Edan is up early, and finds Aramsham is saddled and ready for him to go on patrol. He checks and adjusts the mighty stallion's saddle girth, and bridle and mounts up.
Edan rides from the Lamp's grounds on the south side of Xanadu around to where they can reach the cliff top to begin the patrol proper. To the north is Broceliande and his sister and her Rangers. To the south is the cliffs he has just taken a horse up, and to the west are vast swaths of forest receding into the mountainous distance.
Nominally, he's near the land-grant that Random gave to Vere and Robin.
Sunrise is early on a clifftop overlooking the vast ocean to the east, but the forest itself is dense enough that when the patrol leads into it, it will get darker quickly.
Edan turns to the others. Today he's gathered Khulum and Abd al-Malik, the two brothers he released from jail. Also a pair of Knights to round out the group, especially Ruby transfers with sorcerous skills to practice Third-Eye work (or two of his own riders if the transfer is over). They have horses, curved swords, bows and single-shot rifles if they get far enough afield.
"Those who can, will use your Third Eye to see who and what are out here. Abd, you will map as we go. Khulum, take notes. We're just going to catalogue what is out here and keep an eye out for strangers. We will go north, then west, then curve back to here. I don't plan to stay out overnight, but you have all brought your kit just in case. Any questions?"
The Amberite knights from Ruby are more comfortable in the woods than Edan's desert raiders, but even they aren't rangers from Arden. They can, however, show Khulum and Abd al-Malik how to avoid low-hanging branches and how to follow animal trails, as well as when not to follow them.
Khulum is trying to talk his way out of his unease. "It's one thing when we're near the lush greenery of the base, but out here, a horse in a place I cannot give this mare her head if she detects danger, I am not sure what the right instincts are, hers or mine."
Edan spots a few predators, but nothing large enough to threaten five knights.
The canopy is close overhead, and the sunlight only sporadically reaches the ground. As they penetrate deeper into the forest they run into obstacles, most easily overcome. Keeping track of North and West is not easy, and it's not clear that anyone other than Edan is sure of the direction they are traveling in. The knights are not ready to patrol alone, or at least not ready to patrol alone and come back.
About half a day's ride into the woods, the first real problem comes up. The path to the west is bisected by a deep ravine. There's running water at the bottom of it. It doesn't look easily crossable.
Before reaching the ravine, Edan responds to Khulum: "We must learn this forest as well, and how to maneuver in it. The terrain is not all that different than the Glass Desert; it is the forest that is different, and I understand you. If an enemy slips past Broceliande, this is the way they will come. You two are the best of my scouts, and I know you can adjust. We must keep at it until we learn."
"I will learn, Madhi. But I suspect I will be knocked from my horse more than once." He looks at his brother. "Fewer times than you, al-Malik."
"It is a wager, my brother. You may our ancestors grant you relief from your competitive nature... tomorrow."
For now, Edan keeps silent about the others having little or no direction-sense, for that is more worrisome.
Edan is not a ranger either, but fortunately he's spent a lot of time with Bleys on his Grand Tour of shadow-travel, so he shares what he's been told of going into/around/over and when to make that decision.
Over might work. Down, across, and up might work. Leaping won't work, even for Aramsham. Hand-over-hand on the foliage, with probably one risky/cinematic leap between the east and west sides. Horses can't do hand-over-hand, of course. Not these horses, anyway.
Running across a felled tree that spans the chasm? Not impossible, but it would take a really brave horse. It would take some time to make a makeshift bridge.
Edan gauges where the sun is, and shares what he knows with the others. "If it is a land grant to Vere and Robin, I do not wish to cross into it. Not today. Normally here, I would use Similarity to make a bridge across for us. And again, I would not want to create a semi-permanent entrance. I will mark this place, it is a good spot to turn and start heading back." So he creates a ball of fire between his two outstretched palms, and shapes it to his desire before levitating it up to a good spot in the branches.
Edan makes the spell. It goes well and seems very visible in the dimness of the core of the forest. Edan thinks it will be visible for some distance.
The knights are all suitably impressed; sorcery is not common for any of them. Though the Lamp knights know of Edan's skills, it's rare to see them used.
They seem more at ease riding back. Perhaps too at ease.
Edan notices this, and goes on full alert himself for everyone's benefit. To get everyone in the right mood, he talks about the time he saw a cockatrice. And how there's more of them all over. And a little bit about all the nastiness in Arden. But doing these patrols are part of learning how to deal with such things, and they'll be learning about all the weaknesses and tactics.
The men pay more attention to their scouting. Nobody wants to meet a cockatrice. They pepper Edan with questions about how he tracked it, how he fought it, if anyone was turned to stone.
The Ruby Knights want to know what other dangers are known in this forest.
"I'm not sure. That's why we're here." Edan passes along anything he's heard of that was in Broceliande, including the troop types Random has brought together that might cross over this way.
"As far as the cockatrice, well, I cheated. I made a fiery spectacle of myself in Paige's forest and used Sorcery to look at everything that looked at me. Here's what it looks like, though, and what its tracks look like..."
If Third Eye was like sonar, Edan is actively pinging everything around them, as much a warning as it is a tool for visualizing.
The knights are all interested in learning about the cockatrice. They would like tips on how to fight one without getting turned to stone. They mention that there was one in Xanadu, but it had been brought there for a cockfighting ring.
Edan's third eye gives him the feeling that someone is watching them. More like a scout than a stalker, he thinks. They're magically powerful, but not really doing anything aggressive.
"I've never actually fought one. I did make some observations while I cloaked myself in its shape..." Edan calls a stop for a short break, dismounts, and makes a very small smokeless fire (incidentally showing any knights that don't already know how this is done). With the tiny flames under his hands, he makes an image of a cockatrice and casually shows them how it moves, how dangerous that head and neck is, and the fact that they're being watched. He also launches a second spell.
It's not sorcery, so it's shadow magic. Weakened tremendously here, but not as much as it would be in Xanadu proper. It doesn't seem hostile, per se. More like a Jann than a true djinn. But a spirit of some sort. Perhaps it came from Brocéliande.
Edan waits until he finishes the thought he's telling to the others, then, still crouched, hopefully not threatening, he turns to the general direction of what he sensed.
"Come on out. Would you like to talk? I won't start anything if you don't."
There's a laugh, and a woman steps from behind a tree. Or perhaps from within a tree. The rules of the forest don't seem to apply to her. She's wearing a long white gown. Despite the dappled lighting, she appears to be in a pool of sunshine.
The light is playing tricks, or maybe it's the distance, but it's hard to say if she's four feet tall or twelve.
Edan stands then, and bows with arms spread and empty hands turned outward. "Apologies, if we disturbed you. I am Edan ibn Bleys ibn Oberon al-Kehribar al-Salaam al-Djinn-al-Ghanii. I serve King Random, creator and ruler of Xanadu-on-the-Mountain." He doesn't bother adding that he's referring to the huge mountain at his back.
Out of an abundance of caution, Edan is ready to block any incoming attacks if they happen, the full introductions not yet made.
There's no attack, but the wind shifts and the woman is bathed in a sudden shaft of bright light. Edan would consider it sorcerous manipulation, but he would've known if that was what was going on.
"Hello, Edan-of-the-many-titles. I am the Lar of the Grove. Greetings from the Forest."
She smells of the forest.
This makes Edan smile, even before he stands up straight. "I assume that you know my sister, then? Paige is the Warden of Broceliande." He gestures to the forest to the north.
"We keep the peace in the city on the mountain. It seemed safest to map out what is between us and my sister."
She nods, but apparently means 'no'. "Broceliande is known of, but she is in another's forest, and not ours."
