Dream, Gérard
Author's note: This completely unexpected story idea actually germinated with a completely unexpected, disarming bashful smile…and a private personal challenge as a writer, since this is so different from what I usually work on, or, indeed, am interested in at all in certain respects. And a potential protagonist that pointed out to me that I was being unusually narrow-minded: 'Not everyone can be good at what you like!' Fair enough, m'lord; we'll give this one a try… (see the note at the header of 'Labyrinth of Chaos' chapter two for a minor technical note that is still pertinent here.)
Chapter 1 – A Most Rare Vision
Stay.
The command – and from his father King Oberon, no less, who he had believed up until just a few days ago to be dead or irreparably lost – had caught Gérard completely off-guard. The strongest of the sons of Rilga the Short-lived had stood in so many skirmishes against the ghastly invaders from the Black Road, had lead charge upon charge against them, hurrying so many demons back to the Abyss from which they ultimately hailed, dispatching countless adversaries single-handedly (sometimes literally), that when the news of the preemptive war with Chaos near the Courts had surfaced, Gérard had been all but chomping at the proverbial bit to be going, to ride beside his brothers, to slaughter the enemy on their own turf alongside his cold-but-brave half-sisters; Deirdre was nearly as handy with a battleaxe as he was, for her size!
But, to his blank astonishment (and private disappointment), he was to stay behind to guard the fort, as it were. Alone. In a certain integral sense, the order felt highly irrational: why would not his father leave someone cannier, someone more clever, more adept at handling the realm, in control of it? Not that Gérard was stupid; in fact, he was fairly smart when it came to his own areas of interest and expertise: sailing and the sea – leading lesser men to commerce, adventure, and at times war – and matters which capitalized on his oversized physique, his favorite being wrestling for both sport and utility. He towered a full head over nearly everyone he had ever known as an adult and was well-aware of the effect his physical presence had on people, but he was generally so big-hearted, honest, and genuinely well-meaning that he was usually able to put most at their ease quick enough. But people never forgot who he was, not for one second. And he could play every bit as hard as he worked; his drinking abilities were nearly as legendary as his strength (his extensive stein collection was kept not behind glass, but hung upon a wall in a section of the soldiers' barracks in the Castle, where he both welcomed and encouraged their use), as was his speed of sobriety (or at least nominal functionality) when it was time for business again.
In short, what in Amber was Oberon thinking?! Was he thinking of anything but his beloved Pattern? Had the glowing lines of quasi-sacred Order shoved all matters other than Their repair and the necessary distraction of his enemies in order to do so, from his mind? As the prince's siblings rushed off with their own orders (Julian, his only surviving full-blood brother, was already on his way to the Chaosian frontier, of course), Gérard found himself oddly at loose ends as the very Castle seemed to empty about him. No one was spared the draft this time: every last able-bodied man in Amber was going, regardless of rank or status, along with reinforcements of allies from the Golden Circle. This was the war to end war itself, and it was a privilege and a high honor to trump to the very gates of hell to fight it. Perhaps the others hadn't considered the possibility much, but Gérard couldn't help but be quietly concerned for the sanity of those conscripted men, of those who would live to return; this was no ordinary adversary they would be facing, and while the old troops had suffered odd physical and mental effects from battling these shadow-monsters in and near Amber-proper, the prince had no doubt that their enemy's dark arcane powers were greatly amplified on their own accursed, blackened native soil. But there was nothing for it.
Resignedly striding across of the now-silent first floor sitting room that most of his family had been occupying up until just a few minutes ago, he had to slightly duck the lintel on his way out; while most of the Castle was not only opulent but spacious, many of the doors to the 'smaller' rooms had simply not been constructed for a man of his stature (to say nothing of a fair amount of the antique furniture on the grounds.) He had decided to visit the guard room, to wish the palace soldiers well before they shipped out – only a few old retainers would be left, a real skeleton crew to take care of things here – when he suddenly experienced a trump-call so strong that the broad hallway in front of him seemed to melt from his vision: it was Dworkin!
"I thought that confusion felt familiar," the ancient little hunchback teased him, his pale eyes wild but merry. "Come to Grandfather, then; I have a few minutes yet before I must be off."
