Faiella-Bionin

The personal diary of Sorashi, daughter of Deirdre, pt 23

Bazaar 25^th Leviathan (25^th Serpent DC) 3658

I am glad to report an uneventful night – though the concept of day and night cycles is one I am having to get used to again.

I go to breakfast, most of the family are there as well as a scattering of Rebmans – but not Fiona, who apparently needs to rest and meditate before walking the Pattern. A servant informs me that I am invited to attend on Lady Scylla in about an hour’s time (half a bell, apparently, in Rebma) – a little discreet questioning allows me to ascertain that I am the only Family member to be given this honour. I resolve to be on my guard.

Talk is of a foray into the ‘dry lands’ at the top of the stairs, led by Gradlon, so I volunteer for whatever use I may be. Tajal wants to come as well, more to see Amber than any other reason, I would guess – even though what lies at the top may not be Amber at all. Constance announces that she will be at the Pattern-walk – she has apparently appointed herself Fiona’s bodyguard for some reason - so may not be able to come.

Quite what she could possibly do if the Walk goes wrong, I really do not know, but it keeps her happy I suppose.

In the middle of my repast, I get a Trump call from Mother – they have left Ygg, but left a garrison there – Darig and Hector are moving through Shadow to try and get to the Golden Circle, so one attempt should yield results.

I promise to keep her apprised of any progress here – she asks me to give her regards to Scylla, but I cannot gauge her emotions – she does not warn me to beware above the normal, which is a good sign I suppose.

I am presented to the Lady at the appropriate time – a small, comfortable room where Scylla rises to greet me with a warm smile and a ‘personal welcome to Rebma’. Her manner is more genuine and relaxed than I expected, and I find myself rather liking her – I present Mother’s compliments, and we chat a little. When the subject of my shapeshifting arises, I rather boldly ask about the ‘lateral line’ I had seen on several Rebmans (the Lady had one herself, but I do not point this out) – she offers to allow me to experience it briefly if I will allow her to imprint hers onto me.

There is no gain without risk, so I agree – reckless, perhaps, but I cannot see that injuring me would benefit her – and she stands in front of me, looking into my eyes as she places her fingers along the sides of my neck.

The first sensation is of a tingle – or possibly an itch, or pins and needles – behind my ears, which spreads down to my hips. It is not painful or unendurable, just… odd, but when she is finished, I feel currents in the water like they are Diwali ribbons flapping in a breeze, I can tell direction and speed and eddies – a strange pulsing, moving pressure is some kind of magnetic sense moving along the corridor outside. It fades after a while, but it feels as though my soul grew a little.

I am suitably thankful for the experience and we chat further about Rebma and Amber – I am asked if I would move to Rebma which I answer diplomatically but honestly that I would give it serious thought if the circumstances were favourable, and I promise to practice the lateral lines now my body knew what I was trying to do.

This pleasant interlude continues until the message comes that Fiona is ready to walk the Pattern.

We make our way down to the Pattern chamber – Queen Moire arrives last. Her movements are fluid, but something about her demeanour makes her seem suddenly physically aged – her hair is now completely silver.

The corridor is strangely plain and too narrow for more than two to walk abreast (more easily defended, I presume), double doors lead to a long spiral staircase going down. Tajal looks anxious, so I lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder and walk at her side.

In the chamber Fiona collects herself, looks back at the assembled audience and steps on to the Pattern. As she moves steadily along towards the First Veil, I note she is barefoot.

As she progresses past the Veil, she slows, breathing more laboured and steps less confident but continues on – there is nothing else she can do.

It seems an hour has passed, watching a slowly shrinking figure against a Pattern which seems to have grown ominously large.

Another age, her head bowed in exhaustion as she enters the filigree. Coming out of the Grand Curve, she staggers and almost falls – there is a faint but audible gasp from the audience – and she stops. We all hold our breath but then her foots travels forward minutely – and then her other foot, a tiny step, then another and another. It seems only willpower is keeping her going.

The fourth veil – she is taking small steps, her face haggard, her body bowed beyond exhaustion. As she reaches the middle, she collapses.

A panicked whispered family conference ensues immediately, I offer to go but William decides he will go instead. I am handed his sword, and almost drop it as it fights to go with him. He strides purposefully and briskly along the Pattern, moving exponentially faster progress than Fiona had and reaches the centre in a fraction of the time. He picks Fiona up and vanishes.

Some time later, he returns by Trump with an unconscious but still alive Fiona. I hand the sword back, glad to be relieved of that burden. Nobody asks the question we are all thinking – what happened? I can only guess that Fiona was more exhausted and unprepared than she realised, but she was no novice at this.

It is not a good omen.

We have an hour or two before we venture up the stairs, so we go back to prepare.

As we assemble, I notice the main square has a fountain. It seems – surreal, somehow.

The city limits are marked by an arch, and we pass through, unremarked by the Rebmans going about their business. Gradlon warns us not to step off the stairs, or wander off the path as the protections do not extend beyond these boundaries and we would be crushed like a worm beneath the wheels of Shiva’s chariot.

We are escorted by a dozen guards, and proceed up the shallow steps up toward the surface, the water lightening from void-filled black to the more familiar greenish-blue as we travel upwards. Gradlon and William are the first to break the ocean’s surface.

After they indicate that it is safe, we follow onto a narrow beach of silver sand against high black cliffs. Tajal presses against me – I don’t blame her, this place is unwelcoming. Some distance away is a pyramid of black, polished rock – Faiella-Bionin.

Corwin’s colours, William says to Constance with a nod of his head towards the landscape in front of us.

Amber really has changed, it would seem. Or this is not Amber.