GOLDEN TAROT: Nine of Wands

The Night Watch

The night constable walked through the empty streets; his footfalls clacked on the cobble as he approached the cemetery. People said cemeteries were places of silence and tranquility, but he disagreed. The cemetery at night was as noisy as any city in the daytime. Owls hooted in the trees, crickets chirped and, if one paid attention, one could hear the soft scurrying sounds of rodents among the graves. To the constable, cemeteries were full of life; he often rested on the bench beside the wrought-iron gates flanked by stone angels. 

People asked if it didn’t scare him, but, in his thirty years of treading the vicinity, he’d witnessed nothing odd. Nothing spooked him, not even the mist which sometimes hovered over the graves and cast an eerie atmosphere. 

“What would the dead want with me?” He said, “Most people were good in life, why should they bother me?”

With a tired groan and a stiff back, the night constable sat on his bench, arms spread out along the backrest, and gazed skyward. The moon shone bright, and the stars twinkled. He even recognized a planet, though he was unsure which. He loved watching the stars from this spot and contemplated the Northern Cross bright above him. His mother used to tell him stories about the constellations as they sat out on the field by his childhood home. 

A black mass passed across the moon, and, as it crept, blocked all light. One by one it blotted out the stars, as if someone had placed a cloak over the dome of the sky. 

A dense silence settled over the cemetery; only the dim gaslight at the street corner provided an anchor of reality in this new thick darkness. All sound ceased. It oppressed and discomforted. 

The constable’s heart beat and pumped loud in his ears. What’s happening? He thought, and tried to call out, but though his mouth moved, no sound emerged. 

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a light, and, thinking it might be a lantern, turned in the direction. He discerned a green orb, perhaps a comet, yet it hovered much too low on the horizon. It brought the silence with it, and the constable watched it approach. 

The light entered the cemetery and, like a billiard ball, bounced from grave to grave. It then ascended to the sky and disappeared, taking the strange mantle with it, as if someone had pinched a handkerchief off a table and flung it into the air. The moon shone again and the stars, one by one, turned on and twinkled. The night sounds resumed, and the world plunged back into normality. 

“Will-o’-the-wisps,” his wife shrugged when he explained. 

He shook his head. That light came not from this world.

THE GODDESS TAROT: XVIII The Moon

Arcane

Derek stood before the bookcase and sighed. He scanned the spines searching for the book stated in his handwritten note. It didn’t help that the borrower had only provided the title of the book. He’d checked the catalog and the only reference was “occult”, which had turned out to be an extensive section in the library basement. He was on his third bookcase. 

Aha! Derek checked his note again and retrieved a dusty book with strange symbols on the cover and titled “Necromancy, Wizardry and Dark Magic” in big bold letters. He sneered as he perused the pages; pure balderdash and poppycock. 

He heard a strange rumble far away and wondered whether a storm was coming. Derek shrugged and tucked the book under his arm. He turned to leave when the ground shook and flung him into the bookcase. The lights flickered, and the books rattled in their shelves; a few tumbled onto the floor. When the tremor ended, Derek rubbed his shoulder and sighed. He set the requested book aside and bent down to pick up the fallen books and reshelve them. 

One lay open, and, as Derek reached for it, a cold draft blew through the aisle and flipped the pages. Derek squinted as he tried to read the writing. He didn’t understand the language, nor the alphabet. Something crept up his spine and tickled the back of his mind. 

He sat cross-legged on the floor, and without touching the book, stared at the pages. He sensed he could almost read the writing, as if he’d once known it but had forgotten long ago. The pages then turned to an illustration. 

A baby in swaddling clothes left behind at a doorstep. Derek examined the picture and wondered why it brought feelings of déjà vu. A memory flashed; he sat in the kitchen with his mother, snacking on milk and cookies. 

“You found me on the doorstep,” he’d said, matter-of-fact. 

“Of course not,” his mother had smiled, “you were born in the hospital. I know, I was there.”

The memory ended and his mind focused on the picture. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew the doorstep belonged to an earthen home with people around a warming fire. 

The picture moved, and Derek, frightened yet curious, wondered whether his mind was tricking him. The door creaked open; an old woman peeked out. She saw the baby, picked it up, gazed left and right, and cradling it, took it inside the hut. Derek’s heart thumped, as long-forgotten dreams flared and burst into puffs of haze in his mind. Could he be the baby?

“Derek! Are you down there?”

The boss’s voice plunged into the basement and broke the spell. Only the strange writing remained on the page. 

“Coming!” He yelled. 

Derek closed the book; the cover was old, leather-bound, weather-beaten and title-less. He put it back on the shelf, at the very end where no one would notice it. He grabbed the book on magical crapola and walked toward the stairs, reluctant to climb them. 

The library closed and Derek, the last to leave, snuck down to the occult section, retrieved the book, hid it under his jacket and took it home. 

Moonlight shone as he pulled into the driveway, its eerie silvery light an omen, which Derek felt with every cell in his body.

“Once in a blue moon, Derek,” Grandpa’s forgotten voice whispered in his memory, “a book comes along that changes your life.”

ALEISTER CROWLEY THOTH TAROT: XIX The Sun

Premonition

Rainer sat on the topmost rock of the hill. The sun shone bright in the sky and warmed him. He was shirtless and the soft breeze cooled his skin and gave him goosebumps. He loved sitting in the sunlight and being out of doors, rain, snow or shine. 

The breeze turned cold, and the wind strengthened. A storm cloud rolled through the baby blue sky towards him. It darkened the land below it. Rainer stood and faced the cloud; soon it would obscure the sun. 

“Someone’s coming,” he murmured. An eagle swooped down and alighted on the rocks nearby. It screeched at him. 

“Show me,” Rainer said, and the eagle flew heading east, towards the storm. Rainer sprinted down the mountain, nimble as a cat and eyes on the eagle. Now and then he skipped from rock to rock, his footfalls soft and silent on the barren ground. Rainer followed the eagle into the woods; it led him to the riverbed. 

He stopped on the bank and listened to the river as it flowed over the rocks. Rainer glanced around him, straightened his neck and sniffed the air. The night before he’d heard two bangs, and the acrid chemical stench of gunpowder had overwhelmed him. Now the gunpowder was faint, but the humid wind brought with it blood and fear. 

The storm cloud blocked out the sun and Rainer’s spine tingled with foreboding.

He turned to the eagle, “I will wait inside tonight.”