The Great Book of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  We came to a dilapidated bridge leading across a dry stream bed. On its other side, the road was smoother, less yellow. As we proceeded, it grew darker, flatter, harder, and the grass came green beside it. By then, though, it had begun raining.

  I fought with this for a time, determined not to surrender my grass and the dark, easy road. My head ached, but the shower ended within a quarter of a mile and the sun came out once more. The sun... oh yes, the sun.

  We rattled on, finally coming to a dip in the road that kept twisting its way down among brighter trees. We descended into a cool valley, where we eventually crossed another small bridge, this one with a narrow band of water drifting along the middle of the bed beneath it. I had wrapped the reins about my wrist by then, because I kept nodding. As from a great distance, I focused my concentration, straightening, sorting...

  Birds queried the day, tentatively, from within the woods to my right. Glistening droplets of dew clung to the grass, the leaves. A chill came into the air, and the rays of the morning sun slanted down through the trees...

  But my body was not fooled by the awakening within this shadow, and I was relieved finally to hear Ganelon stir and curse. If he had not come around before much longer I would have had to awaken him.

  Good enough. I tugged gently on the reins and the horses got the idea and halted. I put on the brake, as we were still on an incline, and located a water bottle.

  “Here!” said Ganelon, as I drank. “Leave a drop for me!” I passed the bottle back to him.

  “You are taking over now,” I told him. “I have to get some sleep.”

  He drank for half a minute, then let out an explosive exhalation.

  “Right,” he said, swinging himself over the edge of the wagon and down. “But bide a moment. Nature summons.”

  He stepped off the road, and I crawled back onto the bed of the wagon and stretched out where he had lain, folding my cloak into a pillow.

  Moments later, I heard him climb onto the driver's seat, and there was a jolt as he released the brake. I heard him cluck his tongue and snap the reins lightly.

  “Is it morning?” he called back to me.

  “Yes.”

  “God! I've slept all day and all night!”

  I chuckled.

  “No. I did a little shadow-shifting,” I said. “You only slept six or seven hours.”

  “I don't understand. But never mind, I believe you. Where are we now?”

  “Still heading northeast,” I said, “around twenty miles out of the city and maybe a dozen or so from Benedict's place. We have moved through Shadow, also.”

  “What am I to do now?”

  “Just keep following the road. We need the distance.”

  “Could Benedict still reach us?”

  “I think so. That's why we can't give the horses their rest yet.”

  “All right. Is there anything special I should be alert for?”

  “No.”

  “When should I raise you?”

  “Never.”

  He was silent then, and as I waited for my consciouness to be consumed, I thought of Dara, of course. I had been thinking of her on and off all day.

  The thing had been quite unpremeditated on my part. I had not even thought of her as a woman until she came into my arms and revised my thinking on the subject. A moment later, and my spinal nerves took over, reducing much of what passes for cerebration down to its basics, as Freud had once said to me. I could not blame it on the alcohol, as I had not had that much and it had not affected me especially. Why did I want to blame it on anything? Because I felt somewhat guilty, that was why. She was too distant a relation for me to really think of her as one. That was not it. I did not feel I had taken unfair advantage of her, for she had known what she was doing when she came looking for me. It was the circumstances that made me question my own motives, even in the midst of things. I had wanted to do more than simply win her confidence and a measure of friendship when I had first spoken with her and taken her on that walk into Shadow. I was trying to alienate some of her loyalty, trust, and affection from Benedict and transfer it to myself. I had wanted her on my side, as a possible ally in what might become an enemy camp. I had hoped to be able to use her, should the need arise when the going got rough. All this was true. But I did not want to believe that I had had her as I did just to further this end. I suspected there was some truth to it, though, and it made me feel uncomfortable and more than a little ignoble. Why? I had done plenty of things in my time that many would consider much worse, and I was not especially troubled by these. I wrestled with it, not liking to admit it but already knowing the answer. I cared for the girl. It was as simple as that. It was different from the friendship I had felt for Lorraine, with its element of world-weary understanding between two veterans about it, or the air of casual sensuality that had existed briefly between Moire and myself back before I had taken the Pattern for the second time. It was quite different. I had known her so briefly that it was most illogical. I was a man with centuries behind me. Yet... I had not felt this way in centuries. I had forgotten the feeling, until now. I did not want to be in love with her. Not now. Later, perhaps. Better yet, not at all. She was all wrong for me. She was a child. Everything that she would want to do, everything that she would find new and fascinating, I had already done. No, it was all wrong. I had no business falling in love with her. I should not let myself...

  Ganelon hummed some bawdy tune, badly. The wagon jounced and creaked, took a turn uphill. The sun fell upon my face, and I covered my eyes with my forearm. Somewhere thereabout, oblivion fixed its grip and squeezed.

  When I awoke, it was past noon and I was feeling grimy. I took a long drink of water, poured some in the palm of my hand, and rubbed it in my eyes. I combed my hair with my fingers. I took a look at our surroundings.

  There was greenery about us, small stands of trees and open spaces where tall grasses grew. It was still a dirt road that we traveled, hard-packed and fairly smooth. The sky was clear, but for a few small clouds, and shade alternated with sunlight fairly regularly. There was a light breeze.

  “Back among the living. Good!” said Ganelon, as I climbed over the front wall and took a seat beside him.

  “The horses are getting tired, Corwin, and I'd like to stretch my legs a bit,” he said. “I'm also getting very hungry. Aren't you?”

  “Yes. Pull off into that shady place to the left and we'll stop awhile.”

  “I would like to go on a bit farther than that,” he said.

  “For any special reason?”

  “Yes. I want to show you something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  We clopped along for perhaps a half a mile, then came to a bend in the road that took us in a more northerly direction. Before very long we came to a hill, and when we had mounted it there was another hill, leading even higher.

  “How much farther do you want to go?” I said.

  “Let's take this next hill,” he replied. “We might be able to see it from up there.”

  “All right.”

  The horses strained against the steepness of that second hill, and I got out and pushed from behind. When we finally reached the top, I felt even grimier from the mixture of sweat and dust, but I was fully awake once more. Ganelon reined in the horses and put on the brake. He climbed back in the wagon and up onto a crate then. He stood, facing to the left, and shaded his eyes.

  “Come up here, Corwin,” he called.

  I climbed over the tailgate and he squatted and extended a hand. I took it, and he helped me up onto the crate, where I stood beside him. He pointed, and I followed the gesture.

  Perhaps three-quarters of a mile distant, running from left to right for as far as I could see, was a wide, black band. We were several hundred yards higher than the thing and had a decent view of, I would say, half a mile of its length. It was several hundred feet across, and though it curved and turned twice that I could see, its width appeared to remain constant. There were trees with
in it, and they were totally black. There seemed to be some movement. I could not say what it was. Perhaps it was only the wind rippling the black grassses near its edge. But there was also a definite sensation of flowing within it, like currents in a flat, dark river.

  “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 stillnesss 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 clo
se 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 full, 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.