There was no handclasp, no physical contact of any kind for the transport: the big man just kept on walking forward and abruptly found himself in his eccentric grandsire's hidden quarters! What was technically a top-secret prison cell had been transformed over the centuries into a regular wizard's laboratory, with a full library lining the walls (mostly; a few tomes were haphazardly scattered elsewhere), an alchemist's station on the worktable along one wall and totally littered in unidentifiable objects. Thick, messy candles and floating crystalline orbs that slowly swam about near the ceiling provided ample illumination, along with a small fireplace for warmth. And the whole ensemble was every bit as disorganized as the mind that had inhabited this room and the adjacent bedroom for ages, locked up for his own protection by his own son. Not that that had worked, obviously, from this casual little display of power just now…
Gérard had never so much as laid eyes upon this locale himself let alone set foot in it, but he had heard whisper of its existence in recent years, from the guards in the dungeon who had found the curious etching in Prince Corwin's cell. The rough sketches in the stone walls had proven to be just that – sketches – but it didn't take much imagination to see their function as incredibly crude single-use trumps. One had been of this precise room…
Upon Gérard's arrival, Dworkin immediately shuffled off into the tiny connected bedroom; the prince could hear him rummaging through something, but felt no inclination to enter – especially after seeing an old boot get chucked past him through the open doorway!
"Do you need any help, Grandfather?" he ventured anyway, to be polite, daring a peek around the corner.
"No, no," the old man irritatedly muttered, "I thought I knew where I'd – ah-hah! Here it is!" he exclaimed, carrying his prize to the cot, setting it down. "Come on in, lad; I trust your propriety," he chuckled a little dryly. Gérard edged in, really having to duck this doorway: it couldn't have been taller than five feet!
The flattened box, which currently sat on the small, simple cot, was so black that the prince blinked twice, nearly believing his eyes were playing tricks on him, but Dworkin seemed totally nonplussed as he whispered something under his breath and the lid smoothly opened on a hinge of its own accord, before he carefully lifted out the contents: a garishly bright set of robes – neon orange and ultraviolet – an elaborate turban, and paper-thin purple-dyed leather boots that more resembled long stockings, the hide was so fine! What animal had they even been rendered from?! Upon closer inspection, Gérard discovered that they were scaled, reptilian!
"Over 10,000 years old and still good as new," the dwarf pronounced in satisfaction, smoothing the shiny fabric of the robe with his wrinkled, arthritic fingers. "I will openly admit, after this much time has passed, that this is arguably the one industry in which the Courts still surpass us; they just don't make clothing here like they do in the Old Country."
Without any ado at all the old man began to disrobe as if he were alone, and Gérard quickly ducked back out!
"I believe you were wondering, just now," Dworkin continued, as if nothing about this situation was awkward, "why your father had chosen to keep one as strong and capable as yourself this far from the battlefield, I am right?"
"Of course you are," the prince answered, even more bewildered that the dwarf had been blatantly reading his mind at long-range! "But I would hardly gainsay his orders. Especially at this stage of the game, with so much at stake!"
"You've no idea, boy," he heard the response through the open door. "In fact, that's the entire reason behind his choice."
"I'm afraid I still don't follow."
A sigh came from the room, but it sounded more fond than frustrated. "Perhaps if I explain it like this: the Courts of Chaos are like… yes… like an immense colony of carnivorous wasps, if you would think of them thus for but a moment: strong and efficient in their numbers, good at propagating and caring for their own, but providing little benefit to the Shadows surrounding them, subjugating them for animal survival. We here in Amber, in Order, are rather more like honeybees: still strong and efficient and highly hierarchal, but in contrast generally beneficent to the Shadow that emanates therefrom. But there is one vital difference beyond even that gross oversimplification: in order to function as she should, Amber must have a 'queen bee', at all times, one who ensures the survival of the colony both by progeny and by power. And my son is deliberately safeguarding his strongest, healthiest, and most reliable 'queen', the one best able to stand alone if need be. Do you understand now?"
Gérard's eyes widened at the suddenly dire implications! "Does Dad really expect us to lose?! For them all…to…" He couldn't even bring himself to say it!
"I would not have sent them, but then again I was always in favor of fixing this problem the easy way; your father was not," Dworkin replied rather matter-of-factly. 'His way' (his audience of one knew by now) meant totally wiping out all of civilization – all the shadow-worlds, along with Amber – and completely starting over from scratch! "It will probably amount to the same thing in the end, but we agreed to try this his way first," the ancient sage shuffled out into the main room, looking for all the worlds like a psychedelic fakir! "There. How do I look?"
Several unusable adjectives shot through Gérard's mind initially; the outfit looked like something no one sane would ever be caught dead in to his eye, no matter how nice the quality of materials… which meant that he had to be charitable here: Dworkin arguably fit that category pretty comfortably.
