“What is it?” I said.
“I thought perhaps you could tell me,” Ganelon replied. “I had thought it a part of your shadow-sorceries.”
I shook my head slowly.
“I was quite drowsy, but I would remember if I had arranged for anything that strange to occur. How did you know it was there?”
“We skirted it several times as you slept, then edged away again. I did not like the feeling at all. It was a very familiar one. Does it not remind you of something?”
“Yes. Yes, it does. Unfortunately.”
He nodded.
“It‘s like that damned Circle back in Lorraine. That‘s what it‘s like.”
“The black road . . .” I said.
“What?”
“The black road,” I repeated. “I did not know what she was referring to when she mentioned it, but now I begin to understand. This is not good at all.”
“Another ill omen?”
“I am afraid so.”
He cursed, then, “Will it cause us any immediate trouble?” he asked.
“I don‘t believe so, but I am not certain.”
He climbed down from the crate and I followed.
“Let‘s find some forage for the horses then,” he said, “and tend to our own bellies as well.”
“Yes.”
We moved forward and he took the reins. We found a good spot at the foot of the hill.
We tarried there for the better part of an hour, talking mainly of Avalon. We did not speak again of the black road, though I thought of it quite a bit. I had to get a closer look at the thing, of course.
When we were ready to move on, I took the reins again. The horses, somewhat refreshed, moved out at a good pace.
Ganelon sat beside me on the left, still in a talkative mood. I was only just then beginning to realize how much this strange homecoming had meant to him. He had revisited many of his old haunts from the days of his outlawry, as well as four battlefields where he had distinguished himself greatly after he had achieved respectability. I was in many ways moved by his reminiscences. An unusual mixture of gold and clay, this man. He should have been an Amberite.
The miles slid by quickly and we were drawing near to the black road again when I felt a familiar mental jab. I passed the reins to Ganelon.
“Take them!” I said. “Drive!”
“What is it?”
“Later! Just drive!”
“Should I hurry?”
“No. Keep it normal. Don‘t say anything for a while.”
I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands, emptying my mind and building a wall around the emptiness. No one home. Out to lunch. No solicitors. This property is vacant. Do not disturb. Trespassers will be prosecuted. Beware of dog. Falling rock. Slippery when wet. To be razed for urban renewal . . .
It eased, then came on again, hard, and I blocked it again. There followed a third wave. I stopped that one, too.
Then it was gone.
I sighed, massaged my eyeballs.
“It‘s all right now,” I said.
“What happened?”
“Someone tried to reach me by a very special means. It was almost certainly Benedict. He must just now have found out any of a number of things that could make him want to stop us. I‘ll take the reins again now. I fear he will be on our trail soon.”
Ganelon handed them over.
“What are our chances of escaping him?”
“Pretty fair now. I‘d say, that we‘ve got more distance behind us. I am going to shuffle some more shadows as soon as my head stops spinning.”
I guided us on, and our way twisted and wound, paralleling that black road for a time, then heading in closer to it. Finally, we were only a few hundred yards away from it.
Ganelon studied it in silence for a long while, then said, “It reminds me too much of that other place. The little tongues of mist that lick about things, the feeling that something is always moving just at the corner of your eye . . .”
I bit my lip. I began to perspire heavily. I was trying to shift away from the thing now and there was some sort of resistance. It was not the same feeling of monolithic immovability as occurs when you try to move through Shadow in Amber. It was altogether different. It was a feeling of inescapability.
We moved through Shadow all right. The sun drifted higher in the heavens, heading back toward noonday—for I did not relish the thought of nightfall beside that black strip—and the sky lost something of its blue and the trees shot higher about us and mountains appeared in the distance.
Was it that the road cut through Shadow itself?
It must. Why else would Julian and Gerard have located it and been sufficiently intrigued to explore the thing?
It was unfortunate, but I feared we had much in common, that road and I. Damn it!
We moved beside it for a long while, gradually moving closer together, also. Soon, only about a hundred feet separated us. Fifty. ..
. . . And, as I had felt they eventually must, our paths finally intersected.
I drew rein. I packed my pipe and lit it, smoked as I studied the thing. Star and Firedrake obviously did not approve of the black area that cut across our way. They had whinnied and tried to pull off to the side.
It was a long, diagonal cut across the black place if we wanted to keep to the road. Also, part of the terrain was hidden from our sight by a series of low, stone hills. There were heavy grasses at the edge of the black and patches of it, here and there, about the foot of the hills. Bits of mist scudded among them and faint, vaporous clouds hovered in all the hollows. The sky, seen through the atmosphere that hung about the place, was several shades darker, with a smeared, sooty tone to it. A silence that was not the same as stillness lay upon it, almost as though some unseen entity were poised, holding its breath.
Then we heard a scream. It was a girl‘s voice. The old lady in distress trick?
It came from somewhere to the right, beyond those hills. It smelled fishy. But hell! It could be real.
I tossed the reins to Ganelon and jumped to the ground, taking Grayswandir into my hand.
