A Reading and a Journeying

Havelock’s Inception in to the Illustrative and Insinuative Order of the Inconscient Brush pt.1

Havelock has just seen off the last of his sitters – let’s say it’s Dirk. Feeling hungry, DM-589 escorts Havelock to the refectory for whatever meal is appropriate.

It’s kind of odd, whenever Havelock feels hungry it always seems to be when most of the rest of House Malastar (all dressed in uniform black robes with little starlike scintillations) are also having their meals.

As usual, Mirfak joins him, his eyes burning with their ever bright, white fire. After a few minutes Mirfak breaks the companionable silence by asking, “How goes your work, Lord Havelock?”

“Productive, Mirfak, very productive. It is good to have the time to paint sometimes.” Still feeling a touch of Dirk from the process of creating his trump, Havelock tries to change the subject “…and how goes your research? Does my newly rescued relative have impact on what you study?”

“Oh it is too early to say. The Abyss is so immense that the removal of two objects that had fallen for so little time has little influence on other bodies.”

Havelock intuits that the term ‘other bodies’ refers to ‘heavenly bodies’ rather than drifting corpses.

“House Malastar is dedicated to the art of divination, especially by observation of the movement of the stars in the Abyss – which may seem random but nonetheless can reveal much.”

Mirfak eyes Havelock’s cards as he toys with them. “I have heard House Amber performs its divinations using these mystic images. I take it that is what you have been painting?”

Havelock nods, “Yes, these cards can be a divinatory tool.” He calls up the question that he has been formulating for a little while. “For example Mirfak, if I was to ask my cards about the gains one could make from the honourable membership that has just been bestowed upon me, my future joining of the Illustrative and Insinuative Order of the Inconscient Brush?”

He begins to lay down the cards in a standard six card spread. “Of course you, my host, may know some of the answers, but let us see what the cards say? After which I would be happy to ask them a question on your behalf, maybe such comparative research would further your house’s knowledge?

“In the centre of this, the Significator, the here-and-now card.”

Benedict reversed, Havelock notes. This is the new card Dworkin only gave him the other day for, even though it is like the old man’s original, the figure on the card only has one arm.

“Each card in the spread, bar one, appears in either an upright or reversed posture, with upright usually having more positive connotations and reverse, well the reverse. Prince Benedict has a position as the King of the suit of Wands, this is either he himself, or not quite him but someone alike for which my deck has no card.”

Right now he thinks this feels like Benedict afflicted, or with some problem within himself, recalling what Dworkin had said when giving him this card.

Not wanting to show a weak hand from the first card he continues, “Upright he would be honest, intelligent, noble and courageous, possessing great fortitude and skill at arms, a lover of family. Now however,” he traces a circle with a finger in the air indicating the reverse, “he is become autocratic and severe, ruthless in attaining his own ends.”

With his usual card-player’s glance he looks up to Mirfak to see what reaction this brings even as he lays the aspirator.

Mirfak shows earnest attention – his eyes, like twin blazing suns, don’t seem to blink. But he asks no questions just yet.

The next card is an upright three of Wands. “The Aspirator,” comments Havelock, “the card that represents aims or goals. Meaning: original ideas finding expression, embarkation on a great venture or artists who turn dreams into reality.”

Somewhere in his psyche he begins to feel that he needs to lay more cards, this should be a ten-card spread. Distracted by that he lays and flips the Instigator, realising with annoyance he may have missed Mirfak’s response.

“The three of Swords lies as the Instigator in our past, it leads here to this point. Well, it is necessary strife and conflict to bring about the destruction of the obsolete, clearing the ground with disruption and upheaval, but for a positive end.” He considers a moment “The Pattern rewritten, shadow remade, the death of Kings and Emperors? I wonder?”

Mirfak clears his throat. His is not exactly the perfect poker face but the twin stars he has for eyes are more difficult to read than even Havelock’s father. (Havelock, in fact, regularly beats Bleys at cards, though the few times he’s played Fiona she’s always played like she knows what cards he holds – perhaps she cheats?) However, Havelock feels Mirfak is a little puzzled.

“Erm… Do you mean…? Um… Is it your assertion…?” Mirfak licks his lips, searching for a form of words with some delicacy, “…that the recent battle, the current state of war and the death of your late sovereign, are in fact desirable outcomes?”

