I slept long and dreamless, simply too exhausted from the storm, my crash landing, the endless march – and then there was the fact that I was supposedly stranded between dimensions. That was definitely something I would have to talk to Marcus about.
The bed was hard, though I had slept in far less comfortable places. It reminded me of a temple in Nepal, where I once spent a night on the stone floor among countless pilgrims, just to witness a sacred ritual at sunrise. That’s something I’ve always admired about India and Nepal – even those of other faiths are welcome to join their sacred ceremonies, as long as they show respect. I can only imagine the faces of my dear Falkensteiners if a Nepali or Indian ever wandered into one of our church services… But I digress.
Even though my bed was hard and my bones ached, I felt somewhat refreshed. It still took me a moment to fully grasp where I was. Tarcania, trapped between dimensions. Phew, that was still hard to believe.
I stretched and washed myself with the cold water in the basin on the dresser. Neither India nor Nepal killed me, so I would surely survive Tarcania. And yes, the icy water did wonders for waking me up properly.
I left my room and made my way down the stairs. Marcus was already up and gave me a warm smile. There were only a few people in the “Golden Chalice”, and they were all looking at me with interest.
Well, if what Marcus told me last night is true, then I was actually something unusual, but could that really be the case?
I took a seat at my table, and Marcus brought over some bread, cheese, and watered-down wine. I remembered… back then, diluted wine and watered-down beer were totally normal. Tea or coffee didn’t seem to exist in Tarcania — or, if they did, perhaps they were like in old Europe: rare luxuries reserved for the wealthy.
Ah well, watered red wine with cheese — at least that went together. I enjoyed my breakfast, not knowing what else to expect that day.
After I had eaten, I reached into my bag and pulled out my beloved Tarot cards. I had bought them only a few months ago in Cairo, after a long negotiation with far too many small glasses of strong, sweet peppermint tea and even more lamenting from the merchant.
In the end, we parted as friends – or at least as much as one can be friends with an Egyptian merchant. By the time our deal was done, I knew his entire life story, the jealous squabbles of his three wives, and the endless bickering of his eleven children. If even a third of his stories were true, the poor man deserved some sympathy.
Since that day, I had drawn the cards every single day. Well, I’m not sure if you could really call it “reading” the cards. I shuffled them, sometimes drew one, sometimes three, and simply looked at them. To be honest, I had no idea what to do with them, but the images had a way of captivating me. The figures were so different– the Fool, the Magician, Temperance – or those haunting scenes, like the blindfolded woman bound between swords.
The cards resonated with something inside me, even though I couldn’t yet say what.
I shuffled the deck, spread the cards out before me, and drew one. It was the Fool – my favourite card. I had always felt a connection to him, but today more than ever. He steps out into the world without a plan, open and ready to embrace the adventure that awaits him. He carries only a small bundle, just like me. Yet he has a loyal companion in the small white dog at his side.
I, on the other hand, was alone.
I decided to take the Fool as my guide and embrace Tarcania without prejudice– open, curious, ready for whatever might come. After all, that had always been my approach when travelling, whether in the Orient or Indochina. On my journeys, I was always like the Fool — naive, open-hearted, not fully aware of all the risks, somewhat gullible, but determined to soak it all in, enjoy every day, gain new experiences, and learn.
I was still gazing, lost in thought, at the Fool when Marcus took a seat beside me.
He sat there in silence, waiting for me to notice him. When I finally looked up and asked what was on his mind, he looked me straight in the eyes.
“Bobbie,” he said, “you are one of the chosen. Your soul was in Tarcania long before you arrived. Your body has merely followed.”
To be honest, I was pretty surprised. What was that supposed to mean? What exactly was Marcus trying to tell me?
He gestured towards the cards and looked at me intently.
“There is a Guild here – a Tarot Guild – and you should speak with its Mistress. Many things will become clear to you then. For us in Tarcania, these cards are a part of our everyday life in a very special way. Tarot is alive here in Tarcania. But in your world, they are not yet taken seriously, not yet seen for what they truly are – a gateway, a bridge to the soul. The fact that you arrived in Tarcania with your cards – that is something special. You are meant to be a messenger, someone who carries the wisdom of the cards back into your own world.
“There is a tale—some call it a prophecy—that one day a stranger will arrive in Tarcania and learn to read the cards with her heart and her soul. Yet she shall not remain, for when the time is right, she will return to her homeland. Bobbie, I am certain you are that stranger.”
I was honestly speechless. I just stared at Marcus.
Me? A chosen one? Part of some prophecy? Come on…
I burst out laughing – and I’ll admit, the watered wine on an empty stomach might have played its part.
But Marcus remained serious.
“Go to the Guild. Speak with the Mistress.”
I liked Marcus, and he didn’t deserve to be laughed at. I bit back the sarcastic remark sitting on the tip of my tongue.
“Alright, Marcus. You’ve been incredibly kind and generous. I’ll go to the Guild and speak with her. But tell me, how can I thank you for the meal and the bed? How can I repay you?”
Marcus waved it off.
“If the Guild Mistress recognises you as the chosen one, then I will be happy simply to have helped you. That is reward enough. But if it means something to you – then read the cards for me, before you return to your land….”
He described the way to the Guild, and I grabbed my bag and my cards. We hugged like old friends, and I set off – on my way to the Tarot Guild.
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