A Cure for Melancholy

The personal diary of Sorashi, daughter of Deirdre, pt 15

I am in the midst of a dream – the landscape is out of a fever-nightmare, jagged edges and shifting, malevolent shadows. I am running for my life from things unknown, but I make no progress though every sinew screams at me to escape.

I wake up sweating and fanged.

Sleep holds no attraction so I bathe, write my diary and finally dance the Path of Meditation. The familiar movements are soothing, and the tensions subside, though the memory still remains. Warning or simply my own anxiety?

At breakfast, I am apprised of the latest rumours – Melvyn has cast Amblerash from the Rim, to be replaced by Jenssen; the Serpent is no longer the official Church of Chaos; various people have died – some by means of spectral hounds (I suspect retribution in those cases), Lord Groan by owls – Chaos never ceases to surprise me; speculation of who will be Queen – and, interestingly, rumours that the Thelbane is to be expanded.

Mother is concerned by the favour owed to Caine – she urges me to find out how to discharge the debt and to do so as soon as possible. Owing Caine is a dangerous thing, apparently.

This cheerful topic is interrupted by a visitor – it is Kikakak, the Raven woman. She asks that I mention House Diné for admittance to the Thelbane, and would consider such to be dischargement of the debt owed to her. I agree, should the opportunity arise.

First, however, there is the matter of the duel as yet another House tries to kill us. (I wonder if William will be as dismissive of this as of the attempt on me – I do not know if it is the gender which is important, or whether he is genuinely unconcerned unless it is himself in danger.)

So we arrive at the site of the duel to see Margrath against Aelfric of House Taud. Aelfric is in, I would assume, as threatening a form as he can arrange, a 7 foot high mantis with four arms. For fighting, a wise choice – but this is magic. (We owe you, Melvyn!)

He has 3 seconds, including Hector of Zygo, whose expression is a carefully-schooled blank, avoiding anyone's eyes without seeming to.

Margrath enters, dressed in grey-brown robes shot with silver. I want to say he looks inoffensive but that is wrong. He looks… professional, focussed. Bela of Vaal, one of his seconds, nods faintly to Philomena on the opposing team. She responds minutely with a slow blink.

Then the referee enters – gold-masked Smendes of House Nomon.

The love of Chaos for strictly controlled rituals is a perpetual mild surprise – but the referee is laying down the reasons and terms for the duel and the prize for the winner – Taud want Ibemo if they win (more to deny him to Sumi than any great desire for his person, I suspect) – and the duellists are shown to their respective circles.

There is no official start, but once in their circles, each starts to cast – those more skilled than me whisper that Aelfric is casting Venomation, with winces and hisses to indicate this magic's unpleasantness. Margrath, on the other hand, is summoning something – no-one knows what. It is a race to completion.

As I look around I see Sand sat on her own, the worry showing on her face and clenched hands. As no one else of the family have taken any action, I decide to move and sit next to her to indicate she is not alone.

She looks up briefly in surprise as I sit, but a small weak smile follows – I am at least unthreatening, it would seem. A little while later, she leans over to say there is a dampening field round the protagonists and she cannot feel anything.

Which makes sense, I presume.

A dark cloud, shot through with silver (echoes of the robe Margrath is wearing) coalesces in front of him and drifts slowly – yet menacingly – over to his opponent.

Aelfric's spell is not yet ready, even I can see that, yet he has little choice but to cast – he has run out of time – but as he raises one of his arms, the cloud boils into his protective circle.

There is a scream, somehow reminiscent of a steam-whistle, and as the cloud dissipates, he is on his knees, leaning on two of his arms while the other two flail weakly. A thunderclap sounds suddenly and he collapses, unconscious.

The referee calmly declares victory for Margrath as Sand claps her hands together and mutters 'Thank the Tree!'.

Apparently Margrath had summoned a Ty-iga. I have no idea what one is, though I faintly remember the name being mentioned.

I would not like to meet one.

Aelfric would concur if he were conscious, I think, but he is being removed until his recovery, when he will pay whatever forfeit was agreed.

