Karm before the Storm

The personal diary of Sorashi, daughter of Deirdre, pt 10

I return to the Alhambra to find that Margrath has introduced some apparently structural cobwebs. It doesn’t really fit in at all, but it is not my effort being put in for a favour, so I forebear from offering artistic criticism and express my gratitude for what has been achieved – that is, less falling-over than it was before.

Margrath looks tired, and despite his heroic efforts there is so much else to do. In an effort to cheer him (and myself), I tell the story of the duel. In return, he tells me of his encounter with the entity inhabiting the shield boss in the third courtyard – its name is Kirgiz and is apparently incredibly powerful (and incorporeal). I get the feeling it didn’t approve of the cobwebs either.

But, according to this entity, Amber is gone – whether it is destroyed or just vastly changed, neither Margrath nor I can know. We obviously both hope it is the latter – its societal flaws notwithstanding, it is a lynchpin in the universe as we know it. The cards, worryingly, seem dead – cards for the Palace Gardens, for Gerard and others who are not here. It worries us, but there is nothing we can do until we leave.

At his request, I pass the Palace Garden card to Margrath – he promises to ‘keep trying’.

These cheerful musings are interrupted by Suhuy’s arrival – despite our conversation at the duel, he has apparently decided that he is not too important to visit me to offer the training promised. Highly flattering of course but I suspect an ulterior motive. Still, we set to work – a quick run-through of the practicalities of duelling the thing in the cellar.

In essence, I need to shapeshift to not only match but best its shapeshifting – my advantage is its lack of imagination (mine is my lack of experience, I assume) but reassuringly it is perfectly acceptable to cheat – not quite so reassuring when Suhuy asks me if I have written a will. I ask Margrath to witness that the Alhambra and everything I own goes to Mother. I get the feeling he is quite looking forward to witnessing the forthcoming fight.

A quick tutorial follows, where we swap shapes to try and best the other, ending in Suhuy as a wall and myself as flowering liana with its deep, probing aerial roots. I also get a warning about using forms which outside of the Courts would not retain sentience – air turbulence, as Suhuy points out, does not usually think much.

Suhuy says something odd – that he has to remember ‘how it will be – this is important, I recall’. I know time runs differently here, but this seems unusual even for the Courts. He also, and more prosaically, tells us that we are expecting visitors – and are being watched – as I look out in the direction indicated, I can feel a now-familiar prickling behind my left ear (and my hackles trying to rise). The watchers are dangerous ‘because they don’t know’ – but no further explanation does Suhuy provide, so we are left to our own imaginations on that one.

I am asked if I want to wait, delay, prepare some more for the contest – much as I would like to, I cannot see any point in putting it off – I am as ready as I can be. So, we enter the arena.

Where, disconcertingly, the sky is ‘down’ – I try my best to ignore this and concentrate on my opponent, which obligingly emerges from a cave like a nightmare from the farthest, darkest region of the mind. In a voice like steel scraping along stone, it announces its name as Todaformas and demands to know who challenges it.

My answer that the challenger is me does not impress it – its answering sneer of ‘inflexible’ shows this, and neatly demonstrates its lack of imagination. I stride forward, and with the words ‘not as inflexible as you may think’, I shift into an eagle to start the contest.

My brain races for alternatives, my body shifts as though I have been doing this for years and I try to ignore the panic which rises within me as I counter its changes and try to best it – it answers my eagle with another, swifter, raptor, I strain to gain height then become a net, which holds it for a little while but not when it becomes a cloud of butterflies.

My gust of wind scatters these, but the butterflies become throwing stars (which cannot hurt me) and then a pile of metal. I become a glass bowl to contain it, but it counters with a dwarf with a pickaxe.

I shift away, and my brain fogs with the strain. Reverting to familiarity, I become Tyger and race towards it. It swings the pickaxe, and I feel it glance off my shoulder.

