The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  I stabbed with my thumb back over my shoulder.

  “In the sitting room.”

  He walked off in that direction. I went nearer and prodded the animal with my toe. Should I go back and tell Random I’d met one before?

  The hell with it, I decided. I couldn’t see how the information would be of any vital use.

  I returned to my rooms and washed up and changed my clothes. Then I stopped by the kitchen and filled my backpack with food. I didn’t feel like saying good-bye to anyone, so I just headed for the back and took the big rear staircase down into the gardens.

  Dark. Starry. Cool. Walking, I felt a sudden chill as I neared the spot where, in my dream, the dogs had appeared. No howls, no growls. Nothing. I passed through that area and continued on my way to the rear of that well-kept site, to the place where a number of trails led off through a more natural landscape. I took the second one from the left. It was a slightly longer route than another I might have chosen—with which it intersected later, anyway—but was easier going, a thing I felt I needed in the night. I was still not all that familiar with the irregularities of the other way.

  I hiked the crest of Kolvir for the better part of an hour before I located the downward trail I was seeking. I halted then, took a drink of water and rested for a few minutes before I began the descent.

  It is very difficult to walk in Shadow on Kolvir. One has to put some distance between oneself and Amber in order to do it properly. So all I could do at this point was hike which was fine with me, because it was a good night for walking.

  I was well on my way down before a glow occurred overhead and the moon crested a shoulder of Kolvir and poured its light upon my twisting trail. I increased my pace somewhat after that. I did want to make it off the mountain by morning.

  I was angry with Random for not giving me a chance to justify my work.

  I hadn’t really been ready to tell him about it. If it hadn’t been for Caine’s funeral I would not have returned to Amber until I’d had the thing perfected. And I wasn’t even going to mention Ghostwheel this time around, except that it had figured in a small way in the mystery that had engulfed me and Random had wanted to know about it in order to have the whole story. Okay. He didn’t like what he’d seen, but the preview had been premature. Now, if I shut it down as I’d been ordered I would ruin a lot of work that had been in progress for some time now. Ghostwheel was still in a Shadow-scanning, self-education phase. I would have been checking on it about now, anyway, to see how it was coming along and to correct any obvious flaws that had crept into the system.

  I thought about it as the trail grew steeper and curved on Kolvir’s western face. Random had not exactly ordered me to dump everything it had accumulated thus far. He’ d simply told me to shut it down. Viewed the way I chose to view it, that meant I could exercise my own judgment as to means. I decided that gave me leeway to check everything out first, reviewing systems functions and revising programs until I was satisfied that everything was in order. Then I could transfer everything to a more permanent status before shutting it down. Then nothing would be lost; its memory would be intact when the time came to restore its functions again.

  Maybe . . .

  What if I did everything to make it shipshape, including throwing in a few—as I saw it—unnecessary safeguards to make Random happy? Then, I mused, supposing I got in touch with Random, showed him what I’d done, and asked him whether he was happy with it that way? If he weren’t, I could always shut it down then. But perhaps he’d reconsider. Worth thinking about . . .

  I played over imaginary conversations with Random until the moon had drifted off to my left. I was more than halfway down Kolvir by then and the going was becoming progressively easier. I could already feel the force of the Pattern as somewhat diminished.

  I halted a couple of more times on the way down, for water and once for a sandwich. The more I thought about it, the more I felt that Random would just get angry if I proceeded along the lines I had been thinking and probably wouldn’t even give me a full hearing. On the other hand, I was angry myself.

  But it was a long journey with few shortcuts. I’d have plenty of time to mull it over. The sky was growing lighter when I crossed the last rocky slope to reach the wide trail at the foot of Kolvir to the northwest. I regarded a stand of trees across the way, one large one a familiar landmark.

  With a dazzling flash that seemed to sizzle and a bomblike report of thunder the tree was split, not a hundred meters away. I’d flung up both hands at the lightning stroke, but I could still hear cracking wood and the echo of the blast for several seconds afterward.

