Dear Readers,
I initially put together snapshots for each of the Arcana as a guide to help with the screenplay of the Arcana Chronicles.
My goal was to illuminate certain characters' motivations and delve further into their backgrounds.
I've since expanded Day Zero into a companion guide, with narratives for most of the players. I omitted villains that were defeated in past books, and for reference, I included Evie's memories of the apocalypse from Poison Princess.
This book became one of the most challenging--and rewarding--writing projects I've ever taken on.
Be forewarned: SPOILERS ABOUND. This companion is intended for those who have already read Poison Princess, Endless Knight, and Dead of Winter.
Some might take Jack's story in Day Zero as proof that he's the inactivated card. In fact, I included him because so many have asked for his account of the Flash. I'm neither denying nor confirming whether he is an Arcana. And unfortunately, the Fool redacted information on the one player Jack could be (as well as his own card).
All will be revealed soon.
Thank you for taking this journey with me!
My warmest wishes,
Kresley Cole
Origin of the Arcana
Millennia ago, the gods grew bored.
So Isis, the goddess of magic and wisdom, devised entertainment: a contest to the death for select mortals. She invited gods of other realms to each choose a representative from their most prestigious house, a mortal under the age of twenty-five who would carry the god's emblem into battle.
These players would fight inside Tar Ro (ancient Egyptian for royal road), a sacred realm as large as a thousand kingdoms. Isis plagued Tar Ro with disasters to honor various gods and to fuel conflicts between the players.
With each kill, a player would harvest a god's emblem from an opponent, which would then appear on his or her own hand; only the player who collected all the others' emblems would leave Tar Ro alive--as an immortal victor.
Naturally, the deities cheated, gifting his or her representative with superhuman abilities. Secret abilities. Thus the players became known as Arcana.
A sea god sent the Priestess, a devout girl he blessed with power over all bodies of water. A goddess of learning sought the most brilliant lord from her realm, then struck him mad--to make the Fool unpredictable in the game. An underworld god cursed a young nobleman to kill all he touched, then dispatched his Knight of Death to play.
Nineteen other deities from distant planes sent mortals to almost certain doom.
This vicious Tar Ro game proved so popular with the gods that they decided to host it every few centuries in different lands across the mortal plane until the end of time. . . .
Deprived of their lifeblood--worshippers' prayers--these old deities are thought to have moved on to other worlds, but their legacies live on. On the eve of a new game, each god's magic seeks out a descendant from his or her House of Arcana.
Players are transformed; a new game is dealt.
The earth suffers in their wake.
You may have seen symbols of these games on the face of modern Tarot cards. Each trump card represents a player and contains important clues about his or her past battles, allies, foes, strengths, and weaknesses.
The object of the game: trump every other card by any means necessary, slaying opponents to collect their emblems, now known as icons. In the end, the winner "holding all the cards" will be made immortal until all the others reincarnate to play again.
A prize worth killing for.
And now, in the beginning years of this millennium, a new game has begun along a royal road across a land called North America. . . .
Which of the Arcana will triumph? Can the Hanged Man defeat the electrifying Tower? Will the Priestess's tidal waves extinguish the Emperor's lava? Can the wily Fool outfox them all?
Hail Tar Ro. May the most powerful card kill, and may the best hand win.
The Flash
by the books
Arthur's description:
Laserlike shafts of sunlight had blasted the earth for the course of one entire global night. Those fields of green cane Evie remembered dreamily would've been charred to ash. Anything organic--any living thing caught outside shelter--was incinerated.
And so many people, transfixed by the pretty lights, had wandered from their homes, drawn like moths to a flame.
As if by design.
Bodies of water flash-evaporated, but no rain has fallen in eight months. All plant life has been permanently destroyed; nothing will grow anew. And only a small percentage of humans and animals lived through the first night.
In the ensuing days, millions more people perished, unable to survive the new toxic landscape.
For some reason, most females sickened and died.
An unknown number of humans mutated into "Bagmen"--contagious zombielike creatures, cursed with an unending thirst and an aversion to the sun.
Some call them hemophagics--blood-drinkers. I believe they are anything drinkers, but without water to be found, they've turned to people, walking bags of liquid.
Evie's visions:
Night was falling. And across the sky, ethereal lights flickered, crimson and violet, like Mardi Gras streamers. I gaped as flames arced over the school, those eerie lights like a twinkling crown above the fire.
Across the grounds, a river of snakes slithered over each other, their scales reflecting the lights above. Panicked rats scurried alongside the creatures that usually ate them.
Those flames descended, searing them to ash, everything to ash.
_______________
Flames blazed across a night sky. Beneath the waves of fire, fleeing rats and serpents roiled over Haven's front lawn, until the ground looked like it rippled.
The sun had shone--at night--searing people's eyes till they ran with pus, mutating their bodies and rotting their brains. They became zombielike blood-drinkers, Bagmen, with skin that looked like crinkled paper bags and oozed a rancid slime.
Jack's description to Evie:
"Everything's covered in ash, but not every place is burned. Some towns look striped from the lines of flames that hit the ground. Real finger-of-God stuff. One house stands while the one beside it burned down. No rhyme or reason, like how a tornado strikes."
