Animal Crackers

The personal diary of Sorashi, daughter of Deirdre

And the sky wheeled endlessly, and I slept.

No dreams this night - perhaps the excitement of the race gathering drove them from me.

When I awoke, I sought the Lady Lhasa and, as has become our habit, discussed plans for the forthcoming 'day' - not an accurate description but it will suffice for my purposes in this record - over breakfast.

There is another entertainment planned - apparently House Zigo have commissioned works of art commemorating the battle, which they planned to present to us Amberites at a ceremony. I need to decide on a suitable escort - my suggestions of Alvis, Lord Torc ("faeries are nothing but trouble, dear") and Lord Suhuy ("somewhat out of your league, m'dear") are dismissed, so I suggest Melvin - a more palatable idea apparently, though I am warned in guarded but unmistakable terms not to get too involved, especially in terms of possible marriage. In the meantime Lhasa was concerned about how to entertain me. Chaos did not, strictly speaking, provide wide open spaces in the traditional meaning of the phrase, but there was apparently a 'Garden of Delights' which provided a rough facsimile of outdoors. Wendy would take me after breakfast.

By the usual diverse ways, we arrived at the 'Garden', its entrance a leaning trilith covered in ivy. It did not look inviting, somehow, but we entered.

The garden did seem to make some effort to live up to its name, in that it tried to convey an impression of outdoors (to limited success) but it reminded me of the rakshasa's attempt to woo the mortal milkmaid with a painted room and stone cows to replace the outside world now forbidden to her.

No stone cows here, but there seemed to be a collection of - well, large works of art I suppose, dotted around a landscape too perfect to be natural - a hillock, pools of water, yawning caverns. Oh, and the garden scrolled, the edges turning over onto themselves like an old book, hanging in mid-air in an unconcerned manner. This last was more unsettling than the piebald sky surging above.

The works of art themselves were not set to the best advantage - the visibility was poor, down to a dozen yards or so in the - haze? mist? blurry atmosphere is the closest I can get. The calm and restful atmosphere was enhanced by the impression of movement at the edge of vision. I was not sure whether this was just down to the natural alienness of Chaos or a more immediate threat but I could feel my shoulders itching in response.

The first thing we come to is a giant head and torso, the torso hollowed out with a table and chairs set underneath, supported by arms which looked like trees covered in skin. As we move away from it, its featureless face follows our departure.

The next offering is a representation (I hope it is just a representation) of a human nervous system, including the eyes - which are green, I notice for some bizarre reason. After this soothing creation, a similar idea for an insectoid being - its exoskeleton detached and displayed like a very tidy and accurate explosion.

Some way off, is a more traditional human form, standing upright and looking away. Its features are blank, with black coils round its head and limbs, and looks more empty than a human form ever should. The sense of nothingness personified.

Is this what we will become, even our physical presence irrelevant?

A dark thought, from I know not where.

There are other works, including a suit of armour I immediately identify as my mother's, its baleful red glow through the eyeslits an ill omen in this unsettling place.

The sense of unease has been growing, even Wendy is worried and we cannot find the exit. On her recommendation we split up in an effort to draw the threat away from me and I begin to half-change to increase my chances. Which is when I realise the flaw in our plan.

There are more than one of them.

At least two of them are in my vicinity. One of them, apparently, is overfond of aftershave, a strange failing in an assassin. With no exit in the vicinity, I decide to neutralise the known threat and go towards the more vain of my assailants - this turns out to be Caine's son, Dirk, as he steps out from behind a tree to throw a dagger at me, which I dodge. He looks momentarily nonplussed at my presence as he asks 'Sorashi?'.

It is a rather long jump for me, and he is rumoured to be no novice at blade use, so I fight down the second self to enquire what he is doing here. His answer is to draw a cutlass and advance, at which I retreat.

It seems far more logical to try and kill him, a more rational response - after all, I have no evidence that he means me well or that he would balk at killing a (distant) kinswoman - but something within me is reluctant to do so. Perhaps it is cowardice, or the realisation I'm not as good at it as he is likely to be, or even that he is family, but I do not advance.

Whilst I am pondering this quandary, he rushes past me and I turn to find him in combat with a creature not dissimilar to the statues, humanoid (ish) with eyes in its chest and fanged maws in the palms of its surprisingly elegant hands. Neither of these seem to aid it as Dirk very efficiently despatches it with the cutlass. The Unicorn obviously held me back from attacking him - when we get somewhere civilised I will have to perform a sacrifice.

