Brita's normally long-legged stride slows somewhat as they near the passage down to the depths. She turns to Conner, "You Know all This, Of Course, but 'You Must Not Stop', 'You Must Not Deviate From the Pattern', 'You Must Not Let the Veil Denizens Distract You' -- even if One ends up as Me... or Mother." Her tone is light and confident, but her eyes still look troubled.
"Thank you. It simply would not right for the traditional advice to be forgotten." Conner smiles up at Brita. "I will not stop, not even for you or Mother." He assures her. "As trite as it is to say, I think this walk will be different." Conner has one hand in a light grip on Halosydne's hilt. "I spent much of last night meditating upon Halosydne and on the Pattern harmonic within her. I actually heard music at one point." Conner smiles at the memory. "It reminded me of Elgar's Sea Pictures actually. I am taking it as a good omen."
"I do not Know This Music, but if You say it is Good, then it is Good." Brita's smile is more genuine as she seems to relax with the evidence of Conner's confidence. They proceed downwards through paths both have trod. She asks as they near the chamber, "Where will you Go After? Your rooms Here? I can Have a Meal Sent for you after a Few Hours Rest."
Conner nods in agreement. "As much as I think I'm throwing away a useful opportunity, I am needed here. Besides, most of the places I might have the Pattern send me would not necessarily give me a warm welcome."
Before they know it, the great door of the Pattern chamber lies before them. It stands slightly open. Conner had opened the door last night to allow Celina to hold her vigil. He had also given her the key for safekeeping and from time from to time the lack of weight over his chest felt odd.
"Thank you for being here, my friends." Conner greets Celina and Brennan.
Celina floats a couple meters off the start of the Pattern in a folded sit pose. Her eyes are open and focused on the Pattern center. She stands up as more Family arrive. Her face comes alive and she smiles. "Brita. Conner. Good morning and well met."
Brennan, as always, stands solidly on the floor near the Pattern. He greets Conner and Brita, as well, but says little.
Fletcher, in his usual formal wear with scabbard hanging over his shoulder, steps up and nods encouragement to Conner.
Conner returns their greetings with one of his trademark grins. Conner reaches into a pocket and hands to Brita a small oilskin case that contain the few Trumps and Trump sketches he owns. "Please hold on to these for me, sister. I wouldn't want the Pattern walk to ruin them. Your Trump of Jotunheim is among them. I never did get around to using it. You know how life tends to run away with you." Conner realizes he is starting to babble and stops talking. Conner strides to the beginning of the Pattern and draws Halosydne. For a moment, he simply admires the way the Pattern's light plays over the blade.
"If anyone has any last minute advice, now would be the time." Conner invites.
Brennan loves the sound of his own advice as much as any man and more than most, but all he says is, "You know what you need to do."
Fletcher deadpans, "It's just like riding a bicycle." Then he prepares to open up his senses to monitor the event.
Brita has tucked the trumps in an inner pocket (she is never without pockets). She smiles encouragingly at her Brother but says nothing.
Conner nods to Brennan and smirks at Fletcher. Conner then salutes them all with Halosydne, turns, and steps onto the Pattern.
If no one else had the presence of mind to close the door to the chamber, Brennan does so before Conner begins, then returns to his place of witness.
It is obvious from his posture that he is paying careful attention to Conner and more. Unless one has spoken with him recently about the methods he used to chart out the Faiella-Bionin, it may not be obvious exactly how: He is again opening himself to the pressures of the constant battle between Order and Chaos. Here, in this place, Order's victory is near complete, and so the technique is not as useful as it might be... but now, at this time, Conner is walking with a Pattern Blade. And having used this technique rather extensively on the Pattern unoccupied, Brennan has a baseline for comparison. Even a negative result will lend some insight.
The pattern is exceedingly bright via the third eye. Neither Brennan nor Fletcher can open it wide enough to get an effective look at the pattern or the person on it. To the extent that they do, it is too bright already to tell that someone is on it, much less walking along it.
