Court of Snakes: This Desert Cage

Burn - Atsa | December of the First Year

"These ones?"

"Those."

Terran pointed at a silver deck of cards at the back of the jewelers. Thousands of small cogs and tickers whirred and clicked in a unanimous cacophony of mechanical sound. Mechanized eyes, animals, wings, and other automated contraptions ticked and moved as tiny wound motors brought them to life. Many of the pieces were protected behind glass cases; Terran assumed the jeweler made enough from his trade to afford such a luxury. In the back of the shop more wonders resided, and it was there where the jeweler sold mysterious decks of cards. The sets themselves were locked away in wood cases and kept out of the public eye. Superstitious, the jeweler said, and his hands shook as he revealed the chest's treasures.

The silver cards had glinted in the corner of the box as Terran's eyes grazed over the chest, decks bound by ribbons and twine nestled inside. The King told him he could not learn the magick of the cards without first picking his own deck. The King was not yet ready to give up his deck, the deck that had once belonged to a dying man, so Terran got a new deck instead. Less than a half dozen decks rested in their velvet coffin, protected from light and dust for who knew how long.

"How have I not known about these? Why hadn't my family ever taught me that they exist? How does that jeweler have access to them?" Terran asked and ran his fingers over the top of the cards as The King gave the jeweler money. No imperfections marred the metal plating and Terran's fingers glided over them like ice.

"These cards represent an old magick," The King replied, handed over a pouch of silver, and turned to leave the store. "A long time ago, people would use these cards to tell the future. Then, someone somewhere discovered the magick within them, or maybe rediscovered. Those who didn't believe couldn't use them. That's why. Nowadays, people who haven't seen the power of the cards do not grasp that something of the sort is even possible, let alone exists. Most don't even make them anymore. The people hunting me think that I've made pacts with spirits or demons of the desert because of the things I do. Little do they know, I would be powerless without these cards."

The King led Terran back down the stairs into the tavern, and then into the back room where he now spent so much of his time. Nearly a year had passed since Terran had come into the care of The King and, for his sixteenth birthday, The King bought him whichever deck suited his eye – a generous gift. Apparently, The King held in his possession more money than he let on, and coins seemed to flow from his pockets like water. He purchased goods by money of his own devices, and it never ceased to amaze Terran how much there was. He never suspected that thievery could be such a lucrative business and wondered how much cash flowed through The King's hands on a day-to-day basis.

"That card you had me pick months ago," Terran began. "You haven't let me touch your cards since. What did it mean?"

"Oh, The Knight?" The King huffed and treated it like it was of no importance. "It represents who you are, as a person. I am called The King because when I drew from the cards like you did, I was given the King of Swords, someone who is very much like me. You drew the Knight of Wands and, now that I know you more, it seems to fit you perfectly."

"Have you ever let anyone learn about the cards before?"

"No."

The King took the cards from Terran's hands, pulling out the Knight of Wands as if he knew exactly where it was in the deck. "Right now," he said, "uncovering how deep the Embassy corruption goes is of the utmost importance. I understand I've been harsh and that this has all been new to you, but your destiny led you here."

Terran shook his head. "I still don't under—"

"Sh."

The King moved behind Terran and pushed him down into his chair. Terran flinched as The King's icy fingers moved his hair away from his neck. The King continued, "I'm going to give you a present, but it will hurt."

"What—"

Terran's skin exploded in sensation, a singeing pain he had managed to avoid all his life, until now. He had never burned himself, fire on skin, because his parents had never let that happen. Now he knew exactly what it felt like, and something burned into the skin at the back of his neck. As he tried to pull away, The King tightened his grip on Terran's shoulder so that the boy could not move. Eventually, the pain died down and The King replaced the card into the deck. Terran looked up at him angrily, hot, welling tears in his eyes. "What did you do?"

The King turned around and lifted the long waves of ginger hair from his own neck. On the flesh, a dark circle carved of the same, swirling symbols on the back of The King's cards were emblazoned there in the form of a dark scar. Inside an inky circle, a long dagger's tip broke the border of the mark, and behind it sat a large, sturdy-looking crown. The image reminded Terran of a coat of arms. "When I first received the cards, I read every book I could find on the subject, which wasn't very many. The books I did read told me about significators," he explained. "That mark will allow you to use the cards. Without it, they are only paper."

The King held up a hand mirror and walked Terran to a standing mirror so he could investigate the reflection. Metal twisted itself into a clear, simple illustration of a shield, upon which was a tree branch that tangled into a staff. Behind it a sun rose. The imagery bumped out of his skin, almost as if the metal had been welded into his flesh, and the spot felt sensitive to the touch. His heart leapt into his throat as he realized that there was no turning back now. "Will this ever go away?" Terran asked.

"Never," The King said. "It's with you for the rest of your life."