In the morning, or at least after the period of sleep, Edan rises and make his morning ablutions and other preparations. A suitable breakfast is brought to his room and when he comes down, he finds that Aramsham is prepared and saddled. His saddlebags are quite full.
Clarissa is waiting on a milk-white mare caparisoned with the ensign of the Bronze Legion, perfect in every way except for its rat's tail.
"Are we ready to go to Uxmal?" she asks.
Edan smiles broadly. Fully rested, relaxed, weaponed, and ahorse, he's in the best shape he's been for quite a while. "I am ready," he says. "Anything I should know about Uxmal before we go?"
"Your uncle Brand was God-King there after he defeated the petty local godlings. He married there--" Clarissa sniffs and obviously disapproves "--and produced Brennan and Ambrose. The locals are occasionally pesky. Oh, and it's stiflingly humid." More sniffish disapproval. "Let me know if it's too much for you and I'll do something about it."
"Oh, no," Edan replies immediately. "If it is warm and humid, it will be very comfortable. Most places are too cold. Amber and Xanadu are positively freezing. A variation on Father's Umbrella spell ought to help with the moisture."
She tears a hole in reality and Edan can see the Tree through it.
"Go on." Clarissa waves Edan through.
Edan nods when he sees Ygg, as much a confirmation of his internal view of reality as a whole as it is a response to Clarissa's wave. Once he goes through, Edan waits for his grandmother to pass through and close the Veil; then he 'pings' the area with sorcerous energy, mostly to test the damping effects of his sword.
Edan can see that the enchantment on the blade is true and solid, and he thinks it will last about a week, perhaps a bit less, now that they're in a realm where time has meaning again.
Clarissa is surveying the tree and the area around them. "No flowers. That's something at least." She tears another hole in reality and gestures Edan through again. He can smell the heat and humidity through the rip even before he can move to the Part in the Veil.
"This would be the place, wouldn't it?" Edan asks as he looks around. "I would love to be proven wrong." He smiles a little at the second portal as he urges Aramsham forward, and quotes, "I came to the bridge which few may pass. 'Pass!' cried the keeper, but I laughed, saying, 'There is time', and he smiled and shut the gates."
As Edan says the last word, the rip closes behind him and Clarissa, who has come through just afterwards. They arrive in a deserted courtyard surrounded by a stone fence and outbuildings, on a path leading up to a large pyramid.
"Well," says Clarissa, her six-fingered hands dropping her reins again and coming into a casting gesture of some sort, "that's not good."
By the word 'good', Edan's sabre is in his hand, en garde in terce. His other hand is up in a conservative but effective warding gesture, wisps of smoke already drifting lazily up into the air.
Stay close to us, Kyauta, he thinks to his affine. Take advantage of our wards.
Yes, my Lord Kyauta replies.
Meanwhile, he's scanning the treeline, picking up important facts: humidity, heavy vegetation, animal noises, stonework, lack of metallurgy, lighting, movement, types of stone used...
[OOC: in other words, for that last, would be helpful to know if the stones are igneous rock and there's lots of obsidian about :)]
[OOC: Oh, yes, lots of obsidian and igneous rock. Think Aztec-Mayan-Incan-other Precolumbian architecture and such. The temple complex is loosely based on the real-world Uxmal, if you need an idea.]
The place appears recently deserted; it does not have the sort of overgrowth Edan would associate with a place long-abandoned. Nor are the rocks split by trees and vines in the way a place that had fallen to ruin would show. There are animal noises, but mostly from away from the building complex they're standing in.
Clarissa points toward the structure in front of them. "That is the Pyramid of the Magician. Your Uncle's home, and now your cousin's," she says in a low voice. "If there was a battle here, someone cleaned up after."
"You are saying Ambrose has strong enemies, that there would be a battle," Edan says. "If that is so, then this tells us much." He waves to encompass the scene. "If he won such a battle, there would be guards and a perimeter. If his enemies won and took over, the same. If they took what they wanted and left, they would have left the bodies. But this? Leave a mystery? This screams 'trap', of the ambush variety. And Ambrose knew that you were coming... so, now, might his enemies."
Edan looks around. "Many of these stones, they have known fire. They also witnessed what happened. I would pull that memory from them, if I didn't think it would precipitate an attack."
"That petty little--Chantico. If she's done something to Ambrose, there won't be enough of her left to affinate." Clarissa's form shudders a little: not her bones and musculature, her actual form. "Go ahead, if you think it's worth the risk. I'll watch."
Deciding that a highly-irritated Clarissa is the best defense he could ask for, Edan nods and moves to pick up a few of the nearby rocks and clear a space nearby to his grandmother. A squarish block of pumice, perhaps a foot across on each side, is placed first as a base; then, a small pile of obsidian is piled on top. Some vines and plants are put around the base, then, and sprinkled with a foul-smelling liquid from a flask Edan produces from his pocket. He claps his hands together, and the plants burst into flame; kneeling, with many caressing gestures of his hands, he somehow coaxes the fire to surround and immolate the stones. A second clap, and the obsidian creaks and stretches and melds together, rising above the flames to hover perpendicular to the ground.
With this 'viewing screen' in place, Edan begins a chant, and the character of his hand movements changes; patterns begin to scroll across the face of the obsidian, which apparently is stretched thin enough to be visible from the other side, and random sounds of interference emanate from the pumice stone. With concentration and movement, Edan calls upon a scene of the recent past...
Edan sees a number of scenes that start in this court, some are too old, showing a ball game in the arena. Some are too new and show the empty court as it is now. There are a few tantalizing images of Ambrose, and of people lining up and marching off. It's not to war, because they have belongings with them. It seems like some kind of migration.
"What do you see?" Clarissa asks.
"An... exodus," Edan says. "Ambrose led people away. He, ah, did know that you were coming, yes?"
"He knew, which means either something terrible made him do it or he's counting on me to find him." Clarissa purses her lips. "Is there any hint of Dara or Chantico? Or Cleph?"
"Not yet, but there is much to review." Looking straight at Clarissa, Edan makes an effort to relax whatever blocks he has thrown up in his mind while in her presence. "Mind-work is not my favorite pastime... if you would show me what they look like, I will narrow the search."
"Dara can change form, but her Ordered shape looks like this--" and Clarissa does something magical, bending light to show the form of a young, dark-haired woman. "And this is Cleph." Another shape forms next to Dara. He is a man, but his legs bend in the wrong place.
"I've never seen Chantico, unfortunately." Something in Clarissa's tone makes Edan think this might be good for Chantico.
"If this is where she lives, then we just might," Edan says, but he's already turning his attention back to the obsidian screen. A few deft movements of his fingers, and he reviews a much narrower band of time- the events surrounding the exodus.
Clarissa's voice drifts over Edan's work as he continues. "She's your cousin in the half-blood. She commands the fire in a way I'm told is not unlike yours."
"Brand's daughter." A very slight smile graces Edan's lips. "I shall be prepared."
As Edan watches the narrower band of time, he sees Ambrose, in his linen shirt and khaki trousers and leather boots, and many men and women in what seems to be the local costume: linen shifts or kilts, flowers, obsidian weapons. If one of the women is Chantico, Edan cannot identify her.
"I do not see them yet, " Edan says. "The exodus is orderly, though." His hand moves in a sideways gesture, moving the time stream forward. "I have seen places like this. Places of blood and sacrifice and god-kings and secrets. If this Chantico is from here, I wonder at her... ethics."