She looks troubled, and the light shifts suddenly. "Broceliande is too close to Arcadia."
Mentally, Edan edits his mental Shadow map to show Arcadia between Broceliande and Arden, with Xanadu and Amber on either side of that. He almost nods, but stops before he sends the wrong message.
"I wandered into the edge of Arcadia once, traveling through a place called Arden. The tea was nice. I wouldn't recommend any other part of it." He smiles again, but not as much. "We do want to patrol and travel through here for Xanadu's sake, though I'm sure you noticed we are not so experienced. I also want to not disturb the forest. If we're going to cross each other's paths, I'd like to be friends. What can I do to make that happen?"
She nods at his mention of tea. "Gods exist to personify and personalize the ineffable reality of a place, like a forest. Your kind does not deal well with things that are real but not concrete, so you apply your patterns to them, and give them names.
"There are many meanings to friendship with the forest. But a forest is slow to bond with people, who live and change so fast." The light follows her words, or perhaps the tree branches move, revealing more or less light in response to her.
"How would you offer friendship to something so vast and diffuse?"
"I will, of course, bring my words to Random, so that he may approve them," Edan says. "But we are vast in ourselves, Lar of the Grove. How would you pass up such an opportunity? We would offer support and assistance to the forest from outside threats, if you would offer the same to us within your borders. And we can find and provide nearly anything, given enough time. Does the forest have a need, something you lack?"
Edan notes that his men do not seem to share this one's definition of Gods, but no one actively challenges her.
She shrugs. "How does one wolf take the bargain and live with man and become a dog and yet her sibling does not?" Lar pauses, waiting a while before adding. "Things we do not need to decide this day will not be decided this day," she says, as if it is a proverb.
"What is the meaning of the magic light you have left in the forest?"
"It is a marker. Two of my cousins, Robin and Vere, they plan to live out here. I will not intrude upon them." Edan blinks. "Will any of that- the marker or the homestead- cause undue difficulty for this place? Robin, as far as I can tell, spent her whole life in the forest and is far more comfortable here."
She shakes her head. "I am not a creature of prophecy. Not in depth and not in areas beyond the seasons and the sunrises."
After a moment, she adds "one of most things is fine for the forest, even one fire lays the ground for new growth. Unless you do aught to change my opinion, you may venture into the forest."
Just when Edan thinks she must be done speaking, she adds, "if you are patrolling, I would like to know of your findings. Would it be too much to expect a report, perhaps as frequently as every season?"
"I absolutely can arrange that. Even if it is as simple as meeting here once a season." He pauses. "If you happen to look in on my people here in the forest and see they have need, if you were to render them some small aid to help them along, I would consider it a great favor."
"An they do no harm to the forest, I would grant that favor." She pauses. "I cannot stop a man determined to fight a bear from fighting a bear."
Edan has to smile at that one. "That's fair. I was thinking more along the lines of, 'I'm really lost', or 'we're about to fall off this cliff.' " He looks around. "Is this a sufficient place to meet? I have a friend, an oak tree in a place called the Blue Earth. He's...very slowly...waking up. If you're amicable to letting me plant one of his acorns here, you would always be able to contact me through him."
She thinks on it. "What is his name? I am partial to Oaks," she adds. Looking around, there are a number of them. "Give me the acorn, and I will nourish it."
"I...don't know," Edan says as he looks through his pockets. "He's quite old, but not yet awake enough to tell me. We've communicated mostly through feelings. I've been calling him the Blue Oak." He finds what he wants and holds out an acorn in his very warm hand. "You've gone far, my friend," he says to it. "You have my blessing, such that it is." To the Lar, he says, "Let me know when it's a strong sapling, yes? Then I will link them."
She nods, once, and comes forward to accept the acorn. Up close, Edan sees that she is very tall, and does not seem to be small when standing next to Aramsham. "I accept the seed."
She steps back. "May all our interactions be as fruitful as this one, Edan-of-the-titles."
"I'll be doing my best to make it so," Edan responds. "Our meeting is good fortune for us and for Xanadu. Fare thee well, Lar of the Grove, and I will see you again." He gives the others a significant look, meaning, "Be ready to depart and keep patrolling."
When he looks back, Lar of the Grove has stepped back into the grove, and Edan does not see her anymore.
Khulum returns his look. "Madhi, how should we understand this being? Jinni? Ilāhat? Does it need to be brought to a higher understanding of The Merciful One?"
The Ruby Knights aren't sure what that means, but they keep quiet.
Edan thinks on that, because his response is certainty going to reverberate down the road. "I would call it a djinn, and a very powerful one. You have seen that in this land, so far from the Dar-es-Salaam, there are many creatures and peoples who do not know the way. Our allies are like the Dhim, protected unbelievers, for they perform a necessary function and we could not do our work without them. Through their work and contributions they maintain their protected status. This Lar, for example, her entire existence is rooted in this forest. If she does her job, she helps us do ours. We protect her, and she makes us stronger.
"We are in a foreign land, and not in the majority. It's a different kind of fight, my brother, and one that requires much patience. You've not seen it before, I think, spending your life in the Land of Peace. If you live your best life here, be the best example of the Way that you can, others will come to you to learn. The process is very slow; but there is time."
"You bless us with your wisdom, Madhi. Truly, we live in a time of wonders."
It's a good day's work, but they're not quite done. Edan leads them back in the direction of Xanadu, back to the borders of the forest. He was planning to set an overnight campsite in the trees, but now it seems not to be the best place. He chooses a secondary site at the tree line after looking around with his Third Eye.
"This is a good spot. Close enough to mitigate our spells, far enough that they will still work. With some effort, anyway. This part is for you," he says to the Ruby knights. "What Principles do you work with? We can work on something advanced."
Sir Hale looks "Sir Brennan and Dame Aisling gave us instruction in defense, Sir Edan. He from Sorcery, She from Chaos. The techniques are remarkably similar, involving preventing the opponent from being able to take the time to throw magics at you.
"Not that different from fighting an opponent with a gun or a crossbow, really, Sir," adds Sir Whithier. "I learned from Dame Aisling that the easiest magics are often illusionary, designed to distract or divert you from fighting so that they may gain advantage."
"That's fair. Illusion is a major tool in my toolbox." Edan sets himself to making a little fire, one with lots of smoke. "Since my opponent usually relies on their sight, most of my illusions are visual. But they don't have to be." He starts making a few serpentine gestures with hands and arms, not unlike calling a cobra out to dance, and the smoke begins to follow his movements. There's even the faint sound of a recorder striking up a hypnotic tune.
The Ruby knights, veterans of the Great War at the ends of the universe, are not too surprised to see magics from a scion of the sorcerer kings of Amber and a son of Prince Bleys. The Knights of the Lamp know the Madhi is the son of a dutiful and respected Flame Maiden and a Prince of Heaven returned to guide the people.
They all watch the smokesnakes with interest, but not as something they think they could make happen.
A good thing to know. Edan smiles, just a little. The smoke grows thicker, impeding sight, then fades away.
It is night. The sky is covered in a carpet of glittering stars. There is no moon. It is also very hot, sandy, the edge of the deep desert, and the group is standing at the edge of a quanat that flows under an enormous step-pyramid to the left. Lanterns and braziers give light and even more heat from a hundred spots on the side of the pyramid facing them, and their shadows dance crazily around them. They can feel the grains of sand shifting underfoot, the smell of smoke and flint and burned sand all around. The faint sound of sand slithering all around, the crackle of the flames. The taste of smoke and hot stone on their tongues.
