|
The House That Dripped Cliches The bloated gibbous orb hung low in the sky, casting its baleful light through the French windows. The lavishly furnished parlor, with its Windsor chairs, elaborate paintings and mahogany tables, it was as good a place for a confrontation as any. "How could you?" the woman in lavender silk raged, tears of anger glistening on her cheeks. Jason Magwier recognized the regal features of Mara Perth instantly. He remembered watching her dance in a ballroom in Prague on a New Year's eve decades ago. Or was it just that he thought he remembered? He began to speak but then caught himself, he was just a phantom here, a ghost from the future. "Silence!" Sandor Perth's wheelchair was decorated with gems and silver trim. His gnarled, hairless features were hidden beneath luxurious robes and downy quilts. His lips were shiny and wet. His milky eyes were narrowed into angry slits. His nursemaid stood by his side, her doll-like features expressionless. Mara charged him, grabbing hold of his wheelchair. Her nails raked the upholstery, "Your own children!" "You knew my mind," he sprayed slobber in her face. "Did you think my ambitions ended with you? Foolish, foolish woman!" His nursemaid dabbed at his mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief. "They loved you. I loved you." "Love is for poets and fools," he said with a quivering gesture, "I am neither. Now go." "No," she snarled, "I won't let you." "Either you go or Akantha will eject you from the room. And she will hardly be gentle." The nursemaid smiled and bowed at Sandor's words, her face full of banal menace. For a long moment Mara glared at her husband, searching his face for some trace of humanity. Then slowly she straightened, "You leave me little choice." "Choice merely confuses the weak," he said, "Now go." With slow, steady footsteps Mara left the room, Jason tried to follow her but the vision ended too soon. "Terrible," I gasp, "How terrible. I had no idea. I knew the man. I knew his family. I had no idea." At least I thought I knew them; it was often hard to tell with visions. The Hierophant let the card flutter to the ground, "Each man kills the thing that he loves. The brave man with a sword, the coward with a kiss-Sandor Perth used a bit of both." Gloved fingers deftly manipulate the cards. The memory of Lorelei growing cold in my arms bubbles to the surface of my consciousness. I rail at it, knowing that it merely a phantom of what might happen, a figment of possibility. "Just like you," I mumble. "Eh?" the Hierophant glances at me, nearly ready to draw. The sky whorls above us, purple clouds hang heavy and low. "None of this is real," I shake my free hand at him. The motion sets me swaying, the scaffolding creaks. "This is a dream and you're nothing more than a metaphor. And a bad one at that." The Hierophant's cackle is as ragged as the yellow cloak he wears, "How can one so prescient be so very blind?" He proffers the deck to me, with my free hand I draw. I laugh at the sight of the card in my hand. I've beaten him again. THE LOVERS, the sixth card. Six-the number of harmony, the number of days it took to create the world, the number of the wife and the mother, the image of a man and a woman, careless in their nudity, their hands outstretched but not yet touching. Over it all a golden-winged angel presides. Somehow, it reminds me of the night before we left . . .
Unisystem, specific game terms and icons are Copyright
© 2000 CJ Carella. |