Havelock pauses. “No I think the emphasis should be more the necessary over the desirable, the positive could be that everything wasn’t destroyed in the holocaust. I came to understand that our Pattern had somehow become marred; maybe that was what needed destruction, otherwise everything would unwind? I have a strong feeling that this card points to the recent affairs being necessary and the balance of the outcome positive, this does not prevent it being costly.”

He shakes his head “I do not compel these cards, I shouldn’t give you an impression I am leading the reading a certain way. They are tools and it is they who place this card here. The reason could be more obfuscated than I know; given my question, it could be some cleansing action has seen me placed with the Illustrative and Insinuative Order, or to do with power struggles amongst the Lords of Chaos? Do you not find in your divinations parts you puzzle over the meaning of, until the events have come together and past, and then it becomes clear?”

Mirfak turns his brilliant eyes on Havelock. “Yes, just as you say. But your words led me to ponder as to how much of recent events had been planned by Amber.

“You know the penetration of the Black Road could never have gone so far without the willing co-operation of certain lords of Amber, notably Prince Corwin and Prince Brand, and some others. Some on our side suspected their efforts, seeing the Black Road as a trap for us. I wondered if they were right after all, especially as King Oberon had proven so successful at seducing members of our side to yours.”

Mirfak touches the three of Swords. “If this card suggests Amber’s affairs have been improved by the war, might it also speak of the Thelbane?” He shrugs. “Please, the next card?”

So bidden, but still considering his companion’s words about the old King’s influence in the Patternfall, Havelock turns the fourth card.

“This card is the Cryptic and should show the hidden influences on the spread and this is the Emperor, reversed. I would normally consider this at other times to be one of two influences. The first would be an ancient monarch such as King Oberon, if I didn’t have his card in this deck and he wasn’t lying in state awaiting his funeral. One who is wielding great political power against us.”

Even as he says that the discomforting meaning from Oberon’s own card describing him as ‘methodical and cautious and with his patience that leads him to plan far ahead’. Could Oberon have planned events that still keep his pawns moving even when his dead hand has fallen away?

Considering that, he quickly continues, “The other would be a weakness from subservience to those in authority, maybe immaturity or a failure of ambition?”

To himself he ponders this second part. Am I overly subservient to the Elders? How about my cousins, do they defer too readily? Maybe we assume too much and are still over-reliant on our parents?

“Most likely I see the hand of your Emperor, as he has sanctioned my joining the Order. That is not hidden, though; he has been quite overt with his power, unless he has some hidden agenda I do not see.

“Mirfak, would his August Highness plot against himself? Or are there some other ancient political powers in the Courts acting against me?”

Mirfak gazes back unblinking. “I would not know. We are not privy to the counsels of the King in Yellow.” He shrugs. “But this is Chaos, and it is hard to believe there are not parties acting against you, as there are those acting for. But it may be hard to distinguish one from the other, particularly as their stances may shift radically with small time.”

He reaches out to touch the card, as if trying to make some sort of connection himself. “Weakness from subservience is a curse throughout Chaos. We all crave stability and our customs have evolved to preserve hierarchies, sometimes past obsolescence.

“After the humiliations of the recent conflict, many of us presumed our monarch would fall on his sword, but yet he remains, and none dare lift a finger against him for fear of the curse that would fall on any who raised a weapon against our liege.” Mirfak’s gaze lifts once more from the card to ask a rhetorical question. “Do the cards speak of Amber or Chaos? I cannot tell.”

Havelock looks back at the table, now sure that the spread should be one of ten cards. As he lays the column of four to the right he says, “Sometimes you just know that your first plans are not correct and I feel the need to insert these additional four cards that show a sequence of events, ones that hopefully lead to our aim.” He gestures at the Aspirator. “As the cards have different meanings for different people maybe these will answer that question, of course they must just as soon answer both.”

“There is no timing to these,” he comments, turning over the first, “they are a sequence of events for which the interval between is indeterminate.”

Havelock suppresses his surprise as a second Benedict stares up at him, upright and whole, Dworkin’s original card.

“It would seem that the first change from where we are now is Prince Benedict returning to an upright position. A softening of a hard line attitude, or,” he adds, “the appearance of another favourable war leader for whom I don’t have a card. Personally I feel this is a change in the Prince himself.”