“I‘m going to investigate,” I said, moving off to the right and leaping the gulley that ran beside the road.
“Hurry back.”
I plowed through some brush and scrambled up a rocky slope. I pushed my way through more shrubbery on its down side and mounted another, higher slope. The scream came again as I was climbing it, and this time I heard other sounds as well.
Then I reached the top and was able to see for a good distance.
The black area began about forty feet below me, and the scene I sought was laid about a hundred-fifty feet within it.
It was a monochromatic sight, save for the flames. A woman, all in white, black hair hanging loose, down to her waist, was bound to one of those dark trees, smoldering branches heaped around her feet. Half a dozen hairy, albino men, almost completely naked and continuing the process of undressing as they moved, shuffled about, muttering and chuckling, poking at the woman and the fire with sticks that they carried and clutching at their loins repeatedly. The flames were high enough now to singe the woman‘s garments, causing them to smolder. Her long dress was sufficiently torn and disarrayed so that I could see she possessed a lovely, voluptuous form, though the smoke wrapped her in such a manner that I was unable to see her face.
I rushed forward, entering the area of the black road, leaping over the long, twining grasses, and charged into the group, beheading the nearest man and running another through before they knew I was upon them. The others turned and flailed at me with their sticks, shouting as they swung them.
Grayswandir ate off big chunks of them, until they fell apart and were silent. Their juices were black.
I turned, holding my breath, and kicked away the front of the fire. Then I moved in close to the lady and cut her bonds. She fell into my arms, sobbing.
It was only then that I noticed her face—or, rather, her lack of one. She wore a ful
l, ivory mask, oval and curving, featureless, save for two tiny rectangular grilles for her eyes.
I drew her away from the smoke and the gore. She clung to me, breathing heavily, thrusting her entire body against me. After what seemed an appropriate period of time, I attempted to disentangle myself. But she would not release me, and she was surprisingly strong.
“It is all right now,” I said, or something equally trite and apt, but she did not reply.
She kept shifting her grip upon my body, with rough caressing movements and a rather disconcerting effect. Her desirability was enhanced, from instant to instant. I found myself stroking her hair, and the rest of her as well.
“It is all right now,” I repeated. “Who are you? Why were they burning you? Who were they?”
But she did not reply. She had stopped sobbing, but her breathing was still heavy, although in a different way.
“Why do you wear this mask?”
I reached for it and she jerked her head back.
This did not seem especially important, though. While some cold, logical part of me knew that the passion was irrational, I was as powerless as the gods of the Epicureans. I wanted her and I was ready to have her.
Then I heard Ganelon cry out my name and I tried to turn in that direction.
But she restrained me. I was amazed at her strength.
“Child of Amber,” came her half-familiar voice. “We owe you this for what you have given us, and we will have all of you now.”
Ganelon‘s voice came to me again, a steady stream of profanities.
I exerted all my strength against that grip and it weakened. My hand shot forward and I tore away the mask.
There came a brief cry of anger as I freed myself, and four final, fading words as the mask came away:
“Amber must be destroyed!”
There was no face behind the mask. There was nothing there at all.
Her garment collapsed and hung limply over my arm. She—or it—had vanished.
Turning quickly, I saw that Ganelon was sprawled at the edge of the black, his legs twisted unnaturally. His blade rose and fell slowly, but I could not see at what he was striking. I ran toward him.
The black grasses, over which I had leaped, were twined about his ankles and legs. Even as he hacked at them, others lashed about as though seeking to capture his sword arm. He had succeeded in partly freeing his right leg, and I leaned far forward and managed to finish the job.
I moved to a position behind him, out of reach of the grasses, and tossed away the mask, which I just then realized I was still clutching. It fell to earth beyond the edge of the black and immediately began to smolder.
Catching him under the arms, I strove to drag Ganelon back. The stuff resisted fiercely, but at last I tore him free. I carried him then, leaping over the remaining dark grasses that separated us from the more docile, green variety beyond the road.
He regained his footing and continued to lean heavily against me, bending forward and slapping at his leggings.
“They‘re numb,” he said. “My legs are asleep.” I helped him back to the wagon. He transferred his grip to its side and began stamping his feet.
“They‘re tingling,” he announced. “It‘s starting to come back . . . Oow!”
Finally, he limped to the front of the wagon. I helped him climb onto the seat and followed him up. He sighed.
“That‘s better,” he said. “They‘re coming along now. That stuff just sucked the strength out of them. Out of the rest of me, too. What happened?”
“Our bad omen made good on its promise.”
“What now?” I picked up the reins and released the brake.
“We go across,” I said. “I have to find out more about this thing. Keep your blade handy.”
He granted and laid the weapon across his knees. The horses did not like the idea of going on, but I flicked their flanks lightly with the whip and they began to move.
We entered the black area, and it was like riding into a World War II newsreel. Remote though near at hand, stark, depressing, grim. Even the creaking and the hoof falls were somehow muffled, made to seem more distant. A faint, persistent ringing began in my ears. The grasses beside the road stirred as we passed, though I kept well away from them. We passed through several patches of mist. They were odorless, but our breathing grew labored on each occasion. As we neared the first hill, I began the shift that would take us through Shadow.
