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Julian sat at his cramped desk, imprisoned in his office in the palace dungeons. The Plague was beginning to take its toll on him. His thoughts began to run together, becoming more and more delirious. Only one image remained clear in his mind: the raven-headed man. He tried to remember just where he saw the creature for the first time. He racked his tired brain, looking for an answer to at least this. Then, it came to him, as if lightning struck an old oak one last time. He flew to a lonely shelf drilled into the stone wall. Deft fingers grazed the spines of the few books he had left until he found the one he was looking for. Pulling it free from the rest, the silvery mark on the cover held the promise of answers to the millions of questions buzzing around his head.
Sitting back down at the decrepit desk, the doctor flipped through the pages, trying to find an illustration or at the very least a description of the raven-like creature. One passage eventually stuck out to him:
“ The Hanged Man is the XII Major Arcana in a tarot deck. In its Upright form, it represents righting wrongs and taking accountability.”
Julian thought about the words on the yellowing pages before him. Taking accountability, huh? He thought to himself. Well, who exactly takes accountability for a plague? The doctors? Should we be the ones hanging for our failures? This question made him stop. Who should be taking accountability? Many answers were possible, however it was harder to decide which was correct . Looking back to the book, he read on:
“In its Reversed form, The Hanged Man represents a call to action of sorts, a sign to start moving now.
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” he muttered to himself. Flipping through the rest of the chapter, he found that it was possible to contact the figure, through a magician’s gate.
“Well it’s a bit late for that” he sighed, thinking back to a certain fluffy-haired mage.
Continuing on, he read that The Hanged Man could also be reached through borders. At first, he thought the book meant physical borders. He stood up and stepped onto a crack in the stone floors. Nothing happened. Perplexed, he thought maybe that it wasn’t a large enough border, and attempted to slip his foot under the door of his prison. Still no results.
Sitting back down, he read even further. Upon this, he discovered that if he simply had read a bit more, he would have found that they had meant a metaphysical border, such as the state of being between consciousness and asleep, or, more gravely, between life and death. Well, he thought, I do need to sleep eventually. He laid down on the uncomfortable slab he called a bed, and tried to quiet his mind for long enough to fall asleep.
Sleep came after what seemed like hours of tossing and turning. When he woke up however, he was not in his office any longer. He was standing on an island with a solitary lamp that gave off a bloody red glow. Mangrove trees grew around him, branches twisted into an incomprehensible tangle. Looking around, he couldn’t see any other life forms. He called out into the surrounding fog, listening intently for another voice, or any other sign of life for that matter.
Then, out of the gloom, appeared the figure that haunted many of his dreams. The Hanged Man stood before him, seemingly flesh and bone.
“Before you ask, no, you are not imagining this. You are between sleep and consciousness, but you shall soon wake, so do make haste” the creature stated, their voice steady.
Julian’s mind raced, struggling to find the right words to get his point across.
“Well- I- This-” he stammered, not able to find his footing in the sudden time crunch. He took a deep breath, conscious of his words and his limited time frame. Even though many questions layed heavy on his heart, such as Did you suffer terribly before you were gone? Did you blame me?, but he knew that he had to prioritize his duty to the city over his own feelings.
He finally was able to choke out the right questions: “What is the source of the plague, and how do we stop it?”
The Hanged Man looked thoughtful, Julian thought he looked mildly impressed, even though it was for a fleeting moment.
“Many questions occupy your head don't they? Even more lie in your heart. It takes true courage to ask the right ones.” They paused for a moment, studying the man before them. “Unfortunately, everything comes with a price, that includes answers to such burning questions such as yours. I mainly deal in amending past wrongs, or celebrating forgotten victories. Therefore, the currency I deal in are memories.”
“Memories?” Inquired Julian.
“Yes. You simply choose what memories to give up, and in return, you will receive the cause and cure to the plague. I do wish I could give you more time to decide, however, we are running short on that resource in particular.”
It didn’t take long for Julian to decide to take the deal. The problem was deciding which memories to give up. The ones filled with remorse came to mind first. The problem with giving up those memories was forgetting the people who were in them. More specifically, one person. Each memory was tainted with remorse, but behind that was a flicker of good feelings, of laughter, of love. But he knew he had to let those memories go. That those times were long dead, left with the dying breath of a well loved soul.
After a short while, he turned to the figure. “I’m ready to make the trade.”
The Hanged man reached out a clawed hand, waiting for Julian to shake it. After a final moment of hesitation, Julian took their hand. A mark started to appear on his throat, the same one that was emblazoned on the dusty book.
The searing pain woke him with a start. It felt as if someone had taken a white-hot knife and carved a pattern into his throat. Sitting upright, he grabbed at his neck, trying to dull the pain somehow. Then suddenly, the pain dissipated, leaving nothing but smooth skin, and a fleeting memory of someone's voice. The trip had been a success. He flipped to a chapter in the book about message sending, and scrawled out a short message to Asra, explaining his plan. He hoped that maybe there was enough compassion in the magician’s heart to help him one last time.Finally, the doctor knew how to stop this damned plague.