Come As You Are

The personal diary of Sorashi, daughter of Deirdre, pt 11

It is truly said, pleasure is fleeting but duty is constant.

Familial duty calls, now – I leave the Alhambra for Cloud 9, apologies pre-emptively left with Margrath for the remaining cousins.

Mother is glad to hear of Julian’s release – she seems fond of him, perhaps it is shared upbringing which provided the element missing in my relationship with him – I find him only cold and arrogant. Benedict is Mama Ghanesh by comparison.

Still, mutual liking is not an Amberite family trait.

I tell her what I know of the rescue, then she demands to know what plans are in the future – I almost fall into the trap of assuming this is in relation to myself only, but recover in time to give a potted and edited version of what I understand the cousins’ plans to be.

Amongst these, it appears, is Melvyn’s assaying into Chaos lordship, to which we are invited. Melvyn describing himself as craven and timorous does not bode well for his confidence at this task, but I hope it is in the way of dark humour – admittedly a wry sense of humour is not a previously-evidenced trait in Melvyn, but stress does odd things to people. I can only hope he survives it intact.

I was unaware of Tajal’s presence until Mother pulls out her cards – which attracts this small girl’s enquiring mind – a bright child is like the sun in winter, as they say. Unfortunately her interest is not appreciated by Mother, who glares at her – I can sense the sharp words of dismissal forming on her lips, so pull the child towards me and warn her to watch quietly. The glare transfers itself to me in her stead, but I have years of experience in dealing with such and merely return a look of polite patience.

Mother then states she needs to ‘prepare’ herself – I take the hint, and take Tajal out of the room, who has something she wants to ask me later, I am informed, as a piece of paper is trailed from one hand. For whatever reason, she does not wish to ask now, so I leave her to her lessons and go to seek Rama.

We have a brief conversation about the Alhambra, even in Chaos things take time.

Even the most powerful sorcerer cannot make the wheat grow faster. Patience.

I return to Mother, who lays out a spread, after complaining that Havelock’s cards are ‘muddy’. I have insufficient experience to understand this comment, but I doubt it is meant as art criticism.

The reading is about Corwin – interesting cards in the future, the Emperor reversed and the Fool, leading to The World. Eventual success? Possibly – but not necessarily pertinent to our situation.

I must practice more with the cards, should the future allow time for such.

The reading must have prompted feelings of family, because I then get the maternal ‘facts of life’ talk, Amberite-style – the preferred statuses for we females are fiancée or mistress. Never bride – that is ‘giving over too much control to your husband’ I am warned. Somehow the conversation gets on to Melvyn, indirectly – I am asked who has to die to achieve my goals? I answer circumspectly – in truth I am unsure of the target of this line of questioning.

I get a semi-irritated ‘hmphh’ from Mother, but she desists from pursuing the conversation. Instead, she gives me a knife as a gift.

It has a short handle with a domed pommel – the blade is about 5 inches long, and sharp only for the final inch or so. It goes into an ‘intimate area’ – just in case.

The life of an Amberite princess is truly all flowers and sherbert.

I make my excuses and visit Tajal, who is studying, with not much interest, a textbook on poisons. Whilst I commiserate on the travails of lessons and dull textbooks, we chat about her studies and what she has been doing.

The piece of paper is produced again – Darig is giving a class on fighting for a selection of youngsters – and the look on her face speaks of her ache to be included. I give permission – not only a useful skill, but the company of those of similar ages will do her good. I feel a slight restlessness within her, surrounded by adults all the time.

I pull her onto my lap, and tell her again the story of the tiger cub and the star. The time passes too quickly before I have to leave to get dressed for Melvyn’s assaying of his heritage.

I have less time than I thought, as Lady Zae has come to visit. Her assaying has not been gentle on her, I see – her tongue is now jet-black and forked like a serpent’s and her appearance is gaunt and worn. She seems older, more care-worn, with an air of faint, sad, determination. Oddly, when she speaks, the words do not come from her mouth but seem to form just outside – I notice this as the movements of her throat and lips are fractionally ahead of my hearing of the words. The tone, too is odd – sharp and staccato but with no emotion. She owes me a boon, it seems, I am to think on it and collect it before we go.

Something she said stays with me, the look in her eyes speaking of some pain or sadness the staccato deadpan tone ignores. ‘All desire power, do they not?’