"I meant that sight is not the only sense to trick. If you're in an illusion like this, it's probably too late. You'll need help to break out, or find a way to solve the puzzle of controlling your own senses within. You'll have to stop the caster before they get this far."
The knights watch. "Illusion to cover sound, sight, smell. This is how you end up fighting invisible ninja assassins," says Sir Hale.
His partner in the Ruby Knights nods. Everyone knew you couldn't beat an invisible ninja assassin.
Edan thinks a moment, then twists his arms and hands like turning a giant volume knob. The smoke appears again, and they can see the real world through the floating threads.
"I think you've helped me make a decision. Very hard to train someone, harder if they don't have the aptitude for it. It is how it is with Sorcery. But if I created an item or two, like glasses that could filter out this kind of illusion, that would do a lot to make up for the disadvantage."
"Mahdi, this would rival the treasures of Sinbad. But one would need to realize one needed to look, would one not?"
His brother adds, "It seems dangerous to look too frequently beneath the veil of illusion that is every day cast over the mundane."
"I agree. And it will take some time to research a couple of ideas. I will keep you informed on my progress. In the meantime, if I was up against a Sorcerer, this is what I would do to make things more difficult..." and he explains tactics and attack patterns and targets, then drills them all through it for practice.
This is what they expected and they are both good natured and good at drilling. Edan sees strengths and weaknesses in each knight, from a tendency to keep the guard too high in Sir Hale to a tendency to commit too soon to a defense in Khulum (typically shored up by his brother's commitment to offense). Nothing is fatal, but every one could improve. They take their lesson and work on incorporating the advice, especially about sorcerers.
Edan brings the troops back, praises them to everyone that matters, checks to make sure he hasn't got baby-watching or some scheduled or unscheduled thing to handle, and if he's still free he sets about gathering a few important reagents for the next big project.
Gilt is as good as his word and sets in motion all the things that Harsh needs to get settled. Soon he has his own rooms, clothes (with more in the way in the nearest approximation of Golcondan style as can be achieved), and a staff.
The rooms Harsh is assigned are relatively near Gerard's but not on the same floor, and smaller. Perhaps this is because Harsh is not a Prince, perhaps it's because he's not in a wheelchair, perhaps it's because he's a new arrival.
What he finds is he has a small suite with a bedroom, a study and reception area, and a functioning bathroom with running water, hot and cold, and a tub and shower in addition to the sink and toilet. Everything is made of wood and metal and actual porcelain (not that Harsh would know if it were plastic). The bed is wide enough for two and comfortably furnished with blankets; the study has a desk and chair for working and a couple of comfortable chairs to sit in, plus a fireplace.
The woods are all light colored and the fabrics are all light and neutral. It's not like a hostel, exactly, but whoever put the room together was ready for someone to come in and impose their own style on it. Harsh noticed that Gerard's suite had paintings and mementos of what must have been his own many voyages in the living room, so clearly there is room for individual decoration. This suite just doesn't have any yet.
The colours are too plain for Harsh's taste, so he makes a note to start seeking out textiles and furnishings that are a little more ... vivid. For the first time in some while, he feels a mild pang of something alarmingly like homesickness--thinking of the brilliantly decorated walls and jewel-coloured cushions and drapes of his uncle's home in Kolkata.
A tailor comes with several assistants to take Harsh's measurements and asks what kind of clothes he'd like. He sketches out some outfits with Harsh's guidance, and also shows Harsh what the current fashion in court wear is so the tailors can make garments in that style as well. They want to know what Harsh's colors are, which they ask as if there is a particular significance to the term.
It's easiest to stick to the blues and greens of the Golcondan navy, and to nudge the tailor as far as he can into the direction of kurta and trousers. He also decides he's going to have to bring some Golcondan textiles back here--the materials of Xanadu are very fine, of course, but his homeland (still his homeland, no matter what, he thinks) has many that are finer.
The tailor isn't particularly familiar with the style but they're clearly used to accommodating eccentric requests. Under Harsh's instructions, they sketch out several ideas for daily wear and formal wear that suit his needs. The fabric samples are all very high quality and there are more colors than appear in this rather bland room, so he'll have no trouble getting more vivid clothes.
They also ask about his symbol, again with the same sense of meaning.
Harsh's original Golcondan uniform coat is adorned with trim depicting the frigatebird, and that, he reckons, is as good a symbol for himself as any.
The next order of business is to summon his crew.
Having to explain his newly-discovered connection to the royal family is dicey--he's determined not to give away his mother's long-kept secrets (her shame, he thinks, and tries not to think it). And so he gives them a story that is true from a very high level--that his lost father was of the family's kin. He plans to stay here for a little while longer at least, to work out the implications of this situation, but as soon as he can arrange it, those who want to return to Golconda will be able to. Most of them--Chandrama in particular, eager to see his betrothed again at last--would like to very much, but Karthik and Rifat say that they'd like to think about it. They seem to have taken a liking to Xanadu.
Once that business is complete, Harsh begins the work of educating himself--reading everything he can get his hands on, talking to people, and so on. He doesn't rush to meeting with Gerard again, however--he is still processing how he feels about that whole situation, and decides he will give himself some time, or come when he's called, whichever comes first.
The first advice that Harsh gets is to go to the library. The castle has its own library, with a pinched little spectacle-wearing fellow called Nestor in charge of it. He sends some of his staff of assistants to fetch books for Harsh.
"Much of what you want won't be in books, though I'll bring you what we have," he tells Harsh. "The Lady Cambina, King Eric's daughter, used to say that most of your family's story was only known to its own members. Many of the old histories are, you might say, edited."
"What histories are not?" Harsh says, a little joke that he knows isn't really all that funny. "But I'll certainly keep that in mind as I go."
He is able to triangulate at least some of it from what he heard aboard the Vialle, plus what he's picked up since his arrival. Still, by the end of his first day of study, his head is swimming a bit.
One of the books Harsh has been reading is Cambina's report of the recent war, which covers a lot of ground about the family, for all that it assumes familiarity with the major players. It's not about Xanadu, but takes place in a kingdom called Amber.
Based on these reports, the family has a lot of strife, not quite to the level of fratricide. While it's not that Harsh thinks Martin lied to him, the cooperative sense that the Prince fostered is clearly counter to the stories he's been reading. Perhaps, deliberately so.
Harsh's notebook is increasingly crammed with marginalia now. He is somewhat less surprised by the strife--indeed, to his mind it's more unusual to find a harmonious royal family, all things considered.
The sound of the library's great doors opening and closing filters through the stacks, though by the time Nestor pokes his head around to see who entered, they had already disappeared. Elsewhere in the stacks, Rowen contents herself with sifting through the tomes, recreating the organization system in her mind, if one exists, while randomly pulling books off the shelf to discover what they hide in their pages. She's not consciously trying to evade notice, but seems to manage it nonetheless.
Eventually, she comes upon a familiar face and approaches, quieter than most, until she's nearly upon him. "Fair afternoon, Commander Majumdar. I might have expected to see you anxious to get back to a ship rather than spend time in a library." She holds in her arms a single tome that appears to be about ducks and how to "make them pay." Gone is the dress that he saw her in last, replaced with a simple shirt and trousers in earthtones, cut trimly so as not to flow around her body.
"Lady Rowen." Harsh starts a little when she speaks and he quickly gets to his feet to greet her and pull out a chair. "Yes, well, many things have changed. I'll be happier when I'm back on a ship, but I have much to learn first, apparently."
"I'm sure you'll make yourself back to one when the time is right. Are you enjoying the hospitality here? What has changed?" She slips gratefully into the offered chair, full of questions. "What are you reading?"
