Ahogadaluna, Entry 4
Tomorrow I close on the Shrine of the Drowned Moon hidden deep in Ahogadaluna. There are old paths through the salt-marsh, but twilight lasts for half-the-day and the night is blacker than black and full of bogles and ghosts. I saw a ghost the first night, only shadow where her eyes should have been and her mouth full of too many teeth and glowing snails be-sliming her dragging gown, which was also streaked by a great deal of blood. As she drifted across water and weed, I lit my lantern. The sight of it frighted her, and other things creeping which I was suddenly able to see, and they all went away. I was glad I’d listened to Soren back in the city. Soren is a vagabond who’s gone down many of the pilgrim roads in this shadow and was full of advice for a new pilgrim. He said he kept the old ways, and when I said I did too, he told me the best lantern to buy and advised me on what kind of offering the acolytes of the Drowned Moon liked best. As a reward, I gave him a sip of mead from my horn. Hope the healthfulness gave him sweet dreams rather than bitter. Apparently the toads here are large enough to pull you down beneath the water, and they’ll murder any traveler they can get and make soup from their bones, but they are anxious to find wives. They can be tricked with a riddle. So far, my lantern has kept them all well back. I found a very good walking stick!
Ahogadaluna, Sephonia, Amber (!), Entry 5
Today I was ambushed. My assailant appeared out of thin air, and all in gray dressed he: gray coat, gray clothes, gray boots, wide-brimmed gray hat. I was off-guard. He landed a blow; I bled. There seemed no time to go for the knife in my boot so I used my walking stick—and after a glancing blow, clobbered him handily, though not without personal injury. The whole time he would not speak, not to cry vengeance nor to make demands nor to even grunt with pain. At a closer look, I saw his skin was gray, and his eyes were red, and he fought with his hands which had talons come from their backs. And so I knew he was not of this world. Like me, he came from another. I struck again, hoping to knock him unconscious. I try to use Sylvedd sparingly, but if he’d kept coming I was going to let him sing; unneeded, as it turned out, because the gray man died, and before I’d taken breath rapid footsteps came on the path.
“Friend, foe, or bit-player?” I called out.
“…Definitely neither of the last two,” he answered, dryly. At a glance it was an otherworldly knight come out of the twilight, his armor milk-white, enameled and winter-wight though lovely, but I know him for more than a knight—I know him for a Prince. Long black hair, cool blue eyes. Dad.
The gray man was not Dad’s quarry. He’d come looking for me, and it just happened to be an opportune time. Apparently, my assailant’s brethren have been attacking Oberon’s grandchildren all through shadow. Dad said they’d troubled the family once before—followed my uncle Random, who is now King in Amber but was back then just the youngest of Oberon’s sons, from Brand’s prison, tangling with my uncle Corwin and my aunt Flora on Earth before disappearing back into shadow. Dad was delivering an ‘invitation’ from the King in Amber for us—the grandchildren—to come to Amber and be safe from assassination, while they—the aunts and uncles—figure out what is happening.
I’ve been to Amber before. I’ve been in Arden plenty of times. I’ve walked the Pattern. But I’ve never been in Amber as the daughter of my father, the niece of my uncles and my aunts. He doesn’t tell me things. He doesn’t include me in anything. He’s kept me secret and separate and now?
“I shouldn’t want to distress my father or king,” I said. “Of course I’ll go. Now; today—this instant.”
I’d been searching the corpse while we chatted. Hidden inside the lining of the gray man’s coat was a strange coin. Copper. Gargoyle head on one side, and perhaps a gong on the other. Dad said nobody’d found such a thing on other gray men and suggested I show it to aunt Fiona, who is sorcerously inclined, or even to the King in Amber to see what he thought.
I’ll scribe this next conversation as well as I can remember it. I said, reasonably, “I’ll happily consult my aunt, and if King Random wants to hear the particulars of [the attack], I will tell him; why keep secret what might help?”
