Edan's rooms are laid out like the inside of a bedouin tent; rich fabrics cover the walls and ceiling, giving the illusion of a central support with material spreading out from it. There is little light and much heat, mostly provided by glowing coals on tripod stands. A fortune in rich cushions and rugs cover the floor, scattered haphazardly around, looking as if they were dumped the moment Edan came off the ship and to his rooms- which is a fairly accurate description.
There is one small window to the outside, normally covered by fabric, but which at the moment is open and providing a view to the waterfall in the near distance. Edan stares out that window for a long time, before turning to the interior of the room and a long, low table.
There is bleached white paper there, and a quill pen, and a crimson red wax candle. Edan sits and begins to write in a looping, cramped style that reveals he learned his letters in another language before learning Thari:
:: Cousin Folly,
May the Merciful One bless and watch over you and yours. Would you, perhaps, have a few moments to speak with me? I am available this evening, or perhaps even for brunch tomorrow morning if you are so inclined. I am thinking of the new gardens that are being planted close to the waterfall as a venue, if you are interested.
Your servant,
Edan::
The seal is of a pouncing sand-tiger in the crimson wax; Edan sends the note with a page, with instructions to bring back a reply.
A short time later, the page returns with another note, sealed in violet wax stamped with a swan. The enclosed note, in Folly's angular hand, reads:
Cousin Edan,
If I haven't said it already -- my deepest thanks to you for bringing Martin safely home. It will be my pleasure to have brunch with you tomorrow morning in the gardens. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with the brother of my beloved friend.
If it suits your schedule, I'll look for you at midmorning.
Folly
Perhaps inspired by his sand-tiger, she has decorated her note with sketches of a large hunting cat prowling up and down the margins.
[OOC: I'll leave it to you to set the scene for brunch :) ]
The spot is not a bad one, far enough away from the waterfall so that they can talk without having to shout, yet close enough so that the splashing water dominates the scene. Edan has rolled out a cover for a picnic, weighted down with rolled-up rugs that in another place would be worth a fortune. There are several bowls laden with fruit, a sweating metal pitcher filled with ice and water and the occasional lemon, several very comfortable-looking cushions, a smaller tray in the center with a coffee service (served in the style of the Land of Peace), and Edan.
Edan looks away from the waterfall as Folly approaches (looking fascinated with watching the rushing, falling water), and smiles; he unfolds and stands up from his sitting position in a sinuous movement without an arm to brace himself. The irises of his eyes are the color of molten gold, and his skin seems an even darker brown in the Xhandavian sun. He wears light-colored robes and sandals and appears to have left his weaponry inside.
As Edan stands, Folly clasps her hands in front of her and gives a small bow of greeting. She takes in the view, the repast, and Edan himself with a smile of evident delight. She has dressed for the midsummer weather in a long, light sundress in layers of sheer fabrics, all in watercolor shades of green and blue and purple and pink, with a thin shawl to shield her shoulders from the sun. She has a small cloth bag at her hip, its strap slung diagonally across her body, and sandals on her feet.
"Cousin Folly," he says. "I am greatly pleased to see you again. Please, sit. Be comfortable. Eat." Whatever weight Folly might think she's gained, it obviously doesn't match Edan's critical look. "You are far too thin."
Folly laughs, a bubbling, pleasant sound, like water over smooth stones. "You may be right, cousin," she says as she steps onto the cover. "I'm afraid I rather forgot to eat in the early part of my journeys. But with such a beautifully tempting breakfast as this, I'm sure that won't be a problem today." Carefully, as if still adjusting to her new shape, she settles onto one of the cushions. Her feet slip out of her sandals almost as soon as she is seated, as if by reflex.
"Thank you for this, Edan," she says when she is settled. "It really is beautiful. May I pour you a glass of water?" She reaches for a cup and the sweating pitcher.
"Thank you," Edan says, nodding. "I am pleased that you enjoy the view... the rest of you might be inured to the sight of waterfalls by now, but I have long lived in a place where running water is so rare as to be almost sacred." Accepting the cup, he sips from it and sets it aside. "It is a constant reminder that I am in a much different place... for instance, I am setting aside the intricate dance of offers and polite refusals that usually take place during mealtimes in the Dar-es-Salaam." He smiles slightly. "Not only would you quickly find it tiresome, but I have found that I make the kitchen servants much happier, here and in Amber, when I avoid the practice."
Folly grins. "Ah, yes, I had the opportunity not long ago to lunch with a group of sea captains from the Dar-es-Salaam. I enjoy long leisurely lunches, but I confess I generally prefer them to be long from the volume of good food and good conversation rather than the volume of etiquette and tradition." She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head good-naturedly. "My own upbringing was closer to the relaxed atmosphere of Xanadu, so you have my thanks for setting aside that particular tradition." She pours a second cup of water for herself and pantomimes offering it to herself, refusing politely, urging herself to accept, and eventually succumbing to its tempting wetness, as if to demonstrate how not-very-good she is at that particular dance.
This elicits a laugh from Edan, who tries valiantly not to drop a slice of melon while doing so. Several grabs later, he manages to nudge the slice out of the air and onto his plate. It almost looks as if he meant to juggle it all along. Almost.
If Folly weren't holding a cup of water, she might've burst into a round of applause. Her eyes twinkle with delight at the impromptu display of Edan's dexterity.
"You would do all right in the Land of Peace, I think," he says.
He nudges one of the bowls forward. "I hope that you enjoy figs. I had thought the taste of the mountain figs in my homeland to be unique, but these spiced figs are very, very close. Someone here must be familiar with them."
