Chapter 54 – Teller of Fate

Teller of Fate

Sixth Movement: The Fate of Stars

Chapter Fifty-Four

* * *

Dævara’s quarters fell still as the Templar’s words sank into them.

His daughter was the first to recover. “What do we need to do, father?” She was wearing a scarlet robe and seated with her man, Bradwold, the Airkharts and the Miu—whose name he still did not know—in the depressed sitting area around the fire. The dwarf sat close by with the other two women. All were in morning clothes as well.

The glass enclosing the suite was transparent, but it took a moment to register as the spheres in the sky were presently a deep indigo.

“Dress for battle and head for the Plaza. The guild leaders and other allies will be there in half an hour.” With that, the Templar left, leaving them to ponder who the ‘other allies’ could be.

* * *

The Templar led the troupe to the Plaza of Dying Suns. Hundreds of Hermetists filled the edges of it, standing in small groups and talking in whispers. Walking slowly past the throng was like passing through an articulate breeze. Combinations of identically tailored red, black, and white fabric flowed past. All the bodies were fit, every male head long-haired, every female bald.

Dævara was dressed for battle in her usual black leathers, hair restrained and carrying her red metal staff, runes winking in the rapidly returning light from the spheres overhead.

The Templar was still in simple black woolen trousers and a white open collared shirt. He wore heavy boots. At length they arrived at a clear space surrounding the statue that towered over all of them.

In it were five Hermetists, Abram and a quartet who were each in a different single colour. He went right up to the woman all in true red Hermetist garb. For the sake of form, he said, “Most Greatly Honoured Soror Kokkinos,” the Templar said and bowed from the waist. Dæv imitated the gesture.

“Frater Templar, it is an honour to meet an older sibling.” Their joint activities earlier in the day was something they agreed to keep secret. Turning to address the others with him, she said, “Welcome.” In her left hand she carried a red crystal rod topped with living green flame.

The Templar turned next to the Albedo, all in white. This one was male, barrel chested, and was only a little taller than the Templar. His skin looked like rubbed ebony; his hair grew down past his shoulders and seemed rather stiff. His eyes were a startling ice blue. He had a long thin sword, silver in colour with a golden handle, in a simple leather loop at his waist. “Hail, Greatly Honoured Frater Albedo.” Again, he and his daughter bowed.

“Frater Templar, Welcome. And to you.” The Albedo gave a slight bow the Templar, his daughter, and the others in their party.

The other two Hermetists stood some way off in muted conversation. The Templar led the way to them.

One was all in black and had no weapon. She was short and fine boned. As the two approached, she glanced at the newly arrived pair.

The Templar started. Except for her black hair, pale skin, and green eyes, she looked genuinely like Dævara. More than like, in fact. He remembered that face from long ago, on a world that no longer existed.

Turning to his daughter, the Templar noticed that she had seen as well. He could tell nothing from her face. The two women shared a lingering glance in which there seemed some unspoken communication. The moment passed.

Dæv returned her attention to the taller of the two Hermetists.

This last Hermetist was all in pale blue dusted with silver, a colour no other Hermetist wore, and held in her right hand a metal rod in red, white, and black. At either end of it, crystal spheres glowed with a soft, penetrating light; the upper golden, the lower silver. The Outer Head of the Order of Hermes was tall, willow thin, and sharp featured. Her eyes were a midnight blue.

“Supremely Honoured Soror Mercurius.” The Templar and Dævara bowed to the waist and held their position for a count of eleven.

“Welcome, Phæthon, Mó é Féin and Magus of the Órga Temple of Atalanté. We hope to free your sister today.” Her voice was deeper than he’d expected.

The Templar was twice surprised by the greeting. This stranger to him knew both his preferred form of address and his secret hope for the task ahead. He responded with a simple nod of his head.

“Welcome, Dame Dævara Tatharsdottir, Seanduine, Child of the Leannáin, Teller of Fate.”

“I’ve no title, My Lady.” Dæv was flushed and seemed ill at ease.

“You do now. Your future is a significant one the life of the Multiverse.”

Dævara bowed deeply again. On rising, the Templar saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I thank you, My Lady.” Her voice clear but slightly wavering. The Templar placed a hand on her shoulder for her comfort. She turned to him, and he saw the emotion was joy.

The Mercurius turned to the other party members, “Welcome,” with a slight nod of her head.

“This,” the Mercurius spoke, drawing their attention to the Hermetist in black by placing a hand on her shoulder, “is the Nigredo for this operation.” It was an odd introduction; more like naming an artefact than a living being.

The Nigredo did not speak but did give a slight nod of her head. It was echoed by the others.

Formalities over, the Kokkinos and the Albedo came to stand with the Templar and the others with him in a loose circle. With them came Abram.

It was the Archivist who began. “The White God is less than three hours from the world of Effor. IT is being guided to worlds that connect with Glyph. Isolating the city before destroying it seems to be the plan of whoever controls it.”

The Templar interrupted. “At this stage, Archivist, I think we can speak plainly.”

Abram looked at his companion and nodded. “Nyarlathotep is the motive force behind this attack. Some of you know why. The Wanderer’s plan was to force us to bring the White God here rather than see more worlds destroyed. This we will do before it has a chance to consume Effor. We shall have a trap ready for it. When the White God appears, we shall imprison IT again and return IT to the sub-Reality—” he gestured to the now teal and scarlet spheres above the city—“from which it came.”

“How?” Dævara asked.

It was the Kokkinos who responded. “That, among other things, we are here now to determine.” She turned to the Mercurius and nodded.

The one in silver blue seemed ageless. She could have been a young woman, but something about her spoke of ages of experience and wisdom. She was the only female Hermetist the Templar had ever seen with hair, a cascade of pure white hanging almost to her waist.