Havelock, looking to move quickly on, flicks over the second. “Well if two Prince Benedicts won’t do, we have Lord Darig, the King of Swords and that war master’s...” he draws back the words ‘other hand’, even then forming in his mind. Instead he adds “…lieutenant.”

He indicates the upright Benedict, “Where Wands provide the exercise of will, Swords,” pointing now at Darig, “…provide the conflict that brings the resolution. What is more, it is the Kings of these suits acting in concert, but to where?”

He can’t hold back and swiftly turns over the third in the sequence, an upright Death. Even as the formulaic rote trips from his tongue, “Death does not always mean Death”, he can hear his psyche whispering to him, ‘but this time it does’. For a moment he stops, considering what to say about this turn of events.

Mirfak’s gaze goes from the Emperor, to Benedict, to Darig and then to Death, before returning to Havelock, but he doesn’t say anything… for some time. Havelock gets the feeling that cogs are grinding behind that bright, bright, unblinking stare.

Then he examines the two Benedict cards closely, noting differences: the missing arm, the slight change of pose, the minor signs of wear on the older card.

“Lord Havelock, I presume you have several cards for each person in order to cater for their differing personas, but I am a little confused, I had thought you were all inflexible, to a first approximation.”

“To the first approximation we are, as you say, inflexible,” replies Havelock, “so much so that usually one card will reflect the represented person, even accounting for changes of persona. We do not shift our form and only through critical injury do our identities undergo change and I think, even then, we would return to our archetypal nature under the Pattern’s influence.

“What could change is the nature of their correspondences to other cards. Major changes, such as an investiture, might see a move from page or knave to, say, bishop or king in a suit.

“Normally I would need and only have one such card per person in my personal deck, but these things are sometimes found or gifted, and duplicates can sometimes be useful, as we see. This one,” he points to the reversed Benedict, “is a very recent gift.

“However, we still have one last event in the sequence following Death.” He turns the last of the four to show more wands, this time the seven and describes, “A time of great possibility, pointing to powerful competition but victory through sustained effort, or courage and cunning. I think preparation and knowing the timing of such a struggle would be a help.”

“Ah,” comments Mirfak, “I think I begin to see why you find this system of divination, and communication, efficacious – for us, a picture could only be effective for a short term, until the subject changes significantly, whether consciously or otherwise – a matter of some small time. But an ‘investiture’ can change even the inflexibles?” Mirfak thinks a moment. “Could then your coming inception in to this order cause a change in you? In terms of your card or its position, I mean?”

Havelock furrows his brow, “I am not sure what the limits are for those of the courts, I have always believed that the cards captured part of an essential nature. If you stop being the individual you once were then no they would not work. Where that limit is and how far it can be stretched?” He shrugs and relaxes, “I do not know.

“As to my future investiture I suppose there is a small chance of change, but I think it correlates with the powers involved. Being crowned King of Amber, or walking the Pattern, or becoming a Rim Lord, maybe becoming a High Priest of a God or being passed through the Void; these, I think, could cause changes that may more significantly adjust your correspondences, but with lesser investitures comes lesser changes. Some of this is more in the study of those who understand how our connection with the Pattern makes us so inflexible.

“We do have just two cards left to place,” he adds, surveying the refectory table and placing his ninth card.

“The Culminator; in this case the six of swords,” Havelock indicates this rightmost card, “is where all this is heading. It represents a resolution of immediate problems and a moving away from imminent danger. It is not complete success as the path ahead still requires further struggle, however a major obstacle would at this point be removed or overcome.” His mind recalls another meaning, as a card of travel away from trouble towards harmony, from Void towards the Pattern, but this he doesn’t say.

Mirfak nods sagely. “This would seem to be good news, yes? I imagine you will be as relieved to depart the Thelbane as many of our houses will be to see you go.” His smile is warm and friendly. “While House Malastar is honoured to have you as a guest within The Spiral, it will be good to see you on your way so we can recommence hostilities while you are still so far from your place of power, without fear of the ultimate sanction.”

‘Immediate recommencement of hostilities’, Havelock thinks; if that is the majority belief in Chaos then we really ought to do as much damage as possible before we leave. Without any verbal response, though, he continues with the reading and places the tenth card.

“This last card is the pivot. Though it is the focus of the spread it has no upright or reversed position, it is changed by how it is approached.

