Phoenix and Ashes (42 page)

The
High Priestess was an ageless woman, seated on a throne, holding a scroll in
one hand. Crowned with all three phases of the moon, cloaked in blue, and
poised between a black pillar and a white, she also represented Intelligence.
The blue robe gave her Element away; it had been no challenge to figure out
that it was Air. But not only did she represent Intelligence—more than
that, she stood for Balance. The Priestess was all about balance, calm,
emotional self-sufficiency. Nothing ever ruffled her feathers. She represented
the mystic side of the mind in harmony with the physical side as well, and her
negative aspect was to be without true emotion, sterile rather than celibate,
to stagnate rather than be in balance, to be emotionally empty rather than
controlled. Eleanor had been here before; it had taken some thinking to work
out that she should ask “What is the key to Wisdom?” She asked that
question now, and she accepted the scroll from the Priestess. As she had become
the Magician, so she now became the Priestess, and this had provided her first
real temptation. Because she didn’t really want to go on to the next
card. The Fool was full of questions, the Magician full of knowledge—but
the Priestess was full of a calm, balanced, and ordered wisdom. If she had ever
dreamed of being “like” anything when she attained her Mastery, it
would have been to be like this.

And
yet, that was a trap. She had a long, long way to go yet.

And
that, too, was wisdom. She rose and descended the three shallow steps that led
to her throne, and went back into the garden.

And
though she should have left by the same path on which she had entered, instead,
it was a path through wildly lush rose beds, intermingled with peonies and
lilies, all three perfumes mingling in an intoxication of scent. And when she
came to the end of the path, she found herself in another part of the garden,
facing another crowned, seated woman. This was her new card.

The
Empress.

Where
the High Priestess was all austerity, The Empress was all abundance. She was
crowned with stars, with her foot on the quarter-moon that the High Priestess
wore as a crown. She carried a heart in one hand, a scepter in the other. She
was stunningly beautiful, and was surrounded by roses, and from the sensuality
that infused even the slightest gesture, it was clear that she was as warmly
emotional as the High Priestess was austere.

Now,
this was a card that Eleanor had not yet gotten past. Not that she didn’t
know all the meanings; her Element was Earth, she represented creativity,
fertility in all things, grace and beauty. She was very aware of herself and
very sure of herself. She had power, but it was the power to direct, rather
than to lead or to order. Eleanor felt she had far more in common with the
intellectual ascetic, the High Priestess, than this Lady of Venus.

The
negative aspect was, of course, unbridled sensuality, but Eleanor felt herself
very uncomfortable with sensuality of any sort.

“I
don’t see,” she said to the Empress, in a voice that sounded rather
high and nervous rather than confident, “what you have to do with
me.”

The
three-moon headdress she wore as the High Priestess felt horribly heavy in that
moment.

The
Empress smiled a slow, languid smile, full of promises. “You don’t
deny you’re a woman?” she drawled.

Eleanor
tried not to squirm. “Not that it does me any good,” she
complained—the words jumping out of her mouth before she could think.
“No one pays the least attention to me.”

“That’s
your stepmother’s doing,” the Empress said, in a purr. “She
doesn’t want anyone to think of you as a human being, much less a woman.
But until you reconcile yourself to the fact that you
are
a woman, and
you can be bound by your womanhood or freed by it, you won’t get past
me.”

“Freed?”
Eleanor snorted. “Nobody is freed by womanhood! We aren’t even
allowed to vote! Why—”

“That
has not always been so, and it will not be forever,” the Empress replied,
bending to sniff her roses. “That is not to the point—the point is
you
.
You must embrace all sides of yourself to pass any card. Body as well as mind.
What am I?”

“Umm—”
Eleanor found herself blushing. “Ah—”

“Sensuality.
Rejoicing in the physical. If your head is strong and full of thoughts, but
your body is weak, where are you?” The Empress tilted her head to the
side. “Where is the balance in that, High Priestess? Or perhaps I should
say—pretty Fool.” And in that moment Eleanor’s robes vanished
and she was back in the garb of the Fool again.

