“And I gave you a perfectly good reason for something else being the cause. I believe it’s an adjustment to the partial destruction and recreation of the old Pattern.”
“Would you come this way?” she asked, and she turned from me and began to climb.
I glanced at Mandor, shrugged, and followed her. He came along.
We mounted toward a jagged screen of rock. She reached it first and made her way onto a lopsided ledge which ran partway along it. She traversed this until she came to a place where the rock wall had broken down into a wide V-shaped gap. She stood there with her back to us then, the light from the green sky doing strange things to her hair.
I came up beside her and followed the direction of her gaze. On a distant plain, far below us and to the left, a large black funnel spun like a top. It seemed the source of the roaring sound we had been hearing. The ground appeared to be cracked beneath it. I stared for several minutes, but it did not change in form or position. Finally, I cleared my throat.
“Looks like a big tornado,” I said, “not going anyplace.”
“That’s why I want you to walk the new Pattern,” she told me. “I think it’s going to get us unless we get it first.”
3
If you had a choice between the ability to detect falsehood and the ability to discover truth, which one would you take? There was a time when I thought they were different ways of saying the same thing, but I no longer believe that. Most of my relatives, for example, are almost as good at seeing through subterfuge as they are at perpetrating it. I’m not at all sure, though, that they care much about truth. On the other hand, I’d always felt there was something noble, special, and honorable about seeking truth—a thing I’d attempted with Ghostwheel. Mandor had made me wonder, though. Had this made me a sucker for truth’s opposite?
Of course, it’s not as cut and dried as all that. I know that it is not a pure either/or situation with the middle excluded, but is rather a statement of attitude. Still, I was suddenly willing to concede that I might have gone to an extreme—to the point of foolhardiness—and that I had let certain of my critical faculties doze for far too long.
So I wondered about Fiona’s request.
“What makes it such a threat?” I asked her.
“It is a shadow storm in the form of a tornado,” she said.
“There have been such things before,” I answered.
“True,” she responded, “but they tend to move through Shadow. This one does have extension through an area of Shadow, but it is totally stationary. It first appeared several days ago, and it has not altered in any way since then.”
“What’s that come to in Amber-time?” I asked.
“Half a day, perhaps. Why?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just curious,” I said. “I still don’t see why it’s a threat.”
“I told you that such storms had proliferated since Corwin drew the extra Pattern. Now they’re changing in character as well as frequency. That Pattern has to be understood soon.”
A moment’s quick reflection showed me that whoever gained control of Dad’s Pattern could become master of some terrible forces. Or mistress.
So, “Supposing I walk it,” I said. “Then what? As I understand it from Dad’s story, I’d just wind up in the middle, the same as with the Pattern back home. What’s to be learned from that?”
I studied her face for some display of emotion, but my relatives tend to have too much control for such simple self-betrayal.
“As I understand it,” she said, “Brand was able to trump in when Corwin was at the middle.”
“That’s the way I understand it, too.”
“ . . . So, when you reach the center, I can come in on a Trump.”
“I suppose so. Then there will be two of us standing at the middle of the Pattern.”
“ . . . And from there we will be in a position to go someplace we could not reach from any other point in existence.”
“That being?” I asked.
“The primal Pattern which lies behind it.”
“You’re sure there is one?”
“There must be. It is in the nature of such a construct to be scribed at a more basic level of reality as well as the mundane.”
“And our purpose in traveling to that place?”
“That is where its secrets dwell, where its deepest magics might be learned.”
“I see,” I told her. “Then what?”
“Why, there we might learn how to undo the trouble the thing is causing,” she answered.
“That’s all?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“We will learn whatever we can, of course. Power is power, and represents a threat until it is understood.”
I nodded slowly.
“But right now there are a number of powers that are more pressing in the threat department,” I said. “That Pattern is going to have to wait its turn.”
“Even if it may represent the forces you need to deal with your other problems?” she asked.
“Even so,” I said. “It might turn into a lengthy enterprise, and I don’t believe I have the time for that.”
“But you don’t know that for certain.”
“True. But once I set foot on it, there’s no turning back.”
I did not add that I’d no intention of taking her to the primal Pattern, then leaving her there on her own. After all, she had tried her hand at king-making once. And if Brand had made it to the throne of Amber in those days, she would have been standing right behind him, no matter what she had to say about it now. I think she was about to ask me to deliver her to the primal Pattern then but realized that I’d already considered it and rejected it. Not wanting to lose face by asking and being refused, she returned to her original argument.
“I suggest you make time now,” she said, “if you do not wish to see worlds torn up about you.”
“I didn’t believe you the first time you told me that,” I answered, “and I don’t believe you now. I still think the increased shadow-storm activity is probably an adjustment to the damage and repair of the original Pattern. I also think that if we mess around with a new Pattern we don’t know anything about, we stand a chance of making things worse, not better—”
“I don’t want to mess around with it,” she said. “I want to study—”
The Sign of the Logrus flashed between us suddenly. She must have seen it or felt it somehow, too, because she drew back at the same instant I did.
