The Conciege
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ROTLE- Chapter 53- Tarot
🕑 Added 2024-09-17 01:50:07 +0000 UTCHe sat in his chair and stared off into nothingness. The room around him was aptly full. A wide space, though it was, it was so filled and cluttered that you could scarcely find a place to place your feet save the straight path leading from the door to the table.
Scratching his jaw in slow confusion, he sat back, rested his back against the chair. This was interesting, that much he could admit. But it was also terrifying.
There were only a handful of people that could avoid his eyes. And he never looked into their lives. When the [Sage] of Bandiv had asked for a favor, he hadn’t been sure what it was about.
Although it has been about a month since time has gone out of order, he mused.
Everything he’d seen and known for the past few years, everything he’d helped to put into motion had suddenly ceased in their certainty.
A month ago I was sure that Falanal would die by the end of the week. He moved a piece of parchment from his front, emptied the small space on his desk. Now… well, I can’t say for certain anymore.
It wouldn’t take much to reconfirm, but what was the point to it. He’d paid his attention to Falanal a few more times over the course of the past month and nothing was certain. It only time Falanal’s death returned to absolute certainty was whenever he put it to mind that he would kill the young boy.
This was a first for him, a very mind befuddling first.
Now that the small space in front of his table was cleared out, he picked another parchment from the chaos to his right, stacks of parchments terribly placed atop each other. He did not look as he did this. His hand simply moved, retrieving what he wanted from the chaos.
Unrolling the parchment, he placed it on the newly created space. He looked at it, studied its contents. There wasn’t much to it. Strokes and scratches. Dots and lines. It was a mess of a work, but he could read it.
It seemed Mba-chukwu was making plans that they shouldn’t be. He couldn’t blame them. Not all kings obeyed the words of a [Sage] in absolute. Some were defiant, believing that they were architects of their own fates.
They are… in some way, he thought, not too proud to admit it.
But they truly weren’t. Fate, he had learned, was a sequence of actions. A culmination of decisions made by capable beings finally coming to a conclusive fruition. Every man’s fate was a junction where their actions met with the actions of the many or the few.
Fate was as versatile as it fixed. And he had learned to peer into it and see it for what it was. Some fates were more fixed than others.
And while a handful of beings on Nastild had learned to mask theirs from his prying eyes, this fate was not one that was masked, it was one that had avoided him, slipped from his sight like a monster that lurked only in the corner of your vision. It mocked you and teased you. It stared at you with hidden fangs, only to disappear the moment you gave it your attention.
It was there, as real as every figment of your imagination.
Bothered by how easily he was allowing this sway him, he forced himself to return his attention to the parchment in front of him.
Mba-chukwu wasn’t the only land doing strange things. An enigmatic tribe to the east had learned of the summoned and their little chief was making plans that involved kidnapping. A kingdom was doomed to lose at least one of their summoned.
Normally, he would pry into which summoned it would be and what the outcome would be, but he didn’t. He wasn’t interested.
So, he turned his attention to further details. He read and garnered knowledge of how the world continued to move. There he sat, for seconds that stretched into minutes. He deciphered codes as if reading a simply written prose. Eyes danced over parchment as he watched the world make decisions they didn’t know he was very much aware of.
Some fool to the east was trying to hunt down one of the only three dragons left on this side of Nastild. People stare death in the face and think it is their duty to come out alive.
The king of Danla had his soldiers already setting camp around the ruined city of Onvoth. He was early, years early, but there had been those who’d set up earlier.
Prying into the fate of that specific ruin had been a bit confusing recently so there was no point looking into it. On one occasion, fate had said that the [Crystal of Existence] that spawned within it had ended up in the hands of some unnamed soldier who had chosen to betray his employer. Another occasion had said that the king of Danla had come to possess it.
There was one that said a young boy had stolen it at night, fallen into a river, and died. The [Crystal of Existence] had then been lost in the flow of the river. This one was his favorite.
But ultimately, he knew nothing.
The paths of fate were such a mess this past month that it left him feeling blind. In his lifetime, this had never happened before.
What do I tell the [Sage] about the boy? He asked himself, rolling up the parchment absently and discarding it carelessly to the side.
The truth?
He wasn’t one for telling truths. He preferred riddles and mystics. It made him seem more enigmatic. It also annoyed people. The former was the bonus. The latter was the reward.
Fifteen names, he thought, leaning forward and resting his head on his desk with a loud thud, like a petulant child. Fifteen names and one empty.