  Then a voice cried out, “Go back!”

  I assumed I was the subject of this conversational gambit. “May we talk this over?” I responded.

  There was no reply.

  I stretched out in a shallow declivity beside the trail, then crawled along it for several body lengths to a place where the cover was better. I was listening and watching the while, hoping that whoever had pulled that stunt would betray his position in some fashion.

  Nothing happened, but for the next half minute I surveyed the grove and a portion of the slope down which I had come. From that angle their proximity gave me a small inspiration.

  I summoned the image of the Logrus, and two of its lines became my arms. I reached then, not through Shadow but up the slope to where a fairly good-sized rock was poised above a mass of others.

  Seizing hold, I drew upon it. It was too heavy to topple easily, so I began rocking it. Slowly, at first. Finally, I got it to the tipping point and it tumbled. It fell among the others and a small cascade began. I withdrew further as they struck and sent new ones bouncing. Several big ones began to roll. A fracture line gave way when they fell upon its edge at a steeper place. An entire sheet of stone groaned and cracked, began to slide.

  I could feel the vibration as I continued my withdrawal. I had not anticipated setting off anything this spectacular. The rocks bounced, slid and flew into the grove. I watched the trees sway, saw some of them go down. I heard the crunching, the pinging, the breaking.

  I gave it an extra half minute after what seemed its end. There was much dust in the air and half of the grove was down. Then I rose to my feet, Frakir dangling from my left hand, and I advanced upon the grove.

  I searched carefully, but there was no one there. I climbed upon the trunk of a fallen tree.

  “I repeat, do you care to talk about it?” I called out. No answer.

  “Okay, be that way,” I said, and I headed north into Arden.

  * * *

  I heard the sound of horses occasionally as I hiked through that ancient forest. If I was being followed, though, the horsemen showed no interest in closing with me. Most likely, I was passing in the vicinity of one of Julian’s patrols.

  Not that it mattered. I soon located a trail and began the small adjustments that bore me farther and farther from them.

  A lighter shade, from brown to yellow, and slightly shorter trees . . . Fewer breaks in the leafy canopy . . . Odd bird note, strange mushroom . . .

  Little by little, the character of the wood was altered. And the shifting grew easier and easier the farther this took me from Amber.

  I began to pass sunny clearings. The sky grew a paler blue . . . The trees were all green now, but most of them saplings . . .

  I broke into a jog.

  Masses of clouds came into view, the spongy earth grew firmer, drier . . .

  I stepped up my pace, heading downhill. Grasses were more abundant. The trees were divided into clusters now, islands in a waving sea of those pale grasses. My view took in a greater distance. A flapping, beaded curtain off to my right: rain.

  Rumbles of thunder came to me, though sunlight continued to light my way. I breathed deeply of the clean damp air and ran on.

  The grasses fell away, ground fissured, sky blackened . . . Waters rushed through canyons and arroyos all about me . . . Torrents poured from overhead onto the roc
king terrain . . .

  I began slipping. I cursed each time I picked myself up, for my over eagerness in the shifting.

  The clouds parted like a theater curtain, to where a lemon sun poured warmth and light from a salmon-colored sky. The thunder halted in mid-rumble and a wind rose . . .

  I made my way up a hillside, looked down upon a ruined village. Long-abandoned, partly overgrown, strange mounds lined its broken main street.

  I passed through it beneath a slate-colored sky, picked my way slowly across an icy pond, faces of those frozen beneath me staring sightlessly in all directions . . .

  The sky was soot-streaked, the snow hard-packed, my breath feathery as I entered the skeletal wood where frozen birds perched: an etching.

  Slipping downhill, rolling, sliding into melting and spring . . .

  Movement again; about me . . . Mucky ground and clumps of green . . . Strange cars on distant highway . . .

  A junkyard, smelling, oozing, rusting, smoldering . . . Threading my way amid acres of heaps . . . Rats scurrying . . .