And Dad gave me a Look. I have written of this particular Look before, it is the one that says I am an innocent. ‘You sweet summer child.’ “Because we do not know who is behind these gray men. Last time, it turned out that Brand was actually in league with the gray men, himself, until they turned on him. How do you know that another redhead is not in league with them this time? It would explain why we haven’t yet found where they come from…”
“I don’t know anything. How do I not know Random hasn’t gained control of them, as he was the last to see them? And he’s using them to flush out potential trouble? Not, of course, that I would ever be trouble. You know my aunt better, Dad. If you believe I should keep the coin from her for now, I trust your judgment to be fair and mete. But even if my redhaired aunt and uncle are using the gray men, perhaps later I’ll find what they don’t say will be just as helpful as what they do.”
“Yes,” he said. “Good. That is how to play.” And I think, just perhaps, that I saw a gleam of pride in Dad’s eyes? It’s hard to tell; the marsh plays tricks, so maybe I imagined it. He also said, and this is definitely one to note in the diary for the ages, the underlining is my own: “In my personal opinion, which has, though rarely, been wrong before—don’t tell anyone I admitted that to you—I feel Fiona can be trusted. But I wanted to hear what you thought, and whatever that turned out to be, I would respect it.”
I thought perhaps to ride through shadow and up to Amber myself, but Dad said he’d play escort and not leave my side until we went by card. And because I do feel myself to be perfectly safe when Dad is around, and the urgency didn’t seem too pressing, and also because I didn’t want to meet my uncle for the very first time smelling like a marsh or actively bleeding through my clothing, I walked us to another world. (Not without a qualm for the lost quest of the Shrine of the Drowned Moon, but I can take it up again later.) It was nerve-wracking, walking through shadow for Dad as well as myself, and I didn’t end up where I meant to exactly but close enough. I will call the new shadow ‘Sephonia’ after the Colonel’s name for it, and instead of an inn marked by the sign of the cormorant, it was populated by people-sized talking birds. The Colonel was a very handsome cormorant indeed—Colonel Hendrik Van Barthout, retired—and he seemed to own the inn. He mentioned the gray men when he saw my injuries, for a host of them have been troubling Sephonia, conquering its lands and no word from anyone still within the circle of devastation and whispers of profane rituals. He was very kind, and the bath provided was very good. I hope he will be all right.
Dad took out one of those portrait cards of his siblings, the one of Random. He spoke a moment—and then he pulled me through the card.
Farewell, Sephonia. Hello, Amber.
Dad’s youngest brother no longer matches his portrait card. In the card he’s got one of those always-smiling mouths and he looks very wily and his hair’s haystack gold and there’s a seasoned gambler’s hardness I think. He looks like good fun, but not nice fun. I’d probably hang out with him but expect him to be an asshole. In person the King in Amber looks a little older than the Prince in Amber he was when the tarot portrait was painted. A little more weighted down by cares. His hair’s gone white, too. Dad introduced me by telling Uncle Random how thoroughly I’d killed my assailant, but that’s Dad for you. He’s bloody-minded. I asked the king what he’d have: a hug, a handshake, or a bowed head; I was curious about where I stood, as family. He opted for a hug—so that was all right. I’m not shy, and thought it best to continue as I mean to go on, so asked Random if he’d suffer my questions. He graciously conceded, but gave Dad the option of dismissal. Dad left us alone, claiming it did his heart good to see one of my attackers dead, but that he burned to patrol. I wonder if he was warning my uncle off from messing with me too much?
Things I learned about Uncle Random. He is in love with his wife. He’s an interesting mix of permissive and prohibitive. He’s generous enough to speculate with a new niece, although he doesn’t always answer straight. I think he’s trying pretty hard to figure out the whole ‘king’ thing, but I don’t know. One of his keenest desires is—here, I will just transcribe that bit of our conversation as best I can remember it.
“Say,” I said, “what’s your third keenest desire?”
“Third? Hmm. The first two are so strong, and so tied up with one another, that I…” Uncle Random paused. “All right, I’ll tell you a keen desire I have… I’d like to see the Unicorn again… and maybe have a little talk with her this time, understand her better. But I don’t expect you to find the Unicorn, let alone establish communication with her.”
