As they leave the king's presence Vere turns to Bill and says, "I must leave the navigation to you, Sir William. I have not yet been vouchsafed the state secret of the route to the kitchen."
"That's all right. I can find my way down," Bill says. He falls in beside Vere and they start to explore the maze of Castle Paris.
"Celina said you're interested in Rebma. Perhaps I can help you out there. I didn't spend that long in Rebma, but what I saw isn't the sort of thing a man forgets," he offers, as they turn down a corridor that Vere suspects will someday be lined with paintings of Corwin, Celina, Merlin, and others who will follow them.
"I would greatly appreciate any information you can give me, Sir William," Vere replies. "I anticipate travelling there in the near future, and I have a request to put before the queen. The more I know, the better will I be able to fulfill my mission. I have no doubt Prince Jerod and Princess Celina will offer advice, but I have noted that often a perceptive outsider will notice aspects of a society that are so natural to a native that they do not even think to mention them."
"Carl said to me that Amber was a lot like some of the historical societies of Europe--that's a place in my home, Shadow, I guess it's called, and that Rebma was underwater and its mirror image. I don't think that's a very exact description, but it's a good starting point. The women do run things. There's Moire, who's the Queen. I don't really know how to describe her other than to say she's sort of like a goddess. Beautiful and terrible, and I have no trouble believing she just lied to that poor girl in there who turns out to be her daughter." Bill frowns at that.
"Then there's her daughter Rilsa, and her granddaughters Loreena and Valeria. I met Valeria briefly before she and Carl took off for Amber; I guess you had a chance to form your own impression of her. Loreena and Rilsa I didn't get to see other than in court. They're politicians, which is to say they'll make a lot of polite noises and not commit to anything. I have no trouble believing Jerod--who seems like a decent guy, don't get me wrong--is related. I understand there's supposed to be another grandson, but everybody talks about him like he's dead."
Vere nods slightly, without comment.
Bill leads Vere through another set of hallways, continuing, "I did some work on negotiating baseline trade agreements, including some work with Ravenna. My impression is that their negotiators are sharp and hungry, and times haven't been so good since 'the road to Amber' closed. That sort of makes sense based on what Carl said before he left to fight the war. What are you negotiating for, exactly, Vere?"
"Warriors, Sir William. I need men." Vere pauses for a second, organizing his thoughts, before continuing. "My mother is queen of her land, and is currently fighting a civil war against her chancellor. The rebels have made common cause with our traditional enemies, who are led by powerful witch-queens with a fondness for human sacrifice. I hope to gather a force of men who are willing to fight for a place of honour in a new land. The warriors of Amber have just fought a war, and many would probably not look favourably on entering another one. Besides, I suspect many of them would not adjust well to my homeland. I have a suspicion that most of those in Paris, having only recently arrived, would have little interest in leaving it so soon for a new land. Rebma, however, seems like a possibly fertile ground for recruitment. Your thoughts on this would be welcome."
"I'll tell you what I think," says Bill, rounding a corner that takes them into some back halls that remind Vere of the servants' corridors in Castle Amber. "I think anyplace that's got enough trouble with something as dangerous as those Tritons won't be too anxious to send off its men to a foreign war, even one against human-sacrficing witch-queens. Your witch-queens may be evil, but the Tritons are 20 feet long if they're an inch, and they're in Rebma. Too bad we can't send them against the witch-queens."
Vere sighs. "It would be a pleasant change," he says, "If there was a realm somewhere that was not being currently threatened by a dire menace, and yet unlike Paris was not filled with people too content to look to change their station."
Bill leads Vere around another couple of bends in the corridor and then they're in the kitchen.
And Vere will make pleasant, but nonimportant conversation for a short time while the two of them eat, then excuse himself. "I wish to obtain a full night's rest, Sir William," he explains. "By your leave we will talk more of your experiences of Rebma before I travel there."
And so to bed.