"That's the problem with Gods. They don't understand what an affine is for," Clarissa tsks. "If you're going to eat it, just eat it."
As the time frame advances, there is a woman with Ambrose, but she appears to be older and weak, and leans on Ambrose.
Edan glances up to Clarissa, then back down to the scene; his hands move much like a conductor directing a symphony as he moves the time forward again. "A woman... an older woman. He took her with him." He moves his head slightly in his grandmother's direction. "Was his mother here?" A frown. "Is she Brennan's mother, as well?"
Clarissa's lip curls a bit. "Tayanna. Yes, she's Brennan's mother too."
The scene proceeds and the assembled company in the vision moves out and away from the courtyard where they're standing. Once they're off in the jungle, it's impossible for Edan to tell where they went, other than the direction of their departure.
Edan stops the smile, this time. "Tayanna is not your favorite, I gather." He turns and points. "They went this way. Perhaps they left clues inside as to why they left."
"Very well, let's investigate," Clarissa agrees, and waits for Edan to dismiss his spell before moving toward the Pyramid of the Magician.
Edan does so; then puts his hand back on the pommel of his sabre, just in case. "I might have spent another hour looking for people that came in another way," he says. "Diminishing returns... I do not understand what would cause them to leave like this."
"Something happened, something sudden that wasn't obvious to us." Clarissa sets her feet on the first step of the stairway. "Brand, and later Ambrose, lived in the House of the Soothsayer." She gestures to the top of the oval pyramid they are about to climb. "If there's a message, Ambrose will have left it there."
Edan nods once; then, sword in hand again, other hand ready to ward, and Third Eye open to all he could see, he advances up to the top of the pyramid.
The Pyramid of the Magician is a magnificent structure, gleaming in the sunlight and painted in a dazzling array of colors. To his Third Eye, it is not exactly there (buildings generally are not), but it seems to be strengthened and supported by some sort of magic. To his magical vision, the building seems to have a great feathered snake motif in the very stone of it.
Clarissa steps gingerly over certain stones that are especially serpentine. "The gods here have no imagination, Edan, and no style at all. Your late Uncle was an amazing boy, but he had such poor taste in servants." She shakes her head.
At the top there are two notable features--a stone statue of a reclining god and a darkened entryway into the pyramid.
Edan hesitates near the top, glances back down to the courtyard, then reaches into a pocket to produce a small metal mirror. Whispering a rune for a full minute, he tilts the mirror downward at several points; the reflected image of their horses stays strong, but down below their horses fade until his illusion of an empty courtyard is complete.
[(Fire + Sorcery + 1 minute + props) = (penalty, if any + 6 (2 horses) + 3 (greater than a watch) + effect)]
The mirror is warm, but not so hot as to burn ... someone who is not Edan. It starts to issue smoke.
He then surrounds his warding hand with a heatless flame for light after they enter; he stares at the statue (more to see if he recognizes Family than anything) before turning back to Clarissa. "The servants helped create this, then? Was Brand's symbol this serpent-of-feathers?"
The statue isn't obviously Family, but it's stylized and that would distort the resemblance. "Yes. And Ambrose is Smoking Mirror."
Edan's wide-eyed look resolves into a chuckle. "Smoking Mirror, did you say? Look, a clue... another spell, just waiting for an outlet." He tilts his head a little to meet his grandmother's gaze. "Watch my back, would you, in case something untoward happens?"
Clarissa nods agreement.
An image of a young man, recognizable as Ambrose, forms in the mirror.
"Chantico, the course you have laid yourself on leads only to your destruction. Your foreign allies will dismantle Uxmal completely. Make yourself Queen of a dead land if you will; I have taken my people out of your hand. And my father's secrets are mine. The cycle is ending; we could have made a new beginning. Now the world will come to an end and you are trapped here. Die as you lived, selfish bitch."
The image vanishes.
Edan relates this, if Clarissa looks like she didn't see it.
Clarissa listens to his explanation and nods.
"So," he says after a long moment. "Unless Chantico can shift Shadow, her 'foreign allies' are likely Dara and Cleph. No wonder Ambrose left. They are coming." He glances back to the opening. "Or they are here, or they have been here and gone. But I do not understand the term 'trapped'. Does it mean Chantico is tied to the fate of Uxmal, that she will die if it is destroyed? Or does it mean that Ambrose has somehow sealed this place? He had to know that the others could leave, could take her along, whenever they wished."
"If Dara rescues her," Clarisa replies. "That girl's headstrong. Both of them are. If Chantico's no use to her, Dara won't be back." She pauses for a moment rather than actually entering the pyramid. "Well, there's always another use for her, if Dara means to go that way."
Edan looks like he has every intention of entering the pyramid; Clarissa's halt has him turning around to regard her, slowing his own steps. "To... 'eat' her? Take her knowledge and memories? Or transfigure her, perhaps, set her as a guardian? Or a pet..." He raises an eyebrow, considering. "Or a coatrack..."
Clarissa nods at the word 'eat'. "I imagine the poor girl gets very hungry," she says mournfully. "Or there's always my dear boy's way of solving the universal problem."
Edan slows down even farther. "Which one? Oh, Brand. But that would mean-" He stops fully, then. "Would Dara go so far?"
Clarissa shrugs. "Why wouldn't she?"
"Because she... because I..." Edan stops, confused. "It was my understanding that Dara had walked the Pattern in Amber. Brand and his... er... motivations... aside, I find it hard to believe that she would put herself into that position. Having walked a Pattern, I do not think I could do the same." He presses his lips together in exasperation. "It is hard to describe. There is an... affinity. A connection. Destroying part of a Pattern would be like destroying part of myself. Unless she had gone completely mad, I have to believe this Dara would feel the same."
"But she's a Lord of Chaos. A true Lord, not an orderly being with affines. She doesn't see it the same way you do, dear," Clarissa explains patiently.
Edan looks like he's about to say something, but just smiles and shakes his head. "I shouldn't project, I suppose. And too much to wish for a simple relationship. As bad as this Chantico appears to you and to Ambrose, ought we not at least try and warn her that she is... and will be... a tool?"
"Wasn't that Ambrose's message to her? Do you think she'll listen to you?" This part seems to be something of a matter of academic speculation for Clarissa.
"It was in the message, yes... though 'selfish bitch' might not be the most diplomatic of terms." Edan's shoulders slump, a little. "And no, she won't listen to me." Turning back to look directly at Clarissa, he adds, "Well. Ambrose has left, and taken what he values with him. Unless you think there might be an additional message, left just for you, my cousin has likely made this place... inhospitable... to visitors. I am inclined to try and track him, instead."
"Oh, I could probably withstand whatever he has in there, and he knows it. But it might damage you. Ordered beings can be a bit fragile."
There's a challenging look, a hundred percent pride, that comes then disappears on Edan's face in response to that. It's quickly replaced by amusement.
Clarissa frowns. "We should leave a message for Brennan--and Chantico--if you like, and we can be on our way. Do you have a way to track Ambrose?"
Edan shakes his head. "Not without some inventive sorcery. But, then, I knew that you use grackleflints, and I knew they can track well, and I reasoned that if there was such a creature that could out-perform you in a skill, that you would have... er... ah... acquired it long since."