Wendy, tragically, had no such rescuer - she lies on her back, throat gone and blood the colour of ink soaking into the scrubby grass. Her eyes, open, reflect nothing - they seem more like small openings into the void than orbs of sight - and this disconcerts me more than anything else. I close her eyes and leave the body where it is.

I cannot help but wonder what these demons actually are. They seem too intelligent to be dumb beasts, bred for service, and yet they arrive (or are collected), serve and die for the Chaos houses - why? Do they know their fate, look forward to it or dread it, hope for kind masters? Are they part of the void, nothingness made flesh or do they just live there? Does the void know where they go - and does it care?

And why do I care? I shouldn't, a true Amberite, I imagine, would not - what use would answers be to my musings? Yet, I have these thoughts, like an old temple scholar with a sutra to write. Maybe this place is driving me mad, or maybe I try to make sense of the death of someone I liked.

This train of thought does not come to me immediately, but as I write this, even I am surprised at the strength of my need to ask these questions - though I doubt I will get answers.

To return to the narrative, we have little time to muse as Dirk and his Askaris demon (a sort of large orange millipede-shaped entity) take our hurried leave and I am brought back to House Minobee.

Lhasa is pleased to see me, of course, but the pleasure is short-lived as I relay the news of Wendy's tragic death. She is understandably very upset - at the death of someone who was more a companion and surrogate family member than a servant (though I am sworn to secrecy on this point - not a socially acceptable attitude, I gather), and also the end of House Minobee. I must, of course, be moved to another host - expected, but not welcome news.

So, I leave Lhasa to her arrangements and sorrow and prepare dinner for us both. Not up to Wendy's standard, but acceptable - though I doubt it would have been noticed if I had served the countess ashes from the fire. My agreement may come into force more quickly than either of us had expected - probably another arrangement for her to make.

Needless to say, I am not in celebratory mood when Melvin arrives to escort me to the art presentation. As we travel with Lugh, I convey the news of Wendy's demise and the circumstances thereof - he listens, round-eyed, and gulps once or twice, and there is not much casual conversation on our journey.

I find myself wondering what a future with Melvin would be like - but, even without Lhasa's warnings, sympathy and pity is not a good basis for a relationship, even if I wanted to stay here.

And there we are, outside a very pleasing building arrayed in elegant style. Havelock has already arrived, with someone I don't recognise - she looks rather shaken, and there is a bruise on Havelock's cheek. What had happened?

The rest of the family arrive - it seems Constance arrived before Melvin and me, though Mandor escorts Llewella rather than my esteemed cousin. I'm sure it was not a slight on Mandor's part.

It seems to have been the Day of Being Attacked today - Havelock's bruise is the result of several large demons intent on stealing the pictures meant to be presented to us. They were partially successful - one of the pictures was purloined - for reasons unknown, but I doubt it was financial gain. His escort, a thin blond female, was apparently the artist, and is distraught at the loss.

Not to be left out, I shared my exciting afternoon with my cousins. Margrath and Constance seemed shocked and concerned for me (maybe I have been overly antagonistic towards Constance...) whereas William merely complained that I had 'blown his theory'. Darig seemed mildly interested in a professional capacity and Havelock was understandably distracted.

But the wheels of the entertainment grind on regardless, and we all proceed into the main area where pictures and statues are presented - some pleasing, some disquieting, some merely baffling - whilst an orchestra plays strangely muted music. The art is admired and commented on (by those who seem to know about such things), I merely gaze at the works like a rural peasant, I fear.

The Head of House Zigo then steps up to the orchestra dais to announce the news of the attempted theft, and the later presentation of the remaining painting.

Having shown sufficient appreciation of art for my own satisfaction (I doubt anyone else there cared), I wander over to William (who seems to be in deep conversation with Darig) to find out what his theory was.

Simply put, it was presumed that the attacks were aimed at potential (male) leaders of House Barrimen in order to keep the House weak and its present leader in a deeper state of nervous inertia. Given the attack on (non-martial and unleaderlike) me, they could only presume that it was an attack on House Amber as a whole, for reasons unguessed at. William half-jokingly proposes an 'Assassin Survivor's Club' of me, him and Darig.

Lovely - we could get sashes made.

