The three firelizards appear in the tent, all landing on Robin as if they'd materialized there. (They did.) Julian doesn't seem disturbed by this; there's no wavering in his concentration at all. The firelizards are chattering at Robin now, and seem confused by and anxious about everything that's happening, and worried about the big predator that's beckoning at Robin, offering a hand.
"Come through," Fiona says.
Robin jumps a little as the firelizards appear. She's never been under them when they've done that before. But quickly, a proud smile flits across the girl's lips. They're wonderful, yes they are. And while yes, they have every right to be worried about the big predator, Robin bolsters the confidence of everyone involved - they will manage, they always do.
"Father? Would you be kind enough to send Vere through when he arrives?" Because he will, shortly. Robin has no doubt of that. But she's also not one to delay Fiona, so she reaches her hand through the Trump toward the Princess. Eeeeewwwww, bleah, stoopid cards and their stoopid colors.
Julian starts to say something, and Fiona says, "Don't worry, I have everything under control," and pulls Robin and the firelizards through.
Fiona brings Robin and the firelizards through to the tower top, where it is a bit windier than Robin might have expected. The firelizards scatter momentarily, riding the currents around Robin and the edges of the tower. Fiona looks at Robin for a moment before reaching to pick up some piece of equipment that Robin thinks is related to a sextant. "Let me finish my observations and then we'll go down and have a look at you. I told Julian not to send Vere on for a while. Don't depend on a man, niece; it lets the side down and in any case they rarely do anything but disappoint you."
Looking around, Robin can see that she's at the top of a tall tower in something like a castle or a military (of some sort) complex. The level and type of technology and magic isn't immediately evident, but the size of the place suggests either they have one or the other or a lot of labor to build the place alone.
Robin's brow raises at the turn of events. For a moment, fear spikes through her: has she just walked into the niece-box like Aisling did? But the fear is also tangled with a bit of well... anger. The Princess agreed that Vere could come and now he's not here. And while she *is* Fiona and being high-handed comes with the territory, but together means together, even if the Princess disapproves. Soooo...
"Certainly." She says with a bow. "How far away would you like me to be before I shadowshift? So as not to disturb your observations?"
"Oh, no, that won't be necessary just yet." Fiona appears to be taking some kind of measurement, perhaps of the stars, with the instrument. She has pockets in her skirt; once her eyes are adjusted to the darkness, Robin can see the one of them has a notepad, spiral bound, and what looks like ballpoint pens. "First I'll have a look at you with the Third Eye. After that, we'll worry about shifting shadow. If you've got some sort of astral damage, it may well be visible without you exercising the family gift. Have you walked the Pattern since whatever you think happened on the Black Road happened?"
Robin blinks. Okay, she's obviously off-topic somehow. Again.
Carefully, the girl weighs how much she wants the Princess' advice versus how much she wants to behave like a two-year-old. The conclusion Robin reaches is that it will probably be easier to explain a mis-communication/understanding to Vere than it would be to survive/repair a temper tantrum thrown at Fiona. So she calms her ass down.
"Yes." Robin confirms, but has to clarify. "I Walked... on top of the broken one under Amber Castle. But my path didn't match the inscription in the floor; even accounting for the damage."
Fiona pauses in scribbling notes down on her little spiral-bound pad to look at Robin. "You can walk the Pattern with your mind, but you have damage of such astral significance that Brennan noted it. Whatever's wrong with you is exceedingly unusual. Assuming your Pattern imprint itself hasn't been damaged, and I'm not sure how that would have happened, unless it was an artifact of the Black Road damage and you weren't remade at the end when Dad and Dworkin remade the universe." Fiona says this casually, as if remaking the universe weren't that big of a deal. "Out of curiosity, where did you spend the very end of the war? Or at least the bit when the shadowstorm hit you?"
'Weren't remade'? What!? Does that mean that other folk were remade? Robin's eyes grow distant as thoughts even weirder than she's used to bounce around in her head.
When she answers, it's somewhat distractedly. "I thought I was on the Black Road for the last part of the war. I didn't experience a 'shadowstorm.' I only heard about it later when I got back."
"Then you did experience it. It's probably what distressed you so, if you were further down the road toward Ygg and the ways of the Lords of Chaos: the ones who still exist, or deign to deal with Ordered taint." Fiona's very matter-of-fact about all this. She's still scribbling in her notebook; the conversation doesn't seem to distract from her work, or vice versa. "If you were a Pattern initiate before the war, you shouldn't have been remade. Only those things that are insufficiently real were remade. You shouldn't be one of them.
"Your case," she adds, "is looking more and more intriguing."
The firelizards are riding the currents of wind here. They're less afraid of Fiona in person (her physical presence is less imposing than her psychic presence) but they're still wary of her, plus Robin doesn't like her.
Robin blinks a little as Fiona's thoughts leap and bound before her. She's tracking, but it is tricky.
"I was a Pattern initiate before the War." She confirms. That's one concern off her plate, though she's still a little worried about Vere. But surely Brita was in the same boat and Fiona wouldn't let anything happen to Brita, right? So probably Vere enjoyed the same privilege or protection or whatever. Robin puts that worry away.
"But when I... recovered afterward, I was only a day or so's ride out of Arden. And the couple-of-days-old corpse of my horse lay near me." Yep, Robin's hard on horses - they're just not sturdy enough, as a species. Besides, they're not nearly as awesome as firelizards. Robin sends a wave of wary reassurance to her little flying friends.
If the firelizards could speak Thari, the combination of feelings Robing is getting back from them would come out as something like wheeeee! and are you sure?, the latter about Fiona.
"So something happened to you that was strong enough to drain the life force from your horse. Interesting." Fiona makes another few notes in her notebook, flips it shut, and slides the pen she was writing with into the spiral. Then she drops the lot in the pocket of her gown. "Or there was a time distortion that killed it and didn't kill you." She frowns a little. "Were you the kind of hungry or thirsty that you should be after long enough for your horse to die? Or do you remember?"
"I remember. I was stiff and hungry, but not overwhelmingly thirsty. And while there wasn't a lot of the horse left, it didn't appear to have died of age. Though I..." swallow, "experienced at least one extreme t-time dilation during the e-vents."