“Weak?
Me?” Eleanor snorted again. “With all the work I have to do?”

“Ah,
but do you take pleasure in that fine young body of yours, or merely allow it
to carry your head around?” The Empress yawned.

“And
just what is there to take pleasure in?” Eleanor demanded angrily. Why
this card made her so angry, she could not have said, but it did, and made her
terribly uncomfortable as well.

“Please.
Haven’t you two working eyes, two fine ears?” the Empress replied
with scorn. “There are meadowlarks by day, and the scent of
flowers—by night, the moon and the cool, soothing breeze. Your body is
healthy and strong, and work comes easily to it. You are young, and when the
song of spring sings in your veins, you feel the quickening of the earth all
around you. You have more, much more, than many of those that you know possess.
You are not dead or dying, maimed or ill, how can you not take pleasure in
these things?”

“Um—”
well, she
had
been doing just that. “I suppose—I suppose
you must be right—”

“And
young men,” the Empress persisted, looking both wise and sly.
“Haven’t you felt longing for—”

“No!”
she exclaimed, feeling her face flush hotly.

“Too
soon, too soon, you protest too much and too soon,” the Empress declared,
laughing, holding up the heart she held for Eleanor’s inspection.
“You silly child! Do you think I do not know?”

Her
face flamed so redly it was painful. No! She
hadn’t
longed after
Reggie! Not really. After all, he didn’t think anything of her, so why
should she think of him? It wasn’t even remotely possible, anyway…

“And
who does it harm to admit that side of yourself?” the Empress murmured,
hooding her eyes with heavy lids. “Who is going to tell Reggie? Not I,
certainly. My dear, my dear, these things
must
be taken from your
path! I cannot give you the rose to let you pass until you examine and accept
what is in your own heart! Who am I going to tell, after all?”

Her
face burning, Eleanor opened her mouth, shut it, opened it—then turned
and fled.

The
little dog yapped at her heels, sounding angry at her. She ignored him as she
ignored the roses whose thorns caught at her clothing and tried to stop her, as
she fled out of the garden, out of the dream, and—

—and
woke up with a start.

It
was still dark. It had felt as if she had been in the garden for hours, but by
the moon shining in her window, she knew it couldn’t have been more than
an hour or two.

She
was panting and winded as if she really
had
run through that garden,
and her heart pounded, the loudest sound in the room.

What
was I so frightened of
?

Not
for the first time, she wondered just who—or what—the Tarot
creatures really were. At first she had thought that they were images and
archetypes out of her own mind, but she had shortly realized that they knew
things she didn’t. And they acted in ways that seemed entirely
independent of her mind. Like the Empress, for instance.

Why
was I so upset with what she said
?

She
did not
like
the Empress, not even in her proper position. She was too
knowing, too lush, too—too sensual. Too much of everything, actually. The
Magician had been a wealth of knowledge, cool and aloof after that first time
of being Sarah, the High Priestess was someone that Eleanor could admire, wise,
controlled, and ascetic. But the Empress! She was—she was—

She’s
like Alison, when Alison is in one of her queen-of-everything moods…

And
as she lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting her thoughts settle into a
pattern again, she gradually understood what was going on. The key to the
Empress, that had eluded her for several nights now, finally came into her
grasp.

More
than ever she wished she could stop with the High Priestess. And she knew that
she couldn’t, that she would have to dream herself back; not tomorrow or
the next night, but tonight. She had to face this and face it now, with the
knowledge fresh in her mind.

She
closed her eyes, moved around on her lumpy mattress until she was completely
comfortable, then began taking slow, even breaths. She concentrated, not on the
dream she wanted to re-enter, nor her surroundings. She concentrated on
herself, on relaxing every muscle in her body, starting with her face. She felt
muscles let go that she didn’t even know were tensed as she worked her
way from her head, to her shoulders, to her arms… felt herself starting
to drift, as the night-sounds faded away from around her, and she felt as if
she was floating, and…

And
she found herself back on the edge of the cliff, in the person of the Fool.