In the morning, servants awaken Vere and his cousins and invite them to breakfast. Corwin joins them there. The meal is more hearty than usual, even given the King's legendary appetite, and he encourages Vere in particular to eat up.
After breakfast, Corwin lets Vere make any final preparations he needs to make. He advises Vere to divest himself of any magical talismans, as they are unlikely to survive the Pattern. The sole exception is completed Trumps.
When Vere is confident that he is ready, Corwin leads Vere, Jerod, Celina, and Merlin out of Versailles and through the streets of Paris to the great temple of Notre Dame. The warren of streets and houses nestles right up to the entrance of the temple.
The streets are busy with the hustle and bustle of daily life, much as Amber once was. Many people recognize the King and greet him. Corwin smiles and nods at many of them. Merlin looks a bit uncomfortable, but emulates his father.
The temple is empty of people, but full of candles of the best beeswax, some in tall holders and others left as offerings throughout the place. Each of you takes a tall candle for light.
Wooden screens block off portions of the temple and the side aisles. Corwin opens a gate in the one that bars their way, and they accompany him down the length of the temple, to the semicircular protrusion at the far end. The place is surprisingly well-lit for such a large building (more than four stories high). The windows seem to light the place almost magically.
[OOC: The modern rows of chairs are not there.]
It's a bit darker at the back, by the time the group arrives at the altar. It's a heavy stone block with reliefs of groves and pools in gold on the sides. Atop the altar, towards the rear, is a life-sized statue of a unicorn in white stone.
"Jerod, give me a hand with this," Corwin says. Together, they swing the altar aside, not without difficulty. Corwin's strength is immense, greater even than Jerod's own, and Jerod is stronger than any man not his kinsman that he's ever met. Both of them are sheened with sweat and panting a little by the time the vault beneath the altar is revealed.
The stairs lead down and back towards the front of the temple. They take a long time to traverse, as if Corwin were leading them into the depths of a mountain. After a time, they come into an open space. It is neither quite a cave nor a chamber. Impossibly, there is a tree, which seems to be growing and thriving despite the lack of sunlight.
Behind it is Corwin's Pattern, giving off an eerie light.
Merlin draws in a breath and licks his lips. His eyes cast about, and his hand comes to the hilt of his sword, then he consciously relaxes and drops his hand to his side.
Celina sees this and doesn't react.
Corwin comes to stand before Vere and touches his forehead, as if offering a benison. Then he leans in and gives the younger man a kinsman's embrace and whispers a few words in his ear.
"Go, and walk," he says.
Vere has dressed for this occasion in a loose robe of dark blue velvet. He is barefoot, and wears no adornment of any kind, save for two feathers braided into his hair just behind his right ear.
The Seaward girl holds her breath as...
He walks forward and stops just before the Pattern, resting a hand briefly against the bark of the tree that guards its beginning. He gazes out at the glowing lines, so many emotions in his heart that even he would not try to catalog them all. Not at this particular point in time, at any rate. Maybe later he will look back and try to decide exactly what he was feeling at this crucial point in his life.
With a sudden nod of his head he steps forward decisively, right foot coming down firmly on the glowing line of force.
And Celina lets the breath go from deep within her center. She stares as the ordeal develops, thinking only that Lord Vere must succeed.
The sudden feeling of power flowing through his body comes as no surprise, it is exactly what he has been told to expect. As are the shimmering silver sparks that leap from the Pattern with each step he takes. He accepts these things, and does not let them distract him as he walks. Nor does he allow the apparent ease with which these first few steps occur mislead him. He knows full well this will be a trial, and he is prepared for it.
He walks the outer circle of Corwin's Pattern, feeling the power flow through him, and within a few steps he begins to feel the resistance of the First Veil. It's a resistance he was expecting, and he pushes through it. He is Vere, Prince Royal of the Isles, Son of the Lady, Son of Gerard of Amber. This is his birthright, and he will not be denied.