I turned my head with sure knowledge as to what I would see.
Mandor had mounted the battlement-like wall of stone. He stood as still as if he were a part of it, his arm, upraised. I suppressed my first impulse, which was to shout to him to stop. He knew what he was doing. And I was certain that he would not pay me the slightest heed, anyway.
I advanced to the notch in which he had taken his position, and I looked past him at the swirling thing on the cracked plain far below. Through the image of the Logrus, I felt the dark, awful rush of power that Suhuy had revealed to me in his final lesson. Mandor was calling upon it now and pouring it into the shadow-storm. Did he not realize that the force of Chaos he was unleashing must spread until it had run a terrible course? Could he not see that if the storm were indeed a manifestation of Chaos then he was turning it into a truly monstrous thing?
It grew larger. Its roaring increased in volume. It became frightening to watch it.
From behind me, I heard Fiona gasp.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I called to him.
“We’ll know in about a minute,” he replied, lowering his arms.
The Sign of the Logrus winked out before me.
We watched the damned thing spin for some time, bigger and noisier.
Finally, “What have you proved?” I asked him.
“That you have no patience,” he answered.
There was nothing particularly instructive to the phenomenon, but I continued to watch it anyway.
A
bruptly, the sound became a stutter. The dark apparition jerked about suddenly, shaking off bits of accumulated debris as it contracted. Soon it was restored to its former size, and it hit its earlier pitch and the sound grew steady once more.
“How did you do that?” I asked him.
“I didn’t,” he said. “It adjusted itself.”
“It shouldn’t have,” Fiona stated.
“Exactly,” he replied.
“You’ve lost me,” I said.
“It should have gone roaring right on, stronger than ever, after he’d augmented it that way,” Fiona said. “But whatever is controlling it had other plans. So it was readjusted.”
“ . . . And it is a Chaos phenomenon,” Mandor continued. “You could see that in the way it drew upon Chaos when I provided the means. But that pushed it past some limit, and there was a correction. Someone is playing with the primal forces themselves out there. Who or what or why, I cannot say. But I think it’s strong testimony that the Pattern isn’t involved. Not with Chaos games. So Merlin is probably correct. I think that this business has its origin elsewhere.”
“All right,” Fiona conceded. “All right. What does that leave us with?”
“A mystery,” he said. “But hardly, I think, an imminent threat.”
A faint firefly of an idea flitted through my mind. It could easily be dead wrong, though that was not the reason I decided against sharing it. It led into an area of thought I could not explore in an instant, and I don’t like giving away pieces of things like that.
Fiona was glaring at me now, but I maintained a bland expression. Abruptly then, seeing that her cause was fruitless, she decided to change the subject:
“You said that you left Luke under somewhat unusual circumstances. Just where is he now?”
The last thing I wanted to do was to get her really mad at me. But I couldn’t see turning her loose on Luke in his present condition. For all I knew, she might actually be up to killing him, just as a form of life insurance. And I did not want Luke dead. I’d a feeling he might be undergoing something of a change of attitude, and I wanted to give him every break I could. We still owed each other a few, even though it was hard keeping score; and there is something to be said for old times’ sake. Considering what I’d judged his condition to be when I’d left him, it was going to be a while before he was in decent shape again. And then I had a number of things I wanted to talk to him about.
“Sorry,” I said. “He’s my province at the moment.”
“I believe I have some interest in the matter,” she replied levelly.
“Of course,” I said, “but I feel that mine is greater and that we may get in each other’s ways.”
“I can judge these things for myself,” she said.
“Okay,” I told her. “He’s on an acid trip. Any information you’d get out of him might be colorful, but it would also be highly disappointing.”
“How did this happen?” she asked.
“A wizard named Mask apparently slipped him some chemicals when he had him prisoner.”
“Where was this? I’ve never heard of Mask.”
“A place called the Keep of the Four Worlds,” I told her.
“It’s been a long time since I heard the Keep mentioned,” she said. “A sorcerer named Sharu Garrul used to hold it.”
“He’s a coat-rack now,” I stated.
“What?”
“Long story; but Mask has the place these days.”
She stared at me, and I could tell she was just realizing that there was a lot she didn’t know in the way of recent developments. I’d judge she was deciding which of several obvious questions to ask next when I decided to beat her to the punch while she was still off balance.
“So how’s Bleys?” I asked.
“He’s much improved. I treated him myself and he’s recovering quickly.”
I was about to ask her where he was, which I knew she would refuse to answer, and hopefully we would both smile when she saw what I was driving at: no address for Bleys, no address for Luke; we keep our secrets and stay friends.
“Hello!” I heard Mandor say, and we both turned in the direction he was facing—back out through the notch.