Robin distracts herself by wishing she could join her friends on the air currents. And being happy for them that they can enjoy themselves so.
"Time dilation on the Black Road is to be expected. I don't think on this side of Ygg you should have had formal reversal, but there's no reason to expect a projection of Chaos to have a one-to-one time parallel with the ordered lands outside it," Fiona explains. "What did the horse die of?"
"I couldn't tell." Robin replies, "Scavengers had been at the corpse for a quite a while. Though I was unmolested when I awoke. I elected not to remain in the vicinity so that things stayed that way."
The corner of Fiona's mouth quirks up. "Wise," she offers, with some slight approval. Robin wouldn't be surprised if that's the most approval she ever offers. "Let's go downstairs--if your friends can come indoors?--and get you settled. You're likely to be here for a little while while I sort out your problem and consult with Brennan: important in case you have an evolving condition." She opens a trap door in the floor of the tower top, waiting to step down the ladder inside until she hears Robin's opinon of the firelizards being inside.
"My friends can manage the inside as long as it's not too constrictive, fragile or flammable. Nearby windows would be a plus." Funnily enough, that's pretty much Robin's definition of a manageable indoors as well.
If all of that is okay with Fiona, Robin calls her friends to her arms and will follow Fiona down the ladder/stairs beneath the trap door.
Fiona gestures them down into what appears to be about a 10' tall chamber that's probably some kind of library. "Don't worry. It should be all fireproofed," she tells Robin. "There are some issues with local shadow conditions." She leaves the roof trap-door open for the firelizards.
"Now, apart from examining you with the Third Eye, do you bave any idea of what sort of tests Brennan did on you? I'd like to try them on my own first, before I talk to him, so that his comments won't influence my results." She points to a chair, presumably so Robin will sit down in it. "And yes, I am already looking at you with the Third Eye, before you ask."
With a smile, Robin waves to her little flamethrowers. They are certainly welcome to come, go, ride the winds, whatever they like. She's okay.
The miniature dragon creatures all find bookshelves or light fixtures to land on. Chirrup sits on a candelabra, his snout close enough to the candle's flame to displace it. He doesn't seem to notice.
"I don't believe Brennan ran any other kinds of test. His time was limited and he seemed to be being very careful regarding transparency." She smiles wryly at her Aunt. "Thank you for letting me know."
Robin takes one of the quiet concealed court-breaths that Castor taught her as well. She still doesn't like being looked at, but she can at least not shy away.
Fiona nods, perhaps having already performed her preliminary inspection of Robin's astral self. "I'm going to make a few preparations, but only to make it easier to see what might be happening. These candles won't do anything more than obscure your vision a bit."
Fiona lights three candles, which produce a green-tinged glow. They smoke quite a bit and Robin does notice that the room has dimmed noticably. Her fire-lizard friends continue to perch above her and begin to croon slowly to each other.
Fiona pulls a glass lens from a shelf and sets it in a stand, directly between herself and Robin.
"There's definitely a history of something happening here, but it doesn't seem to include ongoing damage. Can you remember exactly what Brennan told you? I'll call him in a moment, but I want to look at it while you describe it to me."
Robin nods as well, of course she can remember what Brennan told her. As she thinks back, like many of her cousins, she takes on Brennan as she saw that night: the so-subtle slump of grief and exhaustion hidden beneath rigid self-discipline and anger, the cold mask of his face - eyes glittering with... something. When she speaks, it's with Brennan's cold and clipped diction.
"Before, when I Looked at you, I saw something. More precisely, the lack of something."
There's a pause, and Robin's expression shifts as 'Brennan' hides something. "For lack of a better phrasing, something... made a nest of your soul. I didn't see what it was. I saw no remains of it-- and believe me, I sought for them-- except what was moved aside to make room for it. So to speak. I've never seen anything like it, or heard of anything like it. You now know everything I know about it.
"I'd guess this happened at the far end of the Black Road. I would ordinarily guess that something of Chaos was there, but I saw no trace of Chaos, so... I don't know. You now know everything I conjecture." Briefly 'Brennan's' cold mask lets a look of concern leak through. "I will give whatever advice I can, now and in the future, but right now, I have none. Other than: Find it."
After that, Robin's body shifts back to her own posture and her nose wrinkles. "Uhhh, we were pretty mad at one another at the time." She offers.
Fiona looks mildly amused to hear Robin's Brennan impression. Or perhaps she just looks like that all the time. "Soul is an emotionally charged word, one that I avoid. People have their own definitions of it that may not be compatible with each other. My preliminary theory, based on Brennan's analysis, is that something used you to survive patternfall. Then it ran away. If the Aisling hadn't been with us at the Fixed Place, I'd've guessed it was her."
A small croon of interest escapes Robin's lips. That make so much sense! Robin figures she would make an excellent reality-storm bomb-shelter. And she certainly likes that image better than a nest. With something growing in it. Eeewwww.
[Fiona] puts down her lens, and the smoke seems to clear as if on command.
"I'll call Brennan now and see what I more I can elicit from him that was not part of your splendid recitation. I expect I shall want to pull you in momentarily, so please do not wander off."
Robin nods. That's a good call in an active sorceress' lair. So instead, she looks around to her now less-flamable friends to make sure they're okay.
Fiona opens a drawer in a side table and pulls out a sketch of Brennan. He looks younger in it. Much younger. She concentrates on the image.
The contact comes quickly and easily, as though he were waiting for the contact... although from his surprised expression, perhaps he was waiting for someone else. Or perhaps he simply didn't expect Fiona to have a Trump of him. In any case, the surprise vanishes quickly.
After a moment, Fiona speaks. "Brennan, it's Fiona. Are you free to talk for a moment? Julian set me to investigate a matter about which you have some knowledge. I can call back if now is inopportune."
Brennan glances reflexively at the door he just barred, to make sure it is still secure. "I'll have to keep my voice down," he says quietly, although he suspects that Fiona could hear him if he just thought very loudly through the Trump connection. "But I can talk, yes." His frown as he puts down the book he was thumbing and making notes of is his normal thoughtful, distracted expression, not the scowl of actual irritation. He almost says more, but settles for, "How can I help?"