And the resistance parts around him, with a sudden feeling of release. Like surfacing suddenly after swimming underwater for too long, like dawn breaking after a too long night. The relief from the pressure is so sudden that, had Gerard not told him of it, he might well have stumbled.
And with that release comes a flood of memories. Playing in the nursery with Siege, laughing and running around the room trying to keep from being caught by Souldu. Being snuck a book by an amused Avis. "Here," she says. "But don't ruin those pretty eyes of yours, all right?" Still a boy, being taken on his first trip through shadow by Gerard. "This is your birthright, lad. When you walk the Pattern, all reality will be yours for the seeing." Vianis, talking to the Lady as though he were not even in the room, as was her wont. "I confess myself somewhat favourably impressed by the child, Your Majesty. Let us hope he lives up to his promise." 14 years old, and watching the sun rise over the Grove of the Stag after sitting vigil all night. The sense of pride at knowing that he has earned his place in the Brotherhood. 18, and seeing his mother nod her approval as the baldric of Lord Commander is laid over his shoulder. All those memories come rushing back. And still he walks. One foot after the other. Do not pause, do not consider. Accept, and walk.
He has completed a circuit of the Pattern, and he notices the tree and those standing behind it and watching his progress out of the corner of his eye. Do not pay attention to them. Pay attention only to the walk. A turn, as the Pattern reverses back on itself. The memories continue to come, faster and faster. Let them wash over you, but don't let them distract you. Time to consider later. For now, there is only walking. A second circuit is completed, and an arc begins. He is a child with a wooden sword, a young man on horseback in a race with his fellows in the Brotherhood, a sailor on a warship crashing alongside a foe and leaping across the gap between, blade in hand.
Resistance begins to build up again. Vere nods slightly, he was expecting it. The Second Veil, just as he has been told. The resistance is more gradual this time, but also stronger. And with it comes a wave of confusion, a sudden indecision. Why is he doing this? What is this effort for? With the stubborn determination he has inherited from his father Vere forces these questions down. He is a scion of Amber, and this is his heritage. He walks the Pattern because that is who he is, what he is. Forward, always forward. Each step more difficult than the last, the resistance growing with every gain, but his determination remaining fixed. Questions always remain, he tells himself. But answers can only be gained by advancing. Onward.
And the Second Veil parts for him. His foot comes down, and the power moves through him, becomes a part of him. With a gasp, he feels for the first time what it is to be connected to the Pattern, and begins to understand what those with mastery over shadow have tried to tell him. And he realizes in that instant that this is another trial, a temptation to try to understand this knowledge immediately. That distraction would be as fatal as having failed to pierce the Second Veil. Accept and continue, full understanding must wait for later. It is an effort for Vere, but the warnings have been dire enough, and his determination is strong enough, and he continues.
One step after another, tighter and tighter curves. Well over halfway now. A turn, an angle. Onward.
And then the resistance is back, stronger than before. Each step becomes a struggle, each movement a battle. The memories become darker, their order jumbled, and it becomes harder to ignore them. The Lady, her mouth a firm line of anger, listening to his swordmaster discussing his lack of devotion to his training. Chancellor Vianis appearing out of nowhere as he sits reading, and staring down at him with disapproval. His first duel, at 15, with a boy two years his senior who publicly claimed that Vere feared death. The long nights spent with that boy's ghost, which didn't completely fade away until nearly a year after his death at Vere's hands, and never learned peace in all that time. The twisted thing from the Black Forest that killed nearly a dozen of his men before he and Siege finally stood over its body, exhausted, bloodied, and with no sense of triumph. Because they knew there were more of them to come. More that must be fought, more that must be killed.
There are always more to kill. And the killing will never end, until finally you give up, and lay down your burden.
The whisper is faint, and it is his own voice. The resistance is stronger, his steps slower. Why continue? he wonders. It grows no easier. It only grows harder. And with every triumph, all you win is the right to fight again. Against a more difficult foe. Why continue? Why accept the pain, the fear? What is life, but despair?