"History," he says, sliding a book over for her to examine at her leisure. "This one by the late Lady Cambina. It's ... an enlightening account, particularly for one such as myself."
"I haven't seen this one before," she says, reverently caressing the binding with her fingertips. "Growing up, I had many books like this. Mother made sure I studied them. I think she knew that one day they would come for me. Cambine is-- was my sister. Smiling somberly, she lifts the book a bit to check the spine before opening it to see the writing inside.
"Did you know her?" Harsh asks. "Or anyone else from the family?"
"My home has always been in Weirmonken. Before Prince Jerod returned our brethren from Amber, she was the only one to visit. It wasn't often, but it was good to know I had family connected somehow to this family. They were practically mythical."
"I envy you a little, if you don't mind my saying so," Harsh says. "In that you, at least, knew that all this existed. To discover it all, and to discover my own connection to it--it has been quite a lot to take in."
Rowen lifts her shoulders in a slight shrug, opening the book to look upon the calligraphy. "It's been a similar experience for me, though I guess I have the advantage of knowing the lore beforehand, however outdated. In some ways, it all seemed like myth or legend, even though I had my mother and sister to tell me about it. I never thought I would actually get to be a part of it." She pauses, letting a smile tug at the corners of her lips. "Maybe a little. A girl can fantasize. So, what's your connection?"
A startled look, then realization. "Oh. You--you weren't there, were you? You'd already gone out when they said..." He trails off, then starts again. "The Prince Gerard. He--he is my father."
"Oh! How fabulous!" she exclaims as she leans over and grips him on both shoulders for a friendly little shake. It's a surprisingly strong grip, though the shake isn't. "That's wonderful news. Well, maybe it isn't--it was very unexpected after all--but... welcome to the mythology?" she adds with playfulness in her voice, alluding to a conversation on deck.
Harsh laughs at that. "Thank you. It is ... I am still not completely certain how I feel about it all, but I think on balance, I am ... happy?" Just the faintest upward inflection at the end there. "It certainly throws a fresh light on many puzzlements I've had all my life."
"Have you reached the age where it seems like you stay younger than your friends? Did you ever fall ill? Did you ever have to hide your strength?" she asks, battering him with rapid-fire questions. The way she drops her chin into her hands, elbows firmly planted on the table, she may as well have been recounting her own puzzlements.
"Of aging--I hadn't noticed, but I'm never ill," he says. "I've never had to hide my strength, but I imagine a number of the men I've sailed with have some story about how they thought I'd drowned before I came back up, little the worse for wear."
"Explains a lot, does it not? The family is legendary in their strength and abilities, Gerard the moreso for his strength. There does seem to be a lot of variation between them. I only know of the generation above us, our aunts and uncles, and only what they put in books or my mother observed." She pauses, flicking a glance at the book in front of her. "I'm sure that the portrayals have been... idealised."
"Cambina's is the best I've read so far," Harsh says. "But I can imagine that other histories have their own--let us say, interpretations." He laughs a little, shakes his head. "I feel as if I'm studying for my lieutenant's examinations all over again. So much to learn."
"The good news is that we're so green that they can't demote us further and it seems they wouldn't kick us out." She pauses to reconsider. "I suppose they could imprison us if we misbehaved enough."
"Wasn't planning on causing that much of a stir," he says, deadpan, and then smiles. "Indeed, I'm still undecided on what my plans for the longer term are. Though I'm considering an offer that Prince Martin made."
Rowen cants her head with curiosity, raising a brow. "Was it an offer of adventure?" she asks, though perhaps her sense of adventure may differ from his. "What else might you do if you didn't take it?"
Harsh is not entirely certain of how much Martin wishes his plans for Lark to be known, even within the family, so he errs on the side of caution. "A sort of prolonged voyage of diplomacy and exploration. Which on the surface sounds simple enough, but even in the short time since I've learned about ... my roots, I fully expect that it will not be so simple. So I suppose you could call it an offer of adventure." He grins. "It's appealing. I could certainly find a place in the Navy if I wished, but the prospect of seeing the world--the worlds, even--it's difficult to turn down."
"I would love to see the worlds. It sounds like anything that's possible can be found somewhere. How fascinating would that be?" she asks, leaning back in her chair. "When do you set sail? Is that how you say it? When do you leave, or have you not decided yet?"
"As yet, it's uncertain," he admits. "Prince Gerard--my father--has suggested other members of the family with whom I ought to meet, and so perhaps that is my next step. And then, we shall see where the wind takes me. And you? What are your plans?"
"There's certainly no rush. It would be best for us to meet as many of our kin as possible. Besides, it seems we would benefit from this 'Thing' that the king spoke of, our birthright, to enable us to walk the shadows." She considers his question, but it ends in a light shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know. I had gotten accustomed--and truth be told, bored--of the missions my lord had been giving me. Now that anything is possible, I'm not sure. I think I would love to explore a bit. The others mentioned all manner of foreign things, like magic boxes that display images and sounds. That sounds fascinating."
"Sometimes too many choices is more unnerving than no choice at all," he says. "I suppose the best thing to do is follow what interests one the most, and see where that leads. Which it seems is almost guaranteed to be something interesting."
"Alex said he came from a place that sounded very advanced, though it also sounded like it was beholden to entertainment. It sounded frivolous. I wonder how that works," Rowen ponders. "At the same time, I would like to know more of what became of my sister, Cambina. Surely someone knows how she came to pass. Whether they are willing to part with that knowledge, though..."
"You might be expected to prove yourself in some manner," Harsh suggests. "There's the matter of the thing--the Pattern--but there may be other factors at work as well. Most likely, no shortage of them in fact."
"The Thing itself sounds very much like a test in itself, and everyone seems to be so vague about it. I have no idea what it would take to prepare for it, and yet it seems like if we're truly of the blood, it would be our birthright and we should succeed," she muses, lightly stroking her hair as she ponders out loud. She leans back in her chair, bracing her feet against something under the heavy table to push back on two legs. "The more I ask about it, the fewer answers I get. I'm beginning to think the only way we'll find out is to assay it."
"You can only sit in the library for so long, eh?" Harsh says with a smile. He leans back and stretches, rubbing the back of his neck. "I could do with a walk, in fact. Join me?"
"One can only sit indoors so much. Being out under the sky would be much preferred." She pushes her chair back and comes to get feet in one smooth motion, gathering up her satchel and and one of Cambina's books. "Did you have anywhere in mind?"
"Nothing in particular -- wherever you like, if you've a preference." Harsh quickly stacks his books in an orderly fashion -- no point in leaving too much work for the librarians, after all -- and stands, ready to go.
There is a knock on the door to Harsh's chambers. When he opens the door he sees a young man with a short beard and long black hair worn in braids. Two locks of colored hair, auburn and silver, are braided into a true lovers' knot over his right ear. Trousers of a blue so dark that they appear black in most light are tucked into knee high black leather boots. He wears a gray shirt under a tunic of azure, patterned with dark gray celtic knots.
The young man bows to him. "Commander Harsh Majumdar? I am Vere Gerardson. May we speak?"
The door opens on a man who might be Vere's age or even a little older. Curling dark hair worn a bit long, a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, dark skin, dark eyes; he wears a knee-length marine blue tunic with a high collar and gold trim over loose trousers of a slightly lighter hue.
When Vere introduces himself, Harsh freezes visibly for a moment before bowing himself, palms together in anjali mudra. He then opens the door wider to admit Vere. "Of course. Please--come in, and I apologise for the shortcomings of hospitality. Shall I call for refreshments?"