[Actually, Brennan wasn't doing his Third Eye thing, but the more Pattern based sensing he developed while looking for the Faiella-Bionin, if it matters]
[Fletcher was more riding the Pattern-bass groove reverberating through the water and off the walls than he was vein blinded by the light.]
[OOC: No methodology of lookin at the pattern with magic, pattern, or sorcery is effective.]
Celina continues her determined concentration on the event. She offers a few words above the sound of sparks, "Rebma needs Conner. Conner wants the Blade. All will be well."
Brita says quietly with a brief gesture towards the left, "The Break in The Pattern was Just There, Beyond that Third Arc when Uncle Pinnabello was Walking. Where was Cousin Khela?"
Fletcher flawlessly executes and underwater spit-take. Through a stream of bubbles he asks, "What?"
Brennan, having heard this story, wouldn't dream of interrupting. Fletcher may spot new questions to ask, and Brennan doesn't want to interfere with that.
[OOC: Brennan may note that the location of the oddness during the partial dual walk took place at about the spot Brita is pointing to.]
Fletcher looks at his companions, clearly expecting details.
Brennan still wants to hear Brita tell her story to a newly impartial listener, so he doesn't say anything. But he does nod heavily toward the area Brita indicates. He doesn't seem surprised.
Brita's wince at the confirmation is slight but obvious to her kin. She says to Fletcher, "Cousin Ossian and I were Searching for Dara in the Palace Basement. The Door was Initially Locked, but we Came Across a Young Uncle Huon who was Waiting for His Brother to Walk Alone. When we Came Back Here, the Door was Open and Uncle Pinnabello was Walking. But there was a Break in the Pattern and we Knew he would be Lost. We Swam out to Save him, Causing the Pattern to Attack. We managed to Trump Away with our Uncle to Regent Caine's Office, but ended up in a Trap with Uncle Caine and Cousins Paige and Signy as well. Uncle Pinnabello did Not Survive the Escape from That Trap." Brita's eyes are glued to her Brother's progress.
The sparks are already quite high. Higher, it seems to Brita, than during a normal pattern walk.
"I trust we now all understand why I am concerned for this Pattern," Brennan says. And why I thought walking it in the first place was a damn fool idea, he doesn't. "Brita, can you tell us what you mean by a break in the Pattern? What you did, or intended to do to 'save' Pinabello? What you mean when you say the Pattern 'attacked'?"
Celina does not look away from Conner's progress. But the tension shows in her toes gripping the floor as if she might be attacked at any moment. She listens closely.
Brita stares intently at the sparks but says, "The Break looked The Same as That Of Reality Amber's Damage. Cousin Ossian and I thought we could Swim Above the Rebma Pattern and Lift our Uncle Off Before he was Stopped by The Break. The Pattern Created a Water Funnel in an Attempt to Stop Our Endeavor. We Trumped to Uncle Caine before it Sucked us Back in Contact."
"Can you describe the circumstances that led up to the encounter?" Fletcher asks, keeping an eye out for funnels.
"We were Searching for Signs of Dara or cleph. As we Wandered the corridors, I Smelled Tobacco but we Initially did Not Pursue it. Instead we came Here. The Door was Locked. We retraced our path and Found a Young Uncle Huon, Smoking. He Told us he Was Waiting to See if His Brother Succeeded in his Walk. We Thought We might have Gone Into the Past and Could Save Uncle Pinnabello. We Returned Here and the Door was Unlocked; our Uncle was On the Pattern, Nearing the Break." Brita is very distracted by her Brother's progress. She seems to be marking beats with one hand while she talks.
Like most or all of the others in the room, Brennan never takes his eyes off Conner during his Walk. But when Brita mentions the water funnel, he cocks his head to the side to listen more carefully. "Was there any evidence of anyone using Sorcery or anything disordered?"