The descent of his foot slows, the pressure pushing upwards against it. It is as though he were forcing it downward into thick mud, mud that grows thicker the harder one presses against it. And the doubts grow. If this step succeeds there will only be another step, even more difficult. And another, and another.
And through the cloud of despair comes a sudden pain, an intense heat along the right side of his head. The scent of burning feathers and hair fills his nostrils, and his mind clears.
I am Vere, he thinks. I am master of my own life, and I will fight for it.
And his foot comes down on the Pattern. And the Veil parts.
The relief is so great that he almost staggers. But he recovers, and with a shake of his head he continues.
Later for consideration. Now is not the time to think. Now is the time to walk.
And walk he does. Through the ever tightening inner circles. Sudden twists, and sharp angles. One step at a time. That is the way to walk, that is the secret of how to live. Take it all one step at a time.
The center is within sight. And now, abruptly, without any warning, his vision fails and his hearing dims. The world is dark, silent, and without either heat or cold. He is alone in emptiness.
It is the Fourth Veil. Had he not been warned, he fears the shock of its existence would have been enough to doom him.
Alone, he stands in a place that doesn't exist. Alone he faces his life. The Lady, Gerard, Lady Robin. All are taken from him. You have always lived for others, the voice that is his own says. Duty has been your life. But without duty, without the others to give you your purpose, what are you? And for an instant, his heart answers, "Nothing." The emptiness that surrounds him is nothing but the emptiness that fills him. He is, he has always been, a reflection of those he loved. Without them to reflect, he has no image of his own. Without them to give him a sense of duty, he has no goal of his own. Without them, he is not.
For that instant that is an eternity he is lost, and he cares not.
But in the heart of that instant of absolute emptiness there is a flare of light. If I am nothing but duty, why did I defy my mother's plan for me? If I am but a reflection, why has my father accepted my differences, and cherished me despite them? And if I am empty, how could Robin love me?
And from that empty timelessness Vere strides, and is remade.
The Fourth Veil parts, and Vere steps into the center of Corwin's Pattern.
Jerod watches without comment as Vere makes his way to the beginning of the Pattern, then steps out on his journey. He has made no attempt to approach Vere to offer encouraging words. Perhaps he sees it as unnecessary. Perhaps he thinks there will be enough congratulations at the end. Perhaps he thinks Vere could use the time more constructively focussing himself, instead of being distracted.
In any event, only after Vere has begun his walk (and in the 45 minutes of time before he finishes it), Jerod turns to Corwin.
"Why are there four?" he asks curiously.
Corwin turns his gaze to his nephew. "It was the way it came to me."
It's at about this time that Merlin gets a distant look in his eyes. "Who is it?" he says.
Jerod nods, frowning a moment before moving off to one side to examine the Pattern once more, while Merlin begins what would appear to be a trump contact.
And after another moment, he nods to himself and proceeds to start of the Pattern, to take his first step upon it.
Corwin says, "Wait until he is close to done. It wouldn't do for you to walk it more quickly than he does, Jerod."
Jerod stops just prior to commencing and makes a note of Vere's location. "Oh dear, that would be rude wouldn't it." he says.
Merlin says, "I have perhaps three-quarters of a glass, Cousin Lilly. That is, I am told, how long it will take our kinsman Vere to traverse the Pattern."
Through Vere's walk--the Seaward lady stands in mute testimony that some young people do eventually learn that they are in over their heads and that silence is elegant.
Celina moves closer to Merlin. She does not come into his personal space (her definition of it, of course.) She is openly curious of his actions.
Her attention to Jerod and Corwin seems minimal.
"To speak of my mother will take longer than the time it will take Vere to traverse the Pattern. Is something more wrong in Amber? Or is there a particular reason you ask? It might be easier for me to answer more specific questions." Merlin looks at Celina and smiles.
Celina smiles automatically in return. She also flips her arcane perceptions on--not expecting too much from Merlin's comments last night.