  Away . . . Shifting faster, breathing harder . . . Skyline beneath smog cap . . . Delta bottom . . . Seashore . . . Golden pylons along the road . . . Countryside with lakes . . . Brown grasses beneath green sky . . .

  Slowing . . . Rolling grassland, river and lake . . . Slowing . . . Breeze and grass, sealike . . . Mopping my brow on my sleeve . . . Sucking air . . . Walking now . . .

  I moved through the field at a normal pace, preferring to do my resting in a congenial spot such as this, where I could see for a good distance. The wind made soft noises as it passed among the grasses. The nearest lake was a deep lime color. Something in the air smelled sweet.

  I thought I saw a brief flash of light off to my right, but when I looked that way there was nothing unusual to be seen. A little later, I was certain that I heard a distant sound of hoofbeats. But again, I saw nothing. That’s the trouble with shadows—you don’t always know what’s natural there; you’re never certain what to look for.

  Several minutes passed, and then I smelled it before I saw anything.

  Smoke. The next instant there was a rush of fire. A long line of flame cut across my path.

  And again the voice: “I told you to go back!”

  The wind was behind the fire, pushing it toward me. I turned to head away and saw that it was already flanking me. It takes a while to build up the proper mental set for shadow-shifting, and I had let mine go. I doubted I could set it up again in time.

  I began running.

  The line of flame was curving about me, as if to describe a huge circle. I did not pause to admire the precision of the thing, however, as I could feel the heat by then and the smoke was getting thicker.

  Above the fire’s crackling it seemed that I could still hear the drumming of hoofs. My eyes were beginning to water, though, and streams of smoke further diminished my vision. And again, I detected no sign of the person who had sprung the trap.

  Yet—definitely—the ground was shaking with the rapid progress of a hooved creature headed in my direction. The flames flashed higher, drew nearer as the circle crushed toward closure.

  I was wondering what new menace was approaching, when a horse and rider burst into view through the gap in the fiery wall. The rider drew back the reins, but the horse—a chestnut—was not too happy at the nearness of the flames it bared its teeth, biting at the bit, and tried several times to rear.

  “Hurry! Behind me!” the rider cried, and I rushed to mount.

  The rider was a dark-haired woman. I caught only a glimpse of her features. She managed to turn the horse back in the direction from which she had come, and she shook the reins. The chestnut started forward, and suddenly it reared. I managed to hang on.

  When its front hooves struck the ground, the beast wheeled and tore off toward the light. It was almost into the flames when it wheeled again.

  “Damn!” I heard the rider say, as she worked almost frantically with the reins.

  The horse turned again, neighing loudly. Bloody spittle dripped from its mouth. And by then the circle was closed, the smoke was heavy and the flames very near. I was in no position to help, beyond giving it a pair of sharp kicks in the flanks when it began moving in a straight line again.

  It plunged into the flames to our left, almost screaming as it went. I had no idea how wide the band of fire was at that point. I could feel a searing along my legs, though, and I smelled burning hair.

  Then the beast was roaring again, the rider was screaming back at it, and I found that I could no longer hold on. I felt myself sliding backward just as we broke through the ring of fire and into a charred, smoldering area where the flames had already passed. I fell amid hot black clumps; ashes rose about me. I rolled frantically to my left, and I coughed and squeezed my eyes shut against the cloud of ashes that assailed my face.

  I heard the woman scream and I scrambled to my feet, rubbing my eyes. My vision came clear in time for me to see the chestnut rising from where he had apparently fallen atop his rider. The horse immediately tore off, to be lost among clouds of smoke. The woman lay very still and I rushed to her side. Kneeling, I brushed sparks from her clothing and checked for breathing and a pulse. Her eyes opened while I was doing this.

  “Back’s—broken I think,” she said, coughing. “Don’t feel—much. . . . Escape—if you can. . . . Leave me. I’ll die—anyway.”

  “No way,” I said. “But I’ve got to move you. There’s a lake nearby, if I remember right.”