Folly nods her thanks and selects a plump fig from the bowl. "Yes, our cousins Jerod and Solange spent some time in the Dar-es-Salaam and returned to Amber with a whole fleet of ships bearing trade goods -- hence lunch with the sea captains. Their fruits were quite good, and a nice change. I think most of the family were far more interested in the coffee, though. Or in my case, the music." Her eyes half-close and she touches the fig to her lower lip, smiling at some memory. "Sometimes in the evenings I would find some excuse to slip down to the docks and just listen. I couldn't understand the words, but oh, the rhythms! Mmm." Still smiling, she sinks her teeth into the soft skin of the fig so that she might savor its sweetness along with the memory of the music.
"Ah, yes, the music," Edan agrees. "I fear that I am not as facile with that branch of the arts as the other family here... the king, what is the term, 'auditioned' me upon my arrival in Xanadu. It was only my experience with hand-drums in the longer sorcerous rituals that saved me from certain embarassment." He smiles and spreads his hands helplessly.
Folly nods knowingly, perhaps familiar with this habit of the king's. "I'm sure the drumming delighted him," she says. "Sorry I missed it."
"I sculpt... I fight... I follow the scholarly pursuits... and I dance," he continues. "Now that I am here, I shall have to devote some serious effort and time to music. It is obviously important to many here. But for now, I will leave music to the real experts." For a second, he looks about to say something else, but instead switches the subject.
"I noticed from your return note that you enjoy art, as well," he says. "I think that you also must have a cat to model from."
"I have two," she says, "and if you look closely, you might guess what colors they are." The twinkle in her eyes returns as she plucks a sleek black cat-hair from the hem of her dress and releases it onto the breeze with just a hint of an abashed smile. There are traces of finer, fluffier grey cat-hairs, too. "I'm not the visual artist that some of my cousins are -- your sister, for one -- but I do enjoy it, and I'm trying to improve."
"I must see your work," Edan says. "And I will undoubtedly see the cats around the castle. I enjoy being around felines; I appreciate their stubborness, their independence. A cat lives with you on its own terms. I can... identify... with this."
Folly smiles agreement and takes another bite of her fig; Edan gets the distinct impression the mouthful was meant to give her time to think, or to check the flow of her words. But she watches Edan out of the corner of her eye as she chews, and eventually curiosity gets the better of her. "What sort of dance?" she asks.
Edan smiles. "I started with the twirling dances of the dervishes," he says, "to express my joy of life to God. But the steps do not matter." He chews on a bite of fig to give himself a moment to think, then adds, "Dance is the language of the soul, expressed for all to see. The only art where the artist and the subject are the same. To use my body, to feel its movement... I can think of nothing better."
"Yes," Folly breathes in emphatic agreement. Further comment is forestalled for a moment, though, as she must quickly suck a dribble of juice from her wrist where her fingers have dug too hard into the fig in her hand.
Smiling wryly at her overenthusiasm, she plucks a tiny seed from the fig and rolls it between her thumb and forefinger as she continues: "I used to make music like that -- and will again soon, I'm sure -- where the drums are the pounding of a heartbeat, and the whole song springs from the movement of my organs within me, the rush and thrust of the air from my lungs.... It's all quite unlike the stately military exercises that pass for dancing in Amber." Her expression grows thoughtful for a moment, and she flicks the seed over her shoulder in a perfect arc to a spot some few yards away and a little uphill, where it might one day provide shade for some future picnic.
Edan watches her movements, amused, but that is followed by a wince as the words 'pass for dancing in Amber' begin to sink in. "I learned many forms of dance when I explored shadow," he says, "but that will be intolerable. I am unrepentant; I see that I will be causing much trouble in Amber." A sudden smile. "But if I read uncle Random correctly, not so much trouble in Xanadu."
"You know, I've heard Paige refer to her father as 'Troublemaker'," Folly says, still contemplating the spot where the seed landed, perhaps contemplating whether another should follow. "Perhaps it runs in the family." Even in profile, Edan can see the corner of her eye crinkle as she smiles.
"Why is it, I wonder," she says as she turns her attention back to Edan, "that Paige never bothered to mentioned that she had a brother?" She gives Edan a friendly lopsided grin and tries not to stare too conspicuously into those strange and lovely gold eyes.
"I do not think that she knew, my cousin," Edan says. "Father kept my existence quite secret... he told me, once, that I was not ready for the conflicts and machinations of family." Some of the light goes out of his expression, and he adds, "Of course, that is a double-edged sword. It would be a kindness to say that he was an infrequent visitor to the Dar-es-Salaam. As I grew up, I hated him... he was larger than life, would charm me as he charmed my mother... and then he would leave. He would be gone for years, and resentment would fester. His lifestyle, his attitudes, his politics, I disagreed with it all. And then he would come back, and charm me anew, and brush aside my arguments and resentment like so much smoke. And when I had decided that I liked him again, he would leave. A vicious cycle."
He smiles again, a little. "Many times, especially after I had journeyed into the deep desert, I wanted to hear from him. Or meet Paige, who Father had described to me. But I had no Trumps, and was held back by my own sense of duty to the seven tribes."
"The seven tribes -- they were your mother's people?" Folly prompts. She's been drawn into his tale and listens in rapt attention.
Edan shakes his head in response. "My mother... is a fire-maid. She lives in the Western Cities, close to the ocean. Her family... my family... had some measure of influence, enough to overcome the stigma of being the daughter of an afrit." He shrugs his shoulders. "It is not unheard-of in the Land of Peace. Afriti, the fire-spirits, are cruel tricksters. One tricked her mother into thinking he was her husband. My mother is half-afrit; all her children carry some sign of that heritage."
Folly's eyes widen in surprise. She looks a little more closely, curious but wary, at Edan's features and posture and movements, as if she half-expects him to burst into flames at a word.