It didn’t take him any significant thought to know that fate was either on the side of the boy whose fate he’d peered into.
Either that or he’s unlocked a class or skill so terrifying that I wouldn’t want to make an enemy out of him.
He doubted it, though. He’d seen far too many classes and skills in his lifetime. There were even classes so unique that he had seen the first of their users. The last, too.
He had also witnessed the birth of a class so grand that it had continued on until it became a common class.
He raised his head and dropped it back onto the table. The thud was louder this time. He did it once more. Then again. And again. And again. And—
He paused. Am I throwing a tantrum right now?
Before he could afford the question an answer, the door to the room opened. The sound of its hinges creaking and groaning was loud, intentional. The door opened fully, and a young man stepped inside.
He raised his head, looked at the young man, then raised a hand in greeting with all the excitement he could muster. “Tarot!”
“Torat, master,” the young man corrected. “Torat, not tarot.”
He shrugged. “Tarot sounds better. It just rolls off the tongue.”
“No, it does not,” Torat disagreed, always the disagreeing jepat.
He was not a jepat, though. He was a grown man, somewhere in his forties, though he looked as if he was in his thirties. He wore a beard that was always trimmed short and well groomed. He had the most mundane brown eyes and a head of hair that was always styled as if he was going to a ball and was currently clad in the customary garb of a black cloak with grey highlights.
He had seen Torat run a gauntlet of fifteen men and his hair never got tussled despite rolling around in the ground, receiving a few blows to the head, and giving a few blows with his head.
“How old are you, Tarot?” he asked out of curiosity.
Tarot ignored him for a moment. He walked forward, his approach delayed by his survey of the room. There were books scattered about, parchments of information deemed important enough to topple kingdoms lying about. There was a display of a great beast’s skin—fur and all—on the ground, at least it was supposed to be a display.
“Why do you keep this place a mess?” Torat asked absently. He came to a stop and shifted an orb with his foot. Within the orb were two compass hands opposing each other. It was supposed to lead to a hidden island where an unknown dragon slumbered.
The man in the chair had followed it once and found said dragon. In his opinion, the dragon wasn’t all it had been made out to be.
With a sly grin, he looked at Torat and asked, “Missing your home?”
Torat looked up from the orb and ignored it. “I will be calling on three students to clean this room.”
“But I like the mess,” he complained.
“Your interest in your mess is not important.” Torat continued forward, the orb forgotten as if it had never existed. “You have a reputation to uphold. Cleanliness is a quality of one of them.”
“As it is next to godliness.”
Torat gave him a tired look. “You are not a god, master.”
“I have been mistaken for one over the years, though.”
“By fools and half-wits.”
“Hey! Some of those half-wits were kings.”
Torat pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “My point still stands, master. Fools and half-wits. That aside—”
“You always put the nicest things aside. Like that one girl from Verinoz.”
“That aside,” Torat bit out a little too harshly. “Why are you displeased.”
“Displeased?” he asked.
“Yes, master.” Torat came to a stop in front of his table. “I could hear you banging your head from two hallways away.”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You don’t have the perception for that, Tarot.”
“Torat. And I do.”
“And what’s your perception?”
“Eighty-seven.”
“Only?”
Torat cocked a brow. “I am merely a level two hundred and seventeen. Perception is not the forte of my class. It is my lowest stat.”
“Still…”
Torat placed both hands on the table. In one hand was a short dagger. It looked ceremonial.
“What,” Tarot said, “has the [Master of the Order] throwing a tantrum?”
The [Master of the Order] looked from Torat’s face to the dagger. “Is today the day you finally throw a coup and usurp my position?”
Torat didn’t react to his words.
“If it is,” the [Master of the Order] continued, “then could you give me three minutes for celebration before you do? You know how much I’ve been looking forward to this day. This is like a dream come true for me.”
This time Torat frowned. “It must be really troubling if you’re stalling with so many words, master.”
The Master of the Order paused. Then his face tightened, expression hardened. The jovial excitement that had danced about on it since Torat had stepped into the room vanished like the life from the eyes of a dying being. In its place was an expression so deep that Torat was forced to mirror it.
“What is wrong?” Torat asked as if he could slay the problem with his ceremonial dagger. With his class and level, the [Master of the Order] didn’t doubt that he had slayed things with less.
“I received a request to look into the fates of a group of people,” the [Master of the Order] explained.
“And you took it?” Torat asked, confused.