The dark tornado-form had collapsed to half its former size, and even as we watched, it continued to diminish. It fell steadily in upon itself, shrinking and shrinking, and in about a half minute it was gone, completely.
I could not suppress a smile, but Fiona did not even notice. She was looking at Mandor.
“Do you think it was because of what you did?” she asked him.
“I have no way of knowing,” he replied, “but it may well be.”
“But does it tell you anything?” she said.
“Perhaps whoever was responsible did not like having me tinker with his experiment.”
“You really believe there’s an intelligence behind it?”
“Yes.”
“Someone from the Courts?”
“It seems more likely than someone from your end of the world.”
“I suppose so. . . . ” she agreed. “Have you any guesses as to the person’s identity?”
He smiled.
“I understand,” she said quickly. “Your business is your business. But a general threat is everybody’s business. That’s what I was really getting at.”
“True,” he acknowledged. “This is why I propose investigating it. I’m at loose ends at the moment. It might be amusing.”
“It is awkward asking you to communicate your findings to me,” she said, “when I do not know what interests might be involved.”
“I appreciate your position,” he replied, “but to the best of my knowledge the treaty provisions still hold and no one in the Courts is promoting any special designs against Amber. In fact. . . . If you like, we might pursue the matter together, at least part of the way.”
“I’ve got the time,” she said.
“I don’t,” I injected quickly. “I’ve some pressing business to attend to.”
Mandor shifted his attention to me.
“About my offer. . . . ” he said.
“I can’t,” I told him.
“Very well. Our conversation is not concluded, however. I’ll be in touch later.”
“Okay.”
Fiona looked my way then, also.
“You will keep me posted on Luke’s recovery, and his intentions,” she stated.
“Of course.”
“Good day, then.”
Mandor gave me a small half-salute and I returned it.
I began walking then, and as soon as I was out of sight I began shifting.
I found my way to a rocky slope, where I halted and withdrew my Trump for Amber. I raised it, focused my awareness, and transported myself as soon as I felt my way through. I was hoping the main hall would be empty, but at this point I didn’t really care that much.
I came through near Jasra, who was holding an extra cloak over her outstretched left arm. I ducked out the doorway to my left into an empty corridor and made my way to the back stair. Several times I heard voices and I detoured to avoid the speakers. I was able to make it to my rooms without being discovered.
The only rest I had had in what seemed an age and a half had been a fifteen-minute nap before Luke’s spaced-out sorcerous faculty had caused him to summon me to the Looking Glass Bar via a hallucinatory Trump. When? For all I knew, it could have been yesterday—which had been a very full day before that incident.
I barred the door and staggered to the bed, flinging myself down upon it without even removing my boots. Sure, there were all sorts of things I should be doing, but I was in no condition for any of them. I’d returned home because I still felt safest in Amber; despite the fact that Luke had reached me here once.
Someone with a high-powered subconscious might have had a brilliantly revelatory dream following as much crap as I’d been through recently, and then have awakened with a wonderful series of insights and answers detailing appropriate
courses of action. I didn’t. I woke once, in a small panic, not knowing where I was. But I opened my eyes and satisfied myself on that count, then went back to sleep. Later—much later, it seemed—I returned by degrees, like some piece of flotsam being pushed higher and higher onto a beach by wave following wave, until finally I was there. I saw no reason for going any further until I realized that my feet hurt. Then I sat up and pulled my boots off, which might have been one of the six greatest pleasures in my life. I removed my socks in a hurry then and threw them into the corner of the room. Why doesn’t anyone else in my line of work seem to get sore feet? I filled the basin and soaked them for a time, then resolved to go barefoot for the next few hours.
Finally I rose, stripped, cleaned up, and put on a pair of Levi’s and a purple flannel shirt of which I am fond. The hell with swords, daggers, and cloaks for a time. I opened the shutters and looked outside. It was dark. Because of clouds, I couldn’t even guess from the stars whether it might be early evening, late night, or almost morning.
It was very quiet in the hall, and there were no sounds as I made my way down the back stair. The kitchen was deserted also, the big fires banked and smoldering low. I didn’t want to stir things up beyond hanging a pot of water to warm for tea while I located some bread and fruit preserves. I turned up a jug of something like grapefruit juice, too, in one of the walk-in ice boxes.
As I sat warming my feet and working my way through the loaf, I began to feel uneasy. I was sipping my tea before I realized what it was. There seemed a great necessity that I be doing something, yet I had no idea what. Now I had something of a breather, and it felt strange. So I decided to start thinking again.
By the time I’d finished eating, I had a few small plans. The first thing I did was to make my way to the main hall, where I removed all of the hats and cloaks form Jasra and swept her off her feet. Later, as I was bearing her stiff form along the upstairs hallway in the direction of my room, a door opened partway and a bleary-eyed Droppa watched me go by.
“Hey, I’ll take two!” he called after me.
The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10 Page 131