She spoke. “The Working will be performed by the Teller of Fate—” he pointed at Dævara—“assisted by those of us here.”

Before Dævara could speak the question she had, her father produced the familiar indigo bag and handed it to her.

She accepted it solemnly, giving a shallow bow to her father.

All attention was on her as she slid the Syrat out.

It looked like a thing newborn. The lamen on the back, a brightly coloured vesica, glittered with what looked like actual metals, copper and silver and gold. In the center, a white gem shone brightly. She fanned them out face up in her hands.

Similar glitters, polished metal and bright jewels adorned each card. They were the same dimensions, no thicker than before by the way Dævara handled them.

They looked now like the Syrat of legend, indeed: potent and deadly.

After inspecting them minutely for several moments, she nodded once to herself and replaced them.

The Mercurius replied to her querying look. “We used the knowledge we have to restore somewhat of the magick potency that that Syrat possessed when it was made so long ago. We also enhanced it, expanding its range of effect.”

“I thank you. What am I to do to make this trap?”

With that, the discussion began. The Teller, Abram, the Templar, and three of the rulers of the Hermetists outlined and revised the trap that all hoped would end the threat posed by the White God for good and all.

* * *

The crew and several high ranking Hermetists gathered around Dævara as she handed out bunches of cards with specific instructions on what must be done once the signals were given.

To Quolamin and Darmorel, who would be atop the tower of the Merchants Guild, she assigned the suit of Erthes, minus the seven mediate cards—The Transformer, The Preserver, The Transmitter, The Concealer, and The Encrypter of the Light of Erthes, and The Graal—with instructions on the pattern to lay the cards out in.

John and Erahndira, assigned to the Mercenaries Guild Tower, got the similarly denuded Aers. To Elian and Jane going to the Magsmens Guild Tower, she sent the fourteen chosen Watrs. To Bradwold, who would be alone on the Mages Tower, she handed the principle Fyres.

Two Hermetists, chosen from the lower ranks of the Order, were given the suit of Bodies, again minus the Mediate court cards, and sent them to a spot on the Street halfway to the Effor Gate, between the Magsmens and the Mages Quarters.

Two more Hermetists, these mostly in white, were sent with the suit of Thoughts to a spot on the Avenue side of the river Lethe and halfway to the Merchants Guild fortress.

Two of the highest ranking Hermetists, mostly in red, were sent with the suit of Actions halfway to the Mercenaries Guild fortress on the Avenue side of River Acheron, close to the Consilium Gate. These three groups defined the points of a triangle.

Fifty Hermetists remained in the Plaza along with the Templar and his daughter. The Mediate and the Major Arcana remained of Dævara’s Syrat.

Just as she was beginning to parcel them out, the Templar noticed the figures in the sky. “Look,” he said, pointing up. Everyone within earshot followed his arm and saw the silver horses circling in the air.

“What are they, father?” asked Dæv.

It was Abram who answered, “Rakhesh; servants of the Myr.”

“The Myr? Dwellers in the City of the Pyramids? They’re here?” Dævara turned to the Templar.

“We requested their aid. Looks like they’ve decided to help. I don’t think they’ll intervene in the fight, but they will keep it contained.” Cries from others, more distant, confirmed there were those besides the Teller who hadn’t been given the good news.

“Should we continue, father?”

“By all means.”

The Black Lamps, the seven Translators and Encrypters of the seven suits comprising the Trivium and Quadrivium, were given to Hermetists, clothed primarily in black, thirteen of whom distributed themselves along a third of the Plaza’s wall in an arc centered on its middle and extending to either side of the Street leading to the Effor Gate.

The Nigredo took the remaining Black Lamp, the Zeroth, and took position aligned with the Effor Gate, but much closer to the center of the Plaza of Dying Suns.

The White Lamps, the Transmitters and Concealers, were given to intermediate Hermetists; mostly in white, who lined up to the right of the Black Lamps, covering another third of the Plaza’s perimeter. The Albedo took the Zeroth White Lamp and stood a third of the way around smaller the imaginary circle from the Nigredo.

The Red Lamps, the Transformers and Preservers, were given to the remaining senior Hermetists, who moved to complete the larger circle girding the Plaza. The Kokkinos took the Zeroth Red Lamp and moved to stand in her place, completing the triangle immediately surrounding the Mercurius, the Templar, and the Teller of Fate.

Eight other Hermetists remained. Seven of them each took one of the Weapons—The Greatsword for Fyre, The Mirror for Watr, The Veil for Aer, The Graal for Erthe, The Caduceus for Lucidity, The Lamen for Activity, and The Scythe for Stillness—and moved into a circle outside the triangle formed by the governors, but well inside the outer circle of thirty-nine.

Of the remaining cards, twenty-one Trumps were given to the Mercurius.

Dævara kept the Blue Lamp, the first and last card. It was an almost exact copy of the backs of the Syrat, except the colours were all shades of blue. In the center of its face, a brilliant silver-blue point of light shone. She moved to a spot close to the Mercurius.

The Templar took no cards and moved outside the circle of seven Weapons.

He would take no direct part in the Working.

His job was to guide any attack or defense that might be necessary.

Mages, as well as Hermetists not included in the Working, had been placed high in the city atop the guild buildings, along the outer walls, and on the tops of the taller buildings in the city proper.

Fighting men, both mercenaries and most magsmen were also strategically placed, though little hope did the Templar have that they would be effective against what faced them. They were a last line of defense, in case all else failed.

The merchants were primarily involved in weathering the siege than might result. There were places of refuge prepared and stores in case prolonged confinement were required.

Despite the seeming confidence of the Mercurius, faint also was the Templar’s hope that he could save his sister, but that also would be tried.

Now, they would wait for their quarry to arrive.

— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, August 2026

© Gideon Jagged
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