"It's… impressive," he tried hopefully, doing his best to school the incredulity out of his voice, his expression.
The old man's steel-gray eyes shot up to meet the prince's own uncertain, concerned blue ones. "These are my old robes of office within the Courts; I felt it apropos, considering that I must visit them again in this event. Whether he lives or dies, I must drive my son to his destiny at Thelbane and beyond – a father's prerogative – before the Death Storm catches up to us."
"The what storm?!" Gérard exploded, beginning to get really annoyed with the old man's random snippets of information, like none of this really mattered to him! "And what of our army's chances outside of the Courts?! Are they truly that bad off?"
Dworkin suddenly gave a crazy-sounding giggle that fairly raised the prince's hackles!
"If Oberon truly fails, you won't even know what hit you, and a merciful end it shall be, comparatively-speaking, in which case your presence here will only be an unnecessary kindness to reassure the general populace before the end comes to devour you all in a blazing wall of void! And even if he succeeds… who knows what will happen on the battlefield in the interim? There is a great time-difference – as I know I taught you once, long ago – between the two poles of existence also, and this, too, will experience great flux in the aftermath of his efforts with the Pattern. There was simply no point in worrying those bent on going with statistics; they will see the truth soon enough with their own eyes. From what I remember of the numbers of the Courts in my day, multiplying and rounding evenly to accommodate the upcoming generations, our troops should be outnumbered approximately twenty-to-one, although on a practical skill level it should only feel like five or seven per man; many of my countrymen will incinerate from minor flesh wounds before they can do much damage to the lines. There is a real chance that they could literally sweep away our forces, burying them under a flaming pile of corpses. Surprise is your father's main weapon here. Like I said, it's a roundabout gamble – possibly not worth the effort – but, as I stated before, the choice was not mine. And remember also that I had many other offspring in the early days of Juniper before Amber came to be, but only your father survived to rule the True City. Only one need survive, boy! I believe, additionally, that Oberon felt he could trust you, that you would not attempt to take the Throne in his absence – in their absence, I should say; he has not even told me who he has planned to be his successor, but then again I am usually kept in the dark in all things," his eyes unnaturally blackened entirely, white and all; upon seeing the eerie effect, Gérard automatically took a step back! It had been learned from Corwin that their Chaosian grandfather could not only shapeshift, but sometimes did so dangerously without his conscious control, from his madness!
But the old man just grinned up at him. "I have wondered, on one occasion and another, whether you yourself would have fared better as a Lord of Chaos – ah, you find the sentiment absurd, thinking it another fancy of my unsound mind, though you are too polite to say it aloud. But I am thinking of your internal nature, of your sense of moral honor, which somehow seems to have bypassed my other grandchildren completely. That is Chaosian to the hilt, believe-it-or-not, and your well-wishing will could have easily rendered some surprisingly pleasant patchwork paradises in the shadows close to the Abyss, in the area the lords there call 'the Rim'. But I suppose that is just an ancient patriarch's rambling," his eyes resumed their normal state as he turned from the prince toward one of the bookshelves to their left, eying a volume up on the top. "Gérard, as long as you're here, would you mind?" he gestured.
The prince gave a quiet little sigh as he crossed the small area in two steps, reaching the tomes that were far too high for the little hunchback to reach unaided. It could literally be the end of the world, and some things would simply never change.
"Not that one, to the left… to the right… left one more – that's it – and just over there if you would, thank you. I would normally levitate or shift into something bigger myself to fetch things from up there, but I must conserve my energies for the long journey ahead," the ancient sorceron shuffled his way over to the stuffed leather chair behind the large wooden desk, slowly seating himself. With a resounding thud, he flipped open the hefty tome that Gérard had ever-so-carefully deposited there, thumbing about two-thirds of the way through before he commenced scanning the text (it was painstakingly calligraphied in a language that Gérard could not read) seemingly forgetting that there was still someone else present in the room! The prince would have quietly slipped out at this clear mental dismissal had there been any obvious exit, but the only visible door was heavily padlocked.
So, he reflected briefly, really he had been left with no instructions at all! None! No advice on how to run the kingdom, not even how to prepare anyone for what sounded like an inevitable catastrophe of apocalyptic proportions, of which he had only been informed himself just now!
"If all is truly as you see it," he hesitantly began, risking the old man's ire by interrupting his studies, "there is little any of us can do here but to pray!"