“The card itself is the Moon, which when upright is a crisis of faith, through which only intuition and not reason can advance one, a situation where one must rely on instinct alone; or possibly beauty and dreams or clarity of vision in the dark.”

He pauses momentarily and glances across at Mirfak’s eyes, “Do you have clarity of vision in the dark, Mirfak?”

Mirfak seems absorbed in the card. Again he reaches out with a long, thin finger, as if trying to establish a personal connection. After perhaps a minute he withdraws his hand back in to his cassock and regards Havelock calmly.

“As you are doubtless aware, I spend much time regarding the Abyss through the dark glass that is our Nihiloscope, as the Abyss in turn regards me… <long pause> ...but I know not if I see with more clarity than, say, yourself?

“One of the first things we learn in House Malastar is to weigh all our observations in the balance and not to leap to conclusions ahead of time. That way can lead to the gravest of errors.” Havelock senses that this is a warning somehow aimed at him.

Mirfak looks down at the card again. “Is it a particular moon or planetary satellites in general?”

Havelock considers. “I have always thought it refers to the Moon of Amber, of which other moons are reflections and shadows. Given that that orb is the herald of the dreaming spires of Tir-na-Nog’th it may have correspondences with that city or beyond into the element of air, but that is probably to speculate too much.”

He recalls the intensity of the moonlight amidst the burning silver mists of that place, all silence and silver with the Moon as bright as the sun. Glancing once more at the pair of Benedicts before him he recalls what his father had told him of the Marshal’s mechanical arm that had recently come from that mysterious place and then been taken back, seemingly by whatever power provided it.

A shiver passes by him, but he continues to speak, hoping his companion has not noticed. “This is the card in balance though, and another approach can mean it presents reversed. Where nerve will fail, fear prevent one from stepping beyond the safe, where one roots oneself in what is and chases off what could be. Then it is a card of deception, lies, illusion and terror of deep, dark nightmares. It is the card of madness.”

“Ah!” Mirfak nods in understanding, “We are well versed with madness here.” He surveys the entire spread, following the order they were laid, lingering no longer over any particular card, to Havelock’s eye. “So, Lord Havelock, what are your overall conclusions regarding your question?”

The Amber Lord takes in what is laid out before him. “Yes indeed,” he nods, “what is to be gained from the Illustrative and Insinuative Order of the Inconscient Brush?”

“Well only two suits show, wands and swords, plus some major arcana. The only feminine influence amongst them is the Moon, so it is, as we inflexibles might describe it, a very masculine reading. Prince Benedict appears twice and seems in transition from a reversed significator to an upright event and such a change is one possible gain. The majority of the spread is upright except for Benedict discussed and this baleful influence,” he gestures at the Emperor, “...and this culminator,” another motion, “indicates a positive solution.”

He runs his hand up the events. “Death I don’t believe threatens these upright kings anymore than in their normal roles as martial lords. However there are risks, as the pivot can tip between beautiful, clear dreams and dark, terrible nightmares. Inconscient can mean unconscious, can it not, as well as unaware? There are two cards here referring to dreaming; the aspirator, which suggests artistic dreams being realised, and pivot, balanced between clear vision and illusion. This too I think is significant.

“It tells me, know it or not, that I embark on a great and rewarding endeavour. In all I think I am presented with an opportunity to make a transformation, an opportunity that will mean I need to use my intuition rather cling to reason. Possibly I must recognise that I am unhealthily influenced by some ancient authority, which restricts my ambition. The aspirator and pivot push for conviction and faith or one risks terrible nightmares and madness.

“Though as you say, you can read too much into these, seeing what you want and drawing conclusions from the ether. It could as easily be that another faith or conviction will be tested; it could be that, though everything seems positive, yet that death comes for me. Now I’ve finished that, I think I should have another bowl of porridge,” and he smiles across the table.

Mirfak smiles back but as he opens his mouth to reply, another monk (member of House Malastar) comes up behind him and whispers in his ear. Mirfak listens intently and then nods once. The monk steps back, as if waiting for something or someone. Havelock can just make out the crisp white fire of an eye illuminating a mouth beneath the cowl but his hands (or hers – though actually Malastar doesn’t seem to have any women that Havelock’s seen) remain hidden within the folded arms of his cassock.