The room is still fairly basic Xanadu standard, with the usual neutral furnishings. Harsh is, however, slowly beginning to put an individual stamp on the place--the chairs and couch now have brightly jewel-toned cushions, and there is a faint scent of good incense in the air.
Vere enters, glances quickly around the room, then turns back to Harsh.
"Food and drink, and the ability to play the roles of host and guest, can be useful in reducing tension in a potentially awkward situation."
He smiles slightly. "My own tendency, in such a situation, is to become overly formal and analytical. I hope you will forgive this tendency in myself."
Harsh can't help but smile at that. "And my own tendency is towards formality and the rituals of etiquette--which is the way of Golconda, in fact. I expect we shall find a way to meet somewhere in the middle. Please, make yourself comfortable."
He rings for a page to bring food and drink--chiefly according to Vere's taste, and only then does he finally seat himself.
The palace staff knows Vere's fondness for cheese, fruits and nuts as a between-meal snack, along with hard cider.
Vere takes a seat as well, and thanks the pages who brought the food and drink. Once they are alone again he says, "I am told that until recently you knew nothing of the multiplicity of worlds. This must all be very new and strange to you. While I was raised away from the greater Family, I knew from an early age that my father was from a different world, and that one day I would walk the paths of the multiverse." He smiles slightly. "As you talk to our many cousins, you will no doubt find that each one has a very different story of their lives. Our elders were anything but consistent in the ways they lived their lives."
"So I've gathered," Harsh says. He picks up a nut but doesn't crack it, instead rolling it in his fingers like a small toy. He doesn't seem to be aware that he's doing it.
"I knew nothing of my father," he says. "Of--our father, I suppose I should say. Only that he had gone away before I was born, and they spoke of him in a way that suggested he was dead."
There's a longish pause and Harsh can feel his face reddening. What he says next is said quietly, struggling a little to get the words out. "I didn't even know that my mother was my mother until I was twelve--I believed she was an aunt, and I an orphan."
It's still difficult, even knowing that things are different here, to speak the truth so plainly, and to a stranger. But he feels he owes this new brother the truth.
It is at this point in the conversation that the brothers abruptly notice a body dangling outside Harsh's balcony. While its appearance is quick and obviously unexpected, they've enough time to recognize the body is young, dark-haired, female, and lavishly - nah, bizarrely - dressed. She swings out and in, her feet briefly touching the railing, before letting herself fall again, presumably to her death far below. They may have imagined it, but both swear they hear a distinct, 'Tee hee!'
Then, with equally unexpected speed and grace, the woman grabs the railing, and pulls herself up and over the ledge. She rolls into the room, quickly pressing herself against the nearest wall. Scanning the way she came, she grins with mischievous delight. Time passes. Then more. Her grin brightens, growing intensely satisfied with herself.
Only now does Tricksey realize that the room isn't empty. She stares at Harsh and Vere. Blinks. Frowns. And finally raises her finger to her lips. "Shhhh... Crow tag. Winning."
Vere is on his feet instantly, a knife in one hand and the other extended defensively to catch any incoming thrown weapons. It's clear to Harsh from his reactions that his new-found brother is a highly trained warrior.
At the intruder's words Vere blinks once, then says, "It can be hazardous to enter rooms abruptly and without warning. Mistaken impressions are liable to occur."
Harsh, too, is on his feet in an instant—he isn't a warrior trained in the way that Vere was, but he's well accustomed to being quick on his feet in an environment where delays can be fatal.
He does, at least, recognise Tricksey, as one of the many new cousins coming and going at the same time that he was arriving and meeting Gerard, and he relaxes a little.
What in the world does she mean, though--"crow tag"?
"Shhhhh!" Tricksey insists, unfazed by the two men - and the fact one is armed. A moment later, two pleasantly plump crows land on the railing, looking around. The woman grins brighter, tightening her body to the wall. The birds quickly fly off, apparently continuing their search.
"Crow Girl win!" she announces, standing up and stretching with unreserved smugness. She performs a brief, twirling victory dance, spinning her school-girl skirt. And then freezes mid stride. Sniffs the air. Her eyes lock on the food tray. "OH! Cheese!"
She finally realizes Vere is armed. She stares at him accusingly, "Why have pointie? Is really good cheese?"
Vere sheathes the knife and bows. "Preparation to defend when someone unknown appears suddenly," he explains. "Please join us, the cheese is excellent." To reinforce the greeting he softly give a corvid caw of welcome to a flock mate.
Tricksey nods to Vere's words, smiling as the weapon disappears. "Crow Girl understand. She very intimidating." She puffs up her chest and poses for confirmation. While the offer of cheese is greeted with appreciation, Vere's use of Corvid takes her aback for an instant. Then pure, unadulterated joy, she flaps her hands and dances about. "You speak! You speak!"
She utters a string of corvid sounds with perfect mimicry. If Vere understands bird-speak, Tricksey replies, "Greetings! I see YOU! We are one. We are friends now, Oh He of the Magnificent Upper Body Strength!"
Vere laughs briefly and responds with the call for, "I see you, flock mate."
Harsh watches all of this with a plain expression of bemusement on his face. Then he remembers his manners and bows in greeting to Tricksey, and invites her with a gesture to join them.
"Please, make yourself at home."
At Harsh's words, Tricksey raises a brow. And then grins. It is an odd grin. Both beautiful and terrifying. As if they've entered into a compact. One of deep and everlasting significance.
She saunters up to him, sly and slick. Her head cocks, left. Right. The grin still flashes bright. This close he can smell her perfume. Rain and shadows and dark promises. "Tricksey see you, Harsh Majumdar, son of Gerard. No wear mask with Crow Girl. Harsh too serious. Stumble when serious. Be free. Be Harsh. And only Harsh."
What is happening here. For a moment Harsh feels like a small prey animal being eyed by something much larger and he does not like that feeling at all. But it's not danger, at least not the conventional sort of danger, and for a split second he almost grasps whatever insight she is trying to bestow upon him--
And then, just as she'd done in the grand hall, she sticks out her tongue and does a soft, prolonged raspberry.
And Harsh flinches.
He stays there for a moment, frozen, while Tricksey takes her choice of chair.
Before flumping down on the chair across from them. "What talk about?"
Vere takes his seat and grins once more, before saying, "We were just introducing ourselves to each other, Tricksey. Harsh is also newly found by the family, and we two have only just met."
He gives a slight seated bow to her and introduces himself. "I am Vere, son of Corvis and Gerard."
Tricksey tastes the name, smiling. She bows her head, "Ohayou gozaimasu, Vere-Ojisan. Am Tricksey. Daughter of Kimiko and Daeon. Crow Girl."
She leans forward, collecting a plethora of cheese and crackers. "Brothers not meet before? Is family scattered? Why so many not know? We all cuckoos?"
Red with embarrassment, Harsh goes to join his new relations and sits down, with the stiffness of doubled anxiety.
"And--well, you both know who I am. Possibly better than I do myself." A small, nervous laugh escapes and he goes even redder.
Tricksey taps her head, confirming, "Crow Girl knows. So scared. Want impress." She nibbles on her cheese, "But Harsh is family. No need. King see you. Brother see you. We see you. You us. We you."
She gestures to Vere, "How Speak Crow?"
Vere smiles a small smile. "Let me respond in reverse order, if I may. I have always been interested in birds, and some of my early trainers in woodcraft were excellent teachers in their habits and calls. I especially found it useful to understand corvids and raptors when I was acting as the commander of a war band in forested areas."
"As for the lack of knowledge of cousins," Vere's face loses the smile, "I fear that our elders in the Family found it expedient to hide their offspring from each other. That, along with the fact that many of them traveled widely and did not remain in one world for very long, led to many unknown cousins."
