Faiella-Bionin

The ongoing tale of William, Son of Finndo of Amber and Ophelia of Rebma, and of the Line of Barimen in the Courts of Chaos.

24th Serpent / Leviathan in the Rebman calendar, 3658

To sleep, perchance to man another guard rotation … a diary in Rebma from William, son of Ophelia and Finndo

After a quick consultation with Constance, I set up watch – within our room, but close enough to the door so that I can react to disturbances. Fiona rolls her eyes; she obviously thinks this is low threat, but I would rather be tired and awake (and alive) than well slept and dead. The night passes without incident.

25th Serpent / Leviathan in the Rebman calendar, 3658

We are woken by servants – a maid for Rachael to help her dress while I am left to my own devices. In a quiet moment, Rachael warns me to be wary of one Cirein-Croin – Rachael feels that she is very predatory towards the male of the species – I make a gesture like vampire teeth at the word ‘predatory’ and Rachael half nods. I find it interesting that she does not have the same feel for Lorelei, even though she was very clearly making a play for Margrath at dinner last night. I grin at Rachael and acknowledge her skill in reading people, and her instincts. She is far more attuned than me to the ebbs and flows of society and I am grateful for her perceptions.

We make our way to breakfast where all the Amberites gather, and exchange pleasantries. I am still not over years of conditioning, so look carefully around for grandmother, and barbs both metaphysical and literal in the food. Constance speaks with Nerine, a cousin of ours who is native to Rebma but who knows little of Amber, even though it is so close.

Gradlon – the Captain of the Palace Guard – addresses me and asks me to go with him to the surface. He wishes to explore the Stair to Amber and assay the situation there – much has changed from their perspective and, as he says to me, “I seem to remember that you are somewhat proficient in arms”. At that, my memory tugs and I recall when I have seen him before. I was visiting my mother in Rebma, and he was one of her relatives. Though both of us were significantly younger then. He must be one of the oldest people here, as I am close to being one of the oldest Amberites.

I agree, with a grin. “I would be happy to join you,” I say. “And perhaps there are others here who have skills that would be of use? Constance is a trained Ranger, and Sorashi has many useful skills also?”

Gradlon nods, looking to the others to see who will volunteer. His face changes slightly when Lady Dayle of Rebma steps forward, though I cannot tell why. Constance demurs, as she feels that she might be needed to support Fiona after she has walked the Pattern here, so I suggest that we play things by ear and assess who else will go once that walk has taken place and the consequences dealt with.

The morning passes quickly. Most of the cousins go plotting around the place, but I prefer to spend time with Rachael. The only person I wish to speak with in depth (ha ha) is Gradlon, but that is a conversation best held on dry land.

While we are out in a common area, Constance approaches. She has been trying out her powers in private and cannot cast her usual offensive Fey magics. She asks my permission to try on me and I agree, pointing out that if she changes the colour of my eyes permanently then Rachael might be upset. She smiles, and then tries, seemingly without effect. I draw Claideb as its instincts for offensive magics are keener than mine, but when Constance tries again, there is no pull to defend and counterattack that I would normally expect. “I can feel no effect approaching me”, I say to Constance and sheath the sword.

As I do so, Constance says to me, “Should Fiona fall on the Pattern, will you go rescue her?” and I agree. We join the crowd – Moiré, Scylla, Leucothea, and Llewella all wish to see what will happen, along with all the Amberites. I reflect on my experiences of walking both Patterns; even though they were both a long time ago.

The Amber Pattern is daunting for the first time, in large part because all of those around you play up how dangerous the task is. All have stories of someone who was presumptuous and paid the price. By contrast, the Rebman Pattern was easier, even if only because I was aware that I had already succeeded in Amber. I briefly mention this to Fiona, who doesn’t quite snap at me, but who is close. I do not have the psyche of Fiona, Rachael, or Constance, but even I can sense that she might feel a little concerned.

Moiré settles, looking old, even more so than at dinner yesterday. She wears the Jewel of Temperance – the jewel of state equivalent to the Amberite Jewel of Judgement – a show of her power as well as a defence source?

The door into the Rebman Pattern is huge – perhaps 15 feet at its height, and in stark contrast to the tight passage to Amber’s. It is obviously so little used that, as the servants struggle to turn the key, the Queen tuts in disapproval and looks to me to help – obviously brute strength has its virtues at times. I turn the key and let the servants push the doors open, stepping back to let Moiré through first.

We skirt the upper edge of the Pattern, all falling quiet in the face of this immense power. I notice that Rachael has fallen back, and to my clear eye, is scared. I drop back and make sure I am between her and it, and she reaches out instantly and takes my hand. I squeeze it and whisper, “If Fiona falls, my role is to rescue her. Constance will see you safe.” She nods, and then whispers even more quietly, gesturing towards the Pattern; “Do not anger it”.

We all stop in a corner closest to the start of the Pattern, and Fiona steps forward. I exchange glances with Constance and we exchange places; she moves nearer to Rachael and I move closer towards Fiona, without getting too close.