Fiona nods, briefly. "I'll be brief. I understand that some time ago you performed an inspection of Julian's daughter Robin for magical influences, at her request. Julian and Robin are asking me to look into the same matter. What did you see and what was your interpretation of what you saw? If you wish to look again, Robin is with me."
That is precisely what Brennan expected to hear; he remembers that day with a sick clarity, and his game face is on even before Fiona tells him what she wants.
"Yes, I did," he says. "She was in some distress at the time even to talk about her difficulties. Skipping the background, what I did was Look at her Astral body. What I saw was a distortion, where something had deformed the Astral anatomy, forming a pocket. Or in more metaphorical terms... a cyst, from her perspective, or perhaps a chrysalis or a nest from the perspective of whatever used to be there."
Brennan pauses to think about what order to say things in for best efficiency. "I detected no sign of Chaos, and I looked very hard for it-- by its nature, such a thing could not be stable, and as it wasn't healing, it would have to have been growing. I'd have brought her to you immediately if that were the case. To the contrary, it seemed what was there was Ordered. So my prognosis is stasis: it won't heal on its own but shouldn't deteriorate, either. My advice was to find whatever it was, for obvious reasons.
"I am hesitant to do what I did through this medium, but if you think it's safe, then yes, I'd like to re-examine her. It's the best way to see if there's been any change. Then, since I've had some months to think about this, I can offer up my speculations. Such as they are," he says.
The woman in question is doing her best not to squirm in her seat, but her natural antsyness is definitely evident. Stay calm, stay calm, she tells herself. The sorcerers need clean readings if they are to help.
"It's not an easy task, but since the third eye is passive, it will cause no damage to your person. Don't try to use sorcerous principles through a trump contact; it is ... unpleasant."
"I had no intention of it," Brennan murmurs. "By all means, let's proceed."
Robin continues to look around the room, not so much analyzing things as storing them away for future reference.
Fiona reaches out and takes Robin's hand, bringing her into the trump contact. Fiona's hand is smooth like a river rock, but not without strength.
Robin takes Fiona's hand in her own work-calloused one. Though there has been a manicure in Robin's near past, a troll-hunt and a week in the woods have pretty much done it in.
"Cousin," Brennan says. He still has his game face on, but the game is less suppressed-Family-hostility and more professional-concerned-physician.
Wherever Brennan is, it would seem to be a similar setting to Amber itself. There are rough stone walls in the background, whatever the light source is flickers like fire, and he's been working at a wooden table taking notes from a written folio. Brennan himself is as nondescript as he can make himself. His hair is cut short to make the red less noticeable, and he's got three solid days of scruff on his face, the better to be shaved or grown out as need be. There's a layer of road dust or battlefield grit on him, too, that he hasn't had a chance to wash away adding years to his apparent age.
Robin is a complete contrast to her surroundings. In a room of stone and study, Robin is a living, vital thing; dirty, yes - with leaves and twigs in her hair, a smudge of... something over one eyebrow, her leathers worn and comfortable. But her fine hair fluffs and floats in the drafts caused by the movements of the little gold firelizard on her shoulder. And even at her most cautious, her eyes and expression shift with curiosity, her head tilts and her shoulders tense against the urge to bounce or rock.
Oh, and she really doesn't like Trumps.
"Brennan, if you would take a look..."
It's difficult for Brennan to see with his third eye but it is, as Fiona said, possible. Brennan does not see any decay from what he remembers of his last look.
It might be the case that there are more connections across the hollow space then there were when he last looked. Or that could just be interference.
In a voice that might be Skiaza's, but is definitely Fiona's Brennan gets a private message. Tell her the truth, but simplified. And try not to frighten her. My immediate disnosis is "shell shocked" or what they call 'Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder' in more long-winded cultures.
Brennan has no idea how to make a response to that without saying something with his mouth that both of them could hear, so he doesn't even bother to try. It's some moments before he replies anyway. When he does, he says, "The good news is, no degradation. It's no worse than it was when I last Looked. Still no trace of Chaos. Bad news," and here he hesitates slightly out of slight uncertainty, "it's either no better, or so little improved I can't quite tell."
Robin nods, relief evident in her eyes. 'Not worse,' is good enough in her book.
"How do you feel? Better, worse, same?" he asks.
"Better," she says. "I've been talking." Her lips tick in wry humor. See? She's not ignoring his advice. "I sound like an idiot, when the stuttering kicks in or when I say something that in the open air is obviously... not right. And I hate appearing weak in front of Family, but..." she shrugs one shoulder awkwardly, "I'm not tail-spinning anymore."
Then realizing he's probably looking for information of a more physical nature, Robin tacks. "When confronting the situation, the stuttering is lessening. As is the sensation of blacking out. But not quickly or to a great degree. I still haven't pushed to unconsciousness. Ummm, I haven't recovered or clarified any additional memories. And I'm still skittish as hell. Anything else I should be looking for?"
Brennan glances at Fiona-- there's no way the speculations on the cause aren't going to be disturbing.
"The fact that you have mastery over the pattern and the shadows is a good sign. I'm going to let you out of the conversation, so that anything Brennan has to say or do sorcerously doesn't disturb your fire-lizards. I'll let you know what we think when he gets back to his business in Benedict's shadow."
"Cousin," he says, "I've kept this between us so far. Should you need to talk about it without... widening that circle, don't hesitate."
Robin nods gravely. She knows what this is costing Brennan. "Thank you." A quick grateful smile breaks out, lighting up her face before she nods her farewell and lets go of both Fiona's hand and the Trump contact.
Brennan hears the following silent speech: Seems to be adjusting to the damage rather than healing it. Somewhat like Gerard. What do you think? Please speculate freely.
Fiona turns to Robin. "Just a few more questions, I think, then I'll be able to tell you something more. Now, Is there any difficulty shifting or affecting probability?"
"I think someone should examine her while she's trying to conjure or manipulate probability," [Brennan] says.
"None that I've noticed." Robin confirms. An unconscious frown darts across her face at all the... well, bad shifting and manipulation she's witnessed or participated in lately.
Fiona nods. "Do you have any experience with using Trumps for divination?"
Robin shakes her head as her nose twitches slightly in distaste. Stoopid cards. Ah, well - what did she expect.