His smile returns as he concludes, "And I am pleased to say that I have met both your mother and your sister, Misao."
Tricksey's insights have thrown Harsh for a loop, and he's listening in silence for the moment.
Tricksey's smile slightly falters at Vere's admission. "Momma not seem happy to see Crow Girl. More interested in sister. Misao sister? Only say sibling. Not know have one." A low shrug. She resumes nibbling.
She pauses, considering, cheese held close to her chest. "Vere fight in forest. Did know Poppa? Daeon. Adonis. Many names he have."
Her cheeks redden, "Did Tricksey interrupt reunion? You say not meet."
"Two sisters, that I know of," Vere answers. "Misao, by my cousin Lucas, and Lily, by our uncle Benedict." He glances briefly at his brother, perhaps wondering at his reaction to hearing of a woman having children by three different men, but says nothing and returns his attention to Tricksey.
Harsh can't quite keep a shocked look entirely off his face, but he says nothing. Different worlds, different mores, he reminds himself.
Tricksey seems unfazed by the admission, smiling brightly. "Two Crow Sisters?" She leans back and hugs herself tightly, rocking back and forth with barely suppressed glee. "Two! Tricksey have two sisters. Enough for slumber party. Tasty cakes. Hair curlers. Racy holovids. Breaking into momma's liquor cabinet. And then sneaking out to tag public places with unsavory images. YES!"
Her mirth remains, even as Vere speaks about her father.
"I never met Daeon personally. The woods of my childhood world were not those he frequented. But he was the beloved brother of my Betrothed, Robin, and she will be able to tell you much of him."
Vere nods then, and continues, "And yes, this is the first time my brother and I have met. He has only recently learned of his connection to the Family. As have you, I believe. It must be quite challenging for both of you."
"Challenging. Yes, that's one word for it," Harsh says. He rubs the back of his neck, as if doing so will actually succeed in forcing some of the tension out of his shoulders. "My ... my father has been a mystery to me all my life--a secret, in our family--but I certainly never imagined that learning the answer to that mystery would be quite this expansive."
Tricksey pilfers another bit of cheese, nodding. "Cousins find Crow Girl. Very strange. Until then, Tricksey thought she alone. Except Bailey. And Jinx. And worshippers." She rolls her eyes at the last bit. "Goddess this. And Goddess that. Blah-dee-worship-blah." She slumps back in the cushions, stretching out, very unladylike. "Not same though. Was still... alone."
Her bright eyes meet Harsh's, her smile softening. "Crow Girl barely remember Papa. Or momma. And she is Memory. You get to make new memories with papa. And brother. And now Crow Girl. Savor gift. Tricksey will. She like Gerard Brothers."
She curls up her knees to her chin, turning her attention to Vere. "Tell of Auntie Robin. Spare no detail."
"I can speak of Robin at length," Vere answers with a smile. "She speaks the languages of birds far better than I, and is a creature of the woodlands and wild places." He pauses, then raises a hand.
"But I must correct myself in what I have said of your siblings. I was raised in a matriarchy, and the default pronouns for my land are female. Beyond that, gender roles in the Isles were very strict, and I am accustomed to thinking of people as either male or female. Your sibling Misao is a shapeshifter, and I think the binaries of male or female are irrelevant to them."
Tricksey offers Vere an understanding smile. "In Tyrell, Crow Girl was many things. Know many people. Gender like water. Flesh shifts and changes. Only soul remain same. Will love sibling no matter what."
A wistful shrug. "Hope they love Tricksey too."
Vere smiles and looks at Harsh. "Learning of a new sibling and meeting them is a strange experience. But it is an experience full of promise." He looks back to Tricksey. "Both of your siblings are interesting people, whom I like. I am sure you shall all get along well."
Tricksey grins over her knees, "And Auntie Robin too. Want meet her soon. Have noodles. All us."
"One does feel less ... alone," Harsh murmurs. "The discovery certainly puts a new complexion on a lifetime of feeling like--like a slightly misshapen puzzle piece. Fitting in. But not perfectly."
She slightly raises her head, "Like puzzles. Had some in Tombs. But missing pieces. Hinky Hamster not have nose. Very sad."
Bright eyes flash between them, her chin returning to her knees. "So what you two discover? Puzzle finished? Or Crow Girl interrupted?"
"We were still getting to know one another," Vere admits. "Having a brother is a new experience for me. I had an elder sister growing up, and I love her dearly, although she was often exasperated by her overly-feminine little brother, who insisted on unmanly pursuits such as reading and studying, and showed a distressing tendency to think for himself." He smiles. "I grew up with a close friend who was like a brother unto me, so that is perhaps near to having had one."
"I grew up with a bevy of cousins, myself," Harsh says. "The uncle and aunt who raised me had a large family, extended in all directions—nowhere near as extensive as the royal family here seems to be, mind you. I'm not sure that's possible in any normal world."
The fact that he's cracking a joke indicates that he's relaxing slightly.
Tricksey nods, smiling in kind. "Only have streets. Many faces. Many voices. And memories. Guide Tricksey. And she watch over them. Purpose in that."
She spins her body on the couch, boneless and lanky as a satisfied cat. "Not sure what to do now. Who listen to. Crow Girl want family. But sense undropped shoe. She wait for shoe."
"There is certainly no hurry," Vere notes. He tilts his head to one side. "Have you both been told that you can expect to live for a long time, barring accidents or deliberate acts of violence? The word 'immortal' gets thrown around, but I consider it to be unproven. What is known is that we can expect to live for many thousands of years, at the very least. So far as I know no member of our family has ever succumbed to old age."
"So I've heard." Harsh says. "And do you know, it only now dawns on me--that goes some way toward explaining a certain reputation I acquired in the Navy for being ... well, difficult to kill."
Tricksey rubs her chin, considering this. "Crow Girl do impossible things each day. And bad things twice on Sunday. Shot. Stabbed. Run over. No fall, though. Learned quick. Healed quicker. Thought just Tricksey being Crow Girl."
She flips around again, draping her legs over the back of the couch, whilst dangling her head off the cushion, upside down. "Now understand why Edan so fun. First time man faster than Tricksey. Usually they break. Snickersnack. Many pieces. Much whining." A man's pleading voice passes over her painted lips. "Oh god, please! Not the face!" She does some air punches and then - presumably - a neck break.
A very small smile passes over Vere's face at this.
Tricksey blinks, "Vere and Harsh both soldiers? Not Foxes are you?" The upside down smile falters, flashing a hint of teeth.
Vere tilts his head to one side. "I am not certain how you are using the term 'fox' here," he answers. "So I cannot respond directly to that question. I was the son of the Priestess-Queen of the Isles of the Dannan, and thus became the Lord Commander of the Brotherhood of the Stag, and Warleader of my mother's forces when the demons of the Dark Forest invaded our land." He considers for a moment, then adds, "I believe that would make me more of a guard dog than a fox."
"And I'm a sailor," Harsh says. "Commander in the Golcondan Navy, but most recently the Navy has been exploring more than we've been fighting, especially since the last treaty with Albion. Not sure what that makes me for you--a--a frigatebird?"
Tricksey lets out a barking laugh. She puts her hands to her mouth, giggling furiously. It's a musical sound of genuine mirth. Like liquid, she's sitting back up again, rocking side to side, arms wrapping around her. "Harsh puff chest. Make Crow Girl laugh."
There's a brief moment where Harsh flinches, an instinctive reaction to the fear of being mocked. But there's a sincerity (if that's the word) to Tricksey that makes him laugh too.
