Chaos and Amber

by John Gregory Betancourt

  "What do you know about that?" he demanded, regarding me warily. Unconsciously, he touched his chest… just about the place a pendant would hang. Or the Jewel, if he had it on a chain around his neck. I studied him.

  "It's all everyone is talking about in the Courts. People keep asking me if I know where you hid it."

  Shaking his head, he forced a laugh. "Next time they do, tell them I never had it."

  "All right," I agreed. No sense in tipping my hand any more than I already had. "Now, about this tavern…"

  He smiled happily. "A friend of mine runs it," He said. "Come on. I do need a drink now!"

  Taking my elbow, he raised the Trump and concentrated on the image. It seemed to come to life, rising and expanding before us, a low stone building with ivy running up the walls, plenty of open windows with curtains fluttering in the breeze. I heard voices raised in a cheerful drinking song, smelled baking bread and roasting meat on the faint wind that now touched my face.

  He stepped forward, pulling me with him. My feet left the wooden floor, and I trod on hard-packed dirt.

  It was early afternoon, and we stood in front of the tavern. A warm wind blew, heavy with the smells of trees and grass and summer. Birds sang and insects chirped.

  Through the open doorway of the tavern came a minstrel's voice, accompanied by the strumming of a lute, and suddenly a dozen voices joined in on the chorus.

  I smiled; this was the sort of place I liked. Leaving Chaos made it feel like a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I would not go back easily to that nightmare place.

  Dad started forward, and I fell in step behind him, one hand dropping to the hilt of my sword.

  For all I knew, this might be a carefully constructed trap. If our enemies knew Dworkin frequented this place, what better spot for an ambush?

  Fortunately, we found no hell-creatures inside-just a dozen men, who seemed to be locals in for a quiet evening of cards and gossip, plus a couple of serving maids and a portly man behind the bar, whose eyes lit up with honest pleasure as he spotted my father.

  "Dworkin, my old friend!" he cried, coming around to greet us. "It has been far too long!"

  Laughing, the two clapped each other on the back like old drinking buddies.

  "This is my son, Oberon," Dworkin said with a nod to me. "Oberon, this is Ben Bayle. Not only is he a good friend, he is one of the best vintners I have ever found."

  "One of the best?" said Bayle.

  "All right," laughed Dworkin, "the best of them all!"

  "That's more like it!"

  "A tavern-keeper who makes his own wine?" I said, raising my eyebrows.

  "And who better?" said Bayle, but he grinned happily. "You must try last year's red," he said to Dworkin. "It was a very dry year, and the wine has an extra piquancy. I think it's one of our best, on par with the red of '48."

  "That good!" said my father. "Set us up." He glanced around the room; nobody paid us the slightest heed now, wrapped up in their own drinking and conversation and a couple of card games. "The corner table," he said to me, indicating the one he wanted with a quick jerk of his head.

  I headed over and sat with my back to one wall, my sword on the chair next to me. Dworkin sat with his back to the other wall. We could both see the door.

  "You should like this place," he said to me. "I spent a lot of time here when I was your age."

  "I didn't think the Shadows were that old. How old were you when you created them?"

  "You are fishing for information," he said.

  "Better to get it from you," I said. "Provided you tell me the truth."

  "There is truth in everything I say."

  "You didn't bring me here to drink, did you?" I said.

  "You look like you need it."

  "It has been a difficult few days."

  "What has happened?"

  I told him, leaving nothing out-not even Rèalla. He chuckled a bit when I got to the part about the stinger in her mouth and the welts on my chest.

  "Lucky Aber found her out-you might well have ended up her slave, or worse," he said with a chuckle. "They have powers over men. I hope she was worth it."

  "I heal fast," I said. "And sometimes it's better not knowing everything about a woman."

  Then I told him how she had turned against Ulyanash and been murdered for her trouble. He sighed sympathetically.

  "Lords of Chaos do not take betrayal lightly," he said.

  "I know. So why did you take the Jewel of Judgment, then? That seems like a pretty big betrayal."

  He looked like he was about to answer, but Ben Bayle arrived first with two cups and a dark green bottle, which he uncorked and then poured for us. Dad took the first sip and gave a happy exclamation.

  "Excellent!"

  Bayle beamed.

  I took a sip, too, and had to agree. It was among the finest wines I had ever tasted, and I had dined at King Elnar's table at more that one occasion. Elnar had fancied himself an expert on wines, though I found his favorite selections ran a little too sweet for my tastes.

  "Did I tell you it would be worth the trip?" Dworkin said.

  "Not really," I said. But I quickly added, "It is, though."

  Dworkin drank deeply, let Bayle refill him, then raised his cup in a toast. "To Ben Bayle-always the best!"

  I joined in enthusiastically. There were cries of, "Here! Here!" from other patrons.

  "Now," said Dad, leaning forward and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I need two fast horses."

  Bayle chuckled. "You always do. I'll get them. Anything else?"

  "Wine and provisions for three days."

  "Lots of wine," I added. "This red, if it travels well."

  "Of course it does! My daughters will pack everything up for you. What else?"