The things we do to ourselves and others in pursuit of this elusive achievement – it both saddens and revolts me. The call of remote, lonely places has never been stronger.

She leaves, and I must make haste to leave as well. Melvyn’s bid for power does not allow for stragglers.

I have noticed that I no longer even mention the travels between places – in time the mind can accept anything as normal, as one of the gurus has said. Be that as it may, we travel to the place of assaying which seems to be a derelict building, angular pointed walls at the end stabbing against the ravages of time, its box-like frame already sagging and fallen in defeat. There is a moon shining on it, a sickly green light emanates from a disc which seems to have been chewed at by sharp teeth and on whose features sits a look of abject horror.

There have been more positive omens, and my heart shrinks for Melvyn. He is outside, wringing his hands, his face complementing that of the moon. I rearrange my expression to my most reassuring and friendly, and go to greet him.

I expect him to stammer and fall over his words, but his manner is more even than I would have thought. He seems glad of my distraction, however, and this is not the time to worry about giving him false hope or expectations – if he already believes he may fail, he will and it may not be the release of death which awaits him.

He asks about my experiences in the Pattern – I gladly relate these to him, the two are not equivalent but it is still an ordeal, undertaken in the pursuit of power, we come back to that again – and to achieve a sort of completeness.

When he asks about Zae, I am on less stable ground – I admit that I had seen her, and she seemed fully functional (minor quirks notwithstanding, I add mentally), but then he asks the question I wish he had not.

“Is she.... happy?”

All I can do is lie – Melvyn’s future as a functional sentient being depends on it. I tell him she seems satisfied and happy with what she has achieved, and put effort in to making it as believable as possible. It works as he believes me – also aided by this being what he wanted to hear.

And on this duplicitous note we go into the ruined building, which inside is like an old country hall. As before, the oval table sits there, with 26 seats around it – few are occupied, most of the guests indulging in the traditional pastime of conspiring in corners and shooting suspicious glances at others, in case their conspiring was not sufficiently noticed.

We circulate – it seems I am Melvyn’s amanuensis for this event – and start with the grouping of Havelock, Despil, Dara, Darig & Dirk who are thus honoured mainly due to them being the nearest to the door. I am pleasantly surprised that both Havelock and Despil are reassuring – Havelock a fraction overacted, but the intention is kindly.

I guide Melvyn around a few more groups – avoiding William and Constance, obviously, William being naturally and unhelpfully insensitive at the best of times – and leave Melvyn with a couple of friendly Chaos Lords to do some circulating of my own, checking briefly to see what Mother is doing – she seems happy enough socialising with Caine and a couple of others so I leave her to her fun and talk to Flora and Llewella.

Flora is sniffy as always but I ignore her rather uninspired barbs (Mother does it so much better) – Llewella is kindly and seems pleased to see me, at least.

Whilst in the course of my perambulations, I glance at the windows which now show various symbolic beings – a phoenix, a dragon, the Unicorn and a tree are what I remember, there may well have been others – all seeming to be engaged in mutual combat. The bad omens keep on turning up, it seems.

At length, Dworkin and Suhuy arrive – it seems they are always together, like starborn twins – and people start to gravitate towards the table. Suhuy appears beside me and gruffly advises (well, tells) me to give Melvyn moral support – ‘you will know when’ were his parting words. I look round for Melvyn, but from his stance he does not need an interruption.

Once all assembled are sat at the table, we all stand and Melvyn recites a prayer of thanks for the food and we eat. Again, there are chairs left empty and I can see Sand looking longingly at one near her. It is hard to lose a loved one, I know, but at least I know Father has passed over to ride the Wheel again.

To pass the time I talk to my neighbours – even to Julian, who is as warm and affable as ever, but I persevere and at least I have a topic of conversation to broach. He, fortunately, is willing to talk about his rescue enough to make a conversation rather than a stilted monologue on my part, and Dirk is being charming enough (in his own, slightly over-obvious way) to make it a moderately pleasant conversation.

I wonder how much of Dirk’s pleasantness is Caine’s instigation, how much his belief in his irresistibility and how much (if any) is genuine attraction to his rural cousin?

Still, one can over-analyse things, I conclude, and go back to enjoying the moment.