  I removed my cloak where it was tied about my waist and I spread it out beside her. I inched her onto it as carefully as I could, folded it over her to protect her against the flames and began dragging her in what I hoped was the proper direction.

  We made it through a shifting patchwork of fire and smoke. My throat was raw, my eyes watering steadily and my trousers on fire when I took a big step backward and felt my heel squish downward into mud. I kept going.

  Finally, I was waist deep in the water and supporting her there. I leaned forward, pushed a flap of the cloak back from her face. Her eyes were still open, but they looked unfocused and there was no movement. Before I could feel for a carotid pulse, however, she made a hissing noise, then she spoke my name.

  “Merlin,” she said hoarsely, “I’m—sorry—”

  “You helped me and I couldn’t help you,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry I didn’t last—longer,” she continued. “No good—with horses. They’re—following you.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Called off—the dogs, though. But the—fire—is someone—else’s. Don’t know—whose.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I splashed a little water onto her cheeks to cool them. Between the soot and her singed, disheveled hair it was difficult to judge her appearance.

  “Someone—behind—you,” she said, her voice growing fainter. Someone—ahead—too. Didn’t—know—about that one. Sorry.”

  “Who?” I asked again. “And who are you? How do you know me? Why—” She smiled faintly. “. . . Sleep with you. Can’t now. Going . . .” Her eyes closed.

  “No!” I cried.

  Her face contorted and she sucked in a final breath. She expelled it then, using it to form the whispered words.

  “Just—let me—sink here. G’bye . . .”

  A cloud of smoke blew across her face. I held my breath and shut my eyes as a larger billow followed, engulfing us. When the air finally cleared again, I studied her. Her breathing had ceased and there was no pulse, no heartbeat. There was no non-burning, non-marshy area available for even an attempt at CPR. She was gone. She’d known she was going.

  I wrapped my cloak about her carefully, turning it into a shroud. Last of all, I folded a flap over her face. I fixed everything into place with the clasp I’d used to close it at my neck when I’d worn it. Then I waded out into deeper water.

  “Just let me sink here.” Sometimes the dead sink quic
kly, sometimes they float . . .

  “Good-bye, lady,” I said. “Wish I knew your name. Thanks again.”

  I released my hold upon her. The waters swirled. She was gone. After a time, I looked away then moved away. Too many questions and no answers.

  Somewhere, a maddened horse was screaming . . .

  Chapter 9

  Several hours and many shadows later I rested again, in a place with a clear sky and not much tinder about. I bathed in a shallow stream and afterward summoned fresh clothing out of Shadow. Clean and dry then, I rested on the bank and made myself a meal.

  It seemed as if every day were now an April 30. It seemed as if everyone I met knew me, and as if everyone were playing an elaborate double-game. People were dying all about me and disasters were becoming a common occurrence. I was beginning to feel like a figure in a video game. What would be next? I wondered. A meteor shower?

  There had to be a key. The nameless lady who had given her life to pull me out of the fire had said that someone was following me and that there was someone ahead of me, also. What did that mean? Should I wait for my pursuer to catch up and simply ask him, her, or it what the hell was going on? Or should I push on fast, hopefully catch the other party and make inquiry there? Would either give me the same answer? Or were there two different answers involved? Would a duel satisfy someone’s honor? I’d fight it, then. Or a bribe.

  I’d pay it. All I wanted was an answer followed by a little peace and quiet. I chuckled. That sounded like a description of death—though I wasn’t that sure about the answer part.

  “Shit!” I commented, to no one in particular, and I tossed a stone into the stream.

  I got to my feet and crossed the water. Written in the sand on its opposite shore were the words GO BACK. I stepped on them and broke into a run.

  The world spun about me as I touched the shadows. Vegetation fell away. The rocks grew into boulders, lightening, taking on a sparkle . . .

  I ran through a valley of prisms beneath an awesome purple sky . . . Wind among rainbow stones, singing, Aeolian music . . .