The Arcana

By Matt Hiebert

They are the Arcana -- human beings plucked from their lives to battle an invading army of demons. Named after the major trumps of the tarot, they are endowed with magical powers reflected within the cards. They are Justice, the Hermit, the Chariot, the Moon, the Tower. Conscripted into duty and held prisoner within a towering enclave, they are sent forward against their will to combat an onslaught of monsters the armies of the world cannot stand against.

And the price they pay is great.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matt Hiebert
• Release date: Jan 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310760730

Matt Hiebert

Matt Hiebert was one of the early pioneers of superhero fiction. His work has appeared in superherofiction.com, Cyber Age Adventure and iHero Magazine. His science fiction and fantasy stories have been published in Nuketown, The Widow's Knot and Silverblade Magazine.He is the author of the sword and sorcery novel "Blackhand," published by New Babel Books in 2013.

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The Arcana©

by Matt Hiebert

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

The

ARCANA

by Matt Hiebert

I.

The demon is of the Baal caste. Fifty-feet tall with vaguely feline features, mouth like a forest of fangs. Two thick, yellow horns curl from its forehead, and a giant flaming pitchfork burns in its right hand. It stabs into a cluster of soldiers who scurry around its hooves, skewering a pair of them upon the fiery tines.

I’ve noticed a lot of the larger demons carrying pitchforks lately. They look just like the devils from old paintings.

The soldiers’ assault rifles are ineffective against the demon’s flesh. Stray rounds ricochet off its scaly goat legs and whiz over our heads like angry hornets. Many soldiers drop their guns and run into the abandoned streets of Dallas, fleeing for their lives. How can you blame them?

The Hand has just arrived and we’re still trying to get our bearings. This time it’s Justice, the Hermit, the World, the Hanged Man and me. The Chariot is there, of course, but he’s just the taxi. He doesn’t join in the fight.

Tower! Justice calls to me in the secret language of our kind, the language we are given once we’re chosen. Justice is always a woman. A few months ago, this woman was a school teacher in Beijing, married, mother to an eight-year-old boy. Very pretty. Now she wields a flaming blue sword that can cut through anything. She is our leader. Come with me!

I follow her down an alley while the demon is preoccupied with the soldiers. She doesn’t want it to kill me before I get a chance to do my thing.

We crouch behind an abandoned beer truck, hidden from the demon’s sight.

Wait here until I call for you, she says.

I nod, always willing to lay low. The battles are horrific, nightmarish, filled with blood and mangled bodies. Fear burns from my center and makes my arms heavy. If I had a choice, I would leave the Arcana and move to a remote and empty place. Montana or Idaho. But I don’t have a choice. I am compelled to battle the demons. All of us are.

We are the Arcana.

Justice leaves me and returns to the fight. From my position in the alley I can see the Hanged Man and World ramping up their power. I have worked with this Hanged Man before, but I do not recognize the woman who is now the World. She is new. From Jamaica, I think.

I crouch behind the beer truck and wait. Soldiers and ordinary citizens run up the street, trying to escape the crushing footfalls of the Baal. An Army Humvee fires upon the demon with a .50-caliber machine gun from several blocks away. The pellets leave welts upon the creature’s flesh, and it shields its face with a clawed hand.

The demon holds out its gory trident and a red fist of fire shoots from the weapon’s prongs, roaring down the canyon of buildings like a comet, striking the Humvee head on. The vehicle and its inhabitants flash-burn into nothing.

I didn’t know the pitchforks could do that.

The World lifts her arms above her head and a chunk of the concrete street rises like a tidal wave. Cars fly into the air like toys. The gray wave crashes upon the Baal, and the giant stumbles backward into a ten-story building that calves like a glacier. I see people falling in the avalanche of glass, steel and concrete; flashes of clothing and flesh in the tumbling debris.

For a second, I hope the World has taken out the Baal without my help. I hope I won’t be needed.

But she hasn’t. The demon recovers from the blow and starts walking down the street, steel and concrete shedding from its shoulders.

You must prepare, a voice whispers from behind me. I turn and see the Hermit, a little old man who had lived his entire life in Kenya until being conscripted into the Arcana last year. I have never been in a Hand with him before, but I know his power. He can see ninety seconds, give or take, into the future. Or at least, a possible future. The Hanged Man will momentarily bind the demon. You must strike then.

Justice hasn’t called for me, I tell him.

She won’t have time.

I have to decide what to do. Justice is our leader. I am wired to respond to her commands. Yet I also know the Hermit can see the future.

I decide to listen to him.

I begin gathering my power from the invisible ether of the universe. Crackling arcs of energy crawl towards me from all directions, leaping into me from parked cars, fire hydrants, and drainage grates. The power pours into my body, and I feel myself becoming the Tower.

Get ready, whispers the Hermit.

I see the Hanged Man standing in a parking lot two blocks up the street. His arms are swirling around in large and small circles, gesturing in the air as if he is a mad man. He is tying knots.

The Baal charges toward the World, trying to get to her before she can strike again.

Suddenly, the Hanged Man drops to his knees and throws out his arms, pulling tight his knots. The demon stumbles, its arms and legs bound by invisible shackles. It hits the street face first. Pavement explodes into the air. Water mains snap and white geysers spray from cracks in the earth. I am several blocks away but the monster’s impact almost knocks me off my feet.

The demon is trapped, snared by the Hanged Man’s noose. This is the moment I must strike.

Great ropes of lightning converge within