I look for Caine, but he is intently talking to someone. Corwin is telling someone that House Lanfranc insists that the Colossus of Augustus must be toppled. But I do not hear the response, as a demon approaches to advise that I am invited to Brứ-na-Bóinne by the High King.

The ancestral home looks bigger – several of the stones are gilded, and sigils mark some of the others. It seems that only the younger cousins are here.

Maugrim bangs a gong, and we are led into the presence of the High King.

He smiles politely, but the air of melancholy still clings like a miasma – I wonder if he will be known as the Sad King – as he explains he needs our advice.

He wants our recommendations for appointees to the Thelbane – each put forth their nominations, my nomination for Guédé passes uneventfully but I manage to upset the dung-pile into the stream by mentioning Kikakak as the name of the one who had asked me to mention Diné.

As soon as I said it, my error was evident but it was not commented upon. No doubt the others will derive great amusement from sneering at my incompetence, but as long as it is behind my back, I can pretend I don't care.

Darig is still trying to get rid of his succubus as he offers it to Melvyn – the offer is politely declined.

I visit Caine despite wanting to go home to Tajal – duty first, as always – he seemed not entirely displeased to see me, which is a start. Remembering my clumsiness with Melvyn, I broach the subject carefully but he interrupts me, asking (well, stating, to be accurate) if this is regarding the favour owed, and guessing that Mother had sent me.

He seems fairly unconcerned to my untutored eyes about the matter, asking me just to 'pass on the karma' – which I agree to. Untutored I may be, but I am not sure that such karma will not be entirely undirected by kindly Uncle Caine. We also discuss my little piece of land – he agrees that converting it into the embassy for Amber is a rational move, and I take my leave.

I spend a few precious, snatched moments watching Tajal at her lessons – and am rewarded with a smile and a little wave – before I need to prepare for the next social event, Oberon's funeral.

This is held in the Royal chapel, now looking ornamented in sombre but flouncing swirls. The coffin is on a low plinth, covered in a fresh flag, reflected in mirrored walls which make our little gathering look larger than it is.

To the right of the room, are guards from both Courts, on the left, assembled ambassadors and worthies from Chaos – including Mandor.

The women wear black tulips as a corsage, the men have black armbands and we stand with our thoughts as Seraphael of Seraph reads a poem of sad beauty.

In contrast, Dworkin's elegy is jarringly incongruous – but brief at least - Oberon was a 'naughty little boy'. And then he steps down.

Cymnea's was not much longer, but heartfelt, referring to him as 'the love of my life'.

After that, it seems a little random as to who makes a speech – Bleys cracks jokes, Constance says a few words and William heckles with some comment about in-fighting.

Brand, I suspect uninvited, keeps up the theme of snide point-scoring about Oberon's achievements (or lack of them) – I hope he cannot follow us out of here.

I wander over to Belissa, Brand's spitefulness being rather boring, to discuss arrangements for when we leave; Lacertin will want to say goodbye to his sister so that needs to be arranged. We promise to keep in touch, possibly through the embassy when it is up and running.

The service over, we go to deliver the body to the Abyss. The coffin is ready at its edge and, in a niche high on the wall overlooking the bridge, is Ludmilla's head, her eyes sweeping the scene as though she would record every detail.

Over the Abyss three dragons circle, the same as flew in the original funeral procession – green, gold and black. As Caine reads out a litany, 2 of my uncles move to either side, followed by Cymnea.

The litany finished, they lift it chest-high and, with a gentle push, Cymnea delivers it into the Abyss where it floats and sinks like a leaf. Before it sinks to any extent, the dragons swoop and the black one grasps it and flies off. The others tell us 'Our father will be one with us from this day'.

I can only think he will be reincarnated as a dragon, but am unsure if this is what they meant.

I look away, a small lump in my throat, and see a tear escape Ludmilla's eye and trickle down her face. With no arms to wipe it away, I move to do so for her – as does Darig.

The tear is oddly crystalline, but she tells us that she will bear witness to this day for any who were not here, and stay in her niche to tell the tale to any who ask. I wish her luck – she has a quiet dignity about her, and seems accepting of her new role.