A nod to Vere, the grin undying. "Gerard Brothers not foxes. Is good. Can be true family. Tricksey protect those with nothing. Who are forgotten. Foxes steal and lie to them. Use them. Like Monks. Nasty monks."
She leans back; her hands drifting like birds as she talks, shaping strange patterns. "Crow Girl worry she lose the streets. Many riches. Many bright things here. Tempting things. Distract Tricksey. But even Paradise have Forgotten. Those without. Those frightened. Hunted by Foxes. She will help. But need guidance. So she do her part."
Tricksey cocks her head, "Gerard Brothers keep Crow Girl grounded, yes? Help find Forgotten?" Her hands come to rest upon her knees, eyes bright and hopeful.
"We need to get you to Folly," Vere answers with a smile. "And her 'Army of Good Works.' She is very much of the opinion that those with greater abilities and powers have a duty to protect the weak from those who would prey upon them."
"Crow Girl met Cousin Folly and Little Bird," Tricksey nods. "Likes her. Especially Little Bird. Both have fire."
Harsh can't help grinning a little in agreement at that assessment of Lark.
She slides around, sitting up straight for the first time in awhile. Her cat-nervous hands finally come to rest in her lap. She shares a knowing look with Harsh for a moment. And then ask Vere in a serious tone, "Has Vere walked Pattern? Hardsh and Crow Girl told to. But told to prepare. Tricksey eat noodles, but maybe not enough?"
Vere nods. "I have, and you are correct that you should be at your very best, both physically and mentally, when you make the attempt." He tilts his head to one side. "I misspeak, I think. 'Attempt' is a poor choice of words. There is no attempting the Pattern, one either succeeds or dies. You will be given advice by those wiser than I before you are allowed to walk it, and I hesitate to say too much for fear it would lead you to draw erroneous conclusions which might not serve you well. Each person who walks it experiences it in their own way. I will say this, however. It will make you face yourself, and it will change you."
He considers for a moment, then adds. "In my opinion, that change is to make you more who you really are."
"And if one isn't entirely certain of who that is to begin with...?" Harsh says. "That would seem extremely perilous."
A hypothetical musing. Surely. Not the thoughts of someone who's still in the middle of trying to reframe his entire existence in light of enormous amounts of new knowledge.
Tricksey grins and hugs herself, rocking back and forth. "More Crow Girl?! Sounds fun. Crow Girl become Super Crow Girl! Corvid Crusader of POWAH!" Her head arches back at this, letting the word draw out.
She squeezes her shoulders; the grin brightening. "Tricksey run the High Road of Tyrell. Each jump Crow Girl's last. Never hesitate. Thousand feet to concrete."
Tricksey glances over at Harsh, tilting her head. "Harsh will be fine. Strong. Confused. But strong heart."
Vere smiles at Harsh. "I agree with her assessment of your strength, brother." The term is a little hesitant, as though Vere is wondering if Harsh is ready for it yet. He doesn't pause, however, but turns back to Tricksey and continues, "I have heard the name Tyrell before, Tricksey. It was mentioned as a central spot for the operations of the Klebesians, an order of supposedly religious scholars who have made themselves the enemies of our Family. Perhaps these are some of the 'foxes' to which you refer."
Every time someone says "brother", it seems to take Harsh out of himself for a moment, but especially when Vere uses it. He seems to catch up with the conversation half a second later.
Glancing back at Harsh he adds, "I do not know if anyone has mentioned them to you as of yet. They appear to be interested in finding and abducting unprotected members of the Family for experimentation."
"I've heard about them, yes," Harsh says. "One of their number was captured, wasn't he? I--I admit I don't fully understand what it is they do, but I understand enough to know that their actions and their goals mean trouble for the Family." A pause. "For us."
"Crow Girl see labs," Tricksey says. "Punch many monks. Boop the snoots." Her fists dance in the air, deftly mimicking some snoot boops. "She make them cry. She make them whine. So they release Street People. And buy Crow Girl noodles. Victory was had." She pauses, frowning. "Abel say he capture Head Monk. But think Abel Foxy. Plays long game. Maybe. Need more sniffing."
She touched her fist to her chin, "Monks also buy hospital on Earth. Crow Girl think they simply move shop. Pull up stakes. Have tunnel to Tyrell. Very wormhole-timey-whimey stuff."
"Wait," Vere says, holding up a hand. "You met Abel? Tell me about him." He looks at Harsh. "Abel is another cousin of ours, the son of Prince Caine. He was banished by King Oberon long, long ago, for somewhat mysterious reasons related to religion. His name has recently resurfaced as being a major player, if not the actual organizer, of the Klybesians. His goals remain something of a mystery to me."
Harsh just listens now, feeling like about a third of what's being said is going past him, but catching enough to know that this is Important.
Tricksey leans forward, nodding. Her expression shifts, eyes darkening. When she speaks, her voice sounds distant, as if reaching out from the past. "Templar of the Order of the Unicorn. Exiled. Lawful child. Father punished for not disowning. Joined Klybus when took Order from Amber. Became Turcopolier. Oversee military matters. Claim not involved in disputes between Patriarch and the Pontifex. Succession issues. Upset someone make Pyramid go blewy-boom. He Architect. Builder. Planner. Schemer.
"Also know Brother Hannibal. Chewy. Brother captured. Work on gene-sequencing project. Decades. Maybe Centuries. Kidnapped. Experimented. Murdered. Why Forfeited Able's protection."
She sighs, leaning back "Crow Girl couldn't confirm Abel's words with Touch. No chance to steal shinies. Too many eyes. Too many guns. And Cousin Fletcher accept him."
Tricksey's frown deepens, "Able talk nice. Like Fox. Not trust. Crow Girl think Able want Tricksey and Fletcher to go away. Three-card-Monty. Smoke and mirror. Give us win to hide our loss."
Vere nods. "That all fits with what I have heard. The King is aware of him, and we will no doubt be hearing more before too long." He smiles, a trifle grimly. "And I suppose I should warn you now, if you have not yet been told this. Do not take vengeance into your own hands when opposing a member of the Family, however distant. King Random prefers to rule with a light touch, but he will not countenance kin-murder, whatever the provocation."
Tricksey blinks. Blinks again. Jaw dropping. Then with exaggerated pain, she clutches her chest, folding over on the couch. A weak, mewing escapes her. "Wounded," she whimpers, her head slumping over, hair painted her features. "Struth. Blimey. Shock. Shock, she says!"
She lies there. Twitches. Clutches her chest again, rocking. And then goes still. Letting out a slow, flatulent death rattle.
From beneath her hair, she says, "Vere wound Crow Girl. Not kill cousins. Even if Foxes. Tricksey tweak noses. Make fools. Take shinies. Snap necks. But never kill Family. Revenge for fools. Two graves dug."
Tricksey brushes back her hair, smiling broadly, "Crow Girl owe Able. Help release flock. No trust. But no kill. Family is Family."
Harsh has watched all of this with a slightly stunned expression, but he finally does manage to pull himself together and nods agreement.
Vere actually grins at Tricksey's reaction. He gives a caw of amusement, similar to how a crow would respond to an especially shiny discovery. Then he glances between Tricksey and Harsh, "Enough of lecturing you on Family expectations," he says. "I am sure you both have many questions remaining. Ask, and I shall answer as best I can."
Tricksey claps her hands, rapid yet quiet, gleeful over Vere's crow sounds. She mimicks the sound, adding her own. One of acceptance and fellowship. Her smile shines on long afterward.
"Crow Girl keep questions short," she says. "Bother Brothers long enough."