Fiona exhales, and then takes the first step.

Her pace is slow. Too slow, I think, for she will not build momentum that she needs for the first Veil. When she reaches it, her pace slows even more – it is less than a score of steps and she takes 5 minutes to get through. But she makes it and her stride lengthens, walking for an hour to get to the inner of the grand circles. She approaches the Second Veil and again, her steps become heel to toe as she begins the right angle turns.

She exits, and again speeds up, but not by much at all. She sways as if the currents in the water are buffeting her from side to side, and walks into the Filigree, trudging her way into the Third Veil – the Grand Curve. Two hours have now passed, which is perhaps a third of the speed I took this path at. She makes it through the Grand Curve but it takes another hour. Constance grabs Llewella and myself and asks if I could catch her up. I am willing to try, but Llewella looks horrified at the suggestion.

Fiona staggers and stops as she comes out of the Grand Curve and everyone watching gasps. But then she summons her will and continues, making her way through the centre curves through to the Final Veil. Her face is haggard and drawn, and we do not exist to her. She has now been walking for close to 4 hours, and the last 30 steps through the Final Veil are a shuffle and drag rather than a step. She gains the centre and falls to the floor.

Sorashi and I look at each other, I hand her Claideb, and then step onto the Pattern. I take as fast a pace as I can without being foolhardy. It is the third time that I have done this, and it is as hard as all the others.

Others have written of the Veils and their struggles through. What they will often not remember are the memories that are sparked by the strife – the push on your body that frees up your mind.

I see my duel with Tybalt again, two boys pushed into a fight by puppet masters out of sight. I look him in the face as I call Pattern to mind – the very last time I did that, hundreds of years previously. And I see how young he was, and how young my face reflected in his screaming eyes is. I see the halls of Dyptera falling, and DeLambre’s body being crushed by stone, a detail I had not picked up on at the time. I see Lord Kaiser Lucanus approaching, his hands already moving in the shapes of the Logrus, and then I see his features shift and meld to DeLambre’s. The next face I see is his, expressing concern for me and sheltering me in this much reduced Dyptera, but now, now I can see the intelligence of Lucanus in the eyes of this simple demon servitor. How blind I was then, how young?

I push, step by step, taking one stride for every ten that Fiona took. I keep a warrior’s pace – not a run, not a jog, but a fast walk that can be maintained over a twenty mile forced march.

I remember again that first meeting with Rachael. We walked through a park in her family demesne, and I instinctively shortened my step, then realised that she was outpacing me. I matched her rhythm, and we walked on together – her step matching mine and our shoulders brushing against each other occasionally, little electric sparks of touch. Is that where it began? When a political entanglement began to blossom to love?

A dance through the Filigree – long enough through the Walk that the temptation to take a short cut to a future path becomes so sweet – here the paths almost touch as they twist back and forth and it would be so easy, and so terminal, to step across.

I reach out in my mind for food – some toasted bread I think, and Grandmother’s pointed glare pulls my hand back faster than a slap would have done. “Offer food to our guests first, William!” she says, and I nod and do so.

I have been fighting alongside Delambre in the fields of what remains of Dyptera for what seems like weeks, and the summons to Ascaris is new, and unfamiliar. I am to have breakfast with Grandmother, and I barely have time to dunk the dust from my head and change into something at least clean of the ichor of demons before attending. Even with my endurance, I am barely standing, and only half awake, but the right forms are important – more important than my weakness. Grandmother makes this point, coldly, clearly, and one syllable at a time for my battle befuddled brain once those guests have left.

I shake my head. Another memory. But I am through the Final Veil and there is Princess Fiona, my aunt, though many years younger than me, at my feet in the centre of this Pattern. She is not moving, and I cannot tell if she yet lives, but I am here. “Not too bad for an old codger”, I think to myself and then go to pick her up with one hand. As I almost overbalance as a wave of weariness hits me, I shake myself and think, “And if you want to get any older, keep focus!” and pick her up carefully with both hands, then summon the power of the Pattern to myself and, as agreed with Constance, send the Princess and myself to Amber soil – the head of the stairs to Rebma.

The first thing I see are storm clouds – grey and heavy above, with the smell of rain in the air. And then I start coughing, as the Rebman water fights with Amber air in my lungs. I expel it all and then look to Fiona. She is lying at my feet, purple of face as her weakened lungs struggle with the fight I have just had. Thinking quickly, and with no thought to her dignity, I pick her up by the ankles with one hand, almost like a babe, and slap her between the shoulder blades as she hangs upside down. Gravity aids her, as I intended, and she coughs heavily and vomits water to the floor, spattering my legs as she does.

Once I am sure most of it has gone, I breathe for her until her lungs begin to move on their own and some colour returns to her face. I place her gently on the ground and take stock.

And that’s when I see the things coming out of the forest. Misshaped creatures, an amalgam, as if a butcher has gone through a zoo and then someone else has glued random pieces together. The trees that they are walking through towards me are dead and lifeless; more than just winter thinness, they are no longer living plants.

