Chaos and Amber tdoa-2

by John Gregory Betancourt

  That thought made me shiver.

  Still we rode.

  Silvered clouds came up from the east, obscuring the moons, and the temperature began to fall. As wind tossed the treetops, which grew taller still, a gray sort of wintery daylight broke over us. The land glistened with frost. My breath misted in the air.

  Snorting and stomping, our horses plodded on. I found myself staring uneasily at the trees to either side. I had a strange feeling of being observed.

  “Do you sense anything unusual here?” I asked.

  Dworkin glanced back at me. “No. This world is a bridge between traps. There should be nothing here to bother us.”

  I hesitated, trying to put words to my uneasiness.

  “The horses need rest,” I said.

  “Then we will replace them,” he said.

  Shortly, we came to a large grassy clearing, where two black horses identical to the geldings upon which we rode stood waiting. They even had saddles and bedrolls identical to ours.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Just like that?” I said.

  “Yes.” Dworkin swung down from the saddle, changed to the next horse, and kept going. “Their owners are off hunting smirp in the grasslands and won't be back for a few hours.”

  “Smirp?” I asked.

  “Same as rabbits.”

  I followed his example, then caught up with him.

  “That was a neat trick,” I said. “Whose horses were those?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  I thought about it. “I guess not,” I said. “They have the same horses they used to have—only theirs are tired.”

  “No.” He made a dismissive gesture. “They are Shadows, not real. They spring full-grown from our minds. We create them with our thoughts; they are mere potentialities in an infinite universe until something real—something like us—gives them shape and substance.”

  “You sound like you've thought about this a great deal.”

  “Yes,” he said, “I have.”

  And then the world changed around us again. The sky darkened as we climbed into foothills, and thunder rolled and cracked. Flashes of lightning lit up the sky directly ahead, and a stiff wind grew stronger. Looking up, I could see thick gray clouds gathering. A few drops of rain stung my face.

  “Is this your doing, Dad?” I called.

  “Yes!” he shouted then pointed ahead. “There's a cave! Get inside before the storm hits!”

  We made our way up to the opening, perhaps fifteen feet high and ten feet wide, and rode inside. I saw marks on the walls from tools; it had been widened by men—or other creatures—at some point in its history. Behind us, the heavens opened up, letting go a torrent of rain like nothing I had ever seen before. Water fell in waves so thick, at times you couldn't see more than a few feet away. Grass, bushes, and trees alike came crashing down from the force.

  Without looking back, Dad rode forward into the darkness. A few torches, sputtering faintly, appeared to light our passage. I followed close behind.

  Slowly, it grew light ahead, and then we rounded a corner and came into sight of another opening—this one leading out into a cheerful field filled with grass and clover. As we rode out into it, I heard another rumble as the mountain collapsed on top of the cave and tunnels we had just traversed.

  Once outside, he reined in his horse; it had grown tired at this passage through so many worlds, as had mine. There was much to do to control them.

  “Why don't we call it a night?” I suggested.

  At first I thought Dworkin would refuse, but he sighed heavily, then gave a nod of assent. “There's a nice camping spot ahead,” he said. “A clearing with a stream and plenty of wood for a fire. Lots of slow, stupid game, too.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I asked.

  “We can wait there,” he said, “as long as it takes.”

  An interesting turn of phrase that said little but implied much-all of it different, depending on how you looked at the question.

  “Are you expecting company?” I asked.

  “I always expect someone,” he said, “and I am seldom disappointed.”

  The trees around us grew taller, darker; pines replaced oaks. Then the path opened up, and ahead I saw the place he meant—a hundred yards of low-cropped grass, then a gentle incline that ended at a wall of stone, a steep cliff rising fifty feet or more above us. Pine trees overhung the top.

  He reined in his horse. “Make camp here,” he said.

  “How long will we be here?” I asked.

  “As long as it takes. I… am waiting for a guide.”

  “A guide? You mean you don't know where we're going?” I asked.

  “I know. I am having a little difficulty finding it again, however.”

  “Tell me. Maybe I can help.”

  “You have been a help already, my boy. More than you realize. But this is not something you can do.” He sighed. “I must do the last of it myself.”

  “Maybe, if you'd explain…”

  He hesitated, as if not knowing how much he could safely reveal.

  I said, “You're going to have to tell me, Dad. I know a lot of it already. Maybe I can help. Remember Juniper…”

  He sighed, looked away for a long moment, took a deep breath.

  “I have lived a long time, Oberon. I have done a lot of things of which I am not proud, and many of which I am.” He swallowed. “You… you will be the first person besides myself to see the heart of the Shadows. The place where they begin.”

  “I don't understand,” I said.

  “All this—” His hand swept out, taking in the world around us. “All this is a Shadow. But what casts that Shadow?”

  “It's not the Courts of Chaos, is it?”

  “No!” He laughed. “The Courts cast their own shadows, true, but they are dim and dismal places, full of death and unpleasantness.

  These Shadows—Juniper, Ilerium, all of them—are cast by something else… something greater.”

  I felt my heart beating in my throat.

  “You did it,” I said wonderingly. “It's the Pattern.”