Character Guide
The Major Arcana*
0. The Fool, Gamekeeper of Old (Matthew)
I. The Magician, Master of Illusions (Finneas)
II. The Priestess, Ruler of the Deep (Circe)
III. The Empress, Our Lady of Thorns (Evie)
IV. The Emperor, Stone Overlord (Richter)
V. The Hierophant, He of the Dark Rites (Guthrie)
VI. The Lovers, Duke & Duchess Most Perverse (Vincent & Violet)
VII. The Centurion, Wicked Champion (Kentarch)
VIII. Strength, Mistress of Fauna (Lark)
IX. The Hermit, Master of Alchemy (Arthur)
X. Fortune, Lady of Chance (Zara)
XI. The Fury, She Who Harrows (Spite)
XII. The Hanged Man, Our Lord Uncanny (Redacted) XIII. Death, the Endless Knight (Aric)
XIV. Temperance, Collectress of Sins (Calanthe)
XV. The Devil, Foul Desecrator (Ogen)
XVI. The Tower, Lord of Lightning (Joules)
XVII. The Star, Arcane Navigator (Stellan)
XVIII. The Moon, Bringer of Doubt (Selena)
XIX. The Sun, Hail the Glorious Illuminator (Sol)
XX. Judgment, the Archangel (Gabriel)
XXI. The World, This Unearthly One (Tess)
*Note subtle differences from previously available lists and modern interpretation.
Death (XIII)
Aric Dominija, the Endless Knight, Reigning Arcana Champion
Unspecified call
A.k.a.: The Reaper, Tredici
Powers: Touch of Death (can kill with contact). Death awareness (can sense dead things and approaching death). Superhuman speed, strength, endurance, dexterity, senses, healing. Controlled telepathy.
Special Skills: Gifted horseman, unmatched swordsman.
Weapons: Swords, scythe, his warhorse Thanatos.
Tableau: A Reaper clad in black armor, scythe at the ready, riding a pale horse with evil red eyes. He carries a black flag emblazoned with a white rose.
Icon: Scythe.
Unique Arcana Characteristics: Wears impenetrable armor, spiked gloves, and a helmet. Eyes turn starry with emotion.
Before Flash: A mysterious, reclusive billionaire, securing his mountain compound against any foreseeable disaster.
Lethe Castle
Day 0
Of course hers would be the last icon to fade. The rose symbol.
In the shower, I stare at the back of my right hand. Of the twenty-one icons that have marked my skin for so long, only fragments remain of the rose that represented the great Empress's life.
I took this icon when I beheaded her. For centuries, I have stared at it with a mixture of fury, guilt, and yearning.
It connected me to her. My wife.
Whenever the beginning of our lethal game nears, the icons borne by the winner fade. Telepathic Arcana calls start to sound. We are on the brink.
Anticipation strains even my eternal patience. I will capture this new reincarnation of the Empress and make her pay.
At last.
I have waited 677 years, 3 months, and 13 days for this time to come.
Other Arcana have envied my immortality. I would gladly give it up if not for her--my fantasy and nightmare, all wrapped in one.
I have no choice except to win. If I'd died in the past, I would have been reincarnated for another game, losing my memories of her and our history. My soul would have entered a new body, one lacking the warning that I had tattooed over my torso.
Three scenarios might play out in a future game. . . .
I wouldn't go out of my way to find her, missing her entirely.
I would find her, only to kill her before I discovered I could touch her.
Or, worst of all, I would find her, touch her, then trust her.
My hands ball into fists, and I hang my head under the stream of water. With the memories I've retained, I've already been able to locate her, and other Arcana as well. They tend to stand out, and in this age of information, I possess every advantage.
To find the Empress, I searched all over the world for farms named Haven. Her home has always been called that. In more than one Arcana chronicle, I've read the advice: "Never attack an Empress in her Haven."
Only one farm of that name has a girl of the right age living on the property. She is a Louisiana teenager named Evangeline Greene.
She has no idea that a few states away, she has a husband who plots to destroy her.
I found her social media accounts with pictures of her friends (surprisingly many), her boyfriend (a football player who looks as dim as he is handsome), and her home.
The manor at Haven is circled by twelve oaks, like the twelve stars in her Empress crown, and is surrounded by miles of sugarcane in every direction. Strategically genius.
I've also seen pictures of her, this Evangeline Greene. My wife.
She is . . . stunning. Shining golden locks. Merry eyes. Curving lips and cheeks pink with health.
In games past, she had a formidable physical presence, tall and commanding, more Demeter then Aphrodite. In this game, she is all Aphrodite. Comelier than anything I've seen in all my years.
I torture myself imagining what thoughts go on behind those merry eyes. There exists a way for me to know. But what would the clever Fool demand for such a boon?
Even now I hear the Empress's Arcana call. --Come . . . touch . . . but you'll pay a price.--
My gut clenches with want. My blood burns for her.
I touched, and by all the gods, I've paid.
Naturally, the one game I've vowed not to be seduced, she turns out to be breathtakingly beautiful.