Fiona is at my feet, and Claideb is safely in Sorashi’s hands – while I think I made the right decision not to carry it on the Pattern, I do somewhat regret that choice now. But then I remember Constance and Havelock talking me through the family Trump deck – not something I have used much, but it has the advantage of being at my belt, rather than elsewhere.

I open the box and pick the top card – perhaps the only card I have used? I call out to Uncle Benedict and get his usual terse answer. When I identify myself he starts to ask questions, but I interrupt, perhaps more forcefully than he is used to, and request he send me some soldiers. He gestures to four of his closest guards and they reach out their hands – he passes them to me and then comes through himself. As they land, each soldier takes their place in a short wall between me and the creatures, with Benedict at one end. He draws a curved sword and a shorter parrying dagger, then looks to me and calmly says, “Raise the Pattern in your mind”.

It's almost as if we are on a parade ground, rather than a battle field. But his calmness steadies me, even as the bone deep weariness from walking the Pattern so quickly is starting to settle in, and I call the shape that my feet know so well to my mind.

As I do, Benedict and his troops settle – they are not advancing on the creatures, but I know they will not let them through until I am ready. It takes perhaps a minute – I am close to the Amber Pattern, which makes it quicker, but I am tired, and unpractised. But once it is there, and I can see it clear in my eye projecting lines of fire upon the world, Benedict gestures towards the creatures who are, I notice with little concern, advancing rapidly upon his troops. But he is calm, and that calms me.

With my mind’s eye, I push the Pattern forward, so that it passes through Benedict’s troops with no issue and then into the advancing menagerie. They start to melt, like candle wax does, or like sugar when it is exposed to heat. In truth, I cannot think of a metaphor that works, so suffice to say they cannot survive the truth that is the Pattern and, within a heartbeat or so, they no longer exist.

I exhale, let go of the Pattern’s shape, and bow my thanks to Benedict.

Once he is satisfied that the risk is no longer concerning, he looks around. He considers Kolvir, and the Castle of Amber – missing a wing and with too many windows from my memory. He looks at the bay, where a large chunk of the land has obviously fallen into the sea, and then he says to me, “How did you come here?”

I explain that Fiona walked the Rebman Pattern and fell at the centre, and that I had gone after her as the person most likely to be able to achieve the task quickly. How Constance had said to meet her here, at the head of the stair to Rebma, as it was a landmark that we would both know. And that this was the Amber I came to, sent by the Pattern, taking the picture from my mind.

He looked around, and then closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he says, “William, this is not Amber. This is but a close shadow”, and he points to the beach, which had been desolate, but where now a bluebell, bright and spring-summoning, stands proudly from where the sands meet the soil.

“I shadow-walked”, he said “and was able to bring that into being – I could not have managed to if this were truly Amber.”

I nod, sadly. Another tool that is useful to me, that does not spring to mind as quickly as it should. While the years in Chaos gave me many skills, they stunted me in other ways. Pattern, Trump, and Shadow. These are the heritage of a Princeling of Amber, and I would do well to remember that.

So, I nod again, pull out my Trump deck and contact Constance, under Benedict’s watchful eye. I explain quickly what has occurred, and she moves to Fiona’s bedchambers at which point I pass my aunt through to her and, bidding Benedict farewell with my thanks, then follow back to Rebma.

Rachael is there to meet me, with food, clean clothes, and a back rub as I fall asleep in her arms, exhausted by the last couple of hours. Best wife.

After a couple of hours, Rachael wakes me and I dress in armour and Claideb, then head to the foot of the stairs to meet Gradlon, Dayle and the others, to see what is at the top of the steps to Amber if we go up them this way, rather than jumping there by Pattern.

We walk through the streets and squares of Rebma, past fountains and gardens. After a mile or so, we reach the wall of the city, and head out. Gradlon and Tetra, a female officer with a dozen guards, are there and we walk towards Amber. Gradlon and I walk next to each other, easy in companionship.

The waters lighten around us as we climb, and I ask Gradlon about my mother’s death. He tells me the story I have heard and says that she could have chosen to shapeshift into a form that couldn’t breathe if she really wanted to kill herself.

We approach the surface, and Gradlon announces that he and I will make the first steps onto dry land. This is not the place that the Pattern bought me – black cliffs are directly in front of us, with a beach of silver sand – Corwin’s colours, I cannot help but remember.

There is a pyramid in front of us – black stone with silver mortar, much the size of the Faiella-Bionin that was at the head of the stairs earlier. The cliffs extend left and right for several miles, and there is no easy way up. We summon the others, and coughing and spluttering a little, we look around.

We stand by the monument – Sorashi says that Faiella was the mother of Eric, Corwin, Caine and Deirdre, which makes sense if this is a monument from Corwin to his mother. I remember Faiella from Tir-na-N’Ogth before we invaded it - a war caused by Oberon’s impregnating Eric on Faiella. She was the only one of the family who survived our displeasure, and her pregnancy was, I would wager, a large part of Cymnea’s leaving. This is an interesting portent for my return to the actual Amber.