Clarissa smiles at Edan. Her teeth are a bit more pointed than he recalled before. "If he left something behind, it will be easier. Shall we go in and see what's there?"
Still with a sword in one hand and a flame in the other, Edan nods. "Absolutely," he says, and brightens the flame as he descends into the edifice.
Clarissa takes up position behind him, with her hands in what appears to Edan to be a preparatory gesture for some sort of spell (perhaps a Parting of the Veil).
Once they are inside, a door to the outside slams shut behind them, and the room is plunged into darkness, except for Edan's flame. "Wait," says Clarissa.
Kyauta, keep a watch, please. The flame lengthens into the shape of a spear, which Edan sticks into the ground; it burns there merrily, with no obvious means of combustion. He turns to face his grandmother.
Yes, my lord.
Something happens. Edan is not sure what it is. It doesn't seem to have any physical manifestations.
My lord! Kyauta cries, alarmed, but he's drowned out by Clarissa.
"Don't do that," Clarissa tells Edan. In the firelight, her face is pale. "He was expecting Chantico, and she uses fire. If you use that power again before I finish disarming this, it may go off. I would so hate to spoil his little surprise for his sister."
"A thousand pardons," Edan says, as he lets the fire die to its original brightness. In the light, he looks unhappy. "I did not see the trap, walking in. If you would, can you make it visible to study?"
"Look with your Third Eye." Clarissa does something else.
A bit shamefaced that he let the spell lapse while heading into the pyramid, Edan brings up his Third Eye again, peering intently at the spell and what Clarissa is doing.
It was just as well he hadn't walked in with his Third Eye open. The level of ambient magic, both from the spell Clarissa is working with and from the existing spells on the structure, is almost blinding. Once his vision adjusts, Edan can see that she's working with a particular magical webbing, which she seems to be not so much unweaving as lifting so they can pass through it without breaking it.
The fingers of the magic are reaching out toward his spear.
Edan lets the spear lapse completely, letting the background magic be his illumination. "It's... beautiful," he says. "Deadly. Intricate. But beautiful."
After a moment, he modifies his Third Eye, knowing that it would be a mistake to rely on magical vision completely. As he did long ago with his father, Edan changes his sense of vision to 'see' sounds, and after a warning, links part of his sight to that of Kyauta.
I must rely on you for a time, my affine, he thinks. Do you feel the binding? Not to our minds, but to your vision. I will see what you see, your sight added to my own.
Yes, my Lord.
Clarissa is still working her way through the webbing without disrupting it. It would be so easy to tear the magic, to destroy it, but she has consummate and, Edan can see, innate skill in manipulating the forces.
The magic isn't exactly willful in the way Kyauta is, but the spell Clarissa is working with is almost hostile to him. Perhaps that's why she's taking so long and using so much care.
Finally, she has a loophole in the spell. "Go on," she tells Edan, and gestures him through, as if it were a rift in Reality.
Edan's eyes are bird-bright as he watches Clarissa work her way through the spell; he does his level best to figure out what exactly she's doing and how she's doing it. When she finishes, he shakes his head as he steps carefully through the opening.
"I thought of this before," he says, "when you defeated the algorithm of my Sending. Here, I would have to mathematically break down the patterns of the strands, if not simply cut through them. It would take a very long time. You can simply ignore the framework, work around it. Like Chaos Theory personified. Yet another disadvantage for those of Order who choose Sorcery, I suppose." He makes sure Kyauta is safely through, then adds, "Speaking of this, anyone of Chaos could do the same, yes? I do not want to broadcast my missives like radio waves through the universe. How can I make my Sendings more secure?"
"Fire sendings are inherently insecure. Use another method of sending," Clarissa suggests, stepping through the webbing herself. Then she releases the shreds of the spell, slowly rather than in one giant snap-back of tension. "You have an affine," she points out.
Edan grins. "Much like using a bird of desire on the Ordered side? Your daughter suggested that." He glances at Kyauta again and says, "I have pledged to protect it, and hadn't considered sending it out into Chaos. I am not sure my name is enough to guarantee its safety. For one thing, I am, ah, not well known."
"Then you need to make a name for yourself. Eat another Lord or two, take a few affines, and they'll soon run from you," Clarissa suggests. She waits for the spell to settle and gestures to Edan to follow and heads down the hallway into the interior of the building.
Edan almost smiles at this one. Almost. Then, as he follows her, all magical and mundane senses alert, the smile disappears entirely. "Did... my father do that?"
Clarissa presses her lips together firmly. "Your father and I don't discuss culinary politics. He's always refused to listen to good advice." Something about her flickers slightly, but perhaps it's just the witchlight in the corridor.
There's a door, which Clarissa opens, and a stairwell down, which she takes.
Edan, suprisingly, looks a little relieved at the news. He keeps his attention between the illumination of magic and the stairwell as he follows.
Glad to shift the conversation slightly, he says, "I may not yet have the reputation, but I do have the ability. My father once bade me learn what I could of the Art before making judgements upon it. I had let my mother's teachings affect my practice... she turned away from her heritage. Mine runs stronger... perhaps my father's blood has something to do with it. My powers run as true as those of my mother's father..." He falls silent a moment as they navigate the stair. "I keep trying new things, and have yet to find a limit. I have yet to make that judgement. It is disconcerting, sometimes." He looks up from his feet. "Did you see how I came to your grackleflints? The way I Parted the Veil?"
"Of course, dear." Clarissa glances back up at Edan momentarily, inviting him to continue.
"The djinni do this," Edan says. "I suppose the marids use water, as the djann use air... who knows what the djao do. Small distances... always within sight. You saw. Fire has its own kind of lawlessness... passing through, I made the two fires a singularity." He touches his fingertips together to emphasize. "Creating it, I became as the two fires, became one with them... I have not felt as close to fire since my Pattern-walk, if that makes sense. It felt much different than Parting the Veil. Almost... instinctive. Even though the paradox is the same." He hesitates. "Passing through, I realized that it does not have to be limited to small distances or even one Shadow. I am not limited, like the creatures of Shadow. If two places can be defined by the Principles that suffuse them, then Paradox can bring them together."
Clarissa's face splits (metaphorically!) in a broad smile. "Sorcery is different for each of us, dear. If you master the elements better than the principles, better you work with them than against them. Fire-jumping is a new twist for me, but what Order I have is channeled better through the traditional paradoxes."
They come to a landing and Clarissa does some sort of brief spell on the door before opening it without touching it. She moves into the corridor, clearly expecting Edan to follow.
Edan follows, careful not to touch the door as he passes through. "Once we leave this place, I think this is a good Shadow to take advantage of this new learning." He glances around. "Ah... you have been here before, obviously... what used to be down here?"
"We're going to Ambrose's office. It used to be his father's," Clarissa explains. "If there's any information about where she went, it will almost certainly be there."
She stops in front of a wooden door. "This is it. What do you see, dear? I'm interested in your perspective--dear Ambrose certainly trapped it against Chantico and I'd like to know what a fire magus sees."
"She would be on her guard, too, if she made it past the first trap." Edan looks carefully at the door, ready to dismiss his Third Eye or add a filter to prevent being blinded, if need be.
Edan is used to looking for elaborate calligraphy from his days as a boy in the Land of Peace. In his homeland, beautiful writing is used to exalt the Merciful One. Perhaps writing serves a similar function here, because he can see a seal--similar to the sort of thing he imagines Solomon might have used to seal in the djinn of various types--barring the door.