As the conversation ends and we circulate once more, I find myself in the vicinity of Prince Caine who is eager to chat to his previously ignored kinswoman - there is nothing like an attempted assassination attempt to attract the attention of Amberite men, it seems - and we chat about what happened (translated as - I am pumped for anything useful I can tell him), no doubt any information is compared to Dirk's report.

He is oddly insistent on the completeness of Dirk's information, repeating several times that Dirk had told his father everything. I merely reply mildly that I had expected him to do so - we both know to what he was referring, and I see no point in belabouring the matter. Perhaps at my lack of fear or anger at the revelation of my little secret impressed him (or more likely he now knew something secret he felt he could use in future) but he was at pains to point out that he was not prejudiced against the dual-soulled, unlike some of his kin. We parted on this note.

As I passed Constance, I warn her that she may be a target. She nods sagely and replies that she will be careful. I hope she will - we may not be the best of friends (honestly, we are barely acquaintances) but I bear her no malice, and she is family. Melvin is called away by Havelock to have a Card reading - why here, and why now, I can't guess.

When he returns, Melvin does not look reassured - if possible, he looks even more nervous than before, but wouldn't say the outcome of the reading apart from mentioning something about destiny, and having to confront it. I have never had a talent with the cards, and according to Mother, the trick is in interpretation. I wonder if Dworkin had a word with Havelock about certain House leaders facing up to certain tests.

The evening wound on inexorably, as did the socialising and in the fullness of time I arrived at the same place as Havelock. We were joined by Hector, Crown Prince of House Zigo, official Exile in Disgrace (though it appears that his House's influence provides a more lenient interpretation of the word 'exile'), who seemed expansive and friendly enough. His exile was brought by his arguing against the war in the Thelbane, believing it to be wrong - an attitude moulded by the House (and personal) liking for wandering in Shadow, unusual in the somewhat unadventurous court (no doubt the knife-edge of politics was more of a concern to other Houses).

Unsurprisingly, he wanted something - he would be happy to support us if it weren't for the bothersome ban on travel beyond the Igg tree. We could only say that this would be mentioned to the elders but he seemed satisfied with this. Strangely at odds with his jovial manner, he was most insistent that we need to leave immediately (if not 'yesterday') - this place, the court, this end of the universe. We are all too willing to do so, but there is the minor problem of not being able to, why the urgency? This is not revealed, but he paints a grim future in which we live trapped in isolated bubbles, unable to survive outside in the true Court when our novelty had worn off.

Rather unnerving conversation to be having - I cannot help hoping that if this future arises that I am better equipped to cope than the rest of my cousins.

Musing on this, I am distracted by a strange sight - my eyesight is on the whole, very good and rarely impaired. And yet, when I look across at Bleys, talking to my cousins, he seems less solid than he should be - when he passes in front of a statue, I am sure I can faintly see the coils and fronds traced through his body. Shaking my head to clear my vision, I look over to Havelock - who is looking at his similarly transparent hand with an understandable degree of horror. He strides over to his father and commences a low-voiced but intense conversation with Bleys.

What is going on - another assassination attempt, this one magical? I look round to my family, but they seem unaffected - no, wait, is Darig fading too?

I have no idea what to do, so seek the nearest elder - who turns out to be Caine, involved in a bad-tempered exchange with his silver-skinned escort from House Ingram. As I approach, it seems that the lady is defending herself for not passing on information on the grounds that 'it'; was merely a theoretical discussion on changing the past, no-one would be foolish enough to try to do it.

It seems that someone was - and has the requisite power, tools and (most importantly) a focus - for which the 'mystical image' of the battle would do very nicely - to give a reasonable chance of success.

Havelock's escort (I think she was introduced as Beaugard) rushes up to the remaining painting and pulls off the cover. It is still there, still painted but noticeably transparent, and from behind it, a dull red glow gives a dry chuckle. It can only be Brand, wearing the Jewel of Judgement. My brain froze at trying to unravel the logic behind this, but fortunately Havelock had more information (or is quicker-witted).

He had been having dreams in which the battle had been lost, not won - due to a cavalry charge coming from somewhere the Chaos cavalry had not been, breaking our charge and our line, leaving us open to the attacks we resisted originally. Hence the transparency - he, Bleys and Darig would have been killed, and we would have entered Chaos as a defeated army, not a sheltering one.

And of course, Brand would not have fallen into the Void - explaining the 'reverse ghost' on the dais. This meant...