We rounded the hill.
Nothing.
The dark, miasmal prospect was unaltered.
I grew angry then. I drew the Pattern from memory and held it blazing before my mind‘s eye. I essayed the shift once more.
Immediately, my head began to ache. A pain shot from my forehead to the back of my skull and hung there like a hot wire. But this only fanned my anger and caused me to try even harder to shift the black road into nothingness.
Things wavered. The mists thickened, rolled across the road in billows. Outlines grew indistinct. I shook the reins. The horses moved faster. My head began to throb, felt as if it were about to come apart. Instead, momentarily, everything else did. . . .
The ground shook, cracking in places, but it was more than just that. Everything seemed to undergo a spasmodic shudder, and the cracking was more than mere fracture lines in the ground.
It was as though someone had suddenly kicked the leg of a table on which a loosely assembled jigsaw puzzle lay. Gaps appeared in the entire prospect: here, a green bough; there, a sparkle of water, a glimpse of blue sky, absolute blackness, white nothingness, the front of a brick building, faces behind a window, fire, a piece of star-filled sky . . .
The horses were galloping by then, and I had all I could do to keep from screaming for the pain.
A babble of mixed noises—animal, human, mechanical—washed over us. It seemed that I could hear Ganelon cursing, but I could not be certain.
I thought that I would pass out from the pain, but I determined, out of sheer stubbornness and anger, to persist until I did. I concentrated on the Pattern as a dying man might cry out to his God, and I threw my entire will against the existence of the black road.
Then the pressure was off and the horses were plunging wildly, dragging us into a green field. Ganelon snatched at the reins, but I drew on them myself and shouted to the horses until they halted. We had crossed the black road.
I turned immediately and looked back. The scene had the wavering quality of something seen through troubled waters. Our path through it stood clean and steady, however, like a bridge or a dam, and the grasses at its edge were green.
“That was worse,” Ganelon said, “than the ride you took me on when you exiled me.”
“I think so, too,” I said, and I spoke to the horses, gently, finally persuading them to return to the dirt road and continue on along it.
The world was brighter here, and the trees that we soon moved among were great pines. The air was fresh with their fragrance. Squirrels and birds moved within them. The soil was darker, richer. We seemed to be at a higher altitude than we had been before the crossing. It pleased me that we had indeed shifted—and in the direction I had desired.
Our way curved, ran back a bit, straightened. Every now and then we caught a glimpse of the black road. It was not too far off to our right. We were still running roughly parallel to it. The thing definitely cut through Shadow. From what we saw of it, it appeared to have settled back down to being its normal, sinister self once more.
My headache faded and my heart grew somewhat lighter. We achieved higher ground and a pleasant view over a large area of hills and forest, reminding me of parts of Pennsylvania I had enjoyed driving through years earlier.
I stretched; then, “How are your legs now?” I asked.
“All right,” Ganelon said, looking back along our trail. “I can see for a great distance, Corwin...”
“Yes?”
“I see a horseman, coming very fast.”
I stood and turned. I think I migh
t have groaned as I dropped back into the seat and shook the reins.
He was still too far off to tell for certain—on the other side of the black road. But who else could it be, pushing along at that speed on our trail? I cursed then.
We were nearing the crest of the rise. I turned to Ganelon and said, “Get ready for another hellride.”
“It‘s Benedict?”
“I think so. We lost too much time back there. He can move awfully fast—especially through Shadow—all alone like that.”
“Do you think you can still lose him?”
“We‘ll find out,” I said. “Real soon now.”
I clucked to the horses and shook the reins again. We reached the top and a blast of icy air struck us. We leveled off and the shadow of a boulder to our left darkened the sky. When we had passed it, the darkness remained and crystals of fine-textured snow stung our faces and hands.
Within a few moments, we were heading downward once more and the snowfall became a blinding blizzard. The wind screamed in our ears and the wagon rattled and skidded. I leveled us quickly. There were drifts all about by then and the road was white. Our breath fumed and ice glistened on trees and rocks.
Motion and temporary bafflement of the senses. That was what it took . . .
We raced on, and the wind slammed and bit and cried out. Drifts began to cover the road.
We rounded a bend and emerged from the storm. The world was still a glazed-over thing and an occasional flake flitted by, but the sun pulled free of the clouds, pouring light upon the land, and we headed downward once more . . .
. . . Passing through a fog and emerging in a barren, though snowless waste of rock and pitted land . . .
. . . We bore to the right, regained the sun, followed a twisted course on a level plain, winding among tall, featureless stands of blue-gray stone . . .
. . . Where far off to our right the black road paced as.
Waves of heat washed over us and the land steamed. Bubbles popped in boiling stews that filled the craters, adding their fumes to the dank air. Shallow puddles lay like a handful of old, bronze coins.
The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10 Page 33