"Further, one wonders. Was there any sensation of an event horizon of the phenomenon? A threshold that was crossed? But what happened next? How did you return to normal-time?" Fletcher seems to have no trouble focusing on what's going on in the here-and-now and on keeping up a discussion.
Celina unconsciously does station keeping with her hands, fluttering tension out of her system and guiding strength through her own center. It happens that Brita's hand beat and Celina's are almost synchronized.
Brita's beat slows and almost stops as the mass of sparks slows on the pattern. Her tension is high and she has stopped breathing until, with a huff of breath, the beat picks up again and the sparks begin to move at a more normal pace.
"How Many Veils are there?" She asks in a small voice and then continues in her almost monotone recital, "No Sorcery or Event we Noticed - the Transfer seemed Normal at First, but We Quickly Noticed Uncle Caine's Office was Odd. It was Trump Like - Painted; Things were Not Real. We Escaped by Using Trumps - I Painted My Mother and Tried to Send Uncle Pinnabello to Her, but He Died... should The Sparks Be So High at This Point? ...in Silver Sparks. We Four then Trumped to King Random." The interruption in the narrative changes Brita's voice back to the small voice; it is almost a spoken whisper of a thought. Her eyes continue tracking the lump that is her Brother.
"Four, so I'm told," Brennan says. Which may explain why he's still calm, although he does frown at the claims of no Sorcery. "Although it's curious-- the only time I've ever seen a vortex such as you've described is when someone did something," Brennan pauses for phrasing, "metaphysically inappropriate in the presence of a Pattern."
"Four," Celina agrees quietly. She stares at the sparks leaping and covering Conner's progress. Her concentration is fully on the Pattern validating that Rebma Needs the Sword and Champion to survive.
"Four," Brita echos. "Half Way. Could the Trump Trap have Been the Metaphysically Inappropriate Source of the Funnel-Vortex? A Sorcery done Before Uncle Pinnabello's Walk"
"Four Veils, now," Brennan amends. "In the past, three. The changes wrought by the fall of Amber and the rise of Paris and Xanadu are the likely cause of the change.
"And... it seems unlikely," Brennan says. "Anything done, either to Pinabello or near the Pattern, before his walk would probably have caused the vortex as soon as it got near the Pattern-- either when it was done or when Pinabello got near it, rather than waiting until he was on it and part way through. The only entity I can think of that might be capable of doing something like that would be Oberon, which seems like a very bizarre and roundabout way of accomplishing.... apparently, nothing."
Fletcher shrugs. "I can think of several people other than Granddad who might be able to accomplish such a thing. Of course given that it accomplished nothing it might have been an accident. There was a temporal component. Maybe it isn't over yet. Or maybe it was a reaction to your presence. Now I'm curious if there is something 'different' about walking this Pattern. I suppose there's only one way to know for sure, and it's not on my agenda for today. Or tomorrow either. One may well wonder if similar actions are possible near the other Patterns. We have too many theories. Maybe I should walk it sometime after we're done with our current business."
[Celina]
"When I walked, I saw Brennan and Conner swimming above me trying to
call me off the Pattern. They spoke of a break."
Brita starts at Celina's input, "My Brother and Cousin Ossian's Father Above You; Myself and Cousin Ossian with Uncle Pinnabello - Interesting Echo." Her breathing is a little easier as the pace of the spark blob picks up.
"If an image of me," Brennan says, in a tone dry enough to turn Rebma into a mud puddle, "ever suggests you should for any reason stop in the middle of the ontological proof of your own Existence, the correct response is to stab it or ignore it.
"That said, Fletcher is right-- too many theories. Probably because there are too many weird, unexplained, contradictory phenomenon, all of which underscore my concerns. Fletcher, I've had the same thought as you, but, what would you hope to learn from such a walk?" Brennan asks.