The toast is made to ‘Absent friends’ and the expectation is palpable as those beyond the veil turn up – Oberon, then Delwin (the look on Sand’s face is heartbreaking), I’m sure I can see Brand in the chair opposite him, and lastly, in the chair next to me I see the familiar figure of my tutor from the Opera.

I still do not know who he or she is – there has been talk of the ‘King in Yellow’ but I have no idea who he was, or if this could be him. He is not wearing yellow; that is the only clue I have.

Any questions I have will have to wait – Oberon has taken over and is demanding introductions. He knows William, but not the younger members.

His response to my introduction is to ask of Deirdre, ‘Does she know?’ – at which Mother blushes. I have no idea what it is I need to have been made aware of – and I doubt I have been. Something embarrassing I suspect, possibly only by Amberite standards.

The charm offensive continues, as he is less than impressed with Melvyn, who looks like he would like to hide under the table. I interject politely but firmly on Melvyn’s behalf and am dubbed a ‘mouthy bint’ by Oberon – yet not maliciously and there is a light in his eye which hints that he is not displeased. I think he likes his offspring with spirit, as later he raises his glass in a toast to me. I acknowledge with a respectful head bow – there is an air of Suhuy about him (or possibly the other way round) which I take to.

Once Oberon’s attention is off me, I can talk to the Phantom. All I can learn from him, however, is that he is a distant relative ‘on the distaff side’. I think that means on the female side – some relation of Cymnea’s?

Clear as river-mud.

Darig also talks to the Tutor, who in the course of the conversation says that he and Darig ‘will see each other once more, but briefly’. Referring to Lord Mandor’s little entertainment at the Ball?

River mud after monsoon, then.

The time for Melvyn’s ordeal approaches, however, and the guests drift out to take their seats. I hang back until only Melvyn and Suhuy remain, Suhuy looks sharply at me under those bushy eyebrows and disappears off on some excuse.

Melvyn is lost in his own thoughts as I approach, and jumps as I draw near. He stammers at my presence, but I smile and talk to him as reassuringly as I can, wishing him luck and giving him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. As I walk away, he touches his cheek in a sort of wonder. At the door of the chapel, out of his eyeline, Suhuy mutters gruffly ‘Well done’ and then hurries off to his duties.

The chapel has the same decorations as before – I sit next to Havelock rather than the steaming corpse in front of us – and the same warning is delivered by Suhuy.

Then, to the strains of what sounds like cats being thrown into a threshing machine, Melvyn walks up the aisle, looking like he is walking to his own torture and execution. I sense, however, a slightly more determined attitude than before, a marginal lessening of the fear evident in his posture – or maybe it is just my wishful thinking. I smile at him as he passes, though I am not sure he sees it.

As the dreadful ‘music’ builds to a crescendo, I hear two screams from unknown throats, whether from tension or the music, I do not know. Fractionally afterwards, the floor opens up in an insectoid maw under Melvyn, and his scream is added to the others as he disappears into it.

Sand collapses in a dead faint, fortunately caught by Havelock before she hits the floor.

Surprisingly, Oberon is very solicitous towards her, watching anxiously until she revives. As she sits up, shakily, he murmurs something to her – all I can hear is ‘don’t do anything silly’. And as he stands, he fades, as do the other ghosts.

I never knew him, but I feel I may have liked him.

And so we leave through a side door, up a spiral wrought-iron staircase hanging unsupported over the Abyss to our demons waiting at the top.

I grab a quick word with Darig and pass on Tajal’s acceptance of his workshop.

William again proposes a drink at Brứ-na-Bóinne in anticipation of Melvyn’s success (or his assumption of its lordship should Melvyn not succeed, a dark part of me adds) so I, Havelock, Darig, Rachael and he make our way there – Mother returns with her own demon and seems unconcerned at my social activities.

At Melvyn’s home, we are greeted by Loeg with wine and food, and so we drink to Melvyn. It is the first time I have met the famed Rachael, who seems pleasant enough – William seems quite smitten and seems almost polite, not once did he go into dark corners to conspire, though it helped that Constance wasn’t there.

It is not a lengthy gathering, fairly soon we go our separate ways and I return to Cloud 9. I am met by an obviously overexcited Tajal who has to be calmed sufficiently to allow me to get her ready for the workshop.

I think I like motherhood, sometimes.