Edan inclines his head, with a slight smile, at the impromptu inspection. "I believe we will be safe for the duration of our brunch," he says. "We have the pitcher for emergencies, after all, or you could throw me into the waterfall if the flowers are threatened."
Folly grins but flushes slightly when she realizes she's been staring.
Edan rocks back slightly on his heels while in his kneeling position. "It is not important, save to tell you that my family, the friends who wished to associate with me, they lived in the city. A city that relied on machinery, and that machinery required oil. Oil that needed to be obtained in the deepest of deserts." He looks at Folly. "There are seven tribes in the deep desert, people who have done what they could to survive. The desert is a hellish place; the sand contains glass-like granules that reflect light. The heat of the sun is thus reflected and multiplied. The desert peoples were subjugated by guns, by cannon, by airships. Machinery that came from the cities, so that they could harvest their precious oil. I left my home, my family, my betrothed, because I could not stand their suffering. I went to the Deep Desert to free them from their oppression."
"Did it work?" Folly asks. "Were you successful?" She leans a little forward in anticipation, the half-eaten fig cradled in her hand momentarily forgotten.
"Eventually," he replies. "We did considerable damage to transport and production... but we were interrupted by the appearance of the Black Road. Beings of Chaos came into the Deep Desert... it took a hasty alliance between the tribes and the Western Cities to defeat them. That tenuous alliance is what remains today."
He smiles again, and sits back. "But I am a poor host, spinning desert tales and dominating the conversation as I do."
"No, no," Folly counters, "I am being a poor guest, drawing these tales out of you and offering so little of my own story in return. I do intend to correct that. It's just--- Your story, it touches on so many things that have been weighing on my mind in this last little time." She takes another bite of her fig, chews thoughtfully, swallows. "I don't know whether you caught where I was, that Martin had to go track me down out in the wide expanse of Shadow. I was with Dworkin, for... some time, probably months, although I think time may have flowed strangely in the place where we were. But we talked about... the essence of things, how to study it and make use of it... and all of it is very new to me. It was only a short time before that that I even walked the Pattern, here in Xanadu."
With a slight frown she pauses, gathering her thoughts, buying a bit of time to sort through them by popping the last of the fig into her mouth. When it, too, is swallowed, she continues, "It's a tricky thing, the power we wield. Can wield. I haven't decided what I think of it yet." She pauses again. "There's a saying where I come from: 'On the seventh day of Creation, God rested -- and he's still asleep.' It's usually muttered by cynics and atheists as a taunt to the devout. But sometimes I wonder -- is it the weakest gods that shape their creations with gentle whispers from afar, or the wisest? You know?"
Edan looks away, then back at Folly. "I am... likely... not the best suited to discuss the subject of God, or the ramifications of power," he says. "I have strong feelings on those subjects, and my father and I have debated them almost every time we have met. If I could offer anything, it would be to beg you..." He turns and meets her eyes. "Do not lose your humanity, no matter what path you take to power. I do not mean 'be human to those who will see you as God.' I found that no matter how humble your own life, there are those who will see you and worship you. They will become creatures who follow your godhood, and there is little that can be done. They will see the power you wield, and little else. No... I mean, do not sacrifice your own humanity. Stay true to the essence of yourself. Do not lose your humanity, even in small part, for the sake of power."
Folly holds Edan's gaze as she drinks in his meaning and examines its facets. After several long moments, she nods. "Thank you, Edan," she says with deep sincerity. "You honor me with your wisdom -- hard-won, no doubt." She bows her head for the span of three heartbeats, a sign of respect. "I will hold your words close to my heart."
Edan bows as well. "Your gift is a blessing of the river," he says, as if by rote.
She finds a napkin and begins wiping sticky traces of juice from her palm. Her tone grows less formal, her posture more open, as she continues, "And I would argue that it is precisely your strong feelings on these subjects that make you the ideal person to discuss them. That, and you clearly have dwelt on these ideas with some thoughtfulness. I find myself trusting your opinions, or at least trusting you to present them openly and honestly, and I'm sure I will want to hear more of them as I work through these things for myself, if you're willing." She lifts her cup, but pauses, eyes twinkling at Edan over the rim. "But perhaps that makes me a fool, eh? -- to trust you as I do -- since you've already admitted you're descended from fire-tricksters on one side, and, lord help us, redheads on the other." She smiles at him and sips her water.
"Wait until you see the society I was raised in, my cousin," Edan says, and smiles. "I have not even touched on the customs between men and women, or their roles in society, or the words that the Merciful One sends us through the One Proph... ah... shall we say, I have not touched on the quaint ideals of my homeland that are not officially sanctioned here. Those are also subjects that might be considered... controversial... in Xanadu. It is an issue that I have yet to fully resolve myself; imagine being indoctrinated in a conservative religion all your life, then learning of the power to warp reality, make fantastic changes in probability, having a fantastic beast as a great-grandmother and a demon as a grandfather..." He spreads his hands. "It is difficult to incorporate."
Folly nods. She clearly finds these ideas fascinating.
"Be that as it may, you are welcome to my poor advice and comment whenever you wish it. And I would ask that the reverse be true, that I can ask the same of you."
"Of course, cousin," Folly replies earnestly.
Edan sits back, clearly satisfied with how the conversation has progressed. "Indeed, I had hoped for just such a thing when I sought to meet you."
Folly's eyebrows arch. "Oh? Are you looking for advice on something in particular?" Her fingers have found an apricot, selected by touch, in one of the bowls. She rubs its soft skin against her bottom lip, savoring the softness and scent of the outside before moving on to the inside. But before she takes a bite, another thought occurs to her, and she adds with a smile, "Or perhaps I should give you my own brief and obfuscated history first, the better to judge whether I'm the right person to give you the answers you seek?"
