telling?”
She emerged from the cardboard box with a smaller hand-painted wooden box clutched in one hand. Her cheeks flushed. “Actually, historically it was used for divination and considered a serious religious matter. If it was done in a prayerful manner, it was supposed to be a way for the gods to speak to us,” she said. “It was only in the nineteenth century that it became more like the fortune telling one might find at a carnival. I don’t have any Power for real divination nor do I practice it as a religion. I just do a carnival-like show. I can make twenty-five bucks for a fifteen-minute reading. It’s very popular at school. Usually I end up with several hundred dollars at the end of the night.”
“Okay,” he said. He squatted in front of her. “Why don’t you show me what you’re talking about?”
She sat cross-legged on the carpet, opened the box and pulled out an old deck of cards. Gideon settled on the floor opposite her. He picked up the box that she had put to one side. It was made of cedar and a faint Power thrummed gently in his hands, old Power that had saturated the aged wood. He considered the painting on the top. It was white and royal blue and gold, with outlines of black and a small highlight of crimson. The colors must have been brilliant once, but they had faded over time. The painting was of a stylized face. One side was male and the other side female.
“This is Taliesin, right?” he asked. He wasn’t very religious, but he knew at least that much. To the Elder Races, the seven Primal Powers were the linchpins of the universe. Each Power had a persona, or a mask of personality. Both male and female, Taliesin was the first among the gods of the Elder Races, the Supreme Power to which all others bowed.
“Yes,” Alice said. “Isn’t it amazing? The whole deck is hand-painted. I found it in an antique store about twelve years ago.” She touched the corner of the box as he held it. “I fell in love and ended up paying far too much for it. I ate a lot of macaroni and cheese that year.”
He set the box aside with care and turned his attention to Alice.
“The Primal Tarot has forty-nine cards in the deck,” she said. “The Major Arcana in this Tarot are the seven gods in their prime aspects—or how most people know of them.” She set the first card on floor between them and named it. “Taliesin, the god of the Dance, is first among the Primal Powers because everything dances, the planets and all the stars, other gods, ourselves. Dance is change, and the universe is constantly in motion. Then there’s Azrael, the god of Death; Inanna, the goddess of Love; Nadir, the goddess of the depths or the Oracle—legend has it that Nadir is the one who gave the Primal Tarot to the Elder Races.”
“When was that supposed to have happened?” he asked.
“Around the third century, or at least that’s the age of the earliest known Primal Tarot. Then there is Will, the god of the Gift; Camael, the goddess of the Hearth; and Hyperion, the god of Law.”
He studied each card as she laid them out, the famous green eyes of Death, the seven royal lions that pulled Inanna’s chariot, the dark sense of vastness captured in the stars in Nadir’s gaze. The cards were arresting but not quite beautiful. They were too uncomfortable for that.
He murmured, “Someone with real Power used these once.”
“I think it’s the person who created them,” Alice said. “The rest of the cards are the Minor Arcana. The gods have their major aspects, and then they have all their minor aspects. Take Azrael. Death is his major aspect, but in the Tarot deck, he has six other minor aspects. He’s also the god of regeneration and green growing things, and he’s known as the Hunter, and he’s also the Gateway or passage. See?”
“Yes,” Gideon said. He was growing fascinated despite himself.
“Inanna’s easy, her minor aspects are Love in its manifestations—romantic, platonic, etc.—and
She emerged from the cardboard box with a smaller hand-painted wooden box clutched in one hand. Her cheeks flushed. “Actually, historically it was used for divination and considered a serious religious matter. If it was done in a prayerful manner, it was supposed to be a way for the gods to speak to us,” she said. “It was only in the nineteenth century that it became more like the fortune telling one might find at a carnival. I don’t have any Power for real divination nor do I practice it as a religion. I just do a carnival-like show. I can make twenty-five bucks for a fifteen-minute reading. It’s very popular at school. Usually I end up with several hundred dollars at the end of the night.”
“Okay,” he said. He squatted in front of her. “Why don’t you show me what you’re talking about?”
She sat cross-legged on the carpet, opened the box and pulled out an old deck of cards. Gideon settled on the floor opposite her. He picked up the box that she had put to one side. It was made of cedar and a faint Power thrummed gently in his hands, old Power that had saturated the aged wood. He considered the painting on the top. It was white and royal blue and gold, with outlines of black and a small highlight of crimson. The colors must have been brilliant once, but they had faded over time. The painting was of a stylized face. One side was male and the other side female.
“This is Taliesin, right?” he asked. He wasn’t very religious, but he knew at least that much. To the Elder Races, the seven Primal Powers were the linchpins of the universe. Each Power had a persona, or a mask of personality. Both male and female, Taliesin was the first among the gods of the Elder Races, the Supreme Power to which all others bowed.
“Yes,” Alice said. “Isn’t it amazing? The whole deck is hand-painted. I found it in an antique store about twelve years ago.” She touched the corner of the box as he held it. “I fell in love and ended up paying far too much for it. I ate a lot of macaroni and cheese that year.”
He set the box aside with care and turned his attention to Alice.
“The Primal Tarot has forty-nine cards in the deck,” she said. “The Major Arcana in this Tarot are the seven gods in their prime aspects—or how most people know of them.” She set the first card on floor between them and named it. “Taliesin, the god of the Dance, is first among the Primal Powers because everything dances, the planets and all the stars, other gods, ourselves. Dance is change, and the universe is constantly in motion. Then there’s Azrael, the god of Death; Inanna, the goddess of Love; Nadir, the goddess of the depths or the Oracle—legend has it that Nadir is the one who gave the Primal Tarot to the Elder Races.”
“When was that supposed to have happened?” he asked.
“Around the third century, or at least that’s the age of the earliest known Primal Tarot. Then there is Will, the god of the Gift; Camael, the goddess of the Hearth; and Hyperion, the god of Law.”
He studied each card as she laid them out, the famous green eyes of Death, the seven royal lions that pulled Inanna’s chariot, the dark sense of vastness captured in the stars in Nadir’s gaze. The cards were arresting but not quite beautiful. They were too uncomfortable for that.
He murmured, “Someone with real Power used these once.”
“I think it’s the person who created them,” Alice said. “The rest of the cards are the Minor Arcana. The gods have their major aspects, and then they have all their minor aspects. Take Azrael. Death is his major aspect, but in the Tarot deck, he has six other minor aspects. He’s also the god of regeneration and green growing things, and he’s known as the Hunter, and he’s also the Gateway or passage. See?”
“Yes,” Gideon said. He was growing fascinated despite himself.
“Inanna’s easy, her minor aspects are Love in its manifestations—romantic, platonic, etc.—and
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