We part ways, and Kirin and I head straight up to the lab, where he’s already left a stack of books on the legends he was talking about.
“I’ve been reading up while you were resting,” he says. “I was able to find some books on the legend of the Dark Arcana. Specifically, the Dark Magician. The books can explain it better than I can.”
“You’re already familiar with the legends?”
“Somewhat. It’s difficult to study because there are so many different interpretations, and so much of our history has been either hidden, lost, or destroyed. What some historians call facts, others call legends, others call lies, and on and on it goes.”
“Well, most legends have a grain of truth. I guess that’s what we need to find.”
We take chairs side by side, and Kirin opens to one of the passages he’s marked with a Post-It.
“Okay, listen to this,” he says. “The true source of magick has been debated since the earliest recorded times, and magickal occult historians have never agreed on a single accounting. But in the broader magickal community, it’s generally accepted that magick was gifted to humans by the source elemental beings many eons ago—salamanders, presiding over fire magick; undines presiding over water magick; sylphs presiding over air; gnomes presiding over earth. It is unknown whether these beings operated in a hierarchical structure, but historians have postulated that emissaries from each elemental group were elected and sent to interface with humans, particularly as mankind began to encroach on natural lands in greater numbers, posing a threat not only to the elemental beings, but to the natural world at large, despite the fact that mankind was and continues to be part of that natural world.”
“I feel like we’re the only species stupid enough to shit where we eat,” I say.
“Yes, and apparently we’ve been doing so for millennia.”
“Keep reading.”
Kirin flips the page. “The more the humans interacted with the elemental beings, the more they began to desire their own power, their own elemental magick. Eventually, some sort of bargain was struck between the humans and the elemental beings, though we do not know all of the details. This is where most of the legends diverge, the most popular and widely accepted version being thus:
“The humans sent their tribal elder to negotiate. The elemental beings warned him that magick would come at a great cost, but he was prepared to make that sacrifice so that his people could come to power, and he accepted the terms without question, diving into this new journey with childlike wonder and innocence.
“As part of the sacrifice, he gave his bones to create the first pentacle, representing earth magick; his skull for the first chalice, and his blood to fill it, both representing water; his last breath to stoke the flames that forged the first sword, repenting air; and the energy of his final ecstasy through forced ceremonial orgasm, representing fire.”
“Like what you told me about on the tour,” I say.
“Exactly. From there, these ancient artifacts were said to channel all elemental magick, and the man’s spirit became the ultimate essence of that magick, known thereafter as the First Fool from which all magick flows. Most magickal practitioners honor this legendary sacrifice every year on April 1st— First Fool’s Day.”
“So at what point does Tarot come into play?” I ask, struggling to make sense of it all. No wonder the historians couldn’t agree on a single accounting—after just a few pages, I’m already totally overwhelmed. “Other than the Fool reference, I can’t see how the elemental magicks connect in with the arcana.”
“Ahh, but the story continues.” With an adorably nerdy gleam in his eyes, Kirin closes his book and grabs another one, flipping to another marked page. He adjusts his glasses, then reads aloud: “The system of Tarot, through which modern practitioners channel their own magick, create a wide range of spells and curses, and divine the future, is said to be a written and pictorial accounting of the First Fool’s journey through the stages of magickal development, from novice to ascended master, which he then bestowed upon his family members and fellow tribesmen, essentially choosing them to become emanations of the major arcana. So, as he became the First Fool, his son became the First Magician, his wife the First High Priestess, his cousin the first Hierophant, and so on. Many historians consider these major arcana emanations as gods and goddesses, while the minor arcana were said to have evolved into the elemental affinities magickal practitioners identify with today. Together, the major and minor arcana are said to represent both the magickal-spiritual as well as the mundane journeys and challenges of all human life.”
“And here I thought it was just a deck of cards,” I tease.
“Maybe at Madame Zelinski’s House of Whimsical Wonders in Los Angeles, yours for the bargain-basement price of just $19.99, all sales final.” Kirin laughs. “But it’s a little more complicated than that for us.”
I rise from my chair, pacing the gleaming white floor, an excited buzz running through my veins. The more I learn, the more Iwantto learn—the legends, the facts, the hypotheses, all of it.
I’m starting to understand why Kirin devotes so much of his life to research. Being a Tarot magick nerd is kind of badass.
“Okay.” I stop pacing, tap my lips. “So we’ve got the First Fool, a brief and sordid history of the Tarot… When does the Dark Arcana creepshow start?”
Kirin holds up a finger, then rifles through his stack of books. “Damn, I guess I didn’t grab that one. It’s in Arcana Mythology, one level up. I’ll go grab it.”
“Hey, I’m coming too! You promised me some hot action in the stacks, and so far I haven’t seen a single stack.”
Kirin blushes again, his smile nearly overtaking his face. “You’re insatiable.”
“Just call me your favorite little book slut.”
“You’re definitely my favorite, Stevie.”
With that, I follow him back out through security and up the stairs to the next level. This floor doesn’t have the centralized open space where students and researchers can work—just bookshelves. Rows and rows of beautiful, majestic, gleaming oak bookshelves, their polished sheen a stark contrast to the dusty tomes that line them.
We’re all alone up here, and I take a deep, lemon-oil-and-old-book-scented breath.
Heaven.