Yet more than her beauty attracts me. She is brimming with life; as ever, she calls to me, to Death.
My fist shoots out against the shower tile, shattering it.
_______________
In my study at Lethe Castle, I strip off my hated gloves and pour a vodka.
The catastrophe that marks the beginning of each game could happen at any instant, but I've finalized the preparations of Lethe.
My home sits atop an isolated mountain, chosen for its strategic location. Considering the Emperor's powers, I'd made sure the property was some distance from any major seismic activity. With my Empress in mind, I'd selected a site without trees.
Cold-war renovations had already been in place when I bought the castle, and then I outfitted it for whatever catastrophe might befall us now.
Electrical storms? Copper sheets line the walls and ceilings. Flood? We are well above the flood zone. Wildfires? The castle was constructed of flame-proof slate and stone. With the touch of a button, blast-proof shutters will cover all the windows and doors.
Should there be another famine, a subterranean farm with acres of sun lamps will sustain Lethe. Another drought? Sunken reservoirs and wells will provide water.
If marauders actually find this place, a reinforced stone perimeter wall surrounding the entire mountaintop will hinder a raid.
The Arcana players come from all over the world; why should I not believe the scope of the disaster will be global? Communications will go first. I have prepared for that as well.
I possess so many advantages over the others. The deck is eternally stacked in my favor. My allies will benefit as well, at least for a time.
Among the players I've located, I have chosen four.
A Kenya Special Forces soldier named Kentarch is the Centurion, my first ally. His family line has forever named the firstborn son Kentarch. I've messengered a satellite phone to him with instructions to contact me.
Circe Remire, a Bermudan PhD student obsessed with Atlantean folklore and witchcraft must be the Priestess. Her photo online bears a slight resemblance to her previous incarnation, and she was named for Circe's Abyss (according to her university bio). Ages ago, the abyss had been named for her.
Like me, she has been beguiled and betrayed in the past by the Empress. I've dispatched the Priestess's trident to her. It should accelerate her witchly protection and memory spells.
My third ally will be the Devil. In a small Ohioan gazette, I read an account of a misshapen boy with horns. I will collect him after the disaster. As ever, he will be a vile beast, but he has two advantages. He is immune to the Empress's poison, and his hands will be able to work metal like a forge.
I think of my armor displayed on a stand in my room. Its fit is close, its movements silent. Made from an unidentifiable black ore, the entire suit weighs less than my longswords, as light as it is impenetrable.
This mysterious material can only be reworked by the Devil Card. With each game, I have him update and perfect the armor.
I've already secured my fourth ally. In past months, I'd found stories online about a teenage girl with a remarkable talent for training and rehabilitating dangerous beasts. She had to be the Strength Card, also known as Fauna.
She'd hired out her services, even advertised. In one video, she'd gazed at the camera with clear eyes and chin raised, boldly stating, "My name is Lark Inukai. I defang killers. I defuse their aggression. I find their weaknesses and exploit them ruthlessly. Animals come to me one way and leave another. Do you have a problem case? Call the Killer Chiller."
Even now I shake my head. Killer Chiller? There is no accounting for taste.
I hired her father, a veterinarian who'd emigrated from Japan, to oversee my vast collection of animals. Takao and Fauna moved to Lethe Castle a few months ago.
I've
given him an unlimited budget to increase our stock. He is currently on his way back from acquiring a rare Russian leopard. As with many of our creatures, some celebrity had purchased it without much forethought.
I exhale. Mortals.
I called Takao yesterday and told him to make haste returning. If he doesn't make it back, he could be separated from the safety of the castle when disaster strikes. He could be killed.
All because he couldn't resist the promise of beauty.
A few weeks ago, I told Fauna, "You and your father gravitate toward beautiful animals. Sometimes the spellbinding creatures are the most dangerous ones of all." Like the Empress.
Fauna had frowned. "I don't understand."
"In life, you should always steel yourself against anything that is alluring. The next time you see something beautiful, turn away from it." I speak from bitter experience.
Restless, I rise and cross to my wall safe. Combination entered, I open the door to my most valuable treasures. I reach past the necklace I once gave the Empress to collect a small case. Inside is my mother's wedding ring, an engraved gold band with an oval of inlaid amber.
In two out of the last three games, I almost gifted this ring to the Empress. When I married her millennia ago, it had been in safekeeping hundreds of miles away, and I never had the opportunity to retrieve it. In the game after that, the Emperor killed her before I could reach her. In the last game, she'd tried to poison me before I could slip it on her finger.
I take the ring from its case, and the metal warms against my skin. I give a harsh laugh. The ring doesn't know my touch is lethal. It reacts to me as it would to anyone.
So did the Empress's skin.
I recall my last few encounters with her from the previous game--not that I need anything to harden my resolve against her.
All those years ago, I shadowed her, observing her battles, trying to determine whether she was as treacherous as she'd been the last time I'd seen her, when she'd intended to kill me on our wedding night.
She'd been even worse. . . .
"You've stalked me long enough, Reaper. Shall we fight at last?" she asks, looking as if she burns for the battle. Her swirling glyphs glow.