With the Third Eye open, Celina can see that Merlin's own Llaya is somehow active, although the power seems to be with him rather than of him. Does she look around at anything else?
Celina finds the study of Merlin fine for a few moments. Then she considers Corwin, and the Pattern itself. There is something, a hint in her hindbrain, that the Pattern might be something best not looked at this way. So she rotates in place sweeping her gaze to the dark walls and coming upon Corwin watching Jerod without ever turning towards the Pattern.
Even out of the corners of her eyes, Celina can see the coruscating power of the Pattern, sparking and filling the edges of her field of vision. She thanks the cautious hindbrain that has preserved her second sight from at least momentary blindness.
Corwin, when she looks at him, is full of a similar vital power. It is of him and with him and curls around him like the coils of a Triton's tail. There is only a slight leakage from the sheath of the blade he wears. Where the llaya of Corwin stops and that of the room or the blade begins is not an easy question to settle.
Corwin looks at her, questioningly.
And Celina crosses the small distance to stand much closer to him. "Nothing. I was satisfying my third eye." On impulse, she reaches out to touch his hand, adding the tactile sensation of Corwin's llaya to her memory before she closes everything back down. "You..." She never finishes.
"We will talk on the walk back upstairs?" Celina asks her father.
There were far too many questions and far too few answers for Lilly's liking. Her patience was beginning to run. Waiting around for the return of cousins was becoming more and more frustrating with each passing day. Had she not known of the existence of trumps, her need for knowledge may have been satiated for a bit longer. Knowing she could perhaps attain some answers sooner though proved to be a bit too much temptation.
After a particularly stressful morning of being both teacher and student she decided it was time to begin getting information. She made her way to the room where the Trumps of her kin were currently being housed and found the one she was looking her. Feeling it's coolness, she began to second guess herself. Perhaps now was not an appropriate moment. Perhaps he would not be able or willing to answer. Perhaps a hundred different scenarios in which things did not work to her liking...
No. She was not going to let irrational, childlike fears get the better of her. She was an adult after all. She could handle this regardless of his reaction. And she had so many questions. There would be no peace for her until she at least tried to get some of the answers.
With a new resolve she stared down at the image, concentrating.
Merlin draws in a breath and licks his lips. His eyes cast about, and his hand comes to the hilt of his sword, then he consciously relaxes and drops his hand to his side.
Corwin comes to stand before Vere and touches his forehead, as if offering a benison. Then he leans in and gives the younger man a kinsman's embrace and whispers a few words in his ear.
"Go, and walk," he says.
As Vere steps foot on the pattern a familiar sensation comes to Merlin. Someone has chosen this particular moment to try to contact him via trump.
Merlin opens himself to the mental contact. "Who is it?" he says.
There is a momentary hesitation as Lilly quickly decides wether or not she should use her title. "It is Lilly. Have you a moment?" She ventures sounding much more self-assured then she is currently feeling.
"I have perhaps three-quarters of a glass, Cousin Lilly," says Merlin. "That is, I am told, how long it will take our kinsman Vere to traverse the Pattern." And, indeed, wherever Merlin is seems to be ill-lit, but with an odd silver glow.
Lilly's head begin to fill with a whole new line of questioning. No, I must not get sidetracked, she thought to herself. "All right. Then I will get straight to the point. I need information on Dara. Anything you can tell me will be useful."
"To speak of my mother will take longer than the time it will take Vere to traverse the Pattern. Is something more wrong in Amber? Or is there a particular reason you ask? It might be easier for me to answer more specific questions." Merlin casts a glance to one side of him, and smiles.
The first part of Merlin's answer told Lilly far more the he probably realized. "At the moment the situation here in Amber is stable."
The creases in Merlin's face smooth out a little at that.
"My reasons stem from my own personal curiosity and my desire to protect Amber. I feel good information is needed to build good defenses. Gathering information on Dara has been a bit of a challenge." To say the least. "I felt it best to perhaps speak with you on the matter."
Merlin nods.