Fletcher squints into the distant glow where Conner is probably still walking. "I would establish in my own mind the similarity or difference between walking the Patterns in Amber and Paris. In broad strokes they may be similar, but walking the Pattern is typically a once-in-a-life-time phenomenon so there's very little data, and by definition the data in this case must be subjective. In short, experience breeds insight, and the quality of the two are directly proportional."
Brennan nods, and by his expression agrees with it-- if anything, he was hoping that Fletcher had an insight he lacked.
"So it appears that Rebma's Pattern has killed at least two Family members?" Celina sounds grim as she speaks of Brita's strange experience with a long unknown brother of Huon. "Would the Family Lore mention what other Patterns have killed Family?" There is a tonal quality to the question---- as if she wants to hear that Rebma isn't the only killer Pattern.
"King Random had a sister," Brennan says. "It is understandably not a topic of polite discussion-- even less so, now-- so I couldn't begin to speculate on whether that is an exhaustive list. The oldest of us would know the most."
Brennan scowls deeply, and after a long moment of internal debate, finally says, "All right, I'm going to go ahead and ask a question that risks being stupid," because as much as Brennan hates looking stupid, he hates being stupid even more. "Brita, I've spoken with Ossian about this, too. It's clear to me that some of what you witnessed was happening centuries ago. And it's clear-- or seems clear, at any rate-- that some of what you witnessed was in Amber. I'm thinking of the cracks in the Pattern, in particular.
"Did Huon or Pinabello do or say anything in particular that indicates where they were, or where they thought they were?" Brennan asks. "I can see it going either way: Huon defied Oberon, found a way in, and took him to the Pattern below Amber; or Huon defied Oberon, went running to Moire or Moins depending on the timing, and bargained a way to walk the Pattern below Rebma." Brennan frowns a little, as a thought just occurs to him by saying that, but he continues: "It matters metaphysically, to give us more data on what actually happened. It may matter politically, as well, if Huon and Moire had past dealings."
After thinking a bit, "Uncle Huon Asked Who was Queen Above, implying he Knew we were In Watery Rebma. He said something about Time as well," she thinks for a bit, "Specifically that the Tunnels Play with Time. He said Paris was a Myth and something about Carolus. He Assumed We were From His Past."
"Interesting, Huon is a student of history." But Celina keeps her attention fixed on the sparking cascade nearing the center of the Pattern.
The sparking cascase reaches the center and the sparks die down. Conner is in the center of the pattern.
Brennan holds his reply, as Conner pushes through the last of the Veils. When he's done, and Conner departs under his own metaphysical power, Brennan gives an internal sigh of relief.
Celina rises with a kick, craning for a look at Conner's expression, but then he is gone and she settles back to the stone floor.
To Brita, Brennan says, "He may have been asking who was Queen of Amber. Even if one knows very little else of Amber's history, one probably knows the order of the Queens. And if he thought you were from his distant past, it would have been a simple thing to look up in the library and get a fix on the period." A moment later, he adds, "And in a few days, he's going to know you were from his future."
Brita had collapsed to her knees with Conner and she rises only after he has departed. "I will Think More on Our Previous Interaction to Determine any more Clues as to the Place. Now, I must Go and see to My Brother's Post-Walk Repast." Brita bows to Celina and a nods to the others before she departs for the warmer waters around the kitchens.
Celina nods to Brita.
She looks at Fletcher and Brennan. "I hope you have other plans, for Neither of you have my leave to walk this Pattern.....today. I can only handle so much pain. I'll get better at it." She looks at Fletcher a bit longer. "If you wish to argue otherwise....begin."
Fletcher nods. "My dance card is already full for the near future. Actually we did have other plans that we put on hold to be here for this." He looks to Brennan, "Road trip?"
"Absolutely," Brennan says, "And very soon, although I think it's for the best that the Queen be made aware of our findings." Knowing Fletcher's concerns about the formality of his involvement, Brennan leaves it to Celina and Fletcher as to whether he should be present or not.