That hurt – I become vines to entangle it, it starts tearing me off it so I become metal cables and heat up. Not as successful as I would hope, as it is now a metal dwarf with a pickaxe and heating up nicely.

My inexperience tells – I try an ice cloud, but I can feel my ice evaporating (an unusual and unpleasant sensation, I can assure you) so I try another tack – rising as high above it as I can, I become a metal cone and plummet towards its glowing metallic head – the impact is loud, and now my opponent is a glowing-hot metal dwarf with a conical indentation in its head. My minds scurries through possibilities – I cannot see how I can beat it by making it hotter, no weapons would help. The only alternative is cold – I shift into a cone with powerful legs, then, as I reach the air above it, shift into a cascade of cold water.

Oh, the gods – the pain is searing all over my consciousness. I’m not sure I didn’t scream, but it works. A hiss and a screech of tortured metal, and Todaformas explodes. I collate myself (how often can one say that?) and return to my Amberite form – stark naked and burnt all over.

The lack of clothing is really not high on my list of priorities at the moment as I watch the shattered pieces of metal slowly inch towards each other. Wearily I try to cudgel my exhausted brain for strategies, but fortunately this is the end of the contest as Todaformas meekly asks for instructions. I have none, but instruct it to return to its lair until I have need of it.

I start to shift myself a facsimile of a pearl divers outfit in order to preserve some dignity, covering breasts and groin, and am lectured on the perils of shifting clothes, especially long flowing skirts. The talent may be new to me, but I would probably have worked that one out by myself – however, I take the lecture meekly and graciously in the spirit it was presumably meant.

Despite myself, I have a soft spot for Suhuy – he reminds me so much of Mama Ihlandi, with her gruffness and unexpected generosity. He is not her, of course, not even slightly, but I like him.

As we leave, Suhuy cocks his head as though listening to something. An attack from our previously mentioned visitors? I can hear a high faint screech, like a kettle coming to boil a long way away.

Up in the Alhambra, the noise becomes louder – it is a scream, not of escaping steam but something else. I would say a mortal throat, but I can think of no being who could issue such a sound.

Asfar approaches, congratulations are hurriedly offered but something is happening – this is impossible to ignore as the scream is now louder than a thousand temple bells and I see Margrath and Suhuy buckling under the strain. I myself find it hard to stay on my feet and progress forward, but I manage somehow to stagger on.

Thankfully the scream ends with a sudden bang, a crash then a concluding thud – sounding unpleasantly like a body hitting a stone floor. As I rush towards it, my ears still ringing, I see Lady Zae lying on the ground. Miraculously, she seems to have no serious injuries but her tongue is missing. She is not bleeding from the mouth, so I doubt it happened as she hit the floor.

A side effect of Chaos-lordship I suppose.

Suhuy arrives as I help Zae to her feet – he looks old and haggard, as though he has been through a great ordeal, which, I suppose, he has. I suspect this is the real reason for his visit – I cannot imagine what would happen if Zae had fallen (literally) into unfriendly hands. Asfar brings clothing from somewhere and I help her dress – she (with difficulty) asks where she is so I tell her. There is little reaction – unsure if this is good or bad.

After she is presentable, Suhuy announces that we are all going to Brú na Bóinne. We have done all we can here for now, so we may as well rejoin the cousins.

At Brú na Bóinne, the festivities must have been the swiftest in history as the cousins huddle to discuss doubtless important matters. Melvin looks pleased at my arrival, less so when Suhuy appears – I smile and talk with him a little, then join the cousins, trying not to see the light in his eyes.

I cannot stay here, and I am not what he needs. But to hurt him at this stage – it could be too much, then again, so could maintaining false hope.

I don’t know.

One thing at a time, as Mother would say.

I expect the conversation to be about Julian, but apparently they are discussing William’s inamorata and I come in at the point at which the relationship between angels and Chaos is being scrutinised – apparently angels may travel to Chaos, but Chaos cannot travel to where angels live. I think that was the conclusion, it was a little abstruse and I did miss the start of the conversation.

