Blaise laughed in delight. I glanced back and smiled. We didn't have enough laughter in our lives.
Then, letting my stride lengthen, we left the deer loping through the underbrush, playing hide-and-seek in the bushes with rabbits, skunks, and other forest creatures.
Forest, to grasslands, to gently rolling hills lush with ripening wheat and rye, and on through pastures of fat cows and rotund sheep. Here and there prosperous-looking farmers worked the fields with sons. All waved and drawled the friendliest of welcomes. Two boys came running, carrying packs. They both eyed our father curiously. Neither asked why I had a tied-up old man in my arms; that would have been rude, and they weren't the prying types… a restful Shadow indeed. We needed calm natives who wouldn't try to kill us or betray us…
“May we offer you a drink, sir?” they asked. “Or a sandwich, ma'am?”
“No, thanks.” I paused and looked back as my sister caught up. “Blaise?”
“A drink would be lovely,” Blaise said. She brushed a dangling strand of hair off her forehead. Without makeup, with her hair in disarray, she had a harder edge to her face. I remembered the strength behind her punch and wondered not for the first time if I had somehow underestimated her.
“Here.” The oldest of the two fumbled a clay jar from their pack and poured water into a cup held by his brother. They both handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She drank deeply, coughed, gasped, and handed it back quickly.
“Good?” I asked with a grin.
“It was… water.” She gave a horrified shudder.
“More?” Both boys grinned up at her, thinking she had enjoyed it.
“I'm fine now.”
They looked at me again. “Sir? Perhaps for the old gentleman?”
“We're both fine,” I said. I glanced up the road and frowned. There would be an inn just ahead, beyond the grove of trees over the hill… a rambling old inn with a railed porch around the front. Dad could rest easily there. A brilliant physician lived on an estate not far beyond. He could help us.
It had to be so. My vision made sure of it.
Chapter 7
Sure enough, the small town came into view when we topped the hill. As places go, it was nothing fancy, perhaps two dozen buildings, but a sprawling old inn sat facing us. Smoke drifted lazily from a pair of tall brick chimneys, carrying smells of fresh bread and roasting meat. Three gray-bearded old men sat on the porch in rocking chairs, whittling away at wooden blocks. As we approached, they all looked up and called cheery good-mornings.
“Somethin' wrong with that fellow?” one of them asked me idly. He stared without concern at our father's bruised face and bound wrists.
“He has seizures,” I said. It came out sounding more exhausted than convincing; it had been a long day. “I tied him up to keep him from hurting himself. That last seizure almost killed him.”
“Ayah.” Nodding sagely, he settled back into his chair and began rocking slowly once more. “You'll be wanting Doc Hand, then.”
“Not Young Doc Hand,” said the second old-timer, still whittling. “The one you need is Old Doc Hand.”
“Ayah,” said the third whittler. “Old Doc Hand, he's the best for seizures, sure enough. He lives over the short hills, nearer to Haddoxville than to Barleyton, at Manor-on-Edge.”
“Thanks,” I said. Old Doc Hand would be our man.
The first whittler said, “Have Young Jamas fetch Old Doc Hand for your daddy. Young Jamas ought to be inside, behind the counter more'n likely. He won't mind the trip. His girl's in Haddoxville, right enough.”
“Ayup,” said the second whittler rocking slowly. “Young Jamas won't mind 'tall.”
I glanced at Blaise. “How are you doing?”
“I feel much better,” she said, giving me a look that said the worst for her had passed. “Though after that foul farm beverage, I need a real drink.”
“Jamas has the best wine in seven counties,” said the third whittler.
“Thanks,” I said. “When you're thirsty, come in and I'll buy you all a round of drinks.”
“Thank you kindly!” said the first. “We'll be along presently, once Jamas has you settled in, sure as you're standin' there!”
I carried Dad inside. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the low-ceilinged common room, I saw scattered tables and a long counter. A pot of something hearty-smelling simmered in the fireplace.