She hands Robin a deck of cards. "Just shuffle these cards while I observe you. We may not even have to cast them at all, they're just a focus. You know the old saying 'the shadows lie for me'? It's not just about blending in and being seen as human by whatever standards are locally current, it's also about how we subconsciously manipulate probability all the time. That's what I'm going to watch you do."
Robin nods her understanding as a corner of her mouth ticks in amusement. Fiona just said it so much better than she ever has; no wonder Vere wants her as a teacher.
"This will work better if you're talking. Tell my anything you want about that day, start anywhere that you're comfortable with."
"Heh." A grim laugh escapes the girl. "I'm not 'comfortable' with any of it, but I'll try."
[Brennan]
"Adjusting rather than healing is very much what I expected. That
she's asking for help says much, though. It's armchair psychology,
but I told her to seek out whatever it was in part to prove to herself
that she can have power over it. And I'd hesitate to say it outright,
but it should probably be found without Vere." Brennan's affect is
notably sour at that-- he knows exactly how he'd have felt about
anyone telling him what Cambina could or could not assist him with, or
vice-versa.
"As for what it is, I'm selective about the coincidences in which I believe. There are easier targets than one of us to choose for a host or a carrier. I have to believe Robin possessed some necessary qualities that could not be found anywhere else, and that were needed at that time and place. So, she was Real, deep in Shadow if not into the Courts, during the rebirth of the universe. An excellent way to survive that rebirth or to facilitate one's own rebirth at the same time.
"It's also possible this is something that was placed-- an egg, an acorn, a seed crystal if we're still thinking of a living thing-- rather than a creature. Which makes me want to narrow down the list of possible agents, but isn't really enough to do so. Except, I know there was an episode of temporal non-linearity. That could have happened on its own if she were deep enough into Chaos, but I would have expected her to subconsciously avoid that sort of thing. It put me in mind of stories I've heard of Tir-na... and she was asking about the Moonriders at the time.
"I don't know where it is, or where she was, but is it possible she was anywhere near Ghenesh? Or its agents?" Brennan asks?
Fiona nods at appropriate times. Or perhaps she doesn't actually nod, but Brennan knows she virtually did. Or perhaps there is a simultaneous nod in her physical and his mental space.. Brennan expects that if he thought on it too long, he'd get a headache. On the road? Gheneshi are creatures of Order, twisted though they are. If they were there, it would be as spies, like Robin. If I were more ruthless, I'd put her upon The Pattern and let it fix the damage or break her. Since I am not, I will try to find a way to gauge the state of her and see if she can do more self-repair prior to that measure. She breathes deeply and seems to be concentrating on speaking to him, as if it were a struggle. Is there anything else I should know about her situation?
"Unless she's holding back about her symptoms, no, you have all my knowledge. Symptoms, by the way, are her doubts about her own reality, a generally bad case of nerves and skittishness-- to which an uncharitable cousin might add a case of questionable impulse control-- and extreme difficulty in talking about the event that caused it all. The point of near blackouts." Brennan thinks, reviewing the conversations at several months remove. A thought strikes him.
"I gave the Moonriders as my hypothesis with the most explanatory power: they are creatures of Order as you say, they have some mobility although less than ours, their peculiar relationship with time may have given them-- at least one of them-- advance warning of the rebirth event. I recall now that she mentioned a throne and a crown, which she touched. If she can be helped to recall either with enough clarity to sketch them, that may be useful. To me, for personal reasons, as well as to her." Brennan lets out a long exhalation.
"I'm-- " Brennan rapidly swaps out whatever word he was going to use, "--concerned for her, Aunt. But don't tell her I said that.
"I am, by the way, where you think. I owe you a call at a more convenient time. Soon, I hope."
She'll be fine. We survive things, and get stronger. She frowns, mentally, perhaps thinking of Gerard. I will help her.
Robin pauses for a moment as the thoughts starting to swirl and align in her head. When her natural twitchiness kicks in, she lets her hands play with and manipulate the pasteboard rectangles she holds; not thinking of them so much as 'Trumps' or even cards, just as 'fiddling-with things.'
"I was glad to get out of Arden." Robin starts with an ironic smile, "The mood there was foul after the battle before Kolvir. Corwin back - with riflemen, Random freed, Eric dead," Robin doesn't sound at all sad about that last one. "We knew we weren't safe." Her eyes dart to Fiona, then away.
"So when the mission came up - and what a mission! - I jumped at it. I was sooooo stoked." She smiles fondly at her past self's youthful enthusiasm. "My father dispatched me down the Road... to scout. He warned me that the mission needed an Initiate of our Heritage to survive it, but that he couldn't send my brothers with me. They were more concerned with their home shadows than with Amber and Arden." A nose wrinkle indicates what she thinks of that.
"I rode beside it for a while. It was... not a thing of Death but a thing of Not-Life." Her brows furrow as she struggles to put impressions into words. "I crossed over the grasping grass into a... world tunnel, I guess. It was... leaching. Color, breathe, life, will, joy - all being d-drained away. I remember riding through a cloud of mist. Worse, much worse. Avoid the mist."
Robin stops for a moment, her eyes moving as she recalls other vistas from her memory.
"I rode for... a while." She shrugs one shoulder. "Then I saw a figure." Robin's eyes narrow in suspicion. "I don't like her. She is me, except more like I am now than I was then. I'm not the Shadow, you are." Robin speaks her thoughts out loud, though she is still fairly oriented as to where she is. Her last phrase is illustrative, not literal.
Robin's eyes focus on Fiona. "My father, Brennan, yourself, the Unicorn and the Pattern have all since assured me that I am who I once was." She smiles bitterly. "When I think of t-this, I cannot m-maintain that assurance."
Fiona looks through her lens at the playing cards. It's hard to tell what she's doing. She's sitting cross-legged at her table with a notepad in front of her. "There are literally dozens of cases of people who were too real for the black rain to erase and re-make as the shock-wave ran from the Pattern to the Courts, starting with me. I was at the edge of it and I can tell you I wasn't destroyed. Meg and Hannah and Reid and my daughter Brita were all unprotected in shadow when the rains came. Mathematically, they couldn't have survived: they had to be re-written, but I don't see any evidence."