Edan leans forward, eyes a little wider, head slightly tilted; an expression that manifested when she picked up the apricot. "Oh, I know that you are the right person to ask," he says. "I knew that back in Amber. I can explain, but please, tell me of yourself." He puts his glass down, and Folly can see that he is extraordinarily careful with it, as if by habit he prevents the waste of even the slightest bit of water- even here, with the waterfall thundering down close by them. He absently rubs a drop of condensation between his brown fingers.
Folly takes a bite of the apricot, as if to fortify herself before beginning her tale. She chews, swallows, and says, "Perhaps we should start with my place in the Family Bush. I grew up elsewhere -- in a place, as I believe I mentioned already, with many similarities in attitude to this one -- with no knowledge of my Amber heritage. I knew who my mother was, and my father; but even now, I don't know the identity of the sperm donor who gave me life, though I've known since adolescence that such a person must exist. But my mother, I have only recently learned, is of Julian's line. If she has any idea what that means, she never let on. She is... ah... rather headstrong, and we've never had the best relationship." She cocks her head and looks at Edan. "She is one of the reasons I have been thinking lately about Power. It may fall to me to fill her in on her heritage, but it might be more of a kindness to leave her in peace... at least for a while." She gets a faraway look in her eyes for a moment and then shakes her head with a faint smile. "But I'm getting sidetracked. This isn't her story."
Edan nods, fascinated.
She reaches for her cup of water and takes a small sip, also taking care while setting it down again, perhaps a sign of respect to her host. "To the extent that I have a religion, that religion is music. Or perhaps my religion is love, and music is merely its outward expression. But it is what I am as much as it is what I do: everything, everything, is rhythm and flow and melody and harmony, chord and discord, meter and beat. And so that's what I was doing when I got my first tiny introduction to Amber." She pauses, clears her throat, and then nods toward the castle. "This is not a fact that I have been very free with, these last few years, but in my younger days I... jammed... with the king. Only he wasn't the king then, and I was barely out of adolescence, and neither of us had any idea about the other, if you take my meaning. That is all a hint to why the realm of his heart" -- she gestures at the surrounding landscape -- "bears a resemblance to my homeland: he'd gone out seeking a holiday in the shadow of his desire, and what he found was the place where I lived, full of sun and sand and water and breezes and music, always music. He found all the things that I also love -- and now they're all here, too. So as you might imagine, I'm very comfortable here." A beatific smile spreads across her face, though it fades a little as she continues her tale.
Edan looks as though he's thinking a mile a minute, but his response is merely to smile and spread his hands. "You see? This is part of what I needed... desired to know."
"So. He stuck around for a couple of years and then disappeared with very little advance notice, and the next I heard anything about Amber, it was his son turning up several years later at one of our band's gigs, telling me that the world was about to end and I needed to go with him. So I did. And suddenly found myself on a Regency Council helping hold the city of Amber together while Gerard recuperated from the injuries he received in the Sundering." She picks up her cup again, swirling the water in it before taking a sip. "But now I may be dipping into history you already know." She leans forward a little and regards Edan with an open expression that invites comments and questions.
It is a long moment before Edan speaks; whatever conclusion he's reached in his head, he obviously doesn't like it. "So, then, the Queen is your rival." His eyes meet hers. "This is the case, yes? Whether the hostility is open or not, she is your rival. And Martin's, as well. Does she not know... no, of course not. There would already be bloodshed. By the One Prophet! The paint is not yet dry on the buildings, and yet the kingdom is steeped in intrigue."
Folly has opened her mouth as if to protest, but Edan's look silences her. Brow furrowed, she chews her bottom lip as she thinks hard about what he is saying.
He looks around, then leans closer, his voice low. "Folly, I am not an intuitive thinker. I am a deductive one. Hear me... I often do not understand what I see, that is why I wished to speak with you, but I -do- see what I see. You refused alcohol, even though cousin Jerod clearly expected you to partake. You and Martin just came from a hospital, where the records have just been destroyed. If, in my mind, you carried a sword, your stance and your movements would say that you wished to protect your abdomen. Either you are recovering from an abdominal wound, in which case you would not be eating fruit, or you carry a child. I do not know whether to congratulate you, or extend my sympathies."
Folly's hand has crept to her belly; she cups it protectively as a flush spreads across her cheeks. "Well, um. I'm pretty happy about it," she finally manages to say. She smiles weakly.
He sits back. "Folly," he repeats, "If I see it, and I am a raw newcomer here, then everyone will see it. The king loves you- this realm, as you describe it, reflects that. His son loves you, also... I will not speak to that. Perhaps I am wrong about this. Does the eldest son... Martin... not assume the throne of Amber and Xanadu? Does not his child take precedence over all others?" He pauses. "Does this not mean that Vialle, and any children she might bear, will never rule here?"
At last Folly seems to have regained her mental footing. "The king intends to live forever -- and I wholeheartedly endorse that decision," she says with a small smile. "And even if, heavens forfend, he does not -- no-one could rule here as he does, not in any real sense. Certainly not Vialle, unless she is possessed of some power she has not yet shown -- which is possible, I suppose, though it doesn't seem likely. Martin and I together might have a shot at holding things together, for a while, anyway. I don't know why anyone would WANT to, though. It's certainly not a fate I would wish on my daughter."
She sighs and shakes her head. "Then again, the thing that I most want is 'whatever is best for Xanadu'. To the extent that Vialle thinks she wants the same thing -- then yes, we may become rivals. I could never let her lay claim by right of forced marriage to the things that are mine by virtue of being burned into my blood." The color has risen in her cheeks again; she blinks and looks away for a moment to cool the rising fire. "But, ah. With luck -- which the king has in spades, by the way -- it will never come to that."