"She is a sorcerer. That much was obvious during her visit. What was not obvious was her ability level, and exactly how dangerous she could be. Also, I wanted to know if she would be susceptible to physical attacks. If so, would she be more susceptible while casting? And on that note, how long does casting generally take?" As Lilly spoke, there was a nagging voice in her head trying desperately to warn her off this conversation. She could be making a very large mistake by speaking to Merlin. She was basing her trust solely on the fact Paige trusted him. Paige the redhead. No one trusted the redheads. But she liked Paige and believed her to be a friend. None of that really mattered now anyway. She had begun the conversation and she was going to see it though. All she could really do now was hope that she was not making a huge mistake.
"I can understand why you would need this information. I should have briefed you before you left. My mother is extremely dangerous, although I suspect that she is not so much interested in the Queen as she is in--other members of the royal family. My mother is a very accomplished sorceress and you should consider her extremely dangerous. As for the time that it takes to prepare a spell, it varies a great deal depending on the effects desired and the power of the caster. My mother is quick when she needs to be. However, lest I frighten you overmuch, I should mention that I suspect the spell with the cards was prepared in advance."
He thinks for a moment about the rest of her questions. "If you are faced with her and she is casting a slow spell, by all means attack her. But she is a formidable swordswoman in addition to her talents at sorcery."
Something about that last comment seems to please Lilly. She always enjoyed fighting with someone of equal caliber. The idea that she might loose such a battle really never occurred to her. "Who do you believe is in the most danger? If I had to choose my guesses would be perhaps the King, the crown Prince, Paige and to a lesser degree my father. Following that path I could also see her having issues when any of us who fought in chaos. Is there anyone I am overlooking?"
"My father," Merlin says simply. After a moment, he adds, "My new sister." He looks off to the side again and smiles.
His attention comes back to focus on Lilly. "Why do you suggest Paige is in danger?"
"Her associations with you." Lilly says matter of factly. "I thought perhaps she might be shouldering part of the blame for your desire to remain outside of your mother's influence."
"Ah," says Merlin. "My mother knows little or nothing of Paige that would link her to me in that way. I am pleased with that."
Summoning an easy look of curiosity, the knight then says, "I am curious about this new sister of yours. I had not heard news of a new family member. I realize it is away from the subject but it would against my nature not to ask you to elaborate."
"It was news to us all, I think. But that is a long story, and best explained in person, no? Sometime soon we will come to Amber and discuss this matter with King Random, when he returns. Perhaps until then, you would do me the favor of keeping the news between yourself and the Queen," Merlin says. He looks off to the side again, vaguely questioningly.
The way in which he repeatedly looks in that direction suggests there is someone standing out of Lilly's sight, observing Merlin's end of the call.
[Celina offstage Trump: nod and gesture with both hands, 'go on, I'm dying of curiousity']
Lilly nods once. "Of course cousin. The information need not make it to the Queen's ears if you, or she, prefer so long as you feel that will not present a danger. Personally I do not see how it could. Unless, of course, my assumptions are wrong and you share a mother." It was easy to assume Corwin may have more then one child. Look at how many Julian had. This was especially true considering Merlin's current location. If it was a mother they shared though, regardless of their father, that news would need to be made known to family.
"Oh, no, she is my father's daughter," Merlin hastens to assure Lilly. "I think it is wise for you to keep this news to yourself for the time being. There are some diplomatic complications such that it would be wise for her existence to be announced at a time of her own choosing. I would account it a personal favor if you did this thing."
Lilly nods once. She would tell no one. Only the threat of imminent danger due to someone lacking that knowledge would cause her to break the promise the simple nod made.
An expression of relieved pleasure crosses Merlin's face. He adds, "How else may I help you, Cousin?"
"One last thing, then I hope to be able to give you your peace until your return to Amber," Lilly says. "Knowing Dara as you do, do you believe she is more likely to launch a full frontal assault on Amber or do you feel she will be more subtle in her approach preferring small acts of violence and terror to the total confrontation of marching an Army on the city?"