Behind the counter stood a red-haired man of middling years. He looked up from polishing the thick oak slab used as a bar and gave a friendly nod. Could this be Young Jamas?
“Mornin',” he said with a pleasant smile. “Somethin' wrong with that fellow you're carryin'?”
“He's ill—having seizures.” I decided to stick with that story.
“Need a room, then?”
“Three of them.”
“Have your pick upstairs.” He nodded to the steps at the far end of the room. “There's no one else stayin' here at the moment. It's nothin' fancy, mind you, but the beds're warm and the food's good and plentiful.”
“That's all we want.” I started for the stairs, then hesitated. Better take care of Dad first. “The men outside said to ask for Young Jamas. That wouldn't be you, would it?”
He chuckled. “I haven't been Young Jamas in nigh on twenty years. That's my eldest boy. I'm just Jamas now.”
“Not Old Jamas?” I joked.
“Nope. Old Jamas is my Da.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jamas.” I nodded politely. “I'm Oberon. This is my sister Blaise. We were hoping your boy might go to Haddoxville for Old Doc Hand.”
Jamas nodded. “Old Doc Hand is the one you want, sure enough, for somethin' like seizures. Always go with experience, I say. My boy's out back getting wood for the kitchen. He'll be back in a few minutes. I'll send him straight for the doc. He won't mind.”
“Thanks.”
“Don't mention it.”
Turning, I carried Dad up the narrow flight of steps to the second floor. I pushed open the first door on the left with my foot, finding a small chamber with mismatched pieces of furniture: a high-canopied bed, a narrow armoire, and a battered washstand with a chipped blue basin. It would do quite nicely for Dad.
“Here, let me get the bed.”
Blaise hurried around me and drew back the patchwork quilt. I slid Dad between the sheets. He was drooling again. I sighed and wiped his mouth on his shirt.
“Can I untie him now?” she asked. “I don't think he's dangerous.”
“All right. But be careful—if he wakes up, he might get violent.”
“He wouldn't hurt me.”
“You can't trust a madman.”
Silently she untied our father's wrists, rubbing at the deep red marks they left. Dad stirred a bit and murmured softly. Then, to my surprise, she reached down and removed a knife with a unicorn-hilt from his right boot. I hadn't known he carried one there. It matched the one I'd taken from him earlier.
“I keep my eyes open,” she said with a grin, as if in answer to my thoughts. She passed the knife to me, and I tucked it into my belt, next to its mate. “Not that it will do much good—he can always get another one with the Logrus.”
I hadn't thought of that, and I frowned. What use to disarm someone who could get a new weapon any time he wanted?
“Maybe we should leave him tied up…” I said.
“If he gets loose, he gets loose. I'll help you catch him next time, if it comes to that.”
I raised my eyebrows. Again, I sensed the warrior within her that she kept so carefully hidden behind silks and lace. I did not doubt her word: if she said she'd help catch him, she would do it.
“Come on,” Blaise said. “I want that drink now.”
“Me too.”
We started for the door, where I drew up short.
“Wait!” I felt a sense of contact from a Trump.
“What's wrong?” Blaise asked.
“Someone's trying to reach me—”
I concent
rated, and through a strange, flickery tunnel I saw a shadowy figure. He—I thought it was a man—seemed to be saying something. I couldn't quite make out the words, though.
“Who is it?” Blaise asked.
“I can't tell,” I said.
“Oberon…” The man's voice echoed faintly.
“Aber?” I said. His image flickered, then grew clearer. It definitely was my brother—but much thinner than the last time I'd seen him. His cheekbones stuck out and dark circles rimmed his deep-set eyes.
“… alive!” he said. His voice faded it and out. “I've… to reach you… days!”
“Time runs differently here. Where are you?”
“About… killed!” he howled. He sounded desperate. “Get… before…! Hurry!”