Fiona writes something down on her notepad. "Maybe Silhouette. I wonder if she didn't really die, but then Dad wrote her back in when he re-wrote the pattern. It would explain some things.
"You were in a different circumstance. You were already in Chaos when the rain came, so there was nothing to anchor you to for the infinitesimal moment between dissolution and recreation. It's possible that everything you experienced was actually in your head, and was invented by your mind to explain the experience of primal chaos. Much like a person in a sensory deprivation tank experiences things that aren't there, the mind may have needed to make something up to hang on to.
"So that's speculation. Tell me more of why you question myself, Brennan, your father, the Unicorn, and the inanimate pattern? What do you think we're all missing?"
Robin's brow furrows as she considers it. "Iiiii think I still question because I seem so different. There's such a large break between what I was. And what I am now. It's not... innocence lost or any rubbish like that. I wasn't an innocent when I departed. And I certainly act as childlishly now as I did then. It's... this sense... fear? Anxiety, maybe? Uncertainty? Like I've had the world ripped out of my talons and I can't..." Robin makes an odd-grasping motion with the hands holding the cards.
"An-nd part of the world that was ripped away w-was my s-sense of self." She presses her lips together in irritation at the stutter but continues. "I... it's hard to h-hold on to my i-dentity. B-bad for a Pattern-wielder."
"I don't think that you, Brennan, my father, the Unicorn and the Pattern are wrong. I just c-can't maintain the surety. I can't believe it always."
Fiona nods. "If I understand correctly, you've experienced something I've only heard described. You were, for some small time, a Lord of the Living Void, set free of all restraints and all connections that anchor reality. If this is so, then what you did was anchor yourself to reality when it might have slipped away from you.
"It's what would've happened, briefly, to everyone if Brand had not failed. That you survived it is an impressive feat."
She looks up from her notepad, apparently having written all the notes she means to write. "Do you know how Corwin fixed his memory?"
Robin nods somewhat distractedly. She's still taking in what Fiona said earlier.
"I heard that he walked the Pattern. But..." she focuses a little more on Fiona, "I've already done that. Kind of. And while it was awesome, I'm not in a rush to do it again. Especially not so soon after the last time." Walking the Pattern is no joke, and Robin's taking it seriously.
"But what you said earlier, about being a Lord of the Living Void," Robin can't help the small smile that lights her eyes. "I... like that. Maybe too much. But it's certainly a... palatable explanation."
Robin starts working it through as her eyes wander off; not so much talking to Fiona as letting her hear her thoughts.
"Of course, the thing about being blown outside of time and causality is the once you do that, you can't really crawl back in. Words like "for some small time" or "briefly" only define the linear time perception of something that's... still completely existent." Robin gestures with the cards again, trying to encompass an infinity.
"Regardless though, crawling back into a linear existence would explain the senses of unreality and confinement I've been subjected to." Robin nods, "Of course, the trick is staying in a linear existence when your perceptions keep... blossoming outside of it." Robin scrunches up her nose in distaste and shakes her head rapidly. Stay away from that - that way lies madness.
"It might be helpful though to think of my... insecurities as the result of me trying to adapt back to my Family and Place. Which I want to - I very much want to. Being a Lord of the Living Void is bad, bad for a Lord of Order. Especially for one as... young as me." Robin smiles ironically at the time descriptor as she glances back to the Princess.
Fiona nods. "I mentioned Corwin because the pattern was helpful to his recovery. I suspect it would be for you as well. Without it, well, then we're looking at coping strategies as you wait to see how you naturally recover. It took Corwin centuries to get his memory back, but only half a decade to regrow his burnt out eyes."
She looks up, and seems concerned. "You've either broken bones or known those with them. Sometimes all it takes is time and stillness to repair. Sometimes the bone must be set."
Robin meets Fiona eyes with an ironic grin. "Guinea-pig for Gerard? I"m game for that." She nods with wry humor.
"Furthermore," she sighs as she leans back in the chair. "I'm not sure we have time for stillness and repair. I know the King doesn't think so. And I suspect my cousins would be less than gracious about me checking out -- again -- for another mental health holiday."
"I just... Walking the Pattern is hard, Aunt." She's not whining, just stating fact. "I've already survived it twice, yes. But... it would hit the Family hard, very hard if I failed."
Fiona nods, solemnly, watching Robin as a cat watches a bird. "There are two tests in walking the pattern. The first is, will it accept you? You know it will. The second is, do you have the will to walk it? You should. If you do not, you would be considered one of the last casualties of the war, killed by my brother. It is my advice to you that you not fail."
Robin can't help but laugh at that last. What other advice is there?
Despite Fiona's unnerving stare - so like her brother's (what is it they are seeing?), Robin considers. Brand's last casualty, huh? Instead of his first. The girl finds wry humor in that as well.
She leans back to think, trying to ignore the big cat in the room. She walked the Pattern (or whatever) in Amber because she was desperate to find her Father in the face of Random's sudden appearance. Is she any less desperate to find herself in the face of Random's reign? Less desperate perhaps but no less committed.
And then there's Ver... no. Robin stops herself there. One never, never walks the Pattern for anyone else. In the all-or-nothing game, it's all about oneself. And isn't that what she and Fiona have been talking about; the lack of self focus?
One side of Robin's lips ticks. Is she really considering regaining her youthful arrogance? On the one hand, it'd be nice to face the universe without.. nervousness once more. On the other, she comes from a parent of who was unacceptably arrogant, would she be the same if she was returned to her strength?
Robin's head cocks to the side as she continues dancing along her thought paths. Well, she didn't before her... accident, so why should she now? Her eyes drift off as Robin remembers the Ranger she was, instead of the girl she's becoming.
Full of conviction, Robin's green eyes refocus on her Aunt. "Yeah, okay. Let's do this thing."
Fiona nods. "Very well." She pulls out a trump, one of someplace that Robin doesn't recognize, exactly, but might be in Arden. It may be in the deep green. It's akin to the Grove of the Unicorn, somehow.
"We will need to assure that your affines do not interfere. It would not be safe for them."
Robin nods, a resigned cast to her eyes. She knew that. Devoted, flying friends and the Pattern? Badness.