Mirfak’s tone is crisp, “My Lord Havelock, it seems we must curtail our discussion for the present but I look forward to continuing our observations another time.” He gestures to the other monk, “This one will convey you to the inception, where perhaps you will discover a little of the truth behind much of what we have been discussing.”

Havelock scoops up his deck and nods to Mirfak, “May your observations be fruitful, and farewell until I return.”

Mirfak rises, folds his arms in that fashion common to all monks, bows his head in farewell and withdraws. As he does so, the new monk steps forward. He’s slightly taller than Mirfak and his build is heavier. The voice, though, is slightly lighter, almost silvery.

“Lord Havelock?” The monk pushes back his cowl to reveal a countenance similar to Mirfak’s, they are definitely related, but disturbingly this monk has 4 eyes, with the left-most being considerably larger and brighter than the other 3, but all very brilliant and white. It actually hurts to look. “Allow me to introduce myself, one of my names is Zubenelgenubi.” He bows with his head, which seems to be the stylised greeting within House Malastar.

In response Havelock bows his own, “Yes, I am Havelock.” He looks around, partly for a portable snack and then, seeing no escort demon, concludes, “Will it be just you and I making this journey? As you possibly heard, Mirfak and I have been reflecting about the order and I am keen to meet with them.”

Havelock notices that Zubenelgenubi’s eyes do not stay put. One of the lesser eyes slowly rotates around the large left eye, while the other two lesser eyes revolve around each other in what would be the right socket in a ‘normal’ face. He gestures toward an exit from the room that Havelock is sure wasn’t there a minute ago. He falls in to step with Havelock as he leaves the room.

“Yes, my lord, just the two of us. Demons are not permitted contact with the orders of knighthood.”

Havelock finds himself ‘outside’ the Spiral, disconcertingly walking through what seems to be space, but somehow his feet find traction and there’s something to breath.

But a few paces later the fantastic starscape is replaced by a desert of blue sand under a kaleidoscope sun. Then, without warning, the pair are crossing an overgrown graveyard under roiling dark purple clouds. At the far side of that they walk on a narrow path along a cliff face with a poisonous green sea overhead, where the clouds should be, crashing against the cliff. Havelock feels strong vertigo at this, all his senses scream that he’s about to plummet head-first upward but his feet still seem to know where ‘down’ is.

“I must apologise for any disconcertions. Our order is most secret and it is necessary to follow a twisted path to ensure we are not followed. Perhaps, my lord, discourse might distract your senses. Have you any questions regarding the Order or your inception?”

Looking up, (or is it down?) Havelock fights against his breakfast’s desire to return.

Where do I start with my many questions he thinks? So he begins with, “It would be nice to know something of the history of the illustrative order I am joining and what inception involves?”

Whilst he listens for a reply Havelock tries to imagine himself on a ship’s deck, to calm both the twists of his balance and the turns of his stomach. It only helps a little because, even on the most alien ships, the sea is not the sky and the sky is not the sea. He is just beginning to recall some zero-gravity manoeuvres when the world changes again. The sea and the cliff dissolve and now Havelock and Zubenelgenubi find themselves literally tumbling in what looks and feels like a huge, winding wind-tunnel made of ice. Zubenelgenubi says nothing for the moment, probably because his words would be lost in the howling gale. Havelock’s teeth chatter.

Then abruptly the wind deposits the two (men?) in what looks like a foetid tropical swamp until Havelock realises the limpid orange pools are composed of molten metal. Zubenelgenubi ponders the vista thoughtfully but the comparative silence allows him to discourse almost normally.

“Regarding our history: the Illustrative and Insinuative Order of the Inconscient Brush is comparatively recent in origin, though more venerable than some of the latterday orders that have sprung up since our defeat on the Abyssal Plain.” Zubenelgenubi’s contemptuous sniff betrays his view of such cowboy outfits.

He steps forth on to a dark tuft that to Havelock’s eyes seems much like the other ephemeral blobs of slag protruding through the searing surface. “Follow precisely in my steps and endeavour not to linger over-long upon any one footing.