  Dworkin said, "That will do this time." He reached under the table, drew out a pouch that I knew he hadn't been carrying a moment before, and slipped it across to Bayle. I heard the clink of coins inside and guessed it held gold. Our host nodded, gave Dworkin a wink, tucked the money away, and headed for the small doorway behind the counter.

  "I don't understand," I said. "Why bother with Bayle? If I understand the way Shadows work, you could get any horses you wanted just by traveling to a place that had them waiting for you."

  "True," said Dworkin. "But I enjoy coming here, and I am a creature of habit. Also, Ben Bayle is a good man; I like him. I do not have many friends, but he is one."

  "And the wine…"

  "That too."

  I had to agree, finishing mine and pouring more. If we ever returned to Juniper and rebuilt, assuming we could deal with the troll problem, we would have to persuade Bayle to join us.

  It took nearly an hour for Bayle to get everything ready. I sat impatiently at the corner table, watching those around us, half expecting an army to come rushing through the door at any moment.

  No army came, however, and I learned far more about hog breeding than I ever wanted to know from a lively discussion of that topic from the next table.

  Dworkin laughed at me quietly.

  "What's so funny?" I demanded.

  "I will tell you later," he said.

  Bayle finally reappeared at the back door and gave a small jerk of his head for us to join him. He seemed positively conspiratorial. He seemed to enjoy aiding us on our mission-whatever it was-and milked it for all it was worth.

  "Our host also runs the local livery stable," Dworkin whispered sotto voce as we left.

  "Quite the entrepreneur," I said.

  He chuckled. "Create nothing but the very best," he said, "and you will never be disappointed."

  "I don't understand," I said.

  "Do not worry about it. Accept him for what he is, no more or less."

  I puzzled over that. Out back, I discovered Bayle also ran several other businesses, all of which bore his name on the signs over their door: Bayle's Tannery, Bayle's Boots and Saddles, even Bayle's Fine Meats and Slaughterhouse. From the
prosperous look of things, he seemed equally adept at all of them.

  Now he stood before the stables, next to two boys who looked so much like him that they had to be his sons. They held the reins of two fine black geldings, long of leg with tall arched necks, braided manes, and long silky tails. Mine-I picked him on sight and came around front to let him smell my hands-had a splash of white on his forehead, Dworkin's a pair of white socks on the left. They had already been saddled, with packs and bedrolls tied behind. Several skins, which I assumed held wine, hung from the saddle.

  I mounted, and Dworkin did the same.

  "Thank you," he called to Bayle.

  The tavern-keeper grinned. "Good luck, and good speed! Come back soon, old friend!"

  Dworkin waved. We rode.

  THIRTY

  It was a ride like no other.

  Dworkin rode hard into the forest, leaving the tavern behind. He seemed to draw inspiration from the land around us, and I watched with awe as an outcropping of rock became the toe of a mountain, visible suddenly as we cleared the trees. Snow-capped heights towered, and just ahead, pines trees began to appear, singly, then rising into a forest as we rounded a boulder as big as a house.

  The pass through this mountain chain led steadily upward. A winding trail, well traveled but empty at this moment, grew cold, as an icy wind swept down. I pulled the laces of my shirt collar tighter and hunkered down on my horse. The gelding trudged now, head down, breath pluming the air.

  Dworkin called back: "Pick up the pace! There's going to be an avalanche!"

  I kicked my horse in the ribs twice and got him to a trot. Boulders, tall as two men, blocked the trail, and the path skirted up and around them. As we rounded the second, I heard a deep rumble, like a dog's growl but lower, starting behind us. Turning in my saddle, I watched as the entire top of the mountain slid down to block the pass. No one would be following us through there before the spring melt.

  I looked ahead again. Already the landscape had begun to change, as scrub trees and yellowed patches of grass dotted the trail. We headed down now, and the air grew steadily warmer. The sky, touched by fingers of pink and yellow, brightened noticeably.

  "Take a drink of wine," Dworkin said, raising his own wineskin. "Make sure you spill it on your shirt and your horse." He did just that, splashing it across his own shoulders, then across his mount's head, neck, and haunches.

  I did the same, taking a swallow and splashing a good couple of swallows onto my shirt and onto my horse. I did not ask the why of it; I did not want to distract him from the journey before us. That he thought it important enough to tell me to do it told me all I needed to know: somehow, it would prove necessary.

  The sky darkened to a deep purple as we entered a wood. In the twilight, strange noises surrounded us, chirps and peeps and a wheep-wheep-wheep sound that made my skin crawl. My horse quickened his pace without being told, staying right behind Dworkin.

  Then huge dark-winged insects, some as large across as my hand, began to rise in swarms thick enough to blot out the sun. From the way they held their barbed tails, I suspected they were venomous.

  Yet they did not attack us.

  "What are they afraid of?" I asked Dworkin.

  "Wine," he said.

  I pitied anyone trying to follow us through here.

  We burst into the open, leaving the insects to their wood, and the sudden night sky seemed a carpet overhead, thick velvet studded with diamond stars. Three moons soared, the smaller two gliding quickly, the larger hovering over the treetops like an all-seeing eye.

  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.

&nb
sp; "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.