"I'll need to know where they are. So that I can go there from center." There's no doubt in her voice that she will reach the center. But her promise to not leave her friends is weighing heavily upon her.
"Peep?" Robin puts down the cards and pulls the firelizard off her shoulder into a cuddle. "Ooot? Chirrup?" She calls her other friends down into the cuddle pile.
Robin opens her mouth to speak. Then closes it as she realizes that the words would just complicate the matter anyway. Instead she nuzzles the gold firelizard fondly. Robin is sad because she has to be apart from her friends. She is going to become better, stronger. But the firelizards can't come. Just like Robin can't fly. Robin doesn't want to leave them, but even with as brave and smart and wonderful as the firelizards, they are some Robin things that they just can't do. She will be back afterward; strong and happy to see them. And there will be presents.
Peep peeps. Robin gets the feeling that she intends to keep the other two in line. Like a bossy older sister. Or something.
Robin laughs warmly and nuzzles Peep again. What a good strong friend she is. Robin would expect no less from her little queen. The boys get strokes too and told to be good and listen to Peep.
"Guest quarters here are austere, but serviceable, for friends of the tower." Fiona stands and leads Robin to a sparsely decorated room. Its main feature is a chair and a small bookshelf, but there's also a cot in the corner. The chair is set for reading, and is backed by a window that will let in light most of the day.
The princess seems at home in the bare room. "Can you convince your affines to stay here? So that they can be your anchor to return to? If not, I would suggest a place you are already familiar with."
Considering that the bookshelf is more than Robin would need, she has no problems with the 'austerity' herself. Though 'friend of the tower'? Really? 'Not-food of the tower' seems more likely. But who is she to contradict the tower's master, so she nods politely at Fiona's comment.
Robin nods, "This will be fine. They will stay here. And I'm already familiar enough with this place to return to it." She escorts her little fair in. "Thank you," she adds.
Getting the firelizards settled, having fun with in and out of the window for everyone and generally saying good-bye takes a few more minutes. Then Robin turns to Fiona and says, "I'm ready."
Fiona reaches out for Robin's hand. She pulls a card from her deck. "Primal, I think, would be most appropriate. Come along, Robin," she says, stepping forward from the austere room to a shallow, sunlit cave entrance.
As anything Primal is most appropriate for Robin, she nods, takes Fiona’s hand and steps from the man-made cave to the Oberon/Dworkin-made cave.
Robin blinks in the light of the perfect sun hanging low in the eastern sky. Inside the cave smells of predators: lions and eagles. Outside the breeze is fresh and the grass sward is very green. A few steps from the cave entrance is a vast, flat stone laid in the meadow. Upon it is the Pattern. It glows slightly, even in the daylight.
“Ooooooo.” A delighted, fascinated croon escapes the girl as she takes in the landscape before her. Finally! A Pattern not in a city. Or in a dungeon. Robin hoped such a thing existed.
Fiona looks around, as if expecting to see someone here. "I suspect that both Wixer and Dworkin will be here shortly once you start. I shall speak to them. Don't let that, or anything, distract you."
The start of the Pattern lies before Robin, ready to unthinkingly destroy her if she missteps, or to remake her, perhaps, whole.
Heh. Best kind of challenge. Robin steps forward, stretching as she does. A warm smile lights her face. A week in the woods with Vere is probably the absolutely best Pattern-preparation she could have. A brief laugh escapes the girl as she wonders what color hair she will emerge with. Probably not purple. A brief thought of pants darts through her mind and Robin realizes that she is, indeed, becoming distracted.
At the start of the Pattern, just before the fateful step, Robin stops and focuses on the challenge before her. Her lips spread in a feral smile and her eyes begin to spark with the joy of the hunt. Inside her, once again, her raptor nature rises fierce and focused. This time not on the Pattern within her, but on the Pattern in front of her. As she steps forward, that fierce stormhawk cry bursts from her lips and Robin is on the Pattern.
The sparks start nearly immediately, as she lifts her trailing foot and places it back down in front. Always along the lines. They fly off her feet and legs like white-hot, tiny firelizards and disappear into air at the end of their arcs.
It's no harder than her last walk, of the pattern-of-the-mind. It's no easier, but it seems, somehow different. More concrete. More like she is a part of something than that something is a part of her. The sparks reach her calves, now, and are quickly above her knees. Robin presses on, her body and that part of her concentration needed to stay on the lines dedicated to that task. The sparks look more and more like firelizards, with wings and fat bellies. Robin executes a tricky part in the switchbacks approaching the Grand Curve and she grunts. "Chirrup?" replies the bronze lizard. Except he's white and electric. He's perched on Vic's shoulder.
"This is your demon-ritual, then? This is what marks you as not human? You were always so desperate to be one of us, but here you are making yourself more like one of them. If you do this, you'll be more like them. Corwin. Eric. Bleys." He lifts the arm that Chirrup is perched on, and the dragonette nuzzles his ear. "Will he even know you? Do you remember, though? Once you said you'd rather die than be like them." He holds out his hand.
Robin grits her teeth, knowing a Veil Challenge when she sees one. "Once I thought I had the luxury of dying before I became one of them. Now... I see the tears our deaths make in the universe, hear how our screams echo on forever." She shakes her head angrily. "I won't do that to... everything, to all the Allness. So I can't let myself die." There's a touch of sadness in her voice. No rest for the wicked.
"But I also can't and won't let myself become like them either." Robin's mouth screws up as though she wants to spit. "Those men, those Princes, who let their ambitions rule them."
He steps directly in front of her. "It's just what you're doing!" he shouts. "They bend and bend and bend the branch, over years, until they have you growing in exactly the twisted way they want! Who are you walking this to become? What's wrong with being Robin? Who told you you'd die if you did things your way instead of theirs? They did! It's better to be yourself then to let them make you a demon-princess. Come to us, step off, and be your own person! We want you as you are."
Robin can't go any further without pushing Vic and Chirrup aside.
“You don’t know them!” She shouts back. “They’re not capable of – okay, patient enough – for that kind of dung. And they certainly don’t work together well enough for it....”
Her ire drops off to irony. “I guess I didn’t know them either. That maliciousness, those violences? They’re caused by scars & old pain, just like mine.” She snorts wryly, “Being Robin is being a demon-princess.”
