying which she stood it in the same row.
“By the dragon thou shalt know thy length of days. Does the outlook satisfy thy desire?”
“Proceed, Rahula, and mayst thou be led by the guardian of the circuit.”
The sibyl stood facing Orondo, while balancing a plain gold ring tied with a thread of flax over the ball of her left thumb. As soon as the string was straight, she exclaimed:
“I cry unto Thee who makest time run, and liest in all the mysteries. Hear thy servant!”
Slowly the ring began to describe a tiny circle. Then it swung farther and farther toward Orondo, until it was opposite.
“Propound thy question, but silently,” said Rahula, watching the ring, intently.
As if moved by some hidden power, the undulating ring answered his thoughts. The same increase in vibration as before, finally brought the ring in contact with the raised rim sufficiently to make it tinkle like a fairy bell.
“Aila Kar!” chanted Rahula. “Affirm it a third time. One-two-three!” and the ring once more hung motionless over the center of the magic plate.
“Thou standest faint-hearted at the Temple of Love newly erected in thy heart, Orondo,” declared Rahula, with a searching glance.
“Yes. And I fain would know if I may enter,” said he simply.
“The tarot gives us wisdom here,” was her reply, as she returned to the recess, and brought a sandal-wood box filled with small ivory cards. When she drew off the sliding lid, there were three packages, two of which she placed in a flattened disk-shaped basket of fine weave, which divided in two. Each side was furnished with a ring for a handle, and when she had unwound the linen coverings of the cards, she closed it.
“Hold the two rings firmly and shake the basket well,” she directed her visitor.
The third package contained the twenty-two keys of Divine Wisdom, and these Rahula shuffled thoroughly, keeping a square of fine linen over her hands in the process.
At the four cardinal points outside the metal disk in the center of the table were: on the north, a square of inlaid topazes; on the east, a similar setting of emeralds; on the south, a duplicate of sapphires; while on the west was a square of rubies. From each of these was a trine—numbered for the yellow, on the yellow disks, 2, 7, 12; on the green, on disks of green, 3, 8, 9; for the blue, on blue circles, 5, 4, 10; for the red, on red disks, 1, 6, 11. These trines were so interlaced that the rows of numerals made an outside circle, corresponding to the signs of the zodiac.
“Lay the basket on the metal disk,” commanded Rahula. “Then I will open the book of fate for thee.” Orondo did as he was bidden. Rahula emptied the ivories into her lap, and quickly arranged the cards in order, face upward, without changing their relative positions. When she had taken out the four aces (one representing a blossoming rod—the modern clubs; the second, a royal chalice—the modern diamonds; the third, a sword piercing a crown—ace of swords; and a circle inclosing a lotus-flower—the ace of cups), she handed them to Orondo, and told him to shuffle them well.
“The astral key to arcane knowledge is in thy hands. As thou valuest happiness, let no unclean thought steal in and pollute the fountain-head,” solemnly warned the reader of magic, as she invoked the genii of the day and hour.
The signs by which Orondo sought to divine the future, are found to-day in the scepter of Osiris, long the prerogative of kings and emperors. The pontifical staff, the eucharistic chalice, the cross and Divine Host, the patera cup containing the manna, and the dish of offerings were borrowed from the four aces of the ancient tarot and its central disk. These cards were never used for games of chance or for amusement but always for purposes of divination, and they were held sacred.
“Now place the ace of diamonds—the royal chalice of life—on the ruby square, which corresponds to the principle of motion, action, and will,” directed Rahula. “The blossoming rod of the ace of clubs place on the topaz square, which is the trine of power, influence and right. Then cover the emerald square with the ace of cups, the trine of love, service and favor. Lastly, cover the sapphires with the ace of swords, which pierces the crown of physical being, the trine of evil, malice and death.”
When the four squares were covered, she continued:
“This forms the quaternary of Life, Power, Love and Affection. Before I place the cards on these trines, tell me what color best pleases thee.”
“I am fond of red—and blue, also,” returned Orondo.
“Then thou art materialistic and passionate on the one hand, and an idealist on the other. This will keep thee warring with self; and if the former predominates, will tend to weaken the heart-action. What flower dost thou hold sacred?”
“The delicate flax-blossom is a symbol of my love.”
“And by this token thy ideal woman must be constant in conjugal fidelity. Excess in this direction leads to jealousy, the very epitome of selfishness. But what flower dost thou love for its own sake?”
“Myrtle, sprig and blossom, are always endeared to me.”
“Then thou hast the redeeming grace of brotherly love. Of the three animals—the horse, the dog, the cat—which dost thou like the best?”
“The horse first, and then the dog.”
“Which tells me that thou art capable of a noble, affectionate, and faithful friendship. Trial lies along this line. Give me leave to judge thy antipathies.”
“Rats and mice offend me much.”
“Upright and fastidious,” she murmured. “Nor does thy frank and open nature warm to spiders, nor thy proud spirit willingly tolerate serpents.”
“How well thou readest my inner thoughts!” exclaimed Orondo, wonderingly. “Never have these sentiments lent action to my tongue.”
“In dreamland what rich spoils assail thy vagrant will?”
“Happiness and joy attend my sleeping ventures.”
“A sanguine temperament, normally exercised—a personality which will die hard in the living man, and one which is liable to wreck the body.”
She examined both of his hands, minutely—fingers, palms and wrists. Finally she said:
“To three separate warnings must I give voice. The heart is threatened seriously as to feeling and action. Sudden and tempestuous jealousy assail thy future, and the divine spark will not be generous as to years. So much for thine own self. As to outside entities which may mingle and interweave, the tarot must be oracle.”