Halosydne's point moves like a lodestone to the thin, glowing line in front of Conner. He's not convinced he could resist and still make progress. The walk is, perhaps, more difficult than his last. The sword is awkward to carry, as if it insists on being used a particular way and is causing the pattern to slightly remake Conner in the image it has of him.
Still, it is doable, for now. The steps may be easier, but the effort requires more attention and concentration. Conner walks on, his feet on the line and the blade in front of him. Sparks fly from it like green smoke. It reminds him of Khela's mages on the battlefield, always smoking. It seemed a harmless affectation at court, before he saw what they could do. Court had been different, then. Before Thalia was kidnapped. Was it Bend and Montage? That still wasn't clear.
"I don't care what you can do, or what magic you have. You're a far cry from being 'the new Montage', son. You should've listened to our warning." The Enforcer stands on the pattern ahead of Conner. He has a blade at the ready. "In the Queen's name, you may not pass."
Conner's blade is no longer stuck to the pattern.
Conner laughs at the arrogance of the phantom before him and decides to return what was offered. "I was your superior from the moment I entered Rebma." Conner advances implacably on his foe. "I bear the blessings of two Queens. One trusted me to lead her armies. One trusts me with her deepest pain. Both entrusted this blade to me. You will not stop me." Conner raises Halosydne as if to hack away a stray tree branch that blocks his path. "It is said that the blade cannot strike down one truly devoted and bound to Rebma. So let's put you to the test." Conner brings the blade slashing down at the irritating phantom. He does not even intend to break his stride.
"You really take your own BS seriously, don't you, kid?" Montage steps away, off the Pattern and out of Conner's reach. "I'd be careful," Montage says, "'Pride Goeth' and all that."
Montage circles to the right. If Conner continues, he'll have to pass Montage and the man will be behind him.
"Were those your last thoughts before you died?" Conner ripostes. "Go away little ghost. I need to successfully serve Rebma unlike you." Conner continues walking. With luck his words will provoke Montage into coming to meet him. If not, Conner will simply keep tabs on the ghost as best he can as he leaves a not entirely live enemy behind him.
Conner presses forward, the small of his back itches and it seems as if any moment might be the one Montage chooses to stab him. It becomes harder to move forward, but he does so. Just when he feels he can take no more, the pressure breaks as if something has snapped. Conner finds himself beyond the First Veil, near the Grand Curve. Halosydne is once again leading him, the point on the bright green line in front of him.
Montage is behind him, like Montage's Rebma is behind the city. It seems like a distant shadow in which he chased through Triton slums to try to rescue Thalia and escape from Montage's plotting. That city was more dangerous and less welcoming. Conner sees a figure ahead on the pattern. A young woman, and one he does not recognize. "Cneve?" she says, unsure who she sees.
"No, lady." Conner answers her simply. "Though I do bear the blade that he once did. I am Conner, Warden of Rebma. Who are you that knows of Cneve?"
Her bearing is regal, and she dresses in the style of a noble of Rebma. "Cneve, Cneve, this is no time for jokes. They said you were dead, buried in a secret tomb on the frontier. I've been so worried that Rebma will fall without you to bear the champion's standard. The fish-men march on the city and the walls are not yet complete. Are you sure your father will not aid us?"
Conner stops in his tracks and blinks. Where did those thoughts come from? "No." He says firmly. "I am not Cneve. I will not be Cneve. He wielded Belagamon and I wield Halosydne." With great effort, Conner picks up his right foot and begins walking once more. He turns sadly to the Rebman lady. "I am sorry. I am Rebma's Champion but I am not yours. The past must look after itself."
She reacts as if hit. "Cneve, no! What are you saying? You carry my blade, which is a part of me as my person is. After all we've been to each other, you can't leave me here. There's no future if there's no path. Let me take you off the pattern and we can save the city. Together Cneve. We can defeat the fish-men and rule the city as husband and wife forever, like we planned. You can't just leave me." She stands directly in his way, and Halosydne is heading directly for her.