She looks up at her loves. “But I’m not going to become a monster. I’m not going to forget how to love. So I’m going to carry you all with me.”
Spreading her arms wide, Robin steps forward into Vic and Chirrup gathering them up into a big hug as she continues to walk ahead.
Both Vic and, somewhat disturbingly, Churrup, say "Stop!" as Robin approaches, but they disappear into the sparks as she gathers them in. She steps through and the veil parts, proving, as if it needed to be proven, that she belongs on the pattern. The steps are still difficult, and more difficult than the arcs and curves before the first veil, but the first veil has been been crossed.
The sparks, like Robin's feet rise again and again, as if she is kicking them up. It's hard, sweaty work, and Robin can't even imagine any of the Princesses doing it. Flora, who was King Eric's favorite. Fiona, who is so delicate. Was it harder for her than for them? She doesn't know.
"It is harder. I fear that it is too hard. I have regretted how I've failed my children. Your brothers, one dead and the other mad. You, broken and not healing, and even now my sister experiments to see what she can do for Gerard." Julian sounds as if he feels every bit of pain he's seen in his children over the years.
"I can't let you down, Robin. Let me help you. Trust in me, close your eyes, and I will guide you so that you succeed. Surrender your will to mine and I will do this for you."
"Oh, Daddy..." Robin’s growing weariness makes it easy for the tears to spring to her eyes. "I wish I could. I wish I could be your little girl forever." A wild hoyden in the woods, a Lost Girl. It would be so easy; no more fear of her powerful and tricksy Family, no more not understanding her place, no more embarrassing moments among the humans. The lazy part of Robin that likes to bask in high places slows her steps. Buuuutttt, there would also be no more Vere, no more Peep, Chirrup & Ooot, no Brita & Brij & Silhouette & Ossian.
"But I can’t. You were the one who taught me that – that I’m too... much to let anyone have my will but me."
Her father steps forward, leading Morgenstern. They block her way forward. Ooot sits on the stallion's grey back, spreading his wings in alarm. "It sems you have misaprehended my lessons. I taught you to survive. Not to kill yourself trying to please me. I can help you here, as no one else can, and you can go back to your own ways. Stop, and let me guide you, as I have always done."
“Dad.” She gently chides the Veil illusion. “You’ve never guided me. You’ve advised me, taught me and let me fly free.” She smiles through the tears at her Father, her ‘Uncle’ and her... child. “Despite the fires and the tantrums and the disaster after disaster... all that pain and trouble...”
Robin’s eyes widen as realization strikes her. “Taken into yourself. Great Green, I do that too! That’s what you are doing, that’s what you’ve always been doing – taking on other people’s pain. I grew up around it, copied it. Oh, Dad. Poor, poor Dad.” Robin steps into her father, hugging him, and pushing him backward as she slowly continues to inch forward.
“That’s my fear, isn’t it? Not of my own pain, but of the pain I cause others.” Robin remembers the sick feeling in her stomach when she told Solange that she couldn’t face hurting Vere, the shame and revulsion she still feels for the injury he took during the first Huon fubar, her inability to face Jerod and Brennan’s pain-become-rage during the second Huon fubar, her shaking terror of facing her father or Jovian after Canareth’s death.
“Oh, verde. Being alive not only means hurting, it means hurting the ones I love.” Robin’s gorge rises at the thought. Almost against her will, her eyes raise to her father, looking to him for guidance even though she knows he’s not real. She shakes her head, no – not him, not now. No white armor for her. Maybe Uncle Gerard can... no! This is not something she can find the answer for elsewhere. She has to find it for herself.
Robin pushes through and the ghostly figures fade, their mouths moving as if they were still trying to stop her. The path is bright, and she traverses wide spirals while the sparks fly up as high as her chest. It takes concentration to keep on the path, but Robin can move. It's like wading through a fast river in the deep green. It taxes her muscles and her concentration, but it lets her think about the challenges she faced and will face. The pressure builds and the sparks climb higher and Robin knows she is approaching the next veil. It seems earlier than it should be, as if something isn't quite right.
If there is another figure for this challenge, Robin couldn't see him for the sparks. She's not surprised to hear a voice close by her ear. His voice. Vere. It's almost enough to make her misstep just hearing it. "You know why I am here. You can't even imagine me without my logical reasoning, so I shall make my case bluntly. If you let the pattern make you who you once were, will you still love me? Is the part of you that loves me the part that will be burned away? I've been doing research, and there are ways to get off the pattern successfully. Come, you've done enough; don't throw away our future together."
“Mmmmm...” Even in her exhaustion, even in the midst of her concentration, Vere’s voice brings a croon to Robin’s lips.
“Oh, Vere. I love your fingers and your hair too. Your strong shoulders and your soft lips. And yes, your reason, my Light.” Robin struggles to keep from closing her eyes in happiness at the very thought of Him. But her concern at this odd Veil, too early and too different, pops her tired eyes back open. Fiona said the Pattern was different; this must be part of that difference. Vere’s words mingle with her own worry.
“I-I wake up with that fear every morning, my Love. Every time the world changes around me unexpectedly. Will this be the time I wake up – again – to a world I don’t know? A world where you don’t know me? Where I don’t know you? Where you don’t exist?” She’s not sure which would be worse.
Her eyes glance to the sparks. “But better to have loved... for both of us. Better than worrying about a future always in motion. That’s why I rushed you my Love, my sweet old-souled child.”
“I don’t know what will happen in the moments yet to come. I could die. You could die. I could have my mind ripped out of my head and played with – again. The King could die and the universe be ripped asunder.” She laughs bitterly.
“I don’t know what I will have or not have. I only know what I have right now. And what I have right now is all the love in the Universe for you, my Heart.” She smiles as she turns her eyes forward again and struggles on. “Or at least the real you. Not some stupid Pattern-Veil-ghosty-delusion thing.”
Vere chuckles. "You know that these challenges are coming from within yourself. The form is entirely a reflection of what you expect it to be. It's not entirely clear that the challenge is an any way physical or simply in the mind. So it's like Random's crossbow bolt from the center of Corwin's pattern. Do you wonder if he'll be there again? Shoot you again, this time while you're on the pattern? I don't want that, and neither do you.