"I do not believe she has access to allies who can assault Amber at this time, but my information is incomplete." Merlin frowns. "I would expect the unexpected from my mother. Always. I wish we were in contact with King Random. Or Martin. Have you heard from either of them, Cousin?"
Lilly shakes her head. "Not yet. It is a concern but nothing unexpected. It is my hope as well that the King will be successful in his mission and return to us soon.
"If things become unstable, or if more questions arise, may I have your permission to contact you again?" Lilly asks.
"Please do," Merlin says.
"Very good then. Until we speak again."
Afterwards, Merlin will explain to those waiting that Lilly--whom he tells Celina is Prince Benedict's daughter and bodyguard to the Queen--contacted him to ask questions about his mother. She has agreed to keep the knowledge of his sister to herself for the nonce.
In his bones, Vere knows that he can go anywhere he can think of. Where does he go?
Vere stands still for a few moments, letting his eyes close and simply feeling the differences he perceives in himself. Then he opens them again, and gazes back at his relatives. He inclines his head towards Corwin.
So many temptations. But, after a few seconds mental indulgence, he resolutely puts them out of his mind, and follows Corwin's advice.
"Your Majesty," he calls out. "By your leave, I shall retire to my chambers for a short rest."
[OOC - just how tired is Vere from the walk?]
Vere is the son of Gerard of Amber and can endure much. He's not on his knees, but it's probably a good thing for his dignity that the silvery sparks of Corwin's traceworks hide their trembling.
Corwin calls back from the start of the Pattern, "Rest well, Vere. You've earned it."
Vere nods once more, then closes his eyes and remembers his chamber here in Paris. He recalls the exact image of the room as he memorized it this morning, standing by the bed and looking towards the window.
He opens his eyes, and is there.
He relaxes slightly, and absently strokes the right side of his temple, just above the ear. First, he decides, he will summon a servant and arrange for a hot bath. Then a long sleep.
And then much thinking.
Hold your fire - keep it burning bright
Hold the flame 'til the dream ignites -
A spirit with a vision is a dream
with a mission......(Hold your Fire - Rush - 1987)
Jerod watches as Vere completes his walk, waiting patiently until he has vanished from the center before taking the step forward, feeling the familiar electric tingle as his foot touches the Pattern. He welcomes the energy, missing the colours more than he would admit to anyone. As he takes his next step completing the connection to the Pattern, he lets out a held breath. A bit of nervousness perhaps.
He makes his way towards the First Veil, feeling the resistance build quickly but comfortable still, licks of spark flickering in his vision, working through the forces that reach out to slow his steps, to drag him into a motionless oblivion. Not the raw brute force struggle of his first walk years ago but more subtle. He smiles a little as he remembers the first time, taking his next step. That was quite a walk. Not like now, as he moves through an slow arc. Then it was deliberate, trained, even practiced. Now he realizes there is a spurious quality to the walk. He did not need to do this. But he wanted to. A pleasant surprise. He does not think he would have done this with Amber's Pattern.
As the Veil nears he leans in, feeling the pressure build as he focused, feeling for the hints to warn him when the barrier will part. His hair feels as if it stands on end while his legs ache from the weight of lead he feels he is carrying. And as always, stepping through the Veil is a shock, though not a sudden as it used to be. Energy returns as Jerod picks up a few steps, the unfamiliar nature of the room impacting him more for a moment, expecting the cavern of Amber instead of what he currently walks upon.
The memories begin to return - different each time he has walked the Pattern or summoned it and he has wondered what would come this time. Now he sees a young woman and her brother, dead before his time. Jerod remembered Tia, her brother fodder for the Black Road and its minions. Remembered the battle, clearing the taint of the Road from that place. Remembered the Pattern and how it came to him that day for the first time. The first step on a journey. Dad had been surprised that it had happened so soon. So had Jerod.