The moment is marred by William the Grossly Insensitive blustering about throwing her head back in the Abyss, but fortunately someone distracts him with a question about his wedding.

I wonder if Rachael will do anything to temper his self-centredness and violence.

We traipse to the Colossus which is pulled down with mercifully minimal ceremony – it is getting to be an exceptionally long day, and we still have the wedding to attend. I can only hope it is a short event, and try not to think of traditional weddings celebrated over three days back home.

But, before that, we are summoned to Brứ-na-Bóinne again. I am beginning to feel mulishly anti-social but hide the greater extent of my mood (though most of my cousins are paying me no attention anyway). Melvyn wants our opinion on choosing a wife, and I allow my mind to wander, though I do note his eyes stray to me more often than chance would allow. This, I am happy to cede to my pushier cousins. Havelock does a reading – the first card is Death (not heartening) but his interpretation of the whole reading is 'Trust your instincts'.

A polite way of saying 'make your own decisions'? Possibly.

And then I leave to get changed for the wedding – when I am done, Rama, Mother, Zaminder Krishna and I set out for the Duomo.

In keeping with the occasion, the place has large stained-glass windows showing angels. We take our places, then the ceremony starts. Up from the floor rises an organ, like the one at the Opera House, but more melodious, played by a humanoid figure with puffy, silver skin - natural or clothing, I cannot tell.

William and Rikard take their places by the altar, then first Seraphael, then Rachael, fly in, Rachael accompanied by 2 other angels. They exchange rings, then drink from a goblet.

This goblet is then upended over the couple, drenching both of them. This apparently concludes the ceremony, and fortunately whatever liquid was in there dries quickly and without staining. The organ now produces colours and scents as well as music and the dancing begins.

My first dance is with Rama, but he moves on to dance with Mother and I find myself next to Kikakak. She accepts my apologies without rancour, advising against trying to speak to Melvyn about it as he may well have forgotten about it, or could be seen to have forgotten about it (until some clumsy girl-child reminded him, of course) – my lessons in politics have some way to go, I feel.

Melvyn's guest is a female (in Barimen form) who I ought to know the name of but cannot bring it to mind. His manner towards her is of one given something he cannot fathom the use for, and I see more than one girlish wile pass completely unnoticed. She makes a face for a split second, then composes herself. I hope her next target is more attentive.

After a couple more dances, I feel strangely daring and ask Mandor to dance – our previous dance being curtailed by work. He is an accomplished dancer, and I hope, enjoys the sensation of dancing for the simple uncomplicated joy of dancing – I know I do. He thanks me at the end and I would like to think he looks moderately happy.

I wander amongst the guests, nibbling at titbits and socialising when I overhear Cymnea ask William if he has sorted out the accommodation for tonight. He hadn't, and his tone betrays a level of indifference, though he seems more interested when Cymnea tells him he cannot use House Askaris – he actually looks slightly concerned.

Bad for my karma though it may be, I must confess that I would not care one jot if William had to sleep in a damp ditch on his wedding night – but Rachael has done nothing to invite my ire, she has been nothing but pleasant to me in fact. So, for her (and my karma) I find her and offer the Alhambra for the night. She accepts with a warmth and gratitude which provokes an answering warmth in me.

She goes to find William and I leave to make arrangements. I hope they are satisfactory, and I will stay the night with Tajal. Mother rolls her eyes and accuses me of sentimentality, but she does not seem genuinely annoyed with my actions.

And so a long day ends, relatively peacefully for all as far as I know.

The next day, we are called to the High King to decide who is to be the ambassador to Amber. There is a great deal of wrangling amongst my cousins, but finally it is agreed that Hector of Zigo should be offered the position.

Again, Melvyn looks at me too often, when he thinks I am not watching. He needs to find a wife who makes him comfortable - and to start making his own decisions soon, as well.

Perhaps he will find that easier when we have gone.

As we pack up, it is hard to believe that we are actually going. I send a message to Belissa of Hendrake inviting her to the Alhambra – the siblings need to say their farewells.