The [Master of the Order] waved his confusion aside with a simple gesture of the hand. “The requester is nice enough. Also, I was going to look into these beings, regardless. I might as well be paid to do it.”
Torat nodded. “And what problem has this caused you.”
“Not a problem. A discomfort.” The [Master of the Order] looked into Torat’s eyes. “There is one whose fate continues to evade me.”
Torat’s hand tightened on the dagger. “Someone you do not know has learned to mask their fate from you?”
He shook his head. “It is not masked, Torat. It evades me, which is worse. It is always there. But every time I turn to look at it, it’s gone.” He frowned in thought. “It’s almost as if it dances too careless upon the path of fate. As if it is on everyone’s path and yet no one’s path. I will admit that it irks me greatly. So greatly that—”
“You are not allowed to leave the Order for whatever personal reason for the next three years, master,” Torat interrupted him. “You know this.”
The [Master of the Order] sighed in defeat. “I know this. It’s a stupid rule, but I know this.”
“A stupid rule you put in place with good reason,” Torat pointed out. “The gods—”
“I know,” he grumbled. “They continue to seek me out. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have angered them. Then I think to myself, ‘maybe I should have angered them more.’ It would’ve been so much more—” he paused, a realization coming to him. “Just a moment.”
He needed to check something. He needed to be sure.
He closed his eyes, allowed his attention to reach beyond him to the contingencies and protections he’d put in place. When he had learned what he needed to, he reached farther out, to territories that were not his.
Then he reached further, into the Otun, the path between worlds. This was risky, but even if anything happened, he could simply return here, hide again. He noted how the man who carried the title of [Enemy of the Order] continued to evade him, his fate dancing continuously and chaotically enough to hide him.
The [Master of the Order] ignored the [Enemy of the Order] and started laughing. It was a full laugh, a belly laugh. The kind that rumbled from within you and filled the world around you. The kind that made the stranger next to you want to slap you and your friend want to laugh with you.
Tarot gave him a look. “What’s amusing you?”
“Nothing much,” he answered, allowing the laughter spill from his lips until he laughed so hard it filled the room and he held his side. He slammed a hand against the table, laughing more and more. “Those pesky priest must be rolling in their sanctuaries.”
“Why is that?” Torat asked.
“The gods,” he said, still laughing.
“What about them?”
“Their eyes aren’t on Nastild.” The laughter died down and a slow grin split his lips. “Something has their attention.”
“And the lesser gods?” Torat asked, holding back his worry.
The [Master of the Order] made a nonchalant gesture with his hand. “Those pesky little things are still watching. But the fifteen--the big fifteen--they’re not looking. Something must have their panties in a twist.”
“Language,” Torat said before he could stop himself.
“Apologies, my amusing student,” the [Master of the Order] said. “But this is so amusing that I could die. Now that I think of it, I haven’t felt their eyes for…” his expression deadened with realization. “The last month.”
Torat’s expression turned worried. “The last month? Isn’t that when—”
“Time became problematic,” he finished for the man. “Yes. Time starts throwing a tantrum and the gods stop looking at us. That does not bode well for Nastild.”
“Has this world been abandoned?” Torat asked seriously.
The [Master of the Order] gave him an odd look. “This world? You say it like it’s not your world. Still, I doubt it has been abandoned. All those lesser gods still have their eyes on us. My guess is that whatever happened to time is probably so great that it requires the attention of the other gods. The big gods.”
“What are the chances that it happened a month ago?”
“Very great.”
“And what happened a month ago?”
The [Master of the Order] pretended to think about it before answering. “Nastild had guests.”
“The summoned?”
“Exactly.”
“So, whatever this problem is,” Torat said slowly. “It’s coming from them? Or potentially the reason they were summoned?”
The [Master of the Order] thought about it for a moment. There was no pretense here. A chaotic timeline, the first he’d ever witnessed. A bunch of summoned beings. And the absence of the attention of the big gods that had always kept their eyes on Nastild.
This was a problem.
Torat was right, though. This was either happening because of the summoned or the dimensional mana most commonly known as demonic mana. But there was a third option. An option only he knew about. It was unlikely but not impossible.
“Torat,” he said suddenly.
“Yes, master.”
“What is the update on the dragon Sinepore?”
Torat frowned. “No news yet. I’m beginning to think it might just be a lore.”
The [Master of the Order] shook his head. “It is not. I feel more certain of it now than ever before. How many men do we have looking into it?”
“An entire department. We’ve commandeered at least a hundred men.”
“How many are above level hundred?”
“Forty.”
