The Great Book of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  “ 'Achieve a state?' He didn't say 'reach a place'?”

  “No. I have a very good memory for certain things.”

  “Peculiar-though not much help that I can see. Smacks of the metaphysical.”

  “I'd wager Brand would know.”

  “I've a feeling you're right, for all the good that does us.”

  “We ought to do something other than discuss metaphysics,” Ganelon commented. “If you can't manipulate Shadow and you can't work the Trumps, it would seem that the next thing to do is determine Where we are. And then go looking for help.”

  I nodded.

  “Since we are not in Amber, I think it is safe to assume that we are in Shadow-a very special place, quite near to Amber, since the changeover was not abrupt. In that we were transported without active cooperation on our part, there had to be some agency and presumably some intent behind the maneuver. If it is going to attack us, now is as good a time as any. If there is something else it wants, then it is going to have to show us, because we aren't even in a position to make a good guess.”

  “So you propose we do nothing?”

  “I propose we wait. I don't see any value in wandering about, losing ourselves further.”

  “I seem to remember your once telling me that adjacent shadows tend to be somewhat congruent,” Ganelon said.

  “Yes, I probably did. So what?”

  “Then, if we are as near to Amber as you suppose, we need but ride toward the rising sun to come to a spot that parallels the city itself.”

  “It is not quite that simple. But supposing it were, what good would it do us?”

  “Perhaps the Trumps would function again at the point of maximum congruity.”

  Random looked at Ganelon, looked at me.

  “That may be worth trying,” he said. “What have we got to lose?”

  “Whatever small orientation we still possess,” I said. “Look, it is not a bad idea. If nothing develops here, we will try it. However, looking back, it seems that the road behind us closes in direct proportion to the distance we advance. We are not simply moving in space. Under these circumstances, I am loath to wander until I am satisfied that we have no other option. If someone desires our presence at a particular location, it is up to him now to phrase the invitation a little more legibly. We wait.”

  They both nodded. Random began to dismount, then froze, one foot in the stirrup, one on the ground.

  “After all these years,” he said, and, “I never really believed it...”

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  “The option,” he said, and he mounted again.

  He persuaded his horse to move very slowly forward. I followed, and a moment later I glimpsed it, white as I had seen it in the grove, standing, half hidden, amid a clump of ferns: the unicorn.

  It turned as we moved, and seconds later flashed ahead, to stand partly concealed once more by the trunks of several trees.

  “I see it!” Ganelon whispered. “To think there really is such a beast... Your family's emblem, isn't it?”

  “Yes.”

  “A good sign, I'd say.”

  I did not answer, but followed, keeping it in sight. That it was meant to be followed I did not doubt.

  It had a way of remaining partly concealed the entire while-looking out from behind something, passing from cover to cover, moving with an incredible swiftness when it did move, avoiding open areas, favoring glade and shade. We followed, deeper and deeper into the wood which had given up all semblance of anything to be found on Kolvir's slopes. It resembled Arden now, more than anything else near Amber, as the ground was relatively level and the trees grew more and more stately.

  An hour had passed, I guessed, and another had followed it, before we came to a small, clear stream and the unicorn turned and headed up it. As we rode along the bank. Random comunented, “This is starting to look sort of familiar.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but only sort of. I can't quite say why.”

  “Nor I.”

  We entered upon a slope shortly thereafter, and it grew steeper before very long. The going became more difficult for the horses, but the unicorn adjusted its pace to accommodate them. The ground became rockier, the trees smaller. The stream curved in its splashing course. I lost track of its twists and turns, but we were finally nearing the top of the small mount up which we had been traveling.

  We achieved a level area and continued along it toward the wood from which the stream issued. At this point I caught an oblique view-ahead and to the right, through a place where the land fell away-of an icy blue sea, quite far below us.

  “We're pretty high up,” Ganelon said. “It seemed like lowland, but—”

  “The Grove of the Unicorn!” Random interrupted. “That's what it looks like! See!”

  Nor was he incorrect. Ahead lay an area strewn with boulders. Amid them a spring uttered the stream we followed. This place was larger and more lush, its situation incorrect in terms of my internal compass. Yet the similarity had to be more than coincidental. The unicorn mounted the rock nearest the spring, looked at us, then turned away. It might have been staring down at the ocean.

  Then, as we continued, the grove, the unicorn, the trees about us, the stream beside us took on an unusual clarity, all, as though each were radiating some special illumination, causing it to quiver with the intensity of its color while at the same time wavering, slightly, just at the edges of perception. This produced in me an incipient feeling like the beginning of the emotional accompaniment to a hellride.

  Then, then and then, with each stride of my mount, something went out of the world about us. An adjustment in the relationships of objects suddenly occurred, eroding, my sense of depth, destroying perspective, rearranging the display of articles within my field of vision, so that everything presented its entire outer surface without simultaneously appearing to occupy an increased area: angles predominated, and relative sizes seemed suddenly ridiculous. Random's horse reared and neighed, massive, apocalyptic, instantly recalling Guernica to my mind. And to my distress I saw that we ourselves had not been untouched by the phenomenon-but that Random, struggling with his mount, and Ganelon, still managing to control Firedrake, had, like everything else, been transfigured by this cubist dream of space.