“After the Night of the Demons and the Day of the Broken Branches (unfortunate and violent insurrections of only local relevance) certain individuals came to the conclusion that they and other undesirable historical outcomes perhaps might have been averted by application of certain subtle techniques of a ‘cerebral’ nature.” Zubenelgenubi reaches a central ‘island’, complete with a clump of ‘trees’ (presumably made of something other than wood) and turns to watch Havelock’s progress. “Those very few individuals found each other of like mind and thus was our Order conceived.”

A lot more comfortable dancing across the molten pools, Havelock relaxes a little and wonders whether all of his family would have the poise and timing to follow this guide’s steps. He pursues his questioning though, “I am familiar with many counter insurgency methods. I suppose you gather intelligence on subversives to prevent the undesirable outcomes, may I ask who they are undesirable to?” Then struck by the divinatory powers he had seen displayed amongst the houses he added, “Unless of course you may look ahead for these detrimental events and then back track, unweaving the causes as you go?”

Zubenelgenubi says nothing while his slowly revolving eyes blaze at Havelock. As he takes the last step on to the island it occurs to Havelock that Zubenelgenubi is studying him very intently.

“I know not these words: ‘counter insurgency’ and ‘subversives’, so I cannot say. Please reach in to the innards of a flower…” Zubenelgenubi gestures to a handful of beautiful, ceramic flowers hanging like bells from the trees. “But please breathe in deeply first.”

Still pondering, Havelock asks, “To whom, though, are these events undesirable or particularly why?” He then takes two quick breaths followed by a deeper third one which he holds and stretches his arm out brushing his fingers on the porcelain edge. In his mind’s eye he recalls one summer spent as a ceramic artist learning the effect of chemistry, glaze and firing, on the finished artwork. This bloom is fine, but no Grand Elector’s tea service he concludes and pushes his arm in.

As Havelock practices his breathing there is a brief pause, as if Zubenelgenubi has to think hard about his answer, which is, “To us!” Then he inserts his hand in another flower, simultaneous with Havelock, and instantly the vista is whisked away in a sensation of violent upward motion. Havelock’s arm is nearly wrenched from its socket.

Havelock’s brain is telling him the tree must have whipped upward and flung him away but his eyes are screaming at his brain that the dangling flower somehow sucked him up in to the bell. The journey is bruising, extremely scary and deafening, as there’s a colossal roaring in his ears along with a metallic clatter as he bounces off the walls. It’s also completely dark. Havelock guesses that he must hold his breath or the howling rush will suck the air from his lungs.

After what seems an age, Havelock and Zubenelgenubi are spat out on what feels like a hard wooden surface at the edge of a wood. Zubenelgenubi picks himself up and rearranges his dishevelled clothing.

“Again my deepest apologies; that was more disconcerting than intended. I trust you are not injured?”

Running his fingers through his hair, followed by a practiced flick, as he has often seen his father do, Havelock quickly restores his normal, handsome visage. Dash, grace, hair and eyes can hold them even if the rest of you has been dragged through a hedge backwards. Feeling no wounds Havelock confirms, “No, I am fine, though that was quite some ride,” and flashes an assured grin.

He scans the nearby wood. Havelock is usually ambiguous about forests. They could be beautiful vistas that challenge a painter’s pallet and great cover for stalking or evading, but they could also conceal things in their shadows, terrible things. As he looks he tries to make his mind up what type of wood this is.

Havelock’s powers of observation quickly note the salient facts. Firstly, it has the density of a tropical jungle, with undergrowth jamming the ground between trees, higgledy-piggledy. It would take all day to machete a path through just a hundred yards of this growth but the borders of the wood are very sharp and nothing grows beyond.

Not far off Havelock thinks he can see sky, indicating that a fallen tree has created a break in the canopy – a sky of slate grey rain cloud with a lower layer of yet darker clouds scudding across in what must be a strong wind, changing shape rather quicker than they should. Thankfully this matches the sky overhead, too.

The types of tree and lesser plants are more reminiscent of temperate climes but Havelock is not that surprised to find he can identify none of the species close enough to examine. However, then he realises that each and every individual plant is different to the others. Now that’s creepy!

He can feel something watching…waiting… It’s not inimical or hostile, merely very, very ‘other’.

To not seem distracted he asks, “So how many are ‘us’? I have been told these orders cross house lines; do you represent many different houses?”

“Ours is but a small order; your inception will make nine of ‘us’, my lord.” Zubenelgenubi gestures away from the wood. “If my lord would walk this way? It is not far now.”