"Cneve never left you." Conner tells her. "He died for you and for Rebma and was buried on the frontier. His father and uncle unleash their wrath on the fish-men, push them back, and force a peace. Rebma grows and thrives. Her walls are built and stands fast against the enemy. When the next great threat comes, the fish-men fight with Rebma and it again stands firm. Tell me your name, lady. Honoring this memory of you is the only boon I can grant you." Conner continues moving forward. The hand that holds the blade trembles but his legs stay steady.
The blade never touches her, but Moins disappears when it is under her, vanishing from the feet up. Her eyes silently pleading with a man whose death no living being recalls.
Conner pushes on, the second challenge behind him. The sparks are well over his head and seem to form an envelope around Halocydne and himself. He presses on, through a stage that is both physically challenging and tricky. Still it is a physical challenge and provides his mind with time to wander. Visions of Thalia come to his mind. From her current role as Amber's captive, to her prior role as Gateway's ambassador before the trouble started, Conner could see a dozen Thalias, all different.
"Not really. Conner. One woman, many aspects. Not all of the things I've done were pleasant, but they were all necessary. I'm jealous of your new girlfriend,' she says.
"Duty has ever been the other woman pulling me away from you." Conner smiles at Thalia. "Though you have no need for jealousy. Neither of you could replace the other. Though I cannot help but wonder, was I pleasant, necessary or both?" Conner smiles.
"Ah, " Thalia says, "The effervescent smile that I love so. So what does it mean to you that you would ask me, here, what you had meant to me? Doubt? You're too self-aware not to know that I am a figment of your subconscious, and since you think I am very smart, your projection of me is as well, and realizes this. I am your own vision of what you think might convince you to give up something that is, you must admit, a nearly impossible task. One you make harder on yourself with the sword, by the way. If you cast it aside, you'll almost certainly be able to complete the pattern walk. Without it? Those are uncharted seas..." She shakes her head.
"Uncharted seas?" Conner smiles. "I was trained as a scholar, a sailor, a diplomat, and now a sorcerer, a troubleshooter, and wielder of a blade almost lost to living memory. The unknown is where I have always functioned. It comes with the red hair. Things we know grow boring so quickly." Conner shifts his grip a bit on Halosydne's hilt. "Besides, if you are me, then I have already the answer from my own mind. This thing I do is not pleasant but it is necessary. Now lie quiet in my memories once more, my sweet. Time for me to concentrate on the task at hand." Conner once more focuses his thoughts on the tricky curves before him and continues his walk.
"Don't be overconfident. And if you die because you won't cast aside the blade, you will do so knowing that you warned yourself..."
On that note, the memory or reflection or whatever the pattern creates (if it is the pattern) fades.
Conner pushes on, his horizon and his vision narrowed to the tip of the blade. He can hardly see it now for the sparks, which close above his head so that he presses on in a bubble of the things. Step, step, turn. His world is reduced to moments and beats. It is draining. There's little left to think with, just pure will. Conner presses on and the sparks seem to be trying to blind and distract him. He's dazzled and near-blinded, and the damnable things taste of blood and metal.
"Who's there? Stop! I have to finish my walk!" Khela stands on the pattern ahead. She sounds panicked. Conner has never heard her sound panicked before.
"Khela? Khela, is that you? I can barely see." Conner spits out the tang of copper and iron. "It me, Conner! You must keep walking! Keep walking! Just keep walking." Conner shields his eyes with his free hand and struggles to take the next step forward.
"Conner! Oh, Lir, Help me! Lend me your strength!" It is as much as Conner can do to take the next step.
Conner wants to laugh out loud but only a strangled hiccup comes out. Had she asked for anything else, Halosydne, his heart or his blood, then there might have been a moral quandary. But Conner could not give what didn't have. "None left to give." He wearily informs her. "I'm sorry."