  “That which casts these Shadows is a great Pattern, like the one inside you, but inscribed with my own hand at the very heart of the universe.”

  “That's why they're after you,” I said, wonderingly. “King Uthor knows, somehow, and he wants to destroy the Pattern and the Shadows. Freda said they weakened Chaos—”

  “Yes! It weakens them,” he said, voice rising in a laugh. “But it made you stronger.”

  “How—where—” I stammered.

  “It is close. But hidden… very carefully hidden, where no Lord of Chaos can ever hope to find it on his own.”

  “Then you hid it too well, if you can't find it either.”

  “I had… help.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Help? So they're right and you have allied yourself with another power. Who is it?”

  “Not exactly a who,” he said. “More of a what. But she is a good and loyal friend.”

  “A woman? Will she join us here?”

  “I hope so.” He swung down from his saddle, stretching. “We must wait until she comes.”

  A woman…

  “What is her name?” I asked.

  He didn't answer. Instead, he walked to the edge of the clearing and gazed off into the trees, lost in thought.

  Sighing, I tethered both horses and began unloading their saddles and packs. Every time I looked up, my father had wandered a few steps farther, and now he was staring up at the cliffs as if trying to place them on some mental map.

  “She has no name,” he said. “At least, none that I know.”

  “Is she… human?” I asked.

  “More so that most.” He chuckled a bit to himself, as though at some private joke. Then he bent down and began gathering up handfuls of grass.

  I had a feeling I wasn't going to get any more from him tonight, so I quit asking. He'd already told me more in the last five minutes than I'd learned from him since I
'd found out he was my father.

  I looked up at the cliff and thought I glimpsed a faint movement among the trees, a lighter shadow flitting past. Could that be his mysterious woman?

  We spent an hour weaving grass into rope, like we'd done when I was a boy, and we used the rope to set snares along game trails running through the grass. While we waited for rabbits or quail or whatever the local equivalent might be, I went down to the stream and threw a couple of dozen rocks up onto the bank, then lugged them back to the clearing and set them in a circle.

  Dworkin, meanwhile, had wandered off to the side by himself. I caught him gazing up at the cliff several times when he thought I wasn't paying attention. Whatever was up there, he'd seen it, too. Hopefully it was his mysterious woman.

  I gathered wood and set a fire, lighting it with flint and steel that Bayle's daughter had kindly packed for us. Then, as the fire snapped and cracked, I spread out our blankets and sprawled on top of mine. Lying on my back with my fingers laced behind my head, staring up at unfamiliar constellations, I felt a deep contentment. This was the life I liked—roaming far from home, exploring unknown lands, getting to know myself and my father.

  I had often gone camping like this with my “Uncle Dworkin” when I was a child. Side by side, we lay out under the stars, a crackling campfire at our feet. He would talk to me like a son and tell me stories of heroes long gone, of voyages and adventures, of treasures lost and found. Those had been the happiest days of my life. Once, even, we had come to a place much like this…

  I sighed. Where had the time gone?

  “Wine?” he asked me, holding out the skin.

  “Thanks.”

  I sat up and took it from him, then took a long sip and passed it back.

  “You brought me here before, when I was young,” I said.

  “You remember!” He seemed surprised.

  “Of course.”

  I opened the basket Bayle's daughters had packed for us, discovering cheese, bread, and dried beef that looked more like army provisions than a picnic meal. It would keep. I wanted something fresh.

  “I'll check the snares,” I said, and I went and did so.

  The first two had been broken by whatever they had caught, the third was empty, and the fourth and fifth both held something like a rabbit, but with short pointed ears and broad padded feet. The last two were empty.

  I skinned the rabbits, spitted them, and brought them back. The fire had begun to die down to embers, so I laid the rabbits across the coals to cook. Then once more I sprawled back on my elbows to wait.

  Dworkin was looking up at the cliff again, lost in thought.

  “Is she up there again?” I asked.

  “Eh? What?”

  “This mysterious woman we're meeting. I saw movement up there before. Has she come back?”

  “Oh… no, no women up there.” He chuckled. “No women at all.”

  After we ate the rabbit with bread and cheese, washed down by more of Bayle's excellent wine, I felt tired and full. My thoughts turned to the rest of our family, and I wondered where they were and what they were doing right now.

  “Should we call Freda and tell her where we are?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “Time runs differently here. I doubt if it's been more than a few hours for her since we left the Beyond. We will be done and back before we have been missed.”

  “Good.”

  I lay back and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the night. Night-birds sang, insects chirped and buzzed in the grass, and the occasional bat or owl flitted past overhead.

  As I drifted toward sleep, I heard my father shift and stand. That brought me back fully awake. What was he up to?

  Slowly I opened one eye to a slit, watching him. Our fire had al-most died out, but by its dull red glow I saw him creep off toward the trees.

  I'd never find out anything if I waited for him to tell me. As soon as he vanished from sight, I rose and followed. Somehow, I knew he was heading for the top of the cliff and the mysterious visitor I'd glimpsed before.

  Chapter 31

  I angled branches poked at my eyes; leaves rustled underfoot. Quiet though I tried to be, I felt as though I made enough noise to wake the dead. Ahead of me, whenever I paused, I heard even louder crunching and snapping, so I knew I had headed in the right direction.