  But Star was a veteran of many a hellride; Firedrake, also, had been through a lot. We clung to them and felt the movements that we could not accurately gauge. And Random succeeded, at last, in imposing his will upon his mount, though the prospect continued to alter as we advanced.

  Light values shifted next. The sky grew black, not as night, but like a flat, nonreflecting surface. So did certain vacant areas between objects. The only light left in the world seemed to originate from things themselves, and all of it was gradually bleached. Various intensities of white emerged from the planes of existence, and brightest of all, immense, awful, the unicorn suddenly reared, pawing at the air, filling perhaps ninety percent of creation with what became a slowmotion gesture I feared would aiimhilate us if we advanced another pace.

  Then there was only the light. Then absolute stillness.

  Then the light was gone and there was nothing. Not even blackness. A gap in existence, which might have lasted an instant or an eternity...

  Then the blackness returned, and the light. Only they were reversed. Light filled the interstices, outlining voids that must be objects. The first sound that I heard was the rushing of water, and I knew somehow that we were halted beside the spring. The first thing that I felt was Star's quivering. Then I smelled the sea.

  Then the Pattern came into view, or a distorted negative of it...

  I leaned forward and more light leaked around the edges of things. I leaned back; it went away. Forward again, this time farther than before...

  The light spread, introduced various shades of gray into the scheme of things. With my knees then, gently, I suggested that Star advance.

  With each pace, sometiling returned to the world. Surfaces, textures,
colors...

  Behind me, I heard the others begin to follow. Below me, the Pattern surrendered nothing of its mystery, but it acquired a context which, by degrees, found its place within the larger reshaping of the world about us.

  Continuing downhill, a sense of depth reemerged. The sea, now plainly visible off to the right, underwent a possibly purely optical separation from the sky, with which it seemed momentarily to have been joined in some sort of Urmeer of the waters above and the waters below. Unsettling upon reflection, but unnoted while in effect. We were heading down a steep, rocky incline which seemed to have taken its beginning at the rear of the grove to which the unicorn had led us. Perhaps a hundred meters below us was a perfectly level area which appeared to be solid, unfractured rock-roughly oval in shape, a couple of hundred meters along its major axis. The slope down which we rode swung off to the left and returned, describing a vast arc, a parenthesis, half cupping the smooth shelf. Beyond its rightward jutting there was nothing-that is to say the land fell away in steep descent toward that peculiar sea.

  And, continuing, all three dimensions seemed to reassert themselves once more. The sun was that great orb of molten gold we had seen earlier. The sky was a deeper blue than that of Amber, and there were no clouds in it. That sea was a matching blue, unspecked by sail or island. I saw no birds, and I heard no sounds other than our own. An enormous silence lay upon this place, this day. In the bowl of my suddenly clear vision, the Pattern at last achieved its disposition upon the surface below. I thought at first that it was inscribed in the rock, but as we drew nearer I saw that it was contained within it-gold-pink swirls, like veining in an exotic marble, natural-seeming despite the obvious purpose to the design.

  I drew rein and the others came up beside me. Random to my right, Ganelon to my left.

  We regarded it in silence for a long while. A dark, rough-edged smudge had obliterated an area of the section immediately beneath us, running from its outer rim to the center.

  “You know,” Random finally said, “it is as if someone had shaved the top off Kolvir, cutting at about the level of the dungeons.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Then-looking for congruence-that would be about where our own Pattern lies.”

  “Yes,” I said again.

  “And that blotted area is to the south, from whence comes the black road.”

  I nodded slowly as the understanding arrived and forged itself into a certainty.

  “What does it mean?” he asked. “It seems to correspond to the true state of affairs, but beyond that I do not understand its significance. Why have we been brought here and shown this thing?”

  “It does not correspond to the true state of affairs,” I said. “It is the true state of affairs.”

  Ganelon turned toward us.

  “On that shadow Earth we visited-where you had spent so many years-I heard a poem about two roads that diverged in a wood,” he said. “It ends, 'I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. ' When I heard it, I thought of something you had once said-'All roads lead to Amber'-and I wondered then, as I do now, at the difference the choice may make, despite the end's apparent inevitability to those of your blood.”

  “You know?” I said. “You understand?”

  “I think so.”

  He nodded, then pointed.

  “That is the real Amber down there, isn't it?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, it is. "

  The Hand Of Oberon

  CHAPTER 1

  A bright flash of insight, to match that peculiar sun...

  There it was... Displayed within that light, a thing I had only seen self-illuminated in darkness up until then: the Pattern, the great Pattern of Amber cast upon an oval shelf beneath/above a strange sky-sea.