Edan sits back. "I am... sorry," he says after a moment. "Sometimes my thoughts race ahead of me, and they are as difficult to control as Aramsham. Sometimes, I react too quickly. I am... what is the term... 'hot-headed.' " He smiles, a little.
"Well, it's not like you'll be the first in the family, love," Folly says gently, and returns the smile.
Edan smiles a little wider, in response. His eyes actually seem to sparkle, or else it is a trick of the light.
"Yes, a child, a... daughter? It is a wondrous thing, a blessing from the Merciful One. To be a parent is a thing I know nothing about... perhaps someday, if I can learn not to abandon my betrothed for a cause, I will learn this thing for myself."
He changes the subject quickly, perhaps ashamed of his outburst. "I have asked around," he says, "both here and in Amber, about those who are in the family. I learned of the events after the Sundering, the formation of the council, the major events that occurred afterwards. I heard that you were a hero to the people, my cousin... I decided that you were the one I needed to talk to in order to find out about the rest of the family." He spreads his hands. "It is one thing to learn their names, to learn of their reputations. It is another to know why some of us react the way we do to others, the history behind our attitudes. I saw, and felt, many strange tensions between those I have met already. Already, you have explained several things I did not understand."
Folly nods slowly. "I may not be the hero you make me out to be -- I certainly am not the hero you have been to your desert tribes -- but I will do what I can to help." She hesitates, then adds, "There may be things I cannot tell you, of course -- I do carry some secrets that are not really mine to share -- but I will do my best. Is there anyplace in particular you would like to start?" She takes another bite of her apricot.
"Hmm..." Edan takes a fig from the bowl himself, and nibbles at it while he thinks. "I offer the same, of course. I will answer what questions you may have, as best I can. I doubt there is anything that I know that would be dangerous to you, or should be kept from you..." he nods. "Yes. We can trade questions, as Father said is the manner of Family. The first I have should no doubt be the easiest... my sister. Is she and cousin Martin having some kind of argument? What brought about all the tension I noticed between them?"
"Ah," says Folly, and her smile fades a little. "That may be... somewhat complicated." She pauses, brow furrowed, as if figuring out how best to proceed with an explanation. After a moment, she asks, "How much has Paige told you about her relationship with Martin?"
"Relationship?" Edan's blank look is probably answer enough, but he adds, "She has said nothing to me about this. Of course, we have not had much time together... and I am planning to leave soon..." He inclines his head. "It seems this is not that easy of a question after all, my cousin. Have I placed my hand in the tiger's mouth? Would this be a better question to ask Paige, herself?"
Folly considers this option for a moment. "Sometimes, to see the full picture, one must look both up-close and from a distance. I will give you part of my perspective, and then you can ask Paige for hers, and perhaps these two things in combination will answer your question. Paige and I are... close, but our paths have wandered in opposite directions since the Coronation; and there may well be more things weighing on her heart than I have knowledge of." She smiles, but it is tinged with melancholy. "She and I have a lot of catching up to do."
She pauses, gathering her thoughts; and when she speaks again, her words are slow and carefully measured: "It is a matter of general family knowledge that Paige and Martin were romantically involved for many years, and that their sometimes-tempestuous relationship melted down spectacularly not long after the Sundering. I suspect that that wound is still a bit tender, and the tension you noticed from her is her heart mourning for the things it fears it's lost. There's more -- layers and layers of complicated more, in fact -- but that's the kernel of it."
Edan nods. "It is enough." He suddenly finds a need to take a drink. When he puts his glass down, he says, "Your turn, I believe."
Folly nods. She is thinking very hard, trying to select an appropriate question; but unfortunately all the topics that spring to mind seem anything but. Finally, flushing slightly, she says, "Forgive me, this is none of my business and I won't be the least bit offended if you tell me so, but...." She pauses and clears her throat. "Your... betrothed. Was it your choice or her own that she did not join you in the Deep Desert?"
Edan smiles, loses it, then comes up with a weaker one. "Her name is Sadah," he says. "And that is a story all its own."
He tips his glass up for another drink, or else for a moment to collect his thoughts. "My mother arranged for the marriage," he said, when he puts it down. "Sadah was... a pure woman. Beautiful. Wealthy. A 'merchant princess', you could say. Her smile would light a room. Her hair was blacker than night, her face that of a goddess, her thighs..." He breaks off, looks away, says, "Ah... she is very attractive, Sadah is. She had the same love of the dance as I did. But my mother arranged for us to marry because of her station, and because she is pure in the Way of Peace." When he turns back to look at Folly, his face is several shades darker, and his eyes have a golden glint.
"You have to understand the situation... it was a very advantageous marriage. My mother was not married to my father, which would be a terrible shame to start, had my father not been held in such high esteem in the Land of Peace. And in addition," he points to his eyes, "I have the mark of my grandfather. It is not terribly rare, but not common, either. It is considered accursed. To be linked to Sadah and her family, that was fortunate, indeed. If my Mother had not been so devout, despite her indiscretion..." He shrugs.
"But I had already seen the plight of the seven desert tribes, and was ready to put off the marriage to do what I thought needed to be done. Sadah begged me not to go. Then, she begged to come along. I bade her stay in the city, for I knew what I was to do would be terribly dangerous. I think she still would have come to me in the desert, but once she learned of what I had done, what I had become, she turned away." He gaze drops, fixes on his glass. "I sought power. I found those of my grandfather's kind, the afriti. I learned the language of fire, and of sorcery to complement that which my father had taught. I embraced what I had thought to be evil, and became impure in the sight of the Merciful One. Sadah found... someone more to her liking."
Reflexively, Folly's hand lifts from her own knee and stretches toward Edan's, offering comfort. She has cleared half the distance when she remembers herself, hesitates, and awkwardly drops her hand back into her own lap. She watches Edan in sympathetic silence.