Conner stares down at his own feet and watches the tears sizzle away where they strike the sparks. He had to keep his head down. If he looked Khela in the eyes, he would be lost. Conner lifts his aching feet of lead and takes one more step.
In the end, it's not as if he can even hear her, and even Halosydne seems but a part of his essence. Conner is no more and no less than his will, and it is will alone that presses through the final veil.
If there is a cry of despair at his last choice, it is faint and fades quickly. Perhaps it was imaginary.
Conner stands at the center, finished. He feels that if he moves a muscle he will collapse.
The pattern will take him anywhere he envisions.
Conner wobbles on his feet for a moment then collapses to the ground. He clutches Halosydne to his chest like a child would his teddy bear after a nightmare. For far too long for those watching, Conner does not move. Then he summons up enough strength to will the Pattern to send him to his rooms in Rebma to rest and he is gone.
Brita left the basement to swim straight for the kitchen to make sure that all sorts of food options are available for her Brother. After about an hour of hovering, she was politely kicked out of the head chef's domain with a curt 'come back in a watch'.
She wanders the palace until she finds a dry room. She pulls out her mother's trump and gazes at it for a bit, but her concentration is poor and she thinks that Conner should be the one to pass on the news. Ten minutes have passed.
She heads back to her rooms, but cannot settle. She heads outside the palace and wanders the aquatic gardens looking for materials for her next Rebman Trump attempt. After about half an hour, she is back in the kitchen with another thought on what Conner might like when he awakes.
In desperation, the chef finally puts Brita to work, shelling shrimp and then shucking clams and oysters. The novel but repetitive tasks serve to sooth her agitation. She marvels at the brilliant blue, green, and purple swirls on the insides of the ugly oyster shells and laughs outright when she finds a small brilliant green pearl inside a non-descript small shell. She pockets the pearl to give to Conner later and is surprised to find that several hours have passed.
She heads back to her rooms to clean up and then returns to the kitchens one last time to thank the chef profusely and lead the procession of food headed to Conner's room. When they arrive at Conner's suite, Brita stares briefly at the door, waits about five heartbeats, and then enters the room to direct the distribution of the feast around the small sitting area. They are as quiet as seven servants and one large, Viking goddess can be.
Conner does not so much as twitch an eyelash as Brita and the servants quietly bustle around his room. He lies on his bed still curled protectively around Halosydne. Despite that fact, neither Conner nor his bedsheets seem damaged by the blade. His hands are half clenched into fists and his eyed are pinched shut hard. His lips move as if speaking but no sound carries in the water.
Before they leave, Brita asks a servant for a brazier to warm the waters around his bed so he is comfortable. After about an hour in which she has rearranged the food three times, peeked in on Conner no less than seven times, and doodled patterns that look amazingly Pattern-like on a shell with her oil pencils, Brita has moved to a spongy chair by Conner's bedside. It is not a particularly comfortable chair for her 6ft plus frame, but she has managed to curl into an almost restful pose. Watching Conner's sleeping dreams soon starts to make Brita drowsy. Soon, the trails of exhaled bubbles above her head take on a slow rhythm - bubbles, gap, bubbles, gap - a watery Morris-code of her sleeping breaths.
"It wasn't my fault!" Conner screams and his eyes snap open. He rolls to a sitting position and half brings Halosydne to a warding guard before realizing that the nightmare was over. Large lungfuls of water don't bring the cooling he expects.
Brita leaps out of the chair and has a knife in hand before Conner has sat up. It is not obvious where the knife came from. It takes her a few seconds to realize there is no attack. Once she realizes Conner is safe and awake, the knife disappears and she smiles widely. "You are Awake! You are Amazing," she says as she sits on the edge of the bed near Conner's feet. "The Watery Pattern Looked Extremely Difficult, Much Harder than My Walk. If I may Ask, What was Your Experience Like? What did you See?"