Based on the seal and the webbing he sees with his Third Eye, Edan imagines he cannot open the door without breaking (or disarming) the seal.
"A sealing of sorcery," Edan says. His head tilts. "Language defines the spell, not mathematics. Too complex to extrapolate its meaning from just this example, I think. But I have seen these patterns before, in the City of Brass. It is a trap, a prison." He looks, just for a second, like he wants to examine it closer, but stays put.
"So... that is the trap. Chantico wants some prize in this place. She comes in, encounters the first obstacle, probably breaks it, then comes all the way down here. Ambrose meant for this second trap to hold her. I would guess that there is a mirror inside that would then deliver his message." He blinks. "But I would not make such a thing obvious to the Third Eye. This spell is active. If I am correct, perhaps the trap has already been sprung?"
"No, I think she would have sprung the last one. She's not subtle. Do you know what's behind this door, or can you make a guess?" Clarissa asks, ignoring the incongruity of her calling anyone else unsubtle. Her fingers are twitching as if they long to make a pass at the magic, and are considering starting without her conscious volition.
Edan is silent a moment. "A servant of Ambrose, some creature meant to effect Chantico's end," he says finally. "Perhaps even a marid, if he has a sense of irony and the original trap affected her prowess. By his own words, he has already taken away what he considers to be his father's treasures, his legacy."
"That's a very good theory. Do you wish to test yourself against whatever it is?" Clarissa asks as if it were a matter of purely academic interest.
Edan nods. "I can." Drawing one sword and holding it out, a layer of frost begins to build on the metal as he shunts heat away from the area immediately around the blade.
"If it is a marid, I should warn you, my last encounter with one was... explosive."
"I'm capable of defending myself." Now Clarissa sounds amused. "Even against an elemental creature. There are very few Chaosi, bound in form or otherwise, who match themselves against me. Ask one of the grackleflints sometime."
She does, however, do something with her hands, as if preparing a spell so she can cast it quickly in case Edan does something wrong. "If it gets out of line, I shall eat it."
Edan smiles and reverses his sword to an overhand grip. The metal is covered in a thick layer of frost. "If it is of water, this should freeze bits of it, making it vulnerable," he says. "I am ready."
Unless Clarissa stops him, he cuts through the seal on the door and drops back to an en garde.
The seal breaks and the break in it opens wide to show a field of stars. The wind whips down the corridor, pulled relentlessly into the place where the seal used to be. The rift continues to widen; soon it will be large enough to encompass the whole door. The wind is sucking Edan and Clarissa into the rip, bodily and whole.
A step backwards. Useless, of course, as they are pulled towards the rift. A Void! is his first thought, along with a sense of despair. Fire would be worthless; either pulled into the endless Emptiness, or snuffed out by the storm-force winds. But if he could not make fire...
Another step, forwards this time. It takes that long to overcome the initial shock. Focus not on the Space beyond, Nuri, is his thought. It is a doorway to another place. It could have been anything deadly. It happens to be this. It is the door that matters.
Memories, thoughts, imagination all crowd together and threaten to distract him completely. So many beautiful things that could be done with the power of Void. Endless black lightning, by adjusting the tension of Space versus Matter. A vortex of cold that would freeze an enemy. Nebulous gases that could be stitched into a pocket realm. But all of them dealt with the Void beyond, not the immediate problem of the uncontrolled rift. A rift, a gash, a widening tear or strip...
A strip...
Mobius!
Another step, his booted foot on the wall to the side of the door... another step, another, running up the wall, using the Void as momentum...
Violate the Principle of Space. Shape the rift. Stretch it, twist it, join it together. Let the Void pull it together, implode it, collapse it. But again, with no fire... how?
And then he remembers that he has fire, after all; the heat that he's shunted away from his sword. Edan sheathes his blade without having to look, even as his hands begin to glow a dull cherry red. He reaches out to grasp the top edge of the rift, to take it with him when he flips over and around, to bring the diagonal ends together with a half-twist.
Edan begins to pull the diagonal ends together by sheer bloody-minded strength. The heat is being leeched out of his hands as he works, and his cherry-red hands begin to fade to their normal color. Edan's bones begin to ache from the chill of the void.
The ends resist being drawn together and the rip in spacetime seems to widen momentarily. Edan fears that he'll be drawn in for a second, but his boots on each side of the door are holding him in place, as long as his knees don't bend and the bones of his legs don't snap like twigs, which it seems like they might.
In the corridor, the air is getting thin, and there is a moment when Edan fears the flames of his hands might fail him. But then he forces the ends to touch, and there's a moment of sorcerous power being released all over the place that almost blinds Edan's Third Eye.
... and the head of the rift begins to pull the tail in ...
... and slowly, slowly, the rift shrinks into itself ...
... until there is nothing left at all ...
The entire encounter took less than half a minute. Probably no more than 20 seconds.
From behind him, Edan hears Clarissa say, "Well, that was unpleasant. I think you've passed your first examination, Edan. As has Ambrose."
Having landed unceremoniously on his back when the void's power began to fade, Edan sits up with a groan. "Oww..." he manages, and looks as if he wants to rub some warmth into his arms, but they stay by his side. "So that's what they look like up close... one point for my cousin." He starts a chuckle, which turns into a cough. "One moment, please, to rest my arms, and we can go on." Bringing up his Third eye again, he checks the doorway beyond the seal.
To Edan's Third Eye, the door appears no more and no less enchanted than the rest of the wall of what he imagines the room behind to be. There are protective magics, but they seem to be turned inwards.
Clarissa says, "We can wait until you're ready. Whatever else he left won't be so unsubtle. Do you need anything else before we go on?"
"Aye," Edan says, hoping that he's a little wiser; he contemplates a moment as strength and warmth returns to his arms and legs. "Something to protect me, should I be suffocated by water. The effect is not of fire, so the creation of it should be... but I am wary of bringing fire here... the trick with my sword, that did work well..." Laying his hand flat on the stones beneath them, he draws heat from them the same way he did earlier from the air; a layer of frost forms under his hand and rapidly spreads across the stones.
Once he thinks he has sufficient heat to work with, Edan casts a charm; this one, a bubble of air around him that will allow him to breathe and talk, even if he is encased in water. It includes the normal chanting and hand movements he usually makes, as well as the consumption of what looks like dried kelp from one of his pockets.
Clarissa summons a light that seems to emit no heat, and it approaches Edan and follows him so he can see.
"All right," he says once the spell is complete. His voice has a curious echo from the magic. Barring any protests, he moves to open the door.
Edan opens the door.
The chamber behind it is furnished with bookshelves and a desk and chair, but it shows signs of removal of goods. The shelves are empty, although Edan can see the places where the books and perhaps other devices, from the odd-shaped niches, must have sat. One of the desk drawers is partway open and it seems to be empty too as best he can see.
Edan draws his sword, then moves obliquely across the doorway, sword held in a parrying position, in a maneuver which might be called 'slicing the pie' in another shadow. Once he's convinced there's no one hiding in the obvious places, he makes a "hmf" sound. "Empty? But our premise is correct; the wards would hold something in here. Perhaps us, if it is a trap; that's still a possibility." He moves into the room then, glancing about, mundane and magical senses alert, and focuses on the desk. If nothing else happens, he'll subject the desk to a thorough examination for hidden spaces, etc.
