A Scripta

The room was covered in blood.

Dried blood was in a starry circle on the floor. Some blood was splashed along the walls. He smelled fresh and old blood, sickeningly sweet herbs and incense, and deep scents of the earth and the grave.

This makes me sick.

This disturbed Jack? Jack of all people was afraid of magic? Masonry put his head up and walked further into the room.

"Oy, mate, don' cross tha' line."

He stopped, turned to where the voice was coming from. A young blond man, in a black robe, jeans, and barefoot walked across the cold stones over to him. "I'm s'prised the wards let ya in. When I set 'em, they turn people inta Swiss cheese."

Masonry parted his jacket to show a series of holes in his shirt.

"Oh. Well'en, how c'n I help ya, since yer so d'termined." Wombat walked across the room and sat on an old wooden desk chair, tilting it back on its springs. He motioned to a chair but Masonry remained standing.

"You made something for a friend of mine. It works too well."

"Whazzat, mate?"

"A fire jewel."

"Keen Frost. Yeah, I r'member. Put it in a box and put it 'way."

"No, he took it out. It's attached to his gloves. He uses it every day. And it's killing him."

Wombat sat forward. "Howcome?"

"He's got radiation poisoning. His ice slows down the degeneration, but when he heats up, it accelerates it."

"Ah, mate, so ev'ry time he put 'em gloves on - oh, I see. Does he know?"

"That the fire jewel does that? Yes."

"Well'en." He sat back again. "He knows what he's doin'."

Masonry looked pained, turned his eyes back out to the room.

"He tol' me he wanted t' touch people an' be normal. He's as normal as he c'n be, but it ll be short."

Masonry took a deep breath and said, "I don't want him to die."

Wombat got up and smiled. "Mate, he ain' ever gonna die. He's ri' there." He pointed to Masonry's head.

"Small comfort."

"Wha's better, mate, t' know he was happy slummin' wi' 'is boys or tha' he spent 'is last days in bed starin' at a ceiling?"

He tried to not look like he was pleading. "Make something... something that... I don't know."

"Mate, I c'n make some'in t' calm ya down."

NO! cried Jack.

"Um, no thanks."

"Suit y'rself." He shrugged, folded his arms across his chest. His countenance said, Leave. Masonry passed his eyes across the room, then focused on Wombat's desk. Masonry nodded toward a deck of tarot cards lying there. "You read cards?"

He looked at the cards. "S'mtimes. T' get ideas f'r charms."

"Do they really tell your future?"

"They tell y'r future fr'm this moment in time. Y' could still go outside an' get hit by a truck an' I'da never seen it."

"How do you do it?"

Wombat reached over and picked up the deck. He shuffled them quickly, and handed them to Masonry. "Shuffle 'em a' leas' three times."

They were bigger than a normal deck of cards, but his hands were large enough to shuffle them easily. "Done," he said, intentionally losing count after three.

Wombat took the deck, held it to his chest and closed his eyes. He mumbled something, then set the deck down, squaring it off. With a flick of his wrist, he spread the deck flat. "Pick three cards, put 'em down. Anywhere."

Masonry took his finger and followed the line of cards, stopping when he felt he could. "Face up?"

"Any way you want."

He turned the first one over and put it down on the desk above the fan of cards. It was upside down.

"Eh eh, don' turn i'right."

He left the card there, picked another. His eyes widened at that one as he placed it next to the first. Then he picked a third, placed it next to the second. He stepped back.

Wombat peered at the cards, then looked at Masonry. "The Hanged Man reversed. It's somebody who sacrifices but isn't really. Who sacrifices but makes a lotta noise doin' it."

Masonry closed his eyes. "Yeah."

Wombat pointed to the middle card. "There's like five dif'rn' cards in th' deck tha' show lovers. Most of 'em are minor'cana - you pick'd the major'cana. Two major'cana so far - 't means it's all b'yond yer control, mate, an' you prob'ly can't do nothin' t' change it."

"What's a majorcana?"

"There's two sets o' cards, Minor Arcana - which 's numbers an' suits, an' Major Arcana, archetypes."

I'll explain later, Jack assured him.

"Okay, sorry. So that major arcana Lovers means..?"

"Whaddya think, big man?"

Masonry blushed.

"More'n sex, mate. Pure love."

"I have that?"

"'pends on how this'n resolves." He pointed to the Hanged Man. "If 'e realizes tha' his sacrifices don' mean nuthin' no matter how much noise he makes, then this'll happen."

If you stop sacrificing, and looking around to make sure people know you're sacrificing, then it'll fall into place.

Masonry nodded. "Okay, I understand that."

"Eight of staves. Change. Lotsa change. Nothin' static. But ya gotta get this other stuff fixed first, rockman. Or th' changes'll hurt."

He touched the card, narrowing his eyes at it. "Why not the death card?"

"Death means y're ready for th' change, it's happenin' or happened." He motioned to the card. "That means stuff happenin' too fast, an' you gotta change wi'it." He gathered up the fanned deck leaving the three cards out. "Ge'y'r foundations solid, mate."

He nodded, chewing on that. "Okay, thanks."

"One more thing, mate."

Masonry focused on Wombat.

"Ain' jus' you ou' there. Time t' be a hero."

Masonry swallowed hard and walked back out to the wards, preferring to have that pepper his body over Wombat's words tearing his soul.