Chapter 8
“Here!” Without hesitation, I reached toward him.
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes growing wide, then seized my wrist with both hands. It felt as though he weighed a ton, but I gritted my teeth and hauled him forward. He tumbled into my arms.
“O—!” Aber stretched out his hands and staggered. He couldn't seem to get his balance. “There's something wrong here—”
He would have fallen if I hadn't supported him. Could the same thing that happened to Blaise be affecting him, too?
“You just need to get your Pattern-legs,” I said wryly, with more confidence than I felt. When he didn't so much as smile at that private joke, I knew he had to be in pretty bad shape. More concerned now, I helped him sit on the bed next to Dad.
He had lost a lot of weight, and his face had a desperate, hunted quality I'd only seen in game animals before the kill. Although he wore his usual blue pants and shirt, yellowish dust covered him from head to toe. The knees of his pants had been torn to shreds, like he'd just crawled through a rock garden… which, for all I knew, might have been trying to eat him. Rocks had strange properties in Chaos.
“What's wrong with Dad?” he asked, staring at our father. “Did someone attack him? Is he all right?”
“He's sick,” I said.
“Great,” Aber muttered, putting his head down in his hands. He took a deep shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “I figured he'd be able to fix everything.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You want him to destroy the Pattern.”
He glanced up. “No! But… maybe if he gave himself up, Uthor would spare the rest of us.”
“Self-sacrifice? That doesn't sound like Dad.”
“No, I guess not,” he said, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Though, of course, we could always sacrifice him ourselves. Maybe the king would make a deal…”
“No,” I said flatly. “We're family, and we're going to stick together.”
“You and your idealism! Dad would sell you out in a heartbeat if he thought it would save his own skin.”
“You aren't doing him justice,” I said. Dad had gone to great lengths to protect me during my childhood. “Take a minute to catch your breath. Then you can tell me all about what happened in the Courts. Maybe I can help some other way.”
“I don't think anyone can help now.” He studied the floorboards. “They're after us all. I think Uthor's caught everyone but you and me and Dad.”
“And Blaise, of course,” I said. “She's free.”
“Blaise? That's just great!” he said sarcastically. I remembered there was no love lost between them. “Of course she would be the one to get away.”
“Thanks for caring, Aber,” Blaise said coolly from behind me.
He glanced up in surprise.
“I thought you were dead,” he said to her.
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Why didn't you answer my calls?”
“I must have been busy.”
Aber opened his mouth for an angry retort, but I waved him to silence.
“Go downstairs,” I told Blaise. “We'll join you at the bar in a few minutes. I need to talk to Aber alone.”
“Oh, very well. I need that drink anyway. Especially now that he's here.” She stomped off into the hall without another word.
“Bitch,” Aber muttered under his breath. To me, he said, “I tried to reach her five or six times over the last few weeks, when I really needed help. She didn't answer. I assumed she had been captured. It figures she wouldn't bother to answer me.”
“She had her own problems,” I said. “I got her out of the Courts of Chaos just in time—hell-creatures were breaking down the doors to her room.”
“You should have left her there.” He folded his arms stubbornly. “Some people aren't worth rescuing.”
“She's still family,” I said. I tried to look stern. We couldn't let arguments divide us, not with so many enemies after our blood. “If what you say is true, there are few enough of us left now. And I'm sure Blaise will prove useful once we're settled in again.”
He gave me an odd look. “She wouldn't help in the Courts when I needed her. I'm not going to forget that!”
“I didn't say you should. Be aware of her limitations and know you can't count on her. She may be difficult, and you may not enjoy her company, but we have to stick together whether you like to or not.”
“That's a good way to get us all killed,” he grumbled. “I keep telling you not to trust anyone!”
“Except you.”
“Of course!” He laughed, a bit of his old spirit returning. “And Freda, of course. But Blaise? Certainly not! I wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be the traitor who almost got us all killed in Juniper.”