Dworkin genuinely paused, then craned, looking almost straight up to meet Gérard's worried eyes. "I think that is a very good idea," he slowly praised him as one might a small child, absently patting his nearby wrist, then shooing him away. "You go do that. At least it should keep the citizenry from panicking when then see that wall of cloud emanating from Mount Kolvir: success or failure, make no mistake, the Storm is coming!" he shook one gnarled, skeletal finger in the air for emphasis. "Now where is it… oh! I nearly forgot!" He turned and opened the top desk drawer to the left; rather than office supplies, it was filled to capacity with brown tincture bottles! He located one by memory alone (all the cork tops were identical) and, swiveling in the wheeled chair, pressed it into Gérard's large right palm. "It goes without saying that my progeny are a rare stock indeed. For many long years, I genuinely feared that your father was as sterile as any mule due to the sainted beast that foaled him, and while I was relieved to be finally proven wrong, my grandchildren would appear to share in his difficulty." He looked up at Gérard seriously. "If the time comes – in the time to come – do not hesitate to take the dram all at once. There must always, always be a king in Amber, as long as she survives," he nearly sounded on the brink of a sob…
And just as abruptly the mood vanished, his gaze reverting to his book. "Now go away; I am about to become very busy and I should like to be alone."
"You forget, Grandfather," the prince gently chided him, "it was by your power that you brought me here. There is no door to leave by, save one that appears forbidden me."
"So I did," Dworkin conceded, "but you are wrong on the second count. Just use the mirror."
The mirror? Gérard hadn't even noticed a mirror in this room! Dworkin pointed… oh, there, in the darkest corner, of course, perfectly hidden in plain sight! The thing was nearly tall enough, but it was a little on the thin side; he'd have to squeeze through it sideways, he reflected as he approached it.
"I am correct in thinking that I just have to concentrate on where I wish to go?" the prince verified. The reflection of the room had become markedly blurrier upon his nearing the artifact.
"Mostly, but your destination must also contain a sizeable mirror; shouldn't be a problem, the Castle's perfectly packed with them. Our family is a vain lot."
Gérard had decided on one of the unused guest rooms on the second floor that had an immense gilt-edged mirror next to an empty armoire, close to his quarters, when he paused, turning back.
"Any last-minute advice for sailing the ship-of-state?" he half-laughed a little desperately.
Dworkin gave an aggravated huff at being interrupted a second time, but when he looked up at him there was a definite twinkle in his ancient eyes. "Straight and true through the Storm, then – providing you make it – steady as she goes."
"Yes, sir," the prince nodded, turning and passing through the membrane-like surface of the mirror, right shoulder first.
"A good lad, such a good lad," Gérard could hear his grandfather absently muttering just before the locational transition was complete, and he had to stifle a tear or two of his own. He could not afford emotion right now: he had a job to do and do quickly. Letting himself out of the room, the prince briskly strode down the hall to his own room, stashing the vial of what was no doubt some manner of fertility drug in a large locked trunk to the side of his bed that contained all manner of personal affects, private correspondence, and centuries-worth of odds-and-ends mementos: not the sort of things meant for display, just meaningful for their owner. It was silly junk from all over Shadow that just happened to be attached to ancient memories, mostly, although a couple of fairly costly items from the True City were buried toward the bottom of that pile: one a relic of his mother from her Unicornian convent that neither of his brothers had wanted upon her death, and the other a secret gift from Caine, something his elder blood-brother had stolen for him long ago when they were boys.
Caine. There was much bitterness and not a little righteous anger that welled up within Gérard when he thought of how his brother had been so ignominiously slain, and on holy ground, too, in the Grove of the Unicorn. But he had faith in his surviving siblings, in Julian, that the traitorous perpetrator would soon be dead and standing in Her terrible judgment. He only rued that he could not crush Brand's windpipe with his own right hand.
Taking a deep breath with his eyes closed to try to calm down (this was no occasion for ire, either) he collected himself and exited his quarters. Working out how to best spread the news and the subsequent order, for it would be no small feat with so few men to act as relays in such a short period of time, Gérard jogged down the Grand Staircase two steps at a time to the ground floor, and turned right at full-speed – very nearly plowing down a man who had simply been in the wrong place at the right time!
"Lord Rein! My apologies!" the prince exclaimed in surprise as the lithe, dark-haired, richly dressed fellow recovered himself, "but whatever are you doing here? I thought for sure that you would be at Corwin's righthand as always!"