Conner's head hangs down and he mutters his answer into his chest. "Things better left unseen." Conner lifts an unsmiling face to look at Brita. "The problem with living under the sea, Sister, is that every wound immediately has salt rubbed into it."
Brita's smile fades quickly. She Lays a hand on Conner's leg. "I am Here to Purify Your Waters," she says seriously. She gives him a brisk pat on the leg as she rises to go bring him a plate heaped with small shrimp. Over her shoulder she asks, "What of Your Halosyde? Has your Walk Brought you to a Better Sympathy with Her?"
"I believe so." Conner nods. "If nothing else, it is now clear that I will not give up bearing the blade now better now hard it is to carry. I have yet to experiment with using her aside from some sparring. During our journey to collect Huon, I intend to see what can do." Conner pauses to accept the plate of shrimp. On dry land it would be said he inhaled them. Here they are swallowed like a whale. "I think I shall need quite a bit more of that." Conner stands up and walks over to the provided repast. "How did my walk look from the outside?"
Brita's back is to Conner when she says, "It was Extremely Scary." She takes a deep breath. "You were Too Quickly Consumed by the Pattern Sparks. We could Not See. I thought..." another breath "I thought you had stopped... once." She hasn't turned back to face Conner.
"I did." Conner admits. Conner begins piling a plate with seaweed wrapped scallops. "When I saw Khela." He finally adds. The hand holding his plate begins to shake.
Brita whips around to face him, her shock obvious on her face. "The Previous Queen?! This Pattern seems Prone to Ghost Images. What did She Say?" Brita says as she approaches Conner slowly.
"She was panicked." Conner swiftly puts the plate down. "When she realized it was me, she called out to me for my help, for my strength but I had none to give." Conner drops into a chair and hangs his head low. "I walked right by her, Brita, and I didn't even have the energy to feel bad about it."
Brita kneels before her brother, her hands on his knees. She squeezes gently, "The Rebma Pattern is Devious in Its Tests. It wanted to Know if You - Its Champion - would put It Above All Else, Including Its Queen." She squeezes again. "You made The Only Choice you Could."
"True." Conner murmurs to his palms. "That doesn't make it any better of course." Conner leans forward, wraps his arms around Brita and rests his head on her shoulder. "I believed this walk would bring me understanding or power or a new perspective. Perhaps it will in time. For now, all is pain."
Brita returns the hug with a solid, strengthening one of her own. She makes little comforting sounds as she rocks them both gently. After a few minutes, she whispers "My Strength is Always Yours if That Decision Returns to You."
"I hope I shall not have need of your offer." Conner murmurs. "But I thank you for making it." Conner sniffs and squeezes Brita lightly before pulling back from the hug and settling back into the chair. "I think I am done with Pattern walking for a very long time. If we need to seek differences between them, indirect methods must suffice."
Brita nods firmly in agreement. She rises quickly and grabs Conner's plate, heaping more on top before handing it back to him. "When shall we Go to Retrieve Our Uncle?"
"As soon as you have the Trump to return us here made." Conner replies. "Assuming that you will need a day or so for that of course. I would rather recover here from my ordeal than while traveling."
"A True Trump would take me Quite a While," Brita says as she draws a white shell out of a pocket. She shows the image on the inside to Conner - a Sketch of one of the archways within the Gate of Torches. "This was my First Attempt at a Trump Sketch of the Torch Gate. It is Not Ideal, although it May Work Once. I am Working on a Second that I Hope will be a Little More Stable. I Believe it will Take me a Few More Days to Complete."
"As far I am concerned, take all the time you need." Conner replies. "Letting Huon cool his heels for a few days does not concern me. Let him be reminded that we are not his servants to come at his beck and call. More importantly, I want to be sure the Trump works. I do not relish taking the slow path through shadow with Huon."
Brita acknowledges that she will make sure it is functional, but will work to get the Trump done quickly. She shifts the topics to more pleasant subjects - like food - before taking her leave of Conner.
Last modified: 30 April 2012