  Finally I stumbled onto a game trail that led in the correct direction. I followed it faster now, bent almost double, watching the pale shape twenty yards to the side. It had to be my father.

  The trail wound slightly, taking me first away, then closer, then away again. Always I tried to keep an eye on that pale blur. It seemed to be getting larger, but not closer, and then I heard a snort like a horse. Galloping hoofs thundered, and then it was on the trail ahead of me, not a man but something else, something animal. Tall, proud, with a billowing mane and tail.

  For a second it paused, and I halted too, my heart beating in my throat. Not a horse, I saw now, but a unicorn—a single long horn rose from the center of its forehead.

  With a cry that set my nerves on edge, it plunged ahead, up the trail, climbing higher. It leaped rocks, faster than a man could run, scrambling up toward the top of the cliff.

  I couldn't help myself—I had to follow, had to see more. Giving up on following quietly, I ran as fast as I could. My shins banged on rocks. Branches whipped my face. Still I flew up the trail after it.

  I reached the top of the trail, where the pine trees stood overlooking the cliff. The white unicorn I had followed joined a second unicorn, and together they melted into the trees and were gone. Panting, yet hardly daring to breathe, I lingered, hoping to glimpse them again. I had never seen anything so wondrous.

  What had become of my father? Everyone in Chaos seemed to be a shape-shifter: could Dworkin himself be one of the unicorns? It was a lot to think about.

  Slowly and carefully, I backtracked through the underbrush to our camp site—and drew up short.

  It seemed we weren't quite so alone here after all. A man dressed in blue sat with his back to me, warming his hands at our campfire. How had he gotten here? I'd thought this world deserted. Had he somehow followed us, despite all those traps Dad had left behind?

  I thought about drawing my sword, but the sound of steel leaving my scabbard might alert him. No, I'd have to take the intruder by surprise and from behind.

  First, though, I had to make sure he'd come alone. Turning slowly, I stared into the shadowed woods surrounding our camp. I didn't see anyone else, but that didn't mean they weren't out there, lying in wait. That's what I would have done—sent one man forward to check things out, while covering him with a bow or crossbow.

  When the man turned and threw the remnants of the rabbit I'd been saving for breakfast into the bushes, I heaved a heavy sigh. It was my brother, Aber.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded, standing and pushing my way out through the bushes.

  He leaped to his feet, startled.

  “I didn't hear you,” he said.

  “That's the idea when you sneak up on someone.” I glared at him. “You're supposed to be home keeping an eye on Freda, Fenn, and Taine. Not to mention the house. So? What are you doing here?”

  “I'm out for some fresh air?”

  My glare grew more intense. “I'm tired of games. Dad's been playing them all day with me. I want the truth, and I want it now!” My tone left no room for argument.

  He sighed. “All right. The lai she'on searched our house again, right after you went to bed, and this time they started torturing servants and guards, asking if any of them had seen the Jewel of Judgment.”

  “And you thought you'd be next?” I asked.

  “Yes. Freda took Taine to visit Aunt Lanara. I… just left.”

  “What about Fenn? You just abandoned him?”

  “He said he was going back to Juniper to help Isadora.”

  “How did you find us?” I asked. “We've been traveling through Shadows all day, and Da
d left a series of traps behind for anyone trying to follow.”

  “So,” Aber went on, “have you seen it? The Jewel of Judgment?”

  I shook my head. “Not since Juniper. Dad had it in his workshop. At least, I think it was the Jewel of Judgment. He hasn't been exactly forthcoming with information.”

  “He never is.” He swallowed. “Do you have any idea where it is now? If we can get it back to King Uthor safely, maybe—”

  He broke off when I shook my head.

  “No,” I told him firmly. “It's impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “I don't know where it is.”

  “Oh.” He pondered that for a moment.

  “For all we know, it's still in Juniper,” I said. That was the truth. I didn't know with any certainty that it hung around Dad's neck on that silver chain.

  “It can't be there,” Aber said, “or the king would have recovered it by now.”

  “King Uthor's forces weren't the ones attacking us in Juniper.”

  “I pretty much knew that already.” He looked puzzled. “I don't suppose you know who it was, do you?”

  “Lord Zon. Have you heard of him?”

  “No. But there are so many Lords of Chaos, no one can possibly have heard of them all. We could probably look him up in the genealogy if we went back. Do you think it's important?”

  “I'm not sure. But I do think Lord Zon is a bigger threat to King Uthor than Dad ever could be. Ulyanash told me, before I killed him, that Lord Zon was planning to seize the throne. I think he's about to act… or would be, if I hadn't killed Ulyanash.”

  He frowned. “That's not possible. I was with you when you killed him. He said no such thing.”

  “It's a long story.”

  “Tell me.”

  I did so, leaving out only my suspicions about the Pattern and the Jewel of Judgment.

  “This is the first time I'm glad I'm not the king,” Aber said.

  “What I don't understand,” I said, “is why it's taken everyone this long to try to get this Jewel of Judgment back. Didn't someone notice it was missing years ago?”