Fletcher Rein had been frequenting the Castle for nearly as long as most of Gérard's siblings had been alive, first as a playmate to a couple of the young princes, then trained as a minstrel, then made Prince Corwin's squire in some petty war where he had been knighted on the field in what felt like eons ago now. The man had retained his post for his musical ability, but Gérard's present query was unfortunately legitimate: he was on the slight side, but in excellent physical condition, and a surprisingly good swordsman (which was also Corwin's doing – they'd been best friends forever.)
Lord Rein flushed to match his fine burgundy velvet doublet, embarrassedly eying the elaborately woven floor-runner beneath his boots.
"He expressly forbade me from accompanying him this time – of all times! I am not here of my own free will. I would not have shirked the Summons."
Gérard felt for the man's perceived public humiliation, but he had a hunch that the reasoning behind the peculiar order lay near what he himself had been concerned about: Corwin had judged that Rein's sensitive artistic psyche would be utterly destroyed by that surreal, nightmarish realm. It wasn't any lack of skill that had garnered this unasked clemency. He placed his large hands on the man's shoulders.
"That would make two of us ordered behind, then," he chuckled warmly.
Lord Rein openly stared up at the prince in shocked disbelief. "You?! You, out of all the others…" he slowly shook his head.
Gérard let go of him, still smiling. "Thankfully, we are not charged to make sense of them! Corwin did not order you to barricade yourself in the Castle, did he?" he tried to make light of it.
"No, he did not, but he might as well have," Rein sighed dejectedly.
"Good – then we will ride to the new Shrine of the Unicorn together," Gérard stated definitively, taking off down the hall again, the smaller man having to literally run just to keep up!
"Why? What's happening?" he called.
But the prince had already reached the guard's station, and Lord Rein could scarcely believe the words that were coming out of easy-going, simple-working, absolutely-no-crazy-business Gérard's mouth when he arrived seconds later! The old retainer initially blanched at the news, but after a moment he was in control of himself again, racing off to raise the alarm to the Guard in the city below, to get word to the citizens of the True World to either get to one of the Unicorn shrines (there were several in and near Amber herself), or, if unable to do this for any reason, to barricade themselves inside their houses and dwellings with the windows covered and the doors barred, and there to pray that their Great Patron would spare their lives as well as the lives of their men on the field of battle!
Gérard was about to barge out the Castle backdoor on the heels of the soldier – in the direction of the stables – when Lord Rein stopped him.
"My lord! What of the Lady Vialle?"
Vialle! It had completely slipped Gérard's overworked mind that there was technically another member of the Family still in Amber: Random's Rebman wife, niece of Queen Moire of the undersea kingdom! Intelligent, soft-spoken, incredibly perceptive of human nature and fairly attractive physically if on the petite side, Vialle Barimen had seemed an almost morbidly farcical match for Gérard's brash, self-centered, short-sighted, malevolently mischievous little half-brother. But just being married to the woman seemed to be almost miraculously mellowing out Random's wilder more dangerous impulses, and for this reason alone it would have been easy to like the lady, even without her other attributes. The prince knew he really didn't have the time for this, and realistically the serving woman who assisted her with certain things and often kept her company would be far more freaked out than Vialle would be when that ominous front came: she was blind as well. But she still had the right to be kept informed of what was going on.
"Do you know where she is? We must hurry!"
"I just left her in the smaller library downstairs!"
The two men dashed back down the ornately carved, marble-tiled hallway and to the right, fairly bursting into the room!
The woman at Vialle's side on one of the sofas stood immediately upon seeing who it was, her eyes wide in surprise, the book she had been reading aloud for her mistress' entertainment still clutched in her hands, but Vialle only turned in their direction, 'looking' up at them with her focusless, deep brown eyes, slowly rising to her feet with more grace.
"Gérard! Whatever is the matter?" She had recognized him by the sound of his boots on the polished darkwood floor alone. The prince approached her.
"There is no easy way to say it and no time to explain better… but we may face the end of all in less than half an hour. Do you wish to accompany us to the Great Shrine? Rein and I are going."
The serving woman literally had to sit to keep from fainting dead away, but Vialle only frowned and nodded, reaching for the woman, taking her shaking hands in her own still ones, seating herself beside her again. "You remember I am still under house arrest here? That neither Corwin nor King Oberon ever remembered to lift Prince Eric's proscription?"