"Let me go free", says something. It might have been a statue, except for the speaking. Shorter than a man, it resembles nothing so much as a goggle-eyed blue being with fangs. "But say the word and I shall be free of my imprisonment."
Clarissa inspects the statue from the doorway.
"Local god," she says. "Might be a problem for her."
Edan nods acknowledgement as he stares at the thing. "One does not just walk into a man's tent and free his slaves," he says. "Not without a good reason. Who are you? What are you?"
"I am the lord of the third sun, and I hold up the sky. My name was bound by Smoking Mirror, and Feathered Serpent holds it." The creature stares up at Edan. "It has been many, many months since a child was brought to me," it says hopefully.
Edan's immediate expression is one of distaste, which he forces down with effort. "I know why," he says.
He glances up at Clarissa, then back down to the thing. Oni, is the thought that pops into his head from folklore, but of course it was obviously much more than that. "You must have been very useful, for Feathered Serpent to keep your true name. Know this, O godling of Uxmal: I am his brother's son. I do not envy your position; the people have left this place, and you are alone here, imprisoned. Even if I were to free you, you would still be bound by your name and his power. Do I understand things aright?"
"You are a god, and the son of a god. You could unbind me," the god says to Edan. "I am so hungry," it wheedles.
Clarissa watches impassively, showing little concern about what Edan might do.
"I... could," Edan says slowly. "And I have a dislike for creatures being bound unwillingly into service. Lucky you." He watches with his Third Eye, trying to see if the binding of the creature is tied up somehow with the rooms' (or for that matter, the pyramid's) enchantments.
"And what do you offer for your freedom?" he asks as he examines. "Something left behind, perhaps? Or some knowledge connected with this place?"
Edan does not see any direct link between the enchantments on the building or the room and the bindings on the little god.
"What would you have me give, O Great God? I know many things?" It seems to lean forward eagerly, for all that it doesn't, perhaps can't, move.
"You were here in the exodus," Edan replies. "Was there something that was left? A message, perhaps, besides the one in the mirror? And yourself, of course..."
"The little God stripped the room bare. He shrunk all the spheres and put them in a case and put them away," it says.
"Code wheels," Clarissa murmurs. "For translating the local tongue."
The godling squeaks at Edan. "I can serve as your sphere! I can read the tongues of the gods."
Edan blinks, then glances around the emptied room. The language is in a cipher on top of everything else? And if everything is gone, why would I... but perhaps later... and the risk...
It looks, Kyauta, as if we may be making a temporary addition to our merry little band.
Yes, my Lord Kyauta says, but his tail is lashing.
Fixing his attention back on the godling, he says, "Swear, then. Swear by whatever you hold dear, that you will serve as a guide and translator, until I release you. That you will be bound to my commands. In return, I relase you from here, and release you completely when I leave this shadow." He hesitates. "And know this before you commit, little godling. I will not be sacrificing innocents to you. If you truly have not fed in months, then you can wait a few more days until I set you completely free."
Clarissa watches impassively. Edan might imagine she sees the entire sequence of events as some sort of test.
"I swear by the Third Sun and the four corners of the sky, by the Jade skirt and the Fourth Heaven, I shall obey your commands until you leave this place. And may the Gods deal with you as you deal with me," the godling says.
"There is only one God," Edan says, having bitten his lip on this quite long enough, "and He has but One Prophet. But I respect your oath, as you will respect mine. I prize honor highly."
And if it betrays us, I might leave enough left of it to feed to you as a delicacy, he thinks to his affine.
I hunger, Kyauta replies, And I await its treachery.
Still speaking, he adds, "You said my word was enough. So be it. Be free of the fetters of this place. Since your name is held, what shall I call you?"
Slowly, the creature unbends itself, flowing like water out of the shape of a statue, and eventually unfolding itself into something almost froglike, about three feet tall, and significantly more massive than the statue it used to be. "You may call me Giver," it says.
Clarissa says, "Be grateful to my grandson for his mercy, Giver, for I would have eaten you for your paltry sum of knowledge and spat out your husk. I wonder what he sees in you?" And she adds to Kyauta, We don't eat Gods. It will give you indigestion.
Edan smiles slightly as he thinks, Because I am my father's son, my grandmother. Aloud, he says, "Giver, then. Very well. Is there anything else here worthy of investigation?" Turning towards Clarissa, he adds, "Is there enough here to track them?"
Clarissa nods. "I believe I can separate Ambrose's sorcery from his father's." A slight shadow falls over her expression. "I trained him very well, you know. Just not well enough."
The Giver says, "Feathered Serpent emptied this room. If there is anything left, it will be in his personal dwelling."
Edan opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it. What was there to say to Clarissa? The problem was the son, not the mother. Had she trained him any better, everything would be different now. Edan might not exist to know about it. There is a sinking feeling in his stomach as he is reminded, again, just how powerful his grandmother is. Just being in her presence was like holding a tiger by the tail, with absolutely no idea just when to let go.
But then he turns back to the Giver. "Brand emptied this room? Not Am... not Smoking Mirror? Show us his personal dwelling. Feathered Serpent's."
Giver hops off the shelf and moves with an odd loping sort of walk that doesn't quite touch the floor. It's almost as though he has a filmy, except for the damp trail he leaves behind him. Clarissa moves to follow him through the door and down the hall.
Edan nods as he follows; this is something he expected, only temporarily confused by the Giver's statement about the sun. He has a protective spell ready in his mind, and the air bubble stays.
They arrive in short order at a chamber on another level of the building. There are no windows to the outside, which Edan remembers from the exterior of the pyramid, and yet someone has sorcerously made it so the room is filled with light from the sun. There is a bedchamber and a sitting room; they have been scoured of personal touches as if the resident did not expect to return.
"This is the chamber of Feathered Serpent, that was Smoking Mirror's before him," Giver says.
Edan only looks confused for a second, then flips his hand over. "The other way around. Feathered Serpent is Ambrose. Unless they changed Time, and this place doesn't show the telltale sign of time manipulation." He starts meticulously searching this room, much like he did the earlier one.
Clarissa shrugs, as if which of the heathen local titles belongs to which of her descendants is a matter of no moment to her.
And Edan looks faintly disappointed, as if he's missed the chance for a punch line.
This room seems to have been packed manually. It's not that the place isn't cleaned as thoroughly, but there was less effort to scour it in the same way that the office was cleaned. Clarissa summons a bit of trash to her with a gesture of her fingers and sniffs. "Lazy," she says.
"More in a hurry than I thought," Edan adds as he continues searching. "But I am not quite ready to give up on the possibility that Ambrose left another clue for us to follow."
"What kind of clue?" Clarissa asks.
Edan stands then, and crosses his arms as he looks about with all three eyes. He shakes his head slightly. "I don't know," he says. "Ambrose knew you would be following him. He spent time and effort in a last caustic message to his sister- I would have thought he would spend at least as much time to make things easier for you to find him. It is what I would do. I would hate to overlook the sparkle of the diamond amongst the duller gleam of the glassy sand." He shakes his head again. "I do not see anything. If you are confident in his trail, my grandmother, perhaps we should move on."