She collects another round of snacks. Nibbling, crumbs flying, she asks, "What happen to Amber? If Xanadu true place, why Amber sing on people's tongues? Like blessing. And curse."
Vere's smile fades and he bows his head briefly before answering. "Amber was the victim of war and treachery. The founder of Order, Dworkin, was once a Lord of Chaos. He created a realm of Stability, not subject to the constant change and flux of Chaos. Not all the Lords of Chaos approved of such a thing, and they waged a secret war upon us. One of our own, my uncle Brand, aided them in this." Vere sighs. "I never met him, but from all I have heard he was mad, and his aim was not to destroy the realm of Order, as the Lords of Chaos wished, but to recreate it in his own image."
He shrugs. "Whatever his aim, the result was that he found a way to break the power of the Pattern. The forces of Amber took the war to the very Abyss of Chaos while King Oberon, my grandfather and the son of Dworkin, gave his life to repair the Pattern of Order. While Order was established, Amber was left broken, and no more than a shadow of what she once was." He looks at Harsh. "Father was injured in that breaking, which we call The Sundering."
He shakes his head and continues, "The Unicorn Herself, the emblem and founder of our Family, gifted Random with the Jewel of Judgement, and the Family bowed before him as the new king. He used the Jewel to create Xanadu, which is the new crown of creation."
As Vere speaks, Tricksey nods in time with his words, frowning with deep concern. And then, she sits bolt upright, blinking. Her hands flutter like crazed birds, excited, confused. "Wait. WAIT! There is Unicorn?! Vere bury the lede!"
She mock frowns, pouts, "Amber destroyed. Betrayal. Madness. Crow Girl sad. Very terrible. Tragedy of ages..."
Leaning forward, eyes wide, she says in hushed tones, "But most important question. How Tricksey pet Unicorn?!"
Harsh, who has been listening intently to all of this (filling in various lacunae in his learning so far) starts to nod in agreement with Tricksey's assessment of the tragedy of it all ... and then she springs her question, and he can't help laughing.
"Ah, the Unicorn," Vere breathes. "I do not know that one would 'pet' Her. I have only seen Her once, and she was a site to inspire awe and devotion." He tilts his head to one side, considering. "There are stories that she and Great-Grandfather Dworkin together created the Universe out of Chaos. I tended to believe those stories before I saw Her, although they were lacking in collaborative factual data. When I saw Her, however..."
He pauses for a moment, then shrugs. "I do not know why, but I now feel that She was an Inspiration, not a Creator. That Dworkin created Reality in Her honour, and as a gift to Her." He laughs quietly. "It may be pure fancy on my part."
Tricksey nods. And nods again. She purses her lips, "So. That like. A maybe?"
She smiles wistfully, hugging herself again. "Muse Unicorn for Crow Girl. Tag. Paint. Sing." She considers this. And then something new occurs to her. "Is Pattern love letter to Unicorn?"
Vere's lips part slightly, and he stares at Tricksey as though she had just revealed one of the Great Mysteries of the Universe. "That is... a very lovely thought," he says quietly. "Perhaps so. Perhaps so, indeed." He shakes his head slightly, a tender expression on his face for a few moments. "If I ever succeed in locating and meeting Grandfather Dworkin I must ask that."
Tricksey smiles faintly. "Crow Girl hope meet them both. And Grandfather Julian. Soon."
She jumps to her feet, stretching back bonelessly. "Speak of which. Tricksey need ready for Pattern. Or death. Prefer former."
She slumps forward again, casting her hand in an exaggerated flourish and bow. "Humble thanks for munchies. Crow Girl much like. Brothers very kind. She like. Wishes meet Vere's beloved. And hear Grumpy Harsh laugh more. Is not used to family. But grow fond of."
Vere nods. "I need to speak to Uncle Julian soon, myself. My beloved, Robin, is on a mission for him, and I need to speak to him about aid for him. As to Grandfather Dworkin..." he sighs slightly, and looks at Harsh. "You have seen that Father is currently unable to walk. That injury dates to the Sundering, when a large section of Castle Amber fell upon him. I am researching methods of healing them, and Grandfather Dworkin, being both Ancient and Wise, is a source I dearly wish to consult."
Harsh stands when Tricksey does and colours a little when she mentions laughing more, but smiles. She's got a point. "You're most welcome. I've enjoyed your company very much." And he actually does mean it.
To Vere he says, "If there's anything I can do to help you, you've only to ask."
Tricksey pauses mid-stretch, her left leg and both arms straight out, as if she was a precision compass. She remains locked in that position as she ponders, "Uncle go to Tyrell. Many ripper docs. Fix limbs. Replace bones. Make him better. Stronger Faster Uncle. Plenty creddies. But Crow Girl liberate funds. She hacker."
She spins in place; a Gothic ballerina deep in thought. After two rotations, she stops. Leg falling back to the floor. "But Uncle need heal there. Naturally. No fiddly bits added in. Otherwise, if he leave. Extra bits might devolve like clothing. Pattern not like Shadow things, yes?"
Vere smiles thinly. "It was one of the ways the Family first discovered that Chew was one of the Klebesians. Before we knew that he was an enemy, he was consulted about my Father's condition." He shakes his head. "We are concerned that whatever technological or magical healing we may find in Shadow would fail when he travelled to a place where such things did not, and can not, exist. Much less what the Pattern might do to them if he ever needs to Walk it again, and it does not recognize the healing that was done." He shakes his head again, more strongly. "Solange and Hannah are both looking for methods that will restore his legs. I was formerly devoting my time exclusively to that task, but Hannah has pointed out that my pressure on Father was doing more harm than good, and that I should become somewhat less... insistent... about the matter."
Harsh gives Vere a sympathetic look; he understands the urge to do something, after all. "Hannah's wisdom seems to bear considerable weight," he says.
Tricksey's head tilts, corvid eyes blinking. "Vere love Father. Seeks answers. Crow Girl understand. Respect. She know ripper docs. Not use Chew. Or others. Corpos always have strings. DNA and otherwise. Streets provide."
She rubs her chin, considering something. Then shrugs. "But Pattern first. Tricksey hear its Voice. Then see if she can help."
With a deft leap, she's over the table, on the tips of her toes. Each brother gets a quick peck on the cheek. Maeve warmth lingering.
"Thank you. Crow Girl go now. Hope see again. If die on Pattern, tell Momma. And siblings." Then a deadly serious look, "And tell Conner wipe Tricksey's hard-drive. Not for prying eyes."
With a salacious grin, she prances back to the balcony - humming 'Bowchicawowah.'
Vere caws a final Corvid farewell to Tricksey.
Harsh, for his part, gives her a bow of farewell. When she's gone, he sits down and makes a noise that's half sigh, half amused chuckle.
Vere smiles and nods towards the window. "A most interesting cousin, indeed. It will be intriguing indeed to see what she does once she comes into her full powers."
He gives his new brother a small bow. "It was a delight to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you better over the coming years." He sighs slightly. "For now, alas, I have to make preparations to leave Xanadu for a while. My beloved is engaged in a war against a powerful foe, and I wish to go to her assistance."
"The pleasure was all mine," Harsh says. He rises, bows formally, and then reaches out to put a hand on Vere's shoulder. It's something more formal than a casual clap--it's a Golcondan gesture of family.
"Good hunting to you and your beloved. I hope you succeed."
"My thanks. If you need aid with anything while you are here seek out my man Castor. He was my second in command when I led a war band recently, and also a member of a noble family from our sister realm of Rebma. He understands court, while also being a military man, and will give good advice." Vere returns the clasp of hand on shoulder.
Last modified: 15 June 2025