  ...And I knew, perhaps by that within me which bound us, that this had to be the real one. Which meant that the Pattern in Amber was but its first shadow. Which meant—

  Which meant that Amber itself was not carried over into places beyond the realm of Amber, Rebma, and Tir-na Nog'th. Meaning, then, that this place to which we had come was, by the law of precedence and configuration, the real Amber.

  I turned to a smiling Ganelon, his beard and wild hair molten in the merciless light.

  “How did you know?” I asked him.

  “You know I am a very good guesser, Corwin,” he replied, “and I recall everything you ever told me about how things work in Amber: how its shadow and those of your struggles are cast across the worlds. I often wondered, in thinking of the black road, whether anything could have cast such a shadow into Amber itself. And I imagined that such a something would have to be extremely basic, powerful, and secret.” He gestured at the scene before us. “Like that.”

  “Continue,” I said.

  His expression changed and he shrugged.

  “So there had to be a layer of reality deeper than your Amber,” he explained, “where the dirty work was done. Your patron beast led us to what seems to be such a place, and that blot on the Pattern looks to be the dirty work. You agreed.”

  I nodded.

  “It was your perceptiveness rather than the conclusion itself which stunned me so,” I said.

  “You beat me to it,” admitted Random, off to my right, “but the feeling has found its way into my intestines-to put it delicately. I do believe that somehow that is the basis of our world down there.”

  “An outsider can sometimes see things better than one who is part of them,” Ganelon offered.

  Random glanced at me and returned his attention to the spectacle.

  “Do you think things will change any more,” he asked, “if we go down for a closer look?”

  “Only one way to find out,” I said.

  “Single file, then,” Random agreed. “I'll lead.”

  “All right.”

  Random guided his mount to the right, the left, the right, in a long series of switchbacks which zigged us and zagged us across most of the face of the wall. Continuing in the order we had maintained all day, I followed him and Ganelon came last.

  “Seems stable enough now,” Random called back.

  “So far,” I said.

  “Some sort of opening in the rocks below.”

  I leaned forward. There was a cave mouth back to the right, on level with the oval plain. Its situation was such that it had been hidden from sight when we had occupied our higher position.

  “We pass fairly near it,” I said.

  “-quickly, cautiously, and silently,” Random added, drawing his blade.

  I unsheathed Grayswandir, and one turn back above me Ganelon drew his own weapon.

  We did not pass the opening, but turned leftward once more before we came to it. We moved within ten or fifteen feet of it, however, and I detected an unpleasant odor which I could not identify. The horses must have done a better job of it, though, or been pessimists by nature, because they flattened their ears, widened their nostrils, and made alarmed noises while turning against the reins. They calmed, however, as soon as we had made the turn and begun moving away once again. They did not suffer a relapse until we reached the end of our descent and moved to approach the damaged Pattern. They refused to go near it.

  Random dismounted. He advanced to the edge of the design, paused and stared. After a time, he spoke without looking back.

  “It follows that the damage was deliberate,” he said, “from everything else that we know.”

  “It seems to follow,” I said.

  “It is also obvious that we were brought here for a reason.”

  “I'd say so.”

  “Then it does not take too much imagination to conlude that our purpose for being here is to determine how the Pattern was damaged and what might be done to repair it.”

  “Possibly. What is your diagnosis?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  He moved along the perimeter of the figure, off to the right where the smear-effect began. I resheathed my blade and prepared to dismoun
t. Ganelon reached over and took hold of my shoulder.

  “I can make it myself—” I began.

  But, “Corwin,” he said, ignoring my words, “there does appear to be a small irregularity out toward the middle of the Pattern. It does not look like something that belongs...”

  “Where?”

  He pointed and I followed the gesture.

  There was some foreign object near the center. A stick? A stone? A stray bit of paper..? It was impossible to tell from this distance.

  “I see it,” I said.

  We dismounted and headed toward Random, who by then was crouched at the extreme right of the figure, examining the discoloration.

  “Ganelon's spotted something out toward the center,” I said.

  Random nodded.

  “I've noticed it,” he replied. “I was just trying to decide on the best way to head out for a better look. I do not relish the notion of walking a broken Pattern. On the other hand, I was wondering what I would be laying myself open to if I tried heading in across the blackened area. What do you think?”

  “Walking what there is of the Pattern would take some time,” I said, “if the resistance is on par with what it is at home. Also, we have been taught that it is death to stray from it-and this setup would force me to leave it when I reach the blot. On the other hand, as you say, I might be alerting our enemies by treading on the black. So—”

  “So neither of you is going to do it,” Ganelon interrupted. “I am.”

  Then, without waiting for a reply, he took a running leap into the black sector, raced along it toward the center, paused long enough to pick up some small object, turned and headed back. Moments later, he stood before us.

  “That was a risky thing to do,” Random said. He nodded.

  “But you two would still be debating it if I hadn't.”

  He raised his hand and extended it.

  “Now, what do you make of this?”

  He was holding a dagger. Impaled on it was a rectangle of stained pasteboard. I took them from him.

  “Looks like a Trump,” Random said.

  “Yes.”