The king of cups represented him who cultivated affection; the king of diamonds, the custodian of wealth, and the proper distribution of it; the king of swords, the inventions and skill of the inquirer; the king of clubs was the significator of all manual labor. The queens were the wives, actual or prospective, in a question concerning men. They were the personalities of the woman herself in a feminine inquiry. The heralds and knaves represented religious and civic power respectively, while the numbers from two to ten pertained to the personalities.
Orondo watched her eagerly while she placed the cards, face downward on the four trines. When they were all in position she turned over the ace of diamonds, on the western cardinal point of rubies, and then quickly laid those on numbers 1, 6, 11—in a row. Beginning with number 1, she said:
“This pertains to the present state of time—thy life as it is at this moment. All is well from this point. Number 6 is exalted and grand, as the individual contacts Deity. But in number 11, there are adverse conditions—I can see neither posterity nor extended continuation here.”
“Posterity holds nothing for me?” questioned Orondo, concern dominating manner and voice.
“Not as the matter lies. But all the cards are involved in the final reading. Have patience.”
She next placed the ace of clubs on the northern point, face upward, and arranged the cards on numbers 2, 7, 12—as before. Beginning with number 2, directly above the ace, she said:
“This is the place of power, majesty and honor. In such conditions thou standest well. Thou wilt govern Tlamco in future days. A change of place is shown by the covering of number 7. Supreme rule, however, attends it; while in the place of 12, merit and acquired skill stand worthy sponsors to thy desires.”
On the eastern point, directly in front of Orondo, she uncovered the emerald, hidden by the ace of clubs, and proceeded to read from number 3—the place of love, felicity, agreement and delight. What she saw there was so adverse that she quickly turned over the cards, marking the place of love in service, reception and bounty in which she found some encouragement. Number 9, the place of favor, help and succor were in exceeding doubt.
“What is it?” queried Orondo, impressed by her manner.
“The trine of love is much assailed by disquieting import. So, I pray thee, give me leave to consult the throne of affliction at once, that the whole matter may stand revealed.”
“Thou hast my full consent,” said Orondo, now intent and eager.
“Swords fall on this trine of opposition, persecution and punishment,” exclaimed Rahula. “This portent quickens fear. Number 4, the place of mighty retribution, is not free from evil aspects. Treachery is thy portion in number 5, with malice attendant, while number 10 gives speedy death. Be not wholly convinced by this,” she entreated. “Suffer me to assail the doors of Divine Wisdom, substituting the twenty-two keys for the cards.”
She scarcely waited for Orondo’s nod of assent before she had swept the ivories into their basket, and was busy shuffling and placing the keys around the aces, still face upward. There was an intense silence as she hastily placed the keys on the numbers—first face downward in trines, and then the reverse, with the outward circle completed first. She read from the outward ring toward the center.
“Love and marriage come as thy portion, but not without delay and much suffering. After this, the body sleeps,” she said in conclusion.
The cool brisk wind felt refreshing to Orondo’s fevered cheeks as he hurried along the streets flooded with afternoon sunlight. The every-day commonplaces of active life about him passed unnoticed in the rapid whirl of his conflicting emotions.
“Fancy claims me for her own,” he thought. “Surely there can be no harm in obeying such sweet service as links me to my loved one.”
Orondo smiled softly, and as he turned into the broad avenue leading to Iaqua, his serenity was fully reëstablished. He went to his own apartments, and spent much time and labor over his toilet. Finally, when extract and oil, brush and comb had done full justice, he found his way into the smoking-room, where he sought quiet for his nerves in the narcotic effect of a chibouk. Under its soothing influence he indulged in the airiest of day-dreams. As the appointed hour drew near, he repaired to the sanctuary, where he knelt and humbly petitioned Divine Grace to attend his venture.
“Father,” said Ildiko, as she stood with Setos in the twilight awaiting their dinner-guests, “make no demand for light early to-night. Some unseemly circumstance oppresses the spirit of Kerœcia. She has been weeping.”
“Yearning for her own may weigh her down. If so, we have failed to make our welcome speak to her heart. In this we must be more vigilant. H-s-h! Here she is, attended!”
Scarcely had the women found seats when the voices of Hanabusa, Ben Hu Barabe and Alcamayn were heard responding to Setos’s greetings in the broad entrance hall.
“Where is Orondo?” asked Alcamayn, as he came toward Kerœcia. “In the street at the last marking of the sun I had speech with him, intent then upon immediate attendance here.”
Kerœcia paled visibly, and replied with difficulty:
“Orondo’s presence has lately honored me. He begs to absent himself at dinner,” she said, turning appealingly to Setos.
“Affairs of urgent moment must have decided him. His convenience and wish dictated the day and hour of our assemblage,” rejoined Setos. “May there be no evil import behind this sudden change.”
“Has the Dorado been seen to-day?” asked Alcamayn. “Twice I sought him on matters of state, but he was not at Iaqua.”
“He rowed out on the bay at an early gnomon, unattended,” responded Hanabusa. “Many times I hailed him, but he was unmindful of my presence.”
“The cares of his office sat heavily on my shoulders in consequence,” said Setos, with a show of assumed irritation.
By judicious complaint many a vain soul betrays its self-importance. Glancing around the room, to see if he had created the desired impression, Setos suddenly bethought him of Ildiko’s words. He bustled about for a few moments, and then gave escort to Kerœcia who was glad to escape to the dining-room.