Peter’s Diary part 21: The Council of the Realms

in Brave New Worlds

Lion to Goat 3659

By the sixth month of the New Amber we had a list of the Pattern Realms and a representative of each to meet in a city called Paris, in Babylon, to see if accord could be reached about the meeting place for the Council of the Realms. During that time, Terisa and I had been walking in Shadow, finding a Realm called Cerenica, whose bountiful grain fields could start to feed the hungry of Amber. She taught me much of the ways of Shadow, and I saw to it that she remained unharmed. But when the call came, we returned to Amber to see to the success of our endeavour.

For Angtharrod, the Realm of Weyland Smith, we would have Morwaith. For Argent, Flora (but not Rupert, for which I gave much silent thanks). From Absinthe we would see both Asmark and Aylwin, sharing the red-headed throne, and from the Weald, which is the realm of Julian, I would meet cousin Anya at last. Myself and Terisa were to represent Amber, and Bathsheba would represent herself, and the glistening realm of Ellas.

As we were making our final preparations, Ann came to see me in the Concord Gallery, and we discussed family and kinship. I told her the little I knew of Oberon and his fecundity, and she expressed a desire to know more, so I took out the list of the Trumps that were Alaric’s, and I showed them to her, explaining in each case who was related to whom, and thus exposed how little I know of my family here.

She reacted very badly to the picture of Corwin, who she said had slain her mother in front of her, and to that of Rupert, who had slain millions of people on Babylon. I agreed that Rupert was capable of much that was evil, and had no feelings on Corwin either way, though I knew that many of the others of our generation held him in high regard.

21^st Goat 3659

Eventually the day came, and Flora called me through to her rooms in Paris. Somewhat cheekily, I arranged for both Ann and Terisa to be present, thinking that it would be a good idea for Ann to meet more of her relatives. And besides which, this city Paris had been her home for many years; she had knowledge that would stand me in good stead.

Flora was as glorious as ever and the consummate hostess. She made her wardrobes available to those of us who were dressed inappropriately for this Realm and served drinks to each new arrival as they appeared. Not wishing to appear unwilling to help, I contacted Absinthe and Ellas, bringing through Asmark, Aylwin, Bathsheba and some man named Luke (though Bathsheba sometimes called him Rinaldo, with an edge in her voice which made me wonder if he had long to live in this or any other world).

Anya came through from the Weald, and in truth she was not what I was expecting. As one of the children of Fiona, it was a given that she would be fair to look upon. But the stories I had heard of her told of a woman who dressed much older than she was, who made herself dowdy because she could not hope to compete with the glorious Spring that was her mother. Fiona was a creature of verdure, the bright greens of new life and birth, of the cold wind that is clean and sharp, cutting away at the fogs of winter and tattering them into nothingness.

So Anya hid her beauty like a snowdrop under a sheltering bush – hoping that Spring will not embarrass her with the riches of a new year.

This was not that Anya.

Before me stood a woman dressed in the russets and golds of Autumn. Her dress was all of the colours of Fall, when the leaves turn from green to a glorious palette ranging from the yellow of the sun to the deep red of blood. Each part of her dress was the skeleton of a leaf; showing maturity and depth, overlapping like unto a forest, hiding almost everything with bareness. To watch Anya walk was to enjoy a season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, to see a woman who was herself, not a shadow of her mother. And I gave a silent prayer of thanks to Julian, for the Weald was obviously a place of life and growth, and I noted to myself that this Realm was one I would visit as soon as it were possible. I complimented Anya on her dress, noting its Faerie manufacture, and she curtseyed and answered me graciously.

Once all were assembled, we walked through this hotel, called the Hilton by the natives here. It was the best that this city could offer, we were told, and this city one of the best that were in the Realm. And in truth it was a fine place. We discussed the niceties of accommodation, and the compromise that was reached soon enough was that an entire floor would be laid aside for each Realm, so that they might apportion accommodation as they felt it necessary. The banqueting hall was to be neutral ground, and that was where Flora wished us to visit next.

As we crossed the lobby, I saw a familiar face – a man who had been at the redrawing of the Pattern at the behest of Alaric. Knowing that his presence here could not be coincidence, and not wishing to have him spy on us unobserved, I hailed him with a cheery wave. All faces looked to him then and he could not melt into nothingness, so he came forward. As he approached, Flora whispered to me, asking if my agents were already in place here? I could not claim such credit, nor such deviousness, so I merely said that this was a friend of Alaric’s, and I wished to know what he was doing here.

The man introduced himself as Omar and claimed friendship with Alaric and blood relationship to Khitan, not knowing that neither claim would win him many friends in this company. Had he left it there I think we would have exchanged pleasantries and parted, but he then said that he had a message from Dark, who is also Dworkin. He was surprised at the speed at which he was hustled somewhere more secluded, I think.

According to Omar, Dark was of the opinion that there were too many Pattern Realms and that the weaker would find themselves being consumed by the stronger. Dark wished to address us all about how the Realms would face this conundrum. Omar revealed that he too was master of a Pattern Realm, called Nur, and as such, was invited to join the Council.

We agreed then that the Council was to take place on the first day of the new year of the Amber calendar, that being a day called Samhain in Babylon.

Our task accomplished, Ann fulfilled her promise to show me her city, and we walked through the streets, seeing the joys this place had to offer. A river runs lazily through here, dividing the city in twain, and we stayed mostly to the north, visiting places of worship to a god of no name, and cemeteries and palaces and theatres and shows.

On a moonlit night, we beheld Bathsheba and Luke, Brand’s son, hand in hand on the banks of the Seine, and it was soon after that that the poor princess became the subject of much gossip. I do wonder why wagging tongues follow wherever the beleaguered Bathsheba goes.

On our last day in Paris, before returning to Amber, Ann took myself, along with Omar and Asmark, to see a church called the Sacré Coeur, high above the city. It is a place of warm sunlight and cool marble, and I enjoyed it greatly, though Ann and Omar made my head hurt with their talk of gods and worship. Give me a forest in autumn and I will worship. Show me the gold and green of life, and I will adore. But their faith I cannot see – no creature is worth as much adulation as Nature, and of Life herself.

Still discussing, we made our way down the broad steps that lead to the city, passing artist after artist, each striving with all they had to capture that which lay before them. And my heart was gladdened to see such creativity, for no matter what title or Realm I lay claim to, in my heart I am still a storyteller of Gonfalon, and I would see art expressed wherever it may.

And we saw Aylwin then, easel in front of him, and we walked quietly so as not to disturb him. Ann was the first to notice, I think, but then it was a subject that was dear to her, and familiar also, Asmark too, for he wields a paintbrush with no small skill. But I was blind until Ann nudged me, and bade me draw the deck of cards that Alaric had painted.

And then I saw a familiar cadence, and it stopped me dead in my tracks. For Aylwin was painting the picture, but it was Alaric’s brushstrokes which lay on the canvas!