As he examines the room with his Third Eye one more time, Edan notices that the trash Clarissa picked up has some enchantment on it. In fact, there seems to be some low-level magic on all the trash left in the room.
Clarissa is already moving toward the door. "Yes, dear, come along. It's time for us to be on our way."
"Of course, my grandmother," Edan says automatically, and starts after her. "Er- what spell was on the trash around the room?"
Deciding that there is one more chance to unravel that mystery, Edan's eyes glow for an instant with a golden flame.
After all, if the power of chaos can unravel my Sending's protections with a paradox of Entropy, I can wield that power to see clearly.
For a moment Edan can see a binding of some entropic nature on the bits and pieces left in the room. There are lines of magical force between the trash and the door.
Clarissa seems unconcerned and will be through the door in a moment.
Now even more perplexed, Edan scoops up a bit of the trash (which, by no coincidence, happens to be the bit that Clarissa summoned to herself), and heads for the door.
It makes no sense, my affine. Why a connection between the trash and the door? Either the door created the trash, or the void created the trash, or the trash sets off a trap on the door, or the trash was once on the door.... and Grandmother had to have seen the connection already... I have decided to keep this. Move away from me for a moment. He draws his other sword as he moves, the wavy-bladed yataghan, and it flares with fire as he slices through the connection between the scrap and the door.
(nothing fancy here, just an attempt to disrupt the connection between the trash and the door... unless something big happens, the plan is to take it with him as they leave)
Kyauta flutters away and lets Edan draw his sword. Edan slices at the connection, but it proves unexpectedly resilient, and he's unable to sever it.
Clarissa pauses at the door. "Edan, what are you doing?"
Edan sighs and bows his head. "My most abject apologies," he says. "I did not mean to delay you. I saw the connection between these... things... and the door. I calculated the likely chance that opening the door created this mess. I meant to break this," he waves the paper, "from its enchantment so that I could study it as we traveled. The Void must have taken more out of me than I thought."
"Let me see. There's a minor enchantment, yesss--" Clarissa elongates the word into something of a hiss that suggests a not entirely human tongue. "Nothing that looked useful for tracery." A few moments of staring at the trash and the door, and she nods. "Oh, clever. If you take the trash out the door, it does something to the stability of the pyramid."
Giver, in the corner of the room, quails slightly.
Edan closes his eyes for a full second, then opens them. "It increases the stability?" he asks brightly, then shakes his head slightly when there's no assent. He puts the paper back exactly where he found it.
"Right," he says. "I am ready now."
Clarissa goes out into the hallway without event, and as Edan moves to follow her, Kyauta says suspiciously Giver does not come with us.
Edan frowns back at the godling. "Giver? Have you changed your mind?"
Giver says, "Are you sure you will not trigger the trap?" Its slimy tail slides across the stone.
Kyauta says I will eat it if it is false!
Edan nods slightly, though it's hard to tell whether he's nodding at Giver, or Kyauta, or both. There is treachery, my affine, and then there is fear. They are two different things, though they both bring strange actions. Fear can be forgiven, though it is important for it not to let it lead to the other.
To Giver, he says, "The lines of force went to the paper, not to myself. But I have honor, godling. It is as I said. I intend to release you when my need of you is done, not perish with you in the middle of a ziggurat. Do you really think you are safer, waiting in here? Come, let us breathe the fresh air and freedom of outside."
"The binding may transfer. It is a thing of earth, o God of Fire. Can you survive in earth and not be smothered?" Giver is almost melting into the stone; a damp circle surrounds where he stands.
"Yes," Edan says after a moment. "Because I am more than just a sorceror of fire, Giver. Fire is ever a part of my bindings, but it is not my master." He looks over himself with his Third Eye, but if the earth binding is hidden, would he ever truly be sure? "It's like I always say: when life hands you lemons, make lava. But that's not going to help you any."
Edan doesn't see any bindings, but then again, if it were hidden, as he says ...
He sits down crosslegged, adds, "Grandmother? If you would, hold a moment. I may be tainted by that trigger." Inside, he considers and rejects a number of possibilities. Stopping time would work, but might resume at the worst possible instance. He could wait until they were outside and then walk through fire, at the risk of setting off the other trap. Indeed, he could do many things, if Kyauta's and the Giver's safety weren't an issue. Break the entire enchantment, tunnel through the floor or the wall, void the doorway, fold space, all were possibilities. But Ambrose would have prepared for his sister to do such a thing, and there was one thing Edan could do that this sister probably could not.
"I could juggle cats and dogs, as my father would say," he calls out to Clarissa. "We are on the other side of the Tree. Pattern would nullify the sorcery temporarily. But I hate to club the universe until it submits; such a thing is hardly subtle. I very much believe I'm going to find a weak spot in this wall, instead."
"Very well, dear," Clarissa says from outside the door. She produces a parasol from somewhere, probably sorcerously, and waits.
Giver edges away from Edan. Kyauta, on the other hand, seems to almost vibrate with anticipations. How may I help, my Lord?
For now, stay back and watch, Edan thinks back to his affine. This will probably hurt you if you get too close. This is my plan: since so much of the ziggurat's sorcery is bound within the stones, it would be easier to attack the integrity of the stones themselves rather than the sorcery within them. I will find a place where the stones are weakly joined. If strength is not sufficient to dislodge them, then either you or I will get between the stones and create an exit. You with a water form changing to ice, or less likely, me by funneling heat away and then creating steam pressure. Do you see?
I will do it! Kyauta agrees.
If there is assent, Edan moves to the wall containing the doorway, imposing
his will upon probability to find the weakest place where his plan can work.
He looks back at Kyauta and the Giver and thinks about the cage of ethics
he has built around himself with his promises. Promises to keep them safe,
even though he knows they will be at odds. Trying to avoid the use of fire
in order to preserve the trap Ambrose had built. Trying to avoid asking for
help, not only to avoid Clarissa's disappointment but deep inside knowing that
it is also his own ego he is preserving. And through it all, to be tainted by
this pyramid of magic, to not even be sure if this foul place has somehow
infected him...
It galls him. It infuriates him. Edan knows that his affine is
probably feeling the
brunt of his anger. He knows Clarissa is aware of it, and probably the Giver,
too. He finds that he doesn't care. This last trap in this accursed place is
the last straw. Anger washes over him, pure as fire. He doesn't hide the fact
that the clarity of this hot fury lends him strength and focus.
"So be it!" he says, and reaches into a pocket to produce a silver thimble and
a length of silver wire. He wraps the wire around his fingers, then holds the
thimble within his clenched fist. "Long enough have I tarried here. I will not
stand and suffer the taint of another's sorcery upon me any longer!"
Moving back to the wall, he begins a series of long, sweeping passes with his
hands; almost a ritualistic dance of his arms and hands and fingers. With this
comes a chant, harsh guttural syllables which rise and fall from a murmur to
an almost-shriek. The tempo picks up, goes faster and faster, and Edan feels
his skin grow hot and start to smoulder. He doesn't stop. For a full minute
he chants and dances, building up speed and power and anger; and in the
final instant of the spell, he claps his clenched fist and open palm against
the stones. He channels his rage and his strength against that wall, pouring as
much Fire and Will into this magical circuit he has created with his body,
drawing as much power as he can from the magic he can sense there, storing
it in the space within himself objectified by the thimble he holds.