"If you love me, you'll stop, so we can figure out how to save you. It's hard to restart, but nobody ever said it was impossible."
Robin finds herself chuckling along with PVGDT Vere; yep, that’s the way the real one react.
But when he speaks of Random, the shock is so sharp and sudden that Robin almost freezes in her tracks. She hadn’t even thought of that possibility. Her heart clenches and her stomach drops. There’s a moment when she’s darn near still but her inertia carries her steps forward ever so slightly.
As she gets her breath back, she nods to Vere. “Good hit, you bastard,” she acknowledges. She continues panting while she recovers from her shock. Random, why Random? Why does... something want her afraid of/opposed to Random? No! Time for that navel-gazing later. Robin forces herself back to the moment and the Walking.
Green eyes light with humor as she looks back to Vere. “You lost it on the re-toss, though. Vere, my Vere, would never say ‘If you love me, you’ll anything.’ If I thought it was critical to set myself on fire, he’d hand me the flint. That’s why I love him.” Robin starts to beam.
“In fact, why don’t you come along with the others?” Robin opens her arms wide. “So I can tattle on you to him WHEN I finish this. I’m sure he’d love to dissect you.” There’s fierce fangs in Robin’s smile as she walks forward into the abstraction of Pattern sparks. That’s why Robin loves the real Vere too. Her quiet scholarly man has quite the hunter in him.
Robin finally sees the image of Vere, standing before her on the path, blocking her way. Peep sits on his shoulder, her tail wrapped around his neck. She steps though the apparition and the veil, passing through to the last section of the pattern. The Third-and-Final veil doesn't seem to be the final challenge on this pattern. The path continues and it's intricate and difficult and Robin has to concentrate just to breathe, move, and stay on the line. Each movement is a triumph of her will over the forces of oblivion. It's all she can do to keep it going. She feels as if there is nothing left, that she's been stripped of everything but her will to move.
She looks ahead, perhaps a score of paces the pattern ends. The final veil should be there. 19. She sees her final challenge.
The pattern forks. One fork goes to the left and the other, to the right.
Only one way can be correct, but there are two.
"Gaaaahhh!!!" Robin gasps in frustration. Under her breath, Robin starts cursing in time with her steps; using her anger to give her just that extra boost of energy she so needs now.
Stupid self! Stupid bifurcated self! One way - Lord of Order. The other? Laurel, whatever fraction of herself is still hanging out there in the timelessness of Chaos, the sensation of being in someone else's illusion, the fear of not being real.
But after all, this is what the Pattern, what Order, is all about: narrowing down the infinite to the singular. And in the end, that's why she's here. To weed out all the... clutter, until there is only Robin left.
"Okay, baby..." she murmurs to the insensate Power that flows beneath her stamping feet, to the overwhelming Force that is throwing up sparks as high as she can see. "Sing for me now."
And with that, Robin opens her Hearing as wide as it will go. Listening for all she is worth to the flow and roar that is the Pattern. Seeking it's Song so as to add her own instrument to the Arrangment. And hopefully, to understand which path is the Coda, and which is the embellishment.
Robin listens for the fundamental music of reality and finds it. The pattern weaves lightning, blood, and lyre in equal proportions and equal importance. Blood makes the pattern, lightning tests the walker, and song makes the universe. Perhaps the redheaded mathematical models are just approximations of the interweaving themes and melodies of Order, echoing and reflecting from this original performance. There may even be a reason the Unicorn chose the musician as King.
The path to the left is orchestral; a full range composed of many different instruments and coming from everywhere. It is in harmony with the path prior to the split.
The path to the right is a variant. It is more aligned with Robin than the other part. It's not wrong, or if it is she can't tell it's wrong.
Robin steps forward, coming ever closer to the decision point. The sparks block her vision of all but the crucial split.
Lightning, blood and lyre. Robin finds the strength to wonder; for how long she has been only lightning and blood? It’s the lyre coming into her life that has brought her some comfort. And yet, it was the addition of the lyre that brought her to crisis.
Though Robin wishes she was the type to think about it and weigh her options carefully like her Beloved, when the crucial step must be taken – it’s the decision of a heartbeat.
Robin chooses to join the orchestra of the Universe, instead of flying her own fierce solo path.
She steps left.
Robin pushes at the resistance and the last steps are an effort of pure will, and then Robin is through, and it takes her last bit of will to not stumble back onto the pattern.
Robin has just completed the most difficult task she has ever undertaken, again.
The pattern will take Robin anywhere.
Robin breathes out an exhausted curse and bends over, resting her shaking hands on bent knees. Huge gulps of air flow in and out of the girl as she just concentrates on breathing and not passing out. So different from the exultation of last time. Inside, Robin vows to change her life so that she doesn’t have to keep doing this over and over again – it’s just plain crazy.
Once the urge to fall over or vomit or vomit and fall over lessens, Robin stretches up on her tiptoes to see past the showering blue sparks back to the start of the Pattern. While she desperately wants to get to her firelizards, she’s also curious to see if a ‘Wixer’ and a ‘Dworkin’ have joined Fiona.
There's no one at the start of the pattern, but a shift of the wind indicates that there is either a large predator behind the rocky outcropping to her de'gauche or else a large predator's lair.
Ooooh, the temptation of a large predator. Robin smiles.
But her promise to her little ones comes first. With no 'Wixer and Dworkin' immediately obvious, Robin needs to return. Remembering her odd transportation last time, Robin does not envision her firelizards themselves. Instead, she visualizes the odd Tower room where she left them, in all its spartan and inflamable glory.
Robin steps into the tower room, physically drained. The room is exactly as she expected it to be, with the cot on one corner and a large pitcher of water beside it. The cot beckons.
Her trio immediately descend on her, demanding attention and pushing each other out of the way to get to Robin. Leaving was apparently not what they'd wanted.
Robin laughs joyfully as she flumphs down onto the cot. Her emotions are bon-fire warm within her. She loves them, yes she does. Collectively and individually. Tired as she is, Robin makes sure there’s snuggles and croons and scratchings enough for everyone. And somewhere in there, she falls asleep.
Last modified: 28 June 2014