I look for her, hastening to her once espied on the far side of the room. But then I stop, hesitant, not knowing what to say. Despite the pain, I need to be near her. She glances over to me and I faintly hear her address the phrase 'almost presentable' in my direction.

Even when dead, I cannot fully gain her approval. Yet being in her presence, however tenuously, is as close as I would ever get to a goodbye.

Whilst I am mooning with the ghost of my mother, House Zigo and guests had been busy, organising an attempt to stop this from happening. The attack is apparently being orchestrated from the Duomo - a sort of major temple - and as I leave my mother's presence, I am placed with a group of 'light skirmishers' (a phrase almost pronounced as 'non-combatants' by Julian) along with Constance and Margrath. There is no bow to be found, but I am given a dagger. Pausing only to remove my sari (it's the only one I have), I go to battle in my underskirt and bodice. No doubt my mother would expect no better.

We reach the Duomo and are ordered by Benedict to scout ahead - me, Constance, Havelock (who is now mostly see-through) and a couple of House Zigo scouts. We sneak in through a side door, unnoticed (Constance seems very good at this) and make our way to the upper gallery of seats (avoiding the demonic pickets), from whence we get a good view down onto the central part. On an altar lay a white-clad figure unbound and (I think) conscious, surrounded by several people, including the pentacle-with-an-eye last seen in the Thelbane. Filling a lot of the space below us were a troop of about 50 large swimming-in-air fish (called orcas, apparently) with large demon riders wielding three-pointed spears.

Pentacle-with-an-eye seems to be inscribing something in the air with a fleshy tentacle, leaving a smoky blur remaining.

There being no further information to gain, we return and report to Benedict, who seems satisfied we were unobserved and thus have the element of surprise. And so battle is commenced - we retrace our route in and attempt to run interference on the demons in the upper gallery with orders to avoid the orcas, this time I have Melvin at my side which is rather telling. To increase my chances of survival, I shift to my other form, and launch at a demon running towards us.

This does not work as well as I had hoped, my extra weight is to my advantage but not enough to give me an edge. I have the rather unpleasant feeling I am losing - until the demon slumps forward onto me, his head half-severed from his body. I struggle up four-footed to see Melvin looking scared and exhilarated at the same time, holding a black-streaked sword. He seems to take my other form as a wonderful development - I feel disheartened that I will have to dash his hopes in the future. For the moment, however, we have a battle to fight - I pull a demon off a Zigo soldier and Melvin kills it, but the soldier is already dead.

I can see only flashes of the battle - mainly Constance, holding her own with more aplomb than I show, a silvery fin thrashing as an orca seeks to gain height to attack those on the ground floor. A tall female archer shooting Metal Pentacle Eye whose eye is clogged by silvery mucus. Shouts and screams, someone barking orders.

The smell of swamp mud, and a dark flash, and a despairing inhuman scream.

And the battle is over, mostly - the plot is undone anyway, the painting is now just a painting. There is still fighting, apparently surrender is unfashionable in the Courts, but eventually we stop and we've won. I change back and find my clothes.

Melvin and I go down to the altar, now seemingly placed in a charnel house. There are injured and dead from both sides, but, surreally, the sacrifice stands by the altar glaring at us.

She seems most put out at her rescue, and demands, in aggrieved voice, who was going to kill her now? Her house were wiped out in the battle, how dare we ruin her last heroic act? It is both sad and ludicrous, and we leave.

Outside, we have the foot-scuffing, ground-gazing conversation of those who have no wish to be the one chosen for a task. No-one wants to kill her, despite the obvious threat - William is openly contemptuous, Constance unwilling to add to the killing and the rest seem willing to debate it to oblivion. I cannot be condemnatory - I do not wish to kill her either, but nor do I wish to leave her alive for selfish reasons.

As we stand there, frozen in inertia, I remember the sacrifice's words 'I have nothing left' and I think of Countess Lhasa, and Melvin, and Wendy who died trying to save me.

I have a duty. Somewhat bad-temperedly, I tell the cousins that I would do it, and walk back into the Duomo.

She stands there still, clad in black-spattered white, as I ask her if she really wants to die. Her answer is yes, and she looks me straight in the eye as I plunge the dagger into where I presume her heart is.

She dies thanking me.

I straighten her body and entrust her soul to Yama and whoever deals with death here. It is all I can do.