“Level two hundred?”
“Ten.”
“Stronger than you?”
“Ikem is there.”
“Ikem is good. He has good leadership qualities. He also listens. And could also kill him with a snap of my finger.” The [Master of the Order] nodded. “That’s good. Besides, he wouldn’t lie to me. Add another stronger than you. Someone with a time affinity or a time class. Have them focus on what they cannot know.”
Torat was clearly confused by that last instruction but nodded regardless. “I will. And what do we do about the person whose fate continued to avoid you?”
The [Master of the Order] pulled a random parchment from his table. He tore a piece from it and scribbled on it with his finger, no ink or pen. He handed it over to Torat.
Torat held the piece of paper, looked at what was written on it. “Two odd words. I have no idea what they mean.”
“Odd? Haven’t I thought you not to judge, Tarot,” the [Master of the Order] chided.
“Torat,” Torat corrected absently. At this point correcting him was a habit, a reflexive one at that. “So, what would you have me do? Should I assign someone to this task?”
“Nope. I would like you to handle this yourself.”
Torat raised a quizzical brow. “I thought Sinepore takes precedence?” he asked. “It has been the most important task of the Order for over two decades now, with the enemy being a close second.”
“And they remain the same,” the [Master of the Order] confirmed. “However, this,” he pointed at the piece of torn parchment, “is now a very powerful third. You will attend to it.”
Torat frowned down at the parchment. “How do you pronounce this? Aiden Lacheart.”
“Lack-heart,” the [Master of the Order] corrected. “Not Latch-heart.”
“Odd name,” Torat grumbled. “You want me to find this person?”
“Yes.”
Torat folded up the piece of paper. “Do I have any leads to start with or are you going to send me on some learning experience.”
“No learning experience. He’s currently in Bandiv. Where in Bandiv is what I do not know. Find him.”
Torat nodded. “What of the one who commissioned the search you made? What will you tell them?”
The [Master of the Order] paused. It was a good question. Usually, he just winged things like this, treated his replies on a whim. Those powerful enough to make a direct request of him knew that having him play around with them before giving an answer was a possibility.
He’d held information from one of them for the past thirty years out of nothing but spite. His credibility remained solid. He was never known to tell a lie. The problem was simply trusting when he would give the answer.
In the end, he came to a conclusion as he looked at Torat.
“I’ll probably keep it from the person,” he said. “He might be a friend, but he has plans that I cannot say align with mine. That plan might tie into this problem and I cannot say I want his plans to succeed.”
Torat nodded as if he understood. “When would you like me to leave?”
“Will now be asking for too much?”
Torat’s brows furrowed in thought. “I have a lecture right now. I was just about to teach the new intakes on what to do when you are caught under the aura pressure of a level two hundred and above aura user. Specifically a user that is at least a hundred and fifty levels above you.”
The [Master of the Order] wrinkled his nose at that. “Aren’t you just supposed to roll over and die. I don’t think there’s another option, unless you’ve discovered something that I do not know.”
“I have not,” Torat confirmed.
“Then what exactly are you teaching them?”
“How to roll over and die.”
The [Master of the Order] shook his head. “You guys teach the dumbest things in this institution.”
“You don’t say,” Tarot snorted and turned to leave. “I will hand over the lecture to Nan. He will prove adequate. Then I will leave for this Aiden Lacheart in Bandiv. And just so you know, you are the one that introduced teaching the new intakes how to die.”
“Then I’m sure its important,” the [Master of the Order] said as he watched Torat leave. Only when the man was at the door did he speak again. “Why exactly did you come looking for me, Tarot.”
“To—” Torat stopped himself with a resigned sigh, hand on the knob of the now opened door. “I told you already, master. I could hear you banging your head against the desk.”
With that, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Left alone in his room, he stared out into nothingness. The world was changing. Things were about to get far more interesting yet far more terrifying. Perhaps he should send an envoy to the giants.
He discarded the thought as easily as it came. They would not reply to him. Not on this matter.
Aiden Lacheart, he mused.
There had never been any who had evaded his sight. Not now, not ever. Not even the last two that had held the title of [Demon King].
What exactly are you, Aiden Lacheart?
He was either going to be a truly terrifying [Demon King] or something else. And that something else would only be confirmed if they found Sinepore’s lair.
Until then, he had a lot of thinking to do.
Decisions had to be made. Sacrifices had to be decided. And lesser gods had to be blinded.
He had a lot of work to do.
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Keven Leigh
Thanks so much