She
stared down at the abyss below her for a moment. The bottom was lost in haze
and darkness; she’d never been able to see it. Oddly, that made it seem
less dangerous, as if she could throw herself over the edge, spread her arms,
and fly.

And
the Fool in her would have been willing to give that a try, for the Fool had no
fear and not a great deal of good judgment.

Resolutely,
she turned from the cliff and took the path into the garden.

The
Magician was not waiting at his altar, but the accoutrements were still there.
But this time, Eleanor took the dagger with her when she went on. The
dagger—the representative of her own Element. She couldn’t wield
that power yet, but now she knew she had to have a channel through which to use
it when she did master it. And this time, she didn’t change to the
Magician herself when she passed the altar.

That
was new.

The
High Priestess smiled when she saw the dagger stuck into Eleanor’s belt,
and wordlessly handed her the scroll. This time, for the first time, Eleanor
unrolled it, and saw, painted in brilliant colors, miniatures of the first
three cards she had encountered. There were empty lozenges outlined in gilt for
the remainder of the Major Arcana that she had yet to pass through.

“Wisdom,”
she said aloud, looking up at the High Priestess, “is knowing how much
you don’t know.”

“That
is truly the greatest wisdom,” the Priestess said. “You see, you
have a long way to travel now.”

Eleanor
hesitated a moment with one foot on the path that would lead her to the
Empress, despite her earlier resolution. Did she
have
to face the card
now? Couldn’t it wait?

But
the scroll gave her no other options. She clenched her teeth, and marched into
the perfume of hundreds of flowers that always surrounded the Empress.

Surrounded?
This time it seemed as if she was walking through a maze of rose-hedges!
Getting to the Empress this time was no easy task, and it wasn’t helped
by all of the inviting nooks, the shaded seats, the tempting bowers she had to
pass on the way. But Eleanor set her chin, and went on.

Finally
she turned a corner, and there the Empress was, head tilted exquisitely to the
side, lush lips curved in a slight smile, quite as if she left only a second
ago. Well, in this dream-world, perhaps she had.

Eleanor
marched straight up to the foot of her throne, stood before the embodiment of
the card, hands on her hips, and scowled. “I don’t like you,”
she announced.

Her
only answer for a moment was a slow, lazy smile. “And why would that be,
child?” the Empress purred.

“Because
you’re like
her
,” Eleanor replied, allowing her bitterness
to show. “Everything is a weapon or a tool to get what she wants with
her. Things that should just
be
, she has to twist and shape and
use
.
Beauty, wit—” she blushed “—the—the sensual
things. They’re all weapons to get power! And that’s what
she’s teaching her daughters. There’s never enough power over
people for her!”

“Ah,
now you see,” the Empress replied, with a knowing nod. “I am power,
little Fool, I am a ruler. Above and before all else, I am a ruler, and
everything that comes into my hand is, indeed, to be used, whether my aspect is
reversed or proper. And if you are to pass, little Fool, you must acknowledge
that you understand what power is, and does, not just to those around you, but
to you, yourself, inside.”

Gritting
her teeth, Eleanor acknowledged that with a curt nod. “Power can be open
or hidden, but that doesn’t stop it from affecting you.” Eleanor
agreed angrily. “In fact, the power that is probably the strongest is the
power that no one sees or realizes is there. And when you control that sort of
power, you can control anything else you wish to.”

“And
that one day, if you master your magic, you, too, will be the
Empress—” the card persisted. “And you, too, will know that
all that comes into your hand will be a tool.”

“But
I can choose not to use the tools!” Eleanor all but shouted. “I can
choose not to manipulate!”

“And
that, too, is manipulation. Life is manipulation.” The Empress smiled her
slow, sweet smile. “Think, pretty Fool. You must manipulate or be
manipulated, and choosing not to choose is still a choice.”

“Then
I choose to do as little as I may!” she responded. “Only enough to
keep others from manipulating me!”