Dirk mentions in passing that according to Caine I am a lynchpin between Amber and the Courts. And I thought I wasn’t that important – pleased as I am, I can’t help wondering what Caine is manipulating me into. I do not doubt I will find out, but Alhambra is mooted as the Amber embassy. Interesting times.

And the conversation turns inexorably to Julian’s rescue – William has his inside contact (I am relieved that the full-frontal assault has been replaced with something more survivable) who will let him and 2 others in. He chooses Constance (obviously – she would have taken on House Karm by herself if left behind, I would wager) and Havelock – the start of yet another Amberite cabal, perhaps? I doubt everyone and everything now, it seems.

Melvin looks nervous, but does not contribute to the discussion as exit strategies are discussed, and William mentions that Mandor and Oggil have had ‘previous dealings’ – with no indication of whether this was good or bad, I have no idea how that was supposed to help.

If the rescue is successful, Julian will be brought to the Alhambra (where else would he go?) – Darig is going to visit Uncle Benedict and Dirk will wait in Ascaris until contacted in which case he will have a word with Dad so, whether it works or not, there is a way of getting information out to those who need to know.

At this junction, Melvin asks if there is anything he can do – and is pleasantly surprised to be told, yes, there is. He will be a point of outside contact – if he receives word that the Alhambra is under attack, he is to advise Cymnea – this last part is rather less appealing to him, but he swallows, then nods his agreement.

And finally, the rescue party set off for something called the Clock of Doom – I can only hope the gods are looking kindly on them, it is a very risky venture they undertake. The rest of us go our various ways – Margrath and I return to the Alhambra to prepare as well as we can.

And never has it been truer that a watched cloud never rains – a room is made ready, a form of stabling for Morgenstern is found, and then we wait.

Even by the peculiar passage of time in the Courts, it seems we are waiting for an eternity of forever. To while away the time, Margrath decides to map the inheritance and I follow him to aid in the production of a functional map – I really must make an inventory of the Treasure room fairly soon, House Sheol will come calling in the near future, I do not doubt.

We discuss the summoning of demons, I show him a couple of coin tricks, we try the cards again and then, at last, just as we are beginning to fear the worst, the rescue party arrive at the gates with a very familiar figure in white armour.

It worked against all the odds, though Julian seems less than ecstatic – perhaps he is, perhaps this grim demeanour is Julian’s version of deliriously happy.

For all of her faults and shortcomings, I am grateful Deirdre is my parent and Julian is not. I could not cope with that coldness, that wall of indifference – no wonder Constance is so desperate for any tiny flickers of acknowledgement from him.

But I formally welcome him to the Alhambra, and offer to show him to rooms prepared for him. His concern is for his horse first, so Asfar leads the way to the area prepared with instructions to give Lord Julian anything he requires and to escort him to his room when he is ready – after that, to bring him food and drink and anything else he needs for his comfort.

I go to join my cousins, all agog to hear the story of this rescue (William dropped hints about ‘boardrooms’ and large shadowy demons but I ache for full details) but Constance follows me, asking for wine to be brought to Julian’s rooms – already done, of course, but I let it slide. She then asks that Podaga be allowed to stand guard outside his rooms – the first request I could put down to over-eagerness, and distractedness for any number of perfectly understandable reasons, but this is inescapably rude – and I do not even know if she knows that it is.

‘Why, Constance’ I say with a social and humourless smile, ‘don’t you trust us?’ She looks a little shocked and starts to backtrack, but I can hear tantalising snippets of information from Havelock and in honesty, I would rather listen to that so tell Constance that Podaga will be quite comfortable in the annexe with the other demons and Asfar will see to her father’s needs quite adequately (having already told him to I say loudly in my own head) and invite her to join us later.

Fortunately, she accepts this and runs off to be with her father. I enter the courtyard just in time to hear Havelock say ‘And then I took the Pattern sword and...’