"Okay. That's-- okay. It seems... kind of like it's going to be a tragic story."

"Doesn't have to be. All it takes is a little practice, to make the story come out right. It's like - do you know why the tarot cards are powerful?"

"Why?"

"Because we made them powerful. Because people refined them over hundreds of years, keeping the pieces that were powerful and weaving the stories and the symbols together to make new connections. We don't it the way we do because a god handed them to us. We do the things that people have found to do. The things that the scholars of the mystical and arcane have developed as wards against fear and despair. That's what we do, Mr. Aarons. We're an ephemeral people. Not like the gods. Not so old as them. But we change our stories from one age to the next, and they don't know how to do that, do they. Yesterday and today and tomorrow, always the same. Not like us. We grow."

"I... am not sure I am a person who believes in stories, not really. I believe in truth. And understanding. And-- doubt. Questioning yourself. Never really being quite sure. That quiet little voice inside you that says but is this really so."

"I was never any good at that. Always - see all the pieces, and want to make them all fit. Want to make them dance, find all the patterns you can draw through the muck. Everything that fits. But finding the truth - seeing through the chaos without nudging it to be neater than it is, seeing the real path, even with all its missing pieces - that seems harder. But I guess if anybody could do it it'd be you, right? Maybe you could see it. Maybe not knowing is the only way to ever really know, if you can accept that the way everything really fits together, without anybody's editing or flattening or smoothing out, might be - rough. Your outcome was the ace of swords. The last time I did a reading for you. Truth. Understanding."

"Yes. I wonder what your outcome would have been, if you'd read it for yourself."

"I did a reading for me. The night we got back to New York City. I got the eight of wands. Decisive action, or coming to a conclusion. The culmination of something."

"The end of your story."

"Well. The end of my part. It all depends how you tell it, doesn't it."

"Yeah. I... don't know what we'll do without you to fit the pieces together."

"I bet you could learn. Might take a while. Be nicer if you could take your time about it. But I think everybody learns. How to look at things to make all the pieces fit. How to see the different ways they might, and not get stuck looking at things from any single angle. That's just - how we are."

"It's-- how I was. Before. Maybe again. If I don't... get malaria and..." He's tearing up. ]"I'm sorry, you're the one who's dying, I don't--"

"It's okay. I've told the story where I die plenty of times. So it doesn't - I just always wanted to make sure I left something for someone else to add to theirs. Wanted to leave more. Not just - bits and pieces. But people can make do with bits and pieces. Lots of stories are told in bits and pieces. --I'm sorry you have to keep losing people. I know it's not - easy. Even if things work out in the end."

"Yeah. Well, you can get used to most things. What do you want to be done with-- your-- when you--" He doesn't finish the sentence.

"I'd never thought about it," she says, like she is vaguely surprised by this. She feels like she ought to have thought of something fitting long beforehand. "I suppose the ordinary thing to do is to bury people, isn't it. All that staying in one place. I've never stayed in one place in my life."

"We could-- Ramon told me once about a poet whose body was burned, and all of him was burned except his heart. And his lover kept it with her for all the rest of her life. I guess... we could keep your ashes. If we burned you. And take them with us wherever we go."

She thinks she might be crying too, now. "I think I would like that. Better than staying in one place.

"You could give some to my brother, and keep some with you, and then I would be going even more places than I was. And everybody who felt like they needed me would at least have a piece."

"You are enough of a poet that maybe your heart won't burn either. And we can bury it here."

"Huh. Maybe so. That would be cool."

"It would make a nice story, anyway. I might tell them it's true whether it's true or not. Seems like a good way to honor you."

She sort of makes a weak motion that is kind of almost a hug. "I think I would like that very much."

"When Oscar Wilde was dying he said 'either the curtains go or I do' and then he was so happy about those last words he refused to say anything else for three days. So. You might want to pick out good ones."

"Mhmm. 's a good idea. M'tired, though. Very tired. Dunno if I can think of good ones. I think I said some cool stuff earlier. Something about the gods. And growing. Maybe I can say that again. Maybe I'm gonna - doze for a little bit. See if I get any stronger, when I wake up, so I can put it right. You should see if you can remember it. The thing about - how we're not like the gods."

She can't remember how to put it right.

"I'll tell them all that's the last thing you said."