Andre Norton - The Jargoon Pard

The ability to take Power from above, direct that through desire into manifestation. Was that not exactly what I had learned in my shape-changing? But if it had been a true reading, then what of the rest she had so lightly foretold—success—peace? If I could only believe that they were true!

“The Ninth House.” My mother swept on as if she wished to leave the troublesome eighth card well behind her. “Five of Wands—Ah, this is truth—struggle to obtain success—loss—unless there is vigilance. But we shall be vigilant! Of that there is no doubting.

“Now—the Eleventh House—what lies there? Seven of Swords—a plan that may fail—uncertainty. Again a warning, and one we little need. Last of all—the Twelfth House—the Hierophant—ruling Power of belief, the need to be one with others—”

She raised her hands from the table, no longer regarding the cards, but watching me across the candles in the star points.

“You see the truth in this, Kethan? There lie great things ahead for your grasping. The way shall be hard, but no path to rulership is ever easy. You are told to be wary, but you are promised success, a oneness with others. It is a good reading—Still—” Once more she looked at the card she named the Magician lying in the Eighth House. “This I do not quite understand. Ah, well, ofttimes some parts of any foreseeing lie hid. The rest is all correct within my knowledge. You shall rule in Car Do Prawn yet, my son, and perhaps even beyond this single holding—”

She gazed over the cards to the wall, her expression that of one lost in some splendid fantasy of imagining. Twice she nodded in answer to her thoughts, not to any speech. Then she swept the cards swiftly together, restored them to their case, arose from the table.

“Be glad that Ursilla has left you safe,” she said as she turned toward the door. “Maughus has had silver bolts forged, he swears within his heart to bring you down—and silver is the death for any shape-changer when it is weapon wrought. Let him lord it here while yet he can. His day shall be a short one.”

I heard the whisper of her fine skirts across the floor, then she was gone. But her foretelling had left me with several thoughts. Now I tried to remember each card, the message she had gained from it. I would not have been so impressed had I not been struck by the answer she had read from the Magician, that which had puzzled her so. Master of skill and wisdom—I was very far from that There were such—one heard tales of them—the Voices, others, some of the Dark, some of the Light. But they dwelt apart and one might not see one in a long lifetime—nor even meet another human who had seen one!

Restlessly, I paced around the altar block. I felt no hunger or thirst, nor was I tired. Perhaps some virtue within the wall Ursilla had erected kept me from such bodily discomforts. Only I could not practice patience and wait. I wanted to be at the action that had brought me back to Car Do Prawn.

Now I began to survey the room with all the keenness of the pard sight. It seemed to me that if Ursilla concealed the belt she would keep it in this place, which was the repository for all her tools of Power. There was a cabinet against the wall, its doors tight shut. Within that were stored the containers of herbs, the various liquids and powders that were used for ensorcellment. But, that was too obvious. Another case near the door held the rune rolls she had never let me touch. Could the belt perhaps be inside one of those? If so, it was as far from me as if it lay on the silver surface of the moon itself!

Back and forth I paced, my impatience like a whip upon me, or a hunger gnawing from within. The candles continued to burn, yet they did not shrink much in size. It must take a long time for their wax to melt. The stale smell of herbs hung heavy, my head ached a little, a vast depression settled upon me slowly but steadily. I could see no success for any save Ursilla. And, to that success, she would make me the sacrifice if she could.

I do not know just when I recognized depression for an enemy. Perhaps within me, when I had tried and tested the strength I had for controlling my shape, a long dormant part of my mind had partly stirred to life. Had it been strengthened by the foretelling that had so pleased my mother—even though she was puzzled over that single card?

Such speculation did not serve any purpose. My Kethan mind began once more to assume the rulership of my dual nature. I deliberately fought under the restlessness of the pacing pard and stretched out by the altar. Anyone spying upon me there might think that I had surrendered and now waited tamely for whatever Ursilla planned.

That was far from the truth. I was exploring in another fashion than that of the merely physical. First, I studied the candles burning on the star points. That they in some manner controlled the barrier imprisoning me was a thought that grew steadier. Their flame was orange-red. Those colors mixed, related to physical strength of the body and self-confidence. Yes, those were the Magics Ursilla could well draw upon.

What stood against them? As never before my shape-changing, I began to concentrate on the subject of Magic and the Power. Though Ursilla had carefully selected the Chronicles she had permitted me to read, many of the stories therein had dealt in detail with the exploits of men in Arvon when the Lords and Voices had dueled with forces beyond any strength of arm or weapon.

Once more I summoned up the vision of my memory as a library of rune rolls, of vision I had fought so hard to achieve. This time the picture built up far more swiftly and realistically. I was not searching now for the unknown. I was almost sure where lay the material I would review.

Against the red of the body stood—yellow of mind? No—that was not what I searched for now, since yellow employed logic in which I had no learning or skill. What, then, opposed Thaumaturgy—solid learning? Theurgy, which was of the emotions, faith and belief— Blue !

Now what would confront that orange shade of self-confidence—overwhelming belief in one’s own Powers? Again I sought—

Within the world of nature, man did not create aught but his own image. Or did he? He who dealt with beauty did so humbly, knowing that he was but the tool, not the true maker. He could foster beauty—cherish it. But that which grew from his own efforts—never was it as wonderful as it had seemed before he brought it into being. Therefore, he was always the seeker, never a fulfilled believer who had accomplished the full sum of what he had wished to do.

Green was the Magic of that seeking, lying in all things sprouting from the earth.

Blue and green.

But if I had the answer, how did I now apply it? Where had I ever seen such colors stand for any sign of Power?

My mind picture changed. Once more I crouched at the edge of the Star Tower garden path, stared at the rise of blue-green stone across the lush harvest of the herbs. The Tower held the secret, and I was walled without!

Yet, so deep now was my need that it compelled me to keep the Tower picture in my mind. I strove to imagine myself walking down the path—entering once more into the queerly shaped room where I had lain when those who dwelt there had tended me. In my mind now, I began to picture the room. It had been thus and thus—

Only I could not bring the picture into any focus. Back and forth it rippled, as might the surface of a pool on which water flies were skating. The room—it was so!

All my will I pushed into that single effort. But—

This was not the room I had known! There was no bed—nothing as I remembered it. Instead, on the walls were looped strings of shining disks, winking with some inner light of their own. Three people stood within a circle formed of a chain of the same disks, a circle that was broken in five places by a tall standing, bright silver candlestick in which burned a green candle. The flames that showed therefrom were blue and green, even as the walls about.