After a long moment, he meets Folly's eyes again. "But that is the past. Many of the ties with my homeland are broken now. It was a choice." He pauses. "That reminds me of a question, also about family. I know that Daeon perished. I have seen his children. I know that it happened in Amber. How and why did he die?"
Folly sits up a little straighter and says, "I was not there when it happened, and I'm a little sketchy on the details. What I know is that there is a dragon from a place called Arcadia, and it apparently can attack by... possessing people. It waged an attack on Amber's castle in this way, and it is believed that it may have been looking for your sister's children. Their father Adonis -- er, Daeon -- is... was a deity in Arcadia. As I understand it, when the dragon tried to take possession of Daeon, he... subdued it in some way, and then stepped into the fireplace. Burned himself up." Her voice catches in her throat, but she blinks and continues, "I think he was trying to do harm to the dragon that threatened his children."
She falls into contemplative silence for a long moment. Then, "What are they like? Your sister's children?"
"You have not met them?" Edan asks, suprised. He shakes his head gently, once. "It will be a poor answer I give to you... I have only met them the one time, at cousin Daeon's funeral. The two of them were wild, undisciplined in a sense..." He pauses. "It is difficult to describe. They were like small children in older bodies. It agreed with what I had been told, that they had aged rapidly." He frowns slightly. "I did not think to scry them with more arcane senses, and I do not know if the opportunity will come again anytime soon... oh... and aunt Fiona. I had forgotten. They were fearful of her." Edan looks back at Folly. "Strange, is it not? At the time, I thought she had given them a reason to behave so, or that they possessed wisdom beyond their years."
The corner of Folly's mouth quirks upward. "Their father was a creature of gut instinct," she observes, "which is its own kind of wisdom. Perhaps this is something they inherited from him. But no, I have not met them yet, nor seen Paige -- except for the few minutes before and after you and she went to find Martin -- since the Coronation. I hope to remedy that this afternoon. She and I have... quite a lot to talk about." She smiles, but the expression betrays layers and layers of complex emotions.
The look is not lost on Edan. "You have known her a long time, then," he says. "Of course you have... all of you together since the Sundering. I mourn, that I have missed the chance to know all of you longer. Then again, had my father chosen to call upon me earlier, he likely would have brought me to the war." Edan suddenly has a strange little smile.
Folly gives a small nod, a little smile. "Ah, but do not despair, for we are all supposed to live forever, are we not? Perhaps it will be only a few years before we know each other as well as I know... our cousins who remained in Amber." She hesitates an instant, then adds, "Your sister is very dear to me. She was one of my first friends in Amber."
"As you see her, please give her my love. I will be making preparations to sail to Amber, if I can. This may make discussions of power and religion problematic..." He smiles again. "I will be encouraging my sister to make a Trump of me. You are most welcome to use it, Folly, whenever you wish to talk. I will endeavor to make myself available to you."
Folly smiles and bows her head in gratitude, but before she can comment, Edan continues:
"Ah, yes, that brings me to the next question..." He lifts his hands and waggles long, tapered fingers. "You would suggest a musical instrument for me, yes? In a kingdom that places such emphasis on music, I can but slide with the sands as they fall." He tilts his head.
Folly's smile broadens. She finishes the last couple of bites of her apricot, tosses the pit a few feet from where the fig seed landed, and begins wiping the juice from her fingers. "On this topic, I may actually be qualified to say something," she says.
"I have seen the strange colorful solid sitars loaded on the ships I have guided. I have listened to bits of conversation regarding them, but have yet to understand, say, the function of a... humbucker?... or why I would enjoy the company of someone named Gibson over the company of someone named Ibanez." He gets a wicked little smile. "Though I did see something called a harp-guitar, which caught my interest here at the harbor of Xanadu..."
Folly laughs with delight; but when she speaks, it is with the gravity of a scholar or a sage: "The selection of an instrument is a very personal thing, and can be as intimate as taking a lover. The feel of her in your hands, the sound of her voice in your ear -- when you find the one that responds to your every touch, that moves you with her every whisper, you have found her, and you will know." She smiles, and her eyes sparkle with deeply-felt conviction. "If you are new to playing music, I think your best bet would be to go into the studio and play with the instruments 'til you find the one that's yours. If there are some you don't know, one of us would be happy to explain them. But of course, there's the question of where you should start...."
She leans back onto her elbows, a comfortable sprawl against the cushions on the ground, and regards Edan with a long, appraising look. "You are a dancer," she begins, "and you have at least some experience with drumming, so I might suggest a percussive instrument, or one that delineates rhythm and beat. Something you can put your whole body behind -- although in the hands of the right player, that can be true of any instrument. On the other hand...." She smiles, playfully. "You have beautiful hands -- long, beautiful fingers, which with the right training would be ideally suited for strings. Rhythm and strings might suggest bass... but you are a leader, a creature of fire, and so may be better suited to an instrument that leads with its own melodic line. And then there is the possibility of winds...." She pauses thoughtfully. "Tell me, Edan, do you sing?"
Edan spreads his hands. "It is much like the hand-drums... sometimes, it is necessary to sing in order to help define the parameters of a sorcerous spell. I can hardly claim to have any real proficiency."
He draws a breath and sings something in the language of the Land of Peace, something with lots of minor chords and scales, and Childe Folly suddenly discovers one of Edan's hidden talents; he may be a mediocre drummer, and ignorant of musical instruments, but his voice.... that -voice-...
Not a high tenor, not low enough to be called a baritone, raw and untrained and just a hint of the roughness one could expect to hear in a blues singer, but his voice could charm the birds off the trees. Whatever part of his physical conditioning that contributes to his breath control doesn't hurt much, either.