The pressure from the Second Veil builds more slowly than the first, demanding more from him. But now he knows from past experience, where to push and how much, focussing on the moment of effort and not the future "possibilities". Each step becomes a flash of memory, of instruction, of training, of discipline. Teachers and warriors and diplomats and scholars. Centuries of accumulated knowledge in the faces that flash through his vision, one for each deliberate step as the sparks continue to rise. His parents made sure his was the best education possible. No topic was offlimits, no scholar unavailable should he ask. And everything was arranged.
The Second Veil passes as did the first, the risk of stumbling less, the pressure of the Third Veil waiting patiently for Jerod. The rise of it does not concern him but what lies beyond it. His breathing quickens as he negotiates a curve, the Pattern turning back again, feeling it again. Fear. A companion to accompany you during your walk, his father had told him. He knew he could do it though, knew what he faced. His training had taught him what to expect. It was always the same. In battle, in Court, in love - always he had learned and studied and never was the fear great. He knew he would always succeed. He could do nothing else.
Now the Veil beckoned as his steps slowed, the pressure dragging at him and the fear began to rise. He knew it was too early in the process, the Third Veil was always near the end, but not now. Now it was different and there was no one to teach him. His left foot slowed in its step for a barest fraction, nearly faltering as the fear rose, before he drove forward again. One step, then another, then another. And then, the fear was gone and yet still there as the Veil parted.
Two steps, then four as he recovered energy and continued through a turn. His skin was cold but his bones felt as if on fire. Fear gave him the energy, fear was his helper this day. A useful servant but a terrible master, Jerod realized. He will remember that.
As the steps dwindled and the pressure mounted again, Jerod inched forward into uncharted waters. The sparks surrounded him, blinding his view of anything but the path before him. The flaring, brilliant energy that drew him onward and his family, a siren's vicious song. Such power they bore. Shadow beckoned to him in those moments - the power to achieve and travel, to be anything he desired, master any goal. To shape reality itself. There was nothing he could not do. And there was fear in that thought. The power that he bore, carried by his blood. It made him greater than men. Greater than any beast mystical or magical. It gave him Power. And fear.
Power is merciless. It cares nothing for pity, for sympathy, for love or family. Power gives to the wielder without concern as to how it hurts them. And it hurts so many. Each face comes to him as he struggles through his steps. Dad, Oberon, Corwin, Deirdre...even Brand. Power that blinds, power that destroys, power that makes him afraid. As he was taught to be afraid. Power corrupts.
He takes a another struggling step, the catharsis of movement cleansing his mind. He knows that fear is his servant this day, and Power does not tempt him. Martin's face flashes for a moment as Jerod struggles to lift a foot, the pressure of the Veil overwhelming. The trumps taught him to fear Martin's fate, a tool of Power. But they are just trumps...tools without intent he realizes as he finishes the step.
Another step and memory intrudes, forcing him to relive that moment on Kolvir, watching as his father's standard falls. Politics taught him to fear his father's fate, Power in the mindless demands of the ruled for leadership. Uncaring of the cost to his father, only interested in what Eric could give them. But he is not his father. He is his father's son and his mother's. His foot slowly rises against the pressure of the Veil as he breaches it, realizing that he is Jerod...
...and his foot comes down as the Veil is pierced and he steps through into the center.
He is Jerod. And Jerod pauses to think a moment, then smiles a little. Today he is not the son of Eric, though he is. He is not the son of Rilsa, though he is. He is not a Duke of Rebma, or a Prince of Amber, or lord or lover, beggar or fool. He is just Jerod who made his own choice today. He lets the memories settle, knowing that he passed the Fourth Veil on his own. Without instruction, without guidance, without knowledge. By skill, by talent, by perseverance...and by his own choice. He is his own man now.
Jerod laughs a moment as he steps forward to disappear, his first step to freedom.
And goes ... where?
Where else?
Corwin's bar...:). He needs a drink after pulling a stunt like that.
That and some food and rest.
Last modified: 7 December 2003