“Don't worry.” I shook my head. “I don't trust anyone right now. She wants me to destroy the Pattern, after all.”
“What!” He gaped. “And destroy the Shadows?”
“Don't worry, I won't do anything so drastic.” I chuckled. “Even if I knew how to destroy it. Which I don't.”
He sank back. “Good.”
“You said Uthor has everyone else?”
“I think so. As soon as those storms came, he issued orders to arrest everyone in our family.”
“I'm not surprised.” I would have done the same thing, in his place.
“How were the storms created?” Aber asked. “Did Dad really send them to destroy Chaos, the way everyone says?”
“If he created them, it was by accident.” I shrugged. “When he retraced the Pattern, it destroyed all the old Shadows and made new ones. The force of that destruction must have carried as far as Chaos. I can't think of any other explanation.”
“The Pattern—are you sure he made it correctly this time?”
“Yes. I can feel it in the back of my mind, the way you must feel the Logrus.”
“Really?” he brightened. “That is good news! Since you're determined to keep it, there's only one thing to do.”
“What's that?”
“Learn to control its powers. Maybe Dad…”
His voice trailed off as he looked at our father again. He leaned closer, studying the bruises, cuts, and split lip. At least the swelling had started to go down.
“What happened to Dad?” he asked. “It looks like a ton of rocks fell on his head.”
“Making the new Pattern did something to his mind. He's been acting crazy. He tried to kill me this morning, and I had to defend myself.”
“So you did this?”
“Afraid so,” I said half apologetically.
He whistled, then looked at me with new respect. “Except for Locke, Dad was the best swordsman in the family; you must be even better.”
I didn't deny it. Let him think so… a dangerous reputation never hurt anyone.
Aber continued, “All I can say is—good for you! About time someone put Dad in his place. I only wish I'd been there to see it. Do you really think he'll be okay?”
“Sure,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “He just needs time and rest. We've already sent for a doctor. Just a matter of waiting for him to show up.”
“Good.”
“How about you?�
�� I asked. “Are you feeling better now?”
He thought for a second. “Actually, yes.”
“Up for a drink?”
“Almost.” Aber stood unsteadily and began straightening his clothes and brushing himself off. Clouds of yellow dust puffed out from his pants and shirt. “So, where have you been, Oberon? I've been trying to reach you for weeks. I had just about given up!”
I shrugged apologetically. “Time runs differently here. I don't think it's been more than a few hours since I last saw you. At least, that's what it feels like. How long has it been since you've seen me?”
“I'm not sure.” He frowned. “At least four or five weeks. Maybe longer. I've been on the run most of that time just trying to stay alive. The lai she'one finally cornered me in the Beyond, right after the last of the storms let up. That's when I started trying every card I had left.”
“Did you reach Freda? Anyone else?”
“No. I couldn't reach anyone except you.”
I felt my heart plunge.
“If Freda's been hurt or killed…” I said.
“I imagine King Uthor has her, but…” He shrugged. “I don't know. She wasn't publicly executed, at least. Not like Mattus and Titus.”
“What!” I stared at him, shocked. “When? How?”
“Uthor put them to the sword about two weeks ago.” At my horrified expression, he went on grimly, “Their heads are on pikes outside the palace gates. I'm surprised Blaise didn't tell you.”
“No, she didn't say anything.” I swallowed hard. Two brothers, dead. Freda, my favorite sister, probably captured. And all the others… Right now, Uthor might be torturing them… or worse. I remembered how Lord Zon had used my other brothers' blood to spy on Dad in Juniper.
My thoughts turned back to Freda. Just a few hours ago, as these Shadows reckoned time, she had tried to contact me through my Trump. Had I missed my chance to save her? By not answering, had I gotten her captured or killed?
Unfortunately, there was nothing I could have done at the time—those unicorns would have killed us both if I'd tried to bring her through to join me. I sighed.
“Let me try her now,” I said.
“I just did. But go ahead.”
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