Ecstatic, Folly lies back on the cushion, closes her eyes, and lets the sound wash over her. She is completely still but for the fingers of her right hand, which weave and twist along with the melody line, and the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing.
Completely oblivious, Edan finishes a final couplet and shrugs. "As I said, it is not a thing for which I am known."
"Well, not _yet_...." With an expression of almost mad glee, Folly sits up again and leans forward. Her mind seems to be working a mile a minute. She gestures conspiratorially at Edan, grins, and says, "Do that again."
"Do what, again? Sing?" Edan's brows draw together; it's easy to understand his confusion, as the difference between his low, controlled speaking voice and the singing is like night and day. "The same thing? That has no power here, you must know that. I did not put magic into the song, and sorcery is very difficult here..."
"No, that's -- I know. It's okay," Folly says, a little breathlessly, and smiles again. The expression is less manic, more encouraging, but every bit as eager. She regains a modicum of composure and adds, "Anything's fine. The same thing, something else.... I wanna try something."
He tries something different, a song that stuck in his mind years ago, again from his homeland, something that is slower and lower and almost erotic in its intimacy. If his voice had a taste, it would be like sugary sand. At first he has an expression of someone who worries if the figs Folly ate have gone bad; but as he closes his eyes and tries to remember the intonations and inflections of the past, that disappears.
For a long moment, Folly just listens, getting a feel for the structure and tone of the song. Then, with a long, slow, deep breath, she adds her own voice to Edan's, a sweetly sinuous wordless countermelody winding and floating gentle as a caress, effortless as breathing, above his stronger line. At first, like a servant-girl anticipating the needs of her master, she sticks closely to his lead and to what she knows of the musical traditions of his homeland: common rhythms, harmonies, and likely chord progressions. But as the song evolves, her voice strengthens and her countermelody takes more risks, adding tension, drawing out rhythms: little challenges coaxing a response, begging for answer. She watches and listens closely to learn how -- or whether -- Edan will respond.
This turns out to be an excellent move on Folly's part; it quickly becomes obvious that Edan has a great ear to go with the voice, and he's a human metronome where rhythm is concerned. None of this is suprising, coming from a dancer and a swordsman. What's missing is any kind of formal music training; Edan often seems to know what sounds good, where he wants to go, but doesn't quite know how to get there.
Folly's first notes startle him outright, but he warms to it quickly. The first few attempts to draw him out don't work all that well, as a few sour notes come along with his attempts to respond. The next few attempts, he doesn't respond at all, just listens. Finally, he tries again, and the results are much better, if not overly creative. It's as if he's taken a few moments to deconstruct the song into some kind of mathematical problem, used Folly's own notes as some kind of "best answer" (she hears many of her own progressions in response to her challenges) and used those to adjust his own singing. He also seems to be lacking riffs of his own to fall back on. With some practice and some theory, not to mention an introduction to music forms outside the Land of Peace (explaining the whole concept of 'minor pentatonic' comes immediately to mind), he should be awesome.
When the song winds to a close, Folly raises her clasped hands and presses the knuckles to her lower lip, partially obscuring her broad smile. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes sparkle with delight. After a moment of catching her breath, she says, "Though I would never discourage you from further experimentation, I think you may have found your instrument, cousin. If you can train your voice to respond in song the way your body responds in dance...." Her deepening smile completes the sentence for her.
"Voice?" Edan's eyebrow climbs towards the sky. "I would never have thought of that. It seems... beyond belief." He smiles and leans closer. "But you are the expert, my cousin. Voice training would have much to do to catch up to the dance. How would you propose I start?"
Thoughtfully, Folly steeples her fingertips against her lips. "That depends in part on how you prefer to learn. You can probably pick up a lot just by listening, exposing yourself to as much music in as many different styles as you can, and then trying to mimic or build on it. A lot of people with natural talent can go quite far just on gut instinct -- and that approach is something you can pursue no matter where you travel." She pauses, and smiles. "But I suspect you'd enjoy a bit of formal training as well -- music theory, at least."
She pauses again, and lowers her hands to rest palms-up in her lap. Her expression grows more serious. "Forgive me if I am being too forward--- but would you accept me as a teacher, if our schedules permit time for such training? It would bring me great pleasure to work with you. And... ah... if you have used singing to aid in sorceries, then perhaps you can help me understand how music links to maths and metaphysics. I feel such things in my gut, but my own training in that area has only just started...."
"I still feel that way, often," Edan says, "but yes, I can show you what I know of the higher maths." He holds out a hand.
Folly hesitates just an instant, knowing that the handshake is uncommon in the Land of Peace; but the gesture could mean little else. She smiles, warmly, and clasps his hand in accord. Her hand feels small and delicate in his, but her grip is firm and self-assured.
"Done, and done," he says. "We will teach one another, when time allows us that luxury. Ah... how proficient are you in mathematics?"
"It's been many years since I had any formal training," Folly says, "but it used to come pretty easily to me. Let's hope that will be sufficient." She pauses, then adds, "Dworkin told me many things in a very short time, and I'd like to have the tools to work out the maths behind it, to see if that helps me understand all the implications."
She regards Edan thoughtfully for a moment. "If you don't mind another impertinent question--- How old are you, cousin?"
Another reddish flush of Edan's skin, darkening it even further. "You are the first one to have asked," he says. "I have seen twenty-two years pass in the Dar-es-Salaam. Subjectively, I am somewhat older; Father played tricks with time when he took me through Shadow, and I do not know how much time really passed while I was with the afriti."
Folly's brows arch in surprise. "You have seen and done much for one so young," she says. "I might've guessed twice that."