The thimble blackens
and begins to melt; Edan's body bursts into flame. Turning immediately, in one
smooth movement, he makes a great cry and throws his arms wide, as if to
encompass the whole pyramid around him. A flash of light and a soundless
explosion radiates out from him.
Clarissa picks up Kyuta, and holds him behind her under her parasol
just before the spell takes effect.
Edan blows the top off the pyramid, breaking spells that have held for
generations and years beyond their caster's demise. It is as if a
volcano has exploded from the center of Edan.
Moments later, the jungle burning around them and the houses and
buildings of the town afire or smashed by molten rock, the smoke clears
on the new top of the ruined temple. Giver is nowhere in sight.
Clarissa smiles at Edan. "Well done. It's amazing what a good bout of
temper will do for you, isn't it?"
Still breathing heavily, Edan is staring at the play of golden fire that
travels up and down his transformed arm and hand. He looks terribly upset
as he turns his hand over, like he's broken something far more important
than the Magician's Temple of Uxmal.
He looks up guiltily at her words, and the fire begins to fade, his own form
returning. "Thank you," he says. "And... yes. But it wasn't what I wanted.
I wanted to freeze Time. Why did... oh. The stones." He suddenly looks
from side to side. "Is Kyauta all right? What happened to the Giver?"
Kyauta peeks out from under the hem of Clarissa's robes. Here I am, my
Lord!
"Your affine is well. The other, well, that one seems to have fled.
Let's summon him, shall we?" Clarissa closes her eyes for perhaps
thirty seconds, and Edan doesn't need to look with his Third Eye to see
that she's casting a spell of some sort.
And may the gods treat you as you have treated me...
Edan wants very much to follow the summoning as Clarissa casts it, but
that is the first thought in his mind, and preparation is Golden.
Then again, after this last display, he wonders if anything would really
challenge him here.
Either way, there is one other major pressing concern: modesty. Sure that
the fires would have damaged his clothing and perhaps his weapons, he casts the
remaining fires of his body outward onto the dusty remains of the pyramid apex.
Gathering up a cloud of obsidian flakes and rock dust, he pulls it to
himself and
repairs his robe and cloak as best he can by transforming the material
he's gathered.
He has his swords out, inspecting them, by the time the spell is finished.
Clarissa seems to have missed his state of dress or undress, but then
again, she is a creature of Chaos. Instead, she continues casting the
spell. For a moment at the end of it, there's a ripple around her
many-fingered hand and then she grasps something that doesn't appear to
be there.
The spell finishes and she's holding the slimy little Giver by the
scruff of his neck, or maybe his upper back. "Your disobedient affine,"
Clarissa says, and holds him out to Edan.
"Thank you, my Grandmother," Edan says, and sheathes both swords with a
snap. He has a sour expression, and his movements might still have a little
anger in them; it occurs to him that he knows what's probably coming, and he
doesn't like it at all.
With a gesture, his right hand burns with a heatless green flame. He uses that
hand to take the Giver. Even as he holds the creature up, the flame wraps
around
the godling like a mummy's bandages. It's a quick, rough spell, all power and
little finesse, but Edan trusts that he can come up with something better if
there's a real effort to escape.
"I think I know why," he says after a moment, "but I want to hear it from you,
Giver. Why did you flee?"
The Giver is shaking in its bonds, squirming to keep even the heatless
flames from touching it as best it can. Its eyes are wide and it says
nothing, but its terror speaks clearer than words.
Let me eat it, my Lord! Kyauta manages to make his wheedling sound
fierce.
Still holding the Giver, thoughts flit back and forth like birds in Edan's
head.
So, then, we come to it. Precisely what Lilly warned me about.
That was a Chaos Lord. This is a godling of Shadow.
Which will cause 'indigestion'. Perhaps even harm it.
You promised to care for your affine and let it feed. It hungers.
It has identified this as food.
It may even change. I might lose it forever.
You gave it free will, Edan, the highest gift you could give. It may
have asked permission, like a good pet, but you know it did not
have to do so. That is why you would let this happen, risk or no.
You gave it the power of choice, to make its own mistakes.
The Giver is sentient, not a side of beef.
It is infidel. And sentience is what this is all about.
It has something I want.
Perhaps it does, if you really need it. If it didn't lie. It is false.
But would Kyauta not gain the ability, then?
Then, to his shame:
What if... what if I Ate it myself?
NO!
Not all of it... take what I wanted, leave the rest for Kyauta to
feed. Just as I promised. And my affine would have less risk.
And then you would go insane. Don't you already fear losing
your humanity?
Anger, then, and a little fear. I am a Prince and a Lord of Amber.
This is of Shadow. I do as I will.
You will change, Edan. Is that what you really want? You
are Ordered, not Chaosi. You can't even feed the way they
would.
No, but I know of a way. Think of the power this thing would
have. Think of what I would gain.
Nothing near what you would lose. Learn the lesson of the
Duke who lives near Madness.
My mind is stronger.
Is it?
"Giver," Edan rasps, "you have played me false. You deserted
me in your desire for freedom. You betrayed my trust. Were I
dealing with a man, you would be impaled in front of all the
tribes as an example. Had I the time, I would walk you to a
Shadow of endless salt plains and exile you there. Had I the
patience, I would trap you in a bottle and let some unlucky
magician find you ten thousand years from now. I have none
of those things."
Take it for yourself! Do it!
NO!
Be wise! Don't injure or lose your affine over this! Don't lose
the knowledge it has!
NO!!
Giver is false and it is infidel. It should die. But don't let it ruin
everything. Take what you want by proxy, then! Decide
what to do when it is finished!
I...
Do what must be done!
"Merciful One forgive me," Edan whispers, and launches into
a spell, one that appears to have a minute's duration. Long
brown fingers pluck a small gem from the hilt of his sword,
a gem that glows bloody red from a fire that begins to roil
and writhe and twist within it. Wisps of water vapor begin
to move between it and the Giver.
(A spell to draw memory and higher brain function from the
Giver and store it in the gem; special emphasis on anything
related to "code wheels" that the Giver may know. Edan is
fully expecting the thing's mind to be ruined, but the spell is
meant to leave instinct and lower functions intact for Kyauta
to feast upon afterwards.)
As the spell continues, steam envelops the Giver and the hand that
contains Edan's gem. It smells of fetid swamps and marsh gas set
aflame, and Kyauta backs away from the stench.
The Giver begins to wail, and its cries grow thinner as the spell
continues. When it is done, the steam sinks into the gem, which is
filled with clouds now. The Giver stares at Edan blankly, then shakes
its head, blinking, and croaks "what .... have ... you ... done ... to
.... me?"
Kyauta says May I eat it NOW, my Lord?
Edan looks down and away for a second before glancing back to the
Giver. "I punished you. And made you more palatable. And... sinned
against God, I think. Kyauta, it is yours. Be careful."
Kyauta leaps onto the Giver and begins to devour it with flaming jaws,
ignoring the Giver's screams.
Clarissa turns away from Kyauta's feast. "A good first effort. Why
didn't you eat it yourself?"
Edan draws breath to speak, still watching his affine, unable to meet
Clarissa's eyes. "I... wanted to. I felt the hunger. But I am Ordered,
and I did not want to commit to that until I knew how it would... it
would..." He glances at his arm and hand, that so recently was made
of solid fire.
"...change me."