“Wouldn’t that be something,” I said, because it would be. “What would you ask her if you had only one question you could ask her?”
“I would ask what she wants,” he said. “Our state religion is centered around her. She is Amber’s goddess, essentially. I’d like her advice about the Courts of Chaos. That might take precedence… if I could only ask her one question, it would be that, I think.”
He sees Dad really clearly. I wonder if Dad realizes? If they all know one another so well? I asked him what Dad was like when he was younger, and Random said, “Mm. Serious. But that made him fun to play pranks on. But mostly just intimidating. Have you met Morgenstern?”
I told Random about the time I was dared to get on Morgenstern’s back: “I am alive with all my limbs, but through no virtue of my own.”
“Yes. So. Like I said. Intimidating… Julian didn’t always have Morgenstern, but he was always intimidating. Think about a normal thirteen-year-old young man. Imagine him proud. Slightly vain. Cocksure. Ice-cold but with a white-hot passion somewhere underneath. And I’m not just talking about a temper, though I mean that too. I suppose one should describe that young man as very guarded. Emotionally armored. And of course he still is…”
Then—and I’m not sure how I feel about this—Random said, “I think your existence in his life is very good for him.”
Things I learned from Uncle Random. Apparently, Dad and my aunt Fiona are really hand-in-glove, going off to investigate things in shadow together for the Crown. Dad might have mentioned that before when suggesting I show Fiona the coin, but of course he didn’t. He will never not be a little infuriating. Also, apparently, Merlin and Uncle Corwin are both missing in action. My uncle’s theory is that they’ve both gone exploring the worlds within Uncle Corwin’s Pattern. Uncle Random warned me—well, I will put a list of things he warned me not to do at the end. I learned that Martin has been attacked, but is okay. Rinaldo, too, which seems to me a shame. Amber and Rebma are currently enjoying “sufficiently warm” relations. He hasn’t been back to the shadow where he originally ran into the gray men, because he’s leaving that investigation to Fiona and unnamed ‘others.’ Who, I wonder?
Things my uncle strongly implied I should not do: Go to the shadow where Brand was held prisoner. He wouldn’t describe it, ‘lest I was tempted to try. I did ask him for more detail because that is what I intend to do as it’s a good starting point for trying to hunt down these assassins, but I don’t feel any hurry about it. After reframing my desire for knowledge, he did drop that there is a transcription of his account as told to Corwin somewhere in the library.
Also, I am under no circumstance to attempt to walk Corwin’s Pattern because it’d kill me, and also I am not to be tempted to walk our Pattern and then from the center use its power to ‘pop off to that world,’ because ‘for all you or I know you could be gone for twenty years or more before you managed to get out again.’ I choose to take that as a sign my uncle has decided to be fond of me and wants me to stick around, but also what a great idea!
Not asking the Pattern to sneak me into Corwin’s Pattern, which seems like a way to imprison myself away from all I know and love—but walking the Pattern again and asking it to take me somewhere else. Like where the gray men are from. Nip this “assassins who can move through shadow and find you” in the bud. The many worlds are dangerous enough without such foes. Here’s a thought: Perhaps the Pattern could at least—talk—to Corwin’s Pattern, and pass a message along? But how to get a message in return?
My uncle also strongly implied that I should not go back to Sephonia and “play girl detective” because that was the last thing a father would want a daughter to do. He doesn’t get the kind of duty I feel toward Dad; it’s certainly not to just let Dad have it all his own way, especially if Dad is investigating my shadow. Sure, I only spent all of an hour in Sephonia, but I opened the way to it, so it is mine not his, and if—as uncle Random said—he didn’t mention where he was going it was because he wanted me to be ‘safe’… well, I don’t know. Maybe that was just uncle Random messing with me.
I have freedom of the castle and a room. I have permission to explore; and so I will. It is a long day, and when I sleep I know my dreams will be full.