"My father can take the credit," Edan says. "Even all the time that he was gone, he made sure that my days were filled with instruction. Even my recreational time, as little as was permitted, could be considered training of one sort or another. Between him and my mother's insistence on religion, there was no real free time. Each and every day of my life." Edan's expression becomes unreadable. "If it was my father's intention to create a weapon, he succeeded. If my mother wanted an imam, she failed."
At the mention of creating a weapon, Folly's eyes darken, as if a shadow has passed over them. "I suddenly find myself very grateful for the leisure time I enjoyed in my youth, and for the freedom to fill it as I chose." Again her hand lifts from her knee, ready to reach out to him in comfort or companionship; but again she stays it, and instead smiles, warmly. "So we will be learning together, and well-matched for it, I think. I have no more than a decade on you, which makes us both babes in the wood compared to many of our cousins." A new thought takes her, and she asks, "You have taken the Pattern, though, yes? You must've been quite young...."
"I walked the Pattern in Tir-na Nog'th, not long before what I understand to be Father's and uncle Corwin's assault upon Amber," Edan says. "It was, and continues to be, the most difficult feat I have ever accomplished." He raises an eyebrow. "Which Pattern did you walk?"
"I walked here in Xanadu, a few weeks after the Coronation. It was an amazing experience, one I hope I never need to repeat." She smiles, a bit wistfully. "It is one more thing that binds me to this place."
She falls into a thoughtful silence, turning over bits and pieces of the conversation over in her mind. Several things suddenly click into place. She regards Edan with a serious expression. "Where are you bound, Edan?"
Edan leans a little forward, and smiles. "If I were feeling clever," he says, "I would make a play on words and say, 'Tir'. Or perhaps, 'nowhere', as I understood the City in the Sky is still unreachable. But I know you want to know where I am going." He pauses. "I, ah, ramble, because things are still uncertain.
"First, I am going to Amber. It is my hope that I find Aunt Fiona there, as I have questions. It is my belief she has the answers. While I am there, I shall have to make some difficult choices to where I will proceed next."
Folly nods. "I feel perhaps too clever much of the time," she says, matching his smile. "Perils of being a songwriter, I suppose. I did mean where you are going, but I also meant the other thing: these ties that bind us to each other and to the things we care about.
"You've spoken of the father you both love and hate; of mother and friends in the western cities of the Dar-es-Salaam; of the desert tribes, whose cause you not only support, but lead; of Amber, where you may find answers; and of Xanadu, whose musical proclivities you would learn. You did not mention Paris, our uncle Corwin's city, though you alluded to your father's onetime association with him. I suppose I am wondering in part what brought you here instead of there."
"I do not know him," Edan says with a shake of his head. "I have never met him. I came to Amber, because my cause was complete, my work finished. I came, because I wanted to see my sister, whom I had never met. I came... because my father sent for me. And whatever issues I have with him, I am a dutiful son."
With a slight smile, Folly inclines her head. His answer seems to satisfy her. "I do hope the path of duty leads you eventually back to Xanadu for a more extended stay. You are a man of both passion and thoughtfulness, and -- speaking as an advocate for Xanadu -- I think this realm needs just such qualities to nurture her into prosperity and harmony. Speaking only as myself---" She looks at Edan, and her smile deepens. "Well. Music lessons by trump and correspondence are certainly possible, but they'd be ever so much more fun in person, don't you think?" Her eyes sparkle. She takes another fig.
"Do you have more questions, cousin? Or perhaps I should give you a breathing exercise or two to take with you on your travels?"
"That would be an excellent idea," Edan says. "Especially since I do not know how long I will be gone. But I will endeavor to return as soon as I am able, for voice and for mathematics, yes?"
"Yes," Folly agrees, smiling. "I think that is an excellent plan."
She folds her legs under herself, sits up a little straighter, and launches happily into a quick introduction to breathing techniques and mouth exercises. She directs Edan to imagine making space in his mouth to hold a whole, round fig, lifting the soft palate and dropping the jaw, and comparing the sound he can make thusly with the regular sound of his singing. ("Just like cathedrals have high, domed ceilings to shape and amplify sound, we can do the same sort of thing before the sound ever leaves our mouths.") She places a hand just beneath her ribcage and another on her shoulder to demonstrate the most efficient method of deep-breathing, moving her chest and belly in and out while keeping her shoulders steady. And she gives Edan some alliterative phrases -- tongue-twisters, almost -- to practice, to give his tongue and his lips more practice at slipping effortlessly through long and complex phrases. She is a patient teacher, and seems especially skilled at finding another way to explain things if her first try isn't sufficiently clear to Edan.
Edan looks suprised at several points, but gets the general picture quick enough. The breathing exercises are a new thing for him, but Folly happily learns that he handles the phrases almost immediately. (He counters with some sorcerous phrases guaranteed to make her eyes cross).
He doesn't go as much directly into mathematics as he does explain the paths Folly needs to follow; it seems more groundwork than anything else. It seems to be very heavy on probability and integral calculus, and rapidly takes off with a marriage of the two that is difficult to believe. He does quote several names, though, whose work is easy enough to follow.
Edan can almost see the wheels turning in Folly's mind as she reaches way back into her memory for the proper vocabulary to understand his lesson and voice her questions. She pulls a sketch pad and pencil from the bag at her hip to take notes, particularly on the names Edan offers. As she riffles through the pad for a clean page, Edan catches a glimpse of some of her sketches: a kitten batting something out of the air, an unclothed man viewed from the back, the face of a woman in profile who looks very like his sister.
"Thank you, Edan," Folly says as the lesson concludes. "That should keep me entertained while you're away." She smiles.
Edan smiles, and holds his hand to his heart as he bows. "And I, also. May your steps be blessed, my cousin. I shall look forward to seeing you again soon."
Last modified: 21 July 2006