She shakes her head in the negative. "Your father let you be bound by
Shadow limits. You are a Lord of Chaos and a Prince of Amber, Edan.
There are no limits for you. Your uncle understood this; your father
and aunt do not. Don't let yourself be dragged down by their folly."
Edan squeezes the gem in his hand; once he realizes his hand is shaking,
he stills it with a thought. The Giver's screams aren't as powerful as the
laments of the djinn in the City of Brass, nor as shrill as those humans and
creatures he's killed directly, but they are distracting.
Too much. Too much has happened, too fast, he thinks. The shaking
returns, as he realizes he's reached a cusp, a limit, a moment of Truth.
"But there is a limit," he says. "He died. From what I heard, Brand
overreached himself, lost his focus, became unstable. He died, and I'm
here, standing on the ruins I've made of his works. It's hard to embrace
what you're saying with the reminder of our mortality under our feet. Well,
maybe not you, I understand now that this body is only a small fraction
of you-"
And how many other Clarissa avatars are travelling through space and
time while we stand here? is his first immediate thought.
You could do this, someday, comes another. He pushes both thoughts away.
"I can't be God," Edan continues. "I am not worthy to be God. I am young, and
mortal, and flawed. But you're saying that with no limits, someday I can.
You want me to throw away the teachings I've had my entire life, my
understanding
of how things are. What price would you put on that? What coin would cause
me to turn away from everything I've known, all I've cared about, to grasp for
power? Especially knowing that if I am right, I shall someday stand before the
Merciful One and answer for my life?"
Clarissa shakes her head. "That's your fear speaking. Your uncle didn't
die because he overreached himself and lost his focus. He died because
he was killed by one of his brothers. His work was incomplete, but that
means nothing to your work." She looks around at the smoking ruin of
the pyramid.
"You are not a god. That--" and she gestures at the remains of Giver,
which Kyauta is eagerly devouring "--was a God. You are more than any
petty God can ever be: a creature of the heritage of Order and Chaos.
When you cast aside the shackles of the shadow where you were raised,
you'll understand this."
Edan shakes his head, too. "By inference, you are saying that the Merciful
One is but of Shadow," he says. "My father made this argument. I cannot
tell you how much it disturbs me that you say the same thing." He looks
away. "You are intimately familiar with Chaos and Order. You were married
to Oberon. You know Dworkin. If God existed beyond the Dar-es Salaam,
you would know Him. What do I have? The word of my mother. The legends
of the afriti. All of Shadow. My own theory. Faith. What does a man do, if
his faith is misplaced?" He stands there, head bowed, as doubt gnaws at
him; then he stands straight. He looks towards Kyauta, not quite
understanding why his vision is blurred.
"I shall wait and support my affine, until it is finished with its meal.
Then I shall Eat what I have carved from this godling of rain."
Clarissa smiles broadly at him. "You'll find your understanding greatly
changed, dear. For the better."
The screams of the Giver have died out, and after a time, the noise of
Kyauta's sloppy eating finishes too. Blood- and slime-stained, the
affine comes to Edan, wide-eyed and fat. Thank you, my Lord! I no
longer hunger. It burps, a tiny puff of smoke and steam coming out of
its mouth, and reaches in with a claw to pull a tiny bone from its
teeth. It eats the bone, making one last round of crunching noises, and
then seems ready to sleep on his shoulders.
Edan's expression is a mix of emotions: happiness from Kyauta remaining
an affine, exasperation at its eating habits, and a little disgust at this
sudden affront to his fastidiousness. Didn't anyone ever tell you to wipe
your mouth after you Eat? Hold on. Finding some gauze and a tiny bottle
of aromatic oil in one of his pockets, he cleans up the worst of the mess
before draping the affine over his shoulders like some recently-fed
large snake. He ends by cleaning his own hands before placing two
fingers to his lips and blowing a shrill whistle. "To see if Aramsham is
still in range. If he survived. I hope so," he explains.
Then, finding no other reason put it off any longer, Edan holds the gem
in the palm of his hand. The spell is simple, as the magic is already
there in the gem; sitting cross-legged, he fishes a sliver of aromatic
wood from his pocket and lights it with a gesture. Chanting three words over
and over, he holds the gem within clasped hands and moves his arms
outward, then to his chest. He repeats the movement, breathing in the
smoke from his impromptu incense, until finally he touches the gem to the
center of his forehead. Edan's concentration, his sense of self, he keeps as
pure as if he were walking the Pattern.
When he is fully focused, he opens his awareness to the gem's contents
and draws it into his own mind.
Edan gets flashes of what he feels must be Giver's memory of going into
the gem. Then further back, memories of walking with Edan, being freed
by Edan, being questioned by Ambrose ... the memories fade over the
distance of time from the present as Giver experienced them, perhaps as
a function of how Edan destroyed him. There's more than he can
comprehend without contemplation, particularly since the Giver appears
to have very alien memories as Edan travels further back along them.
When he's done, there's still a gem in his hand.
"You didn't eat it," Clarissa says, sounding disappointed.
Edan opens his mouth, closes it, then smiles. "I really do get enough
roughage already," he says. Remembering his manners, he raises
his eyebrows and holds out his hand to Clarissa, in case she wants
to eat the gem herself.
She takes the gem and pops it in her mouth. Crunching sounds follow.
Edan is not sure her jaw is moving that much, but her mouth is closed
and something is happening.
"It will take me some little time to assimilate the Giver. You know,"
he adds, "even if cousin Ambrose set this place up as
a trap for his sister, and was willing to consign her to the decay and
death of this Shadow, he will not be happy with what I have done here.
Neither will Brennan. No one will, really."
"We'll make it right with Ambrose and Brennan," Clarissa says, as if
the mere suggestion is enough to solve the problem. "Now we should find
Ambrose--unless you have another idea?" She watches Edan speculatively.
Edan stares unhappily at the smouldering jungle around them. "No, no,
we should go," he says. "I fear I may have killed my horse; I should have
heard him by now. Not only did he get me through the Race to Madness,
he is a tireless and spirited and intelligent steed. Father studded Flameheart
into his line, years ago."
Clarissa gives him a sympathetic look. "We'll find him. And if he needs
healing, we'll solve whatever's wrong with him." Her gaze falls on
Kyauta. "I'm sure we can make you a steed that will be everything you
could possibly want."
Edan keeps himself from wincing. "If it comes to that," he says. "I kind
of like Kyauta's ability to take many shapes. I would want it to be my
herald and messenger, should I need such. I would hate to lose that...
flexibility." He looks in the direction that Clarissa indicated, what seemed
a lifetime ago. So much had happened... "If we do not find my horse, after
I make a Gate to this place I will come back and look for him. Is it still
this way to track Ambrose?"
"We should wait a little for the magical resonances of the explosion to
die down, but other than that I'm ready." Clarissa says. She seems
unconcerned about the passage of time, but she is, after all, Chaosi.
"Summon your horse and we can go on."
Edan smiles a little. "I will try again."
He steps forward, and his movements almost immediately become like
that of some esoteric tai chi exercise. The fires around him, all the way down
to the base of the pyramid, begin to move with the direction of his arms and
hands and body. After about a minute of this, when Edan judges the convection
is just right, he sends another whistle; but this one is carried by the hot
winds, far out into the jungle.
There is no immediate response, but Edan has the sense the spell was
successful.
Last modified: 28 May 2009
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