Leave it to Random's Lady to worry about something like that at a time like this, Gérard thought with a touch of admiration. "I can't think of a single soul who would object at this point – I wish we had the time to notify your countrymen also – but I must respect your wishes. You are sure you are going to be all right here?"
"I'll be just as fine as you, Gérard, but thank you," she reached out toward him, and he took her delicate right hand, stooping low to lightly kiss its back before letting her go. "If you wish, you may light a votive for me – for Random."
"For you both," he rejoindered kindly. "Unicorn willing…"
Gérard no idea how to end the interview; imminent universal destruction was far too awkward for fast, light conversation, and the two men took their leave of her then and there without another word. The prince knew he would never forget the way she had smiled at him just now, the way she had commenced comforting her quietly weeping servant the moment they turned to leave.
"I can scarcely believe a woman that outwardly gracious and brave is not a Barimen by blood," Lord Rein remarked with wonder on their way to the royal stables; even most of the horses were gone, clean stalls with illustrious names on bronze plaques over them standing empty.
"She's had to be," the prince answered simply, mounting a freshly-readied Domino, his huge black-and-white pinto. "She voluntarily married Random, knowing him beforehand by reputation alone!" Their union had been arranged by a vengeful Queen Moire, as legal punishment for the groom and social promotion for the bride. What was odd about the match was that the marriage had actually been successful, even with Random being Random and all! They knew the lady was serious about him when she asked to share his dungeon cell and subsequent confining to the Castle during Prince Eric's brief reign and Corwin's equally short regency. Oberon had simply been so busy upon his return that he never even thought to lift the ban! Not that any of it was going to matter…
Off they sped, down the wide Concourse in the heart of the city, which stood eerily empty, many produce carts simply left behind unmanned, the stalls all closed up, on through the gradually winding medieval cobblestone streets, through the West Gate and out into the forest until they spied the Black Road rippling on the floor of the now-ruined Valley of Garnath like a slow, malevolent stream; it was empty of invaders for the moment, thankfully, for of the sheer number of people congregating in the Valley so dangerously close to it! They turned down the slope and made for their destination.
While much of Prince Eric's reign had been consumed with war both legitimate and 'civil', one of his less publicized civic accomplishments while king had been the construction of a number of more concrete, temple-like Unicornian shrines. The largest of these was in the Valley of Garnath, downhill from the pre-existing site up on the hillside in the Arden proper, as a deliberate middle-finger to the invaders. The new structures were physically strong, places where the faithful could be literally protected during prayer and worship. The beings from the Black Road had become so bold as to harass or even attempt blatant attacks on those that frequented the old-style 'open' holy places, though the priests bravely defended the land from repeated attempts of outright desecration, which was undoubtedly the goal of these petty-seeming ambush exercises. It was to the brand-new Temple at Garnath that they were flying: a fabulous Parthenon-like structure with lavishly carved columns made to resemble tree trunks that lined the exterior like a marble forest, the inner walls and ceiling well-illuminated and beautifully painted to look exactly like the landscape just outside (minus the current blight of the Black Road), creating the near-illusion of still being out-of-doors in truth. All the new temples carried this visual conceit; it had been the one major demand of the priests' council when the plan was initially discussed.
Gérard and Rein began running into traffic congestion on the approach to the Valley. While the site was some miles west of the city, it was within easy enough riding distance for those so inclined. The prince was logically aware of the peculiar population shift the City had just undergone, but the sight of the obvious result still initially threw him: nearly all the travelers on the road were women: women with children, women accompanying an elderly parent or two yet fit for the journey, women riding horses or pack animals or driving carts alone. Amber was suddenly the literal City of Ladies, not the idealized allegory penned by the Shadow Earth author Christine de Pizan (and Lord Rein felt the need to quietly mention as much to his current companion while they were dismounting just outside; a female novice led away their horses to the temple's stable.)
"It's going to change things, you know," Fletcher muttered as they climbed the few steps of the foundation; the buildings had to be physically near the ground, too. "There's no way that it won't."
"At present, we should only be so lucky as to live to see it," Gérard quietly responded before immediately being escorted to the nave with great pomp and respect. Rein casually following him at a distance, seating himself in one of the front pews that was for the general public; the gentry usually preferred to sit in the rear.
There was a natural, uncarved stone-slab altar at the front of the temple – the original part of an old shrine that had been destroyed – upon which was strewn garlands of flowers and other seasonal greenery as well as many small, white candles. Anyone could approach to light one and silently pray as they wished; there was a long niche in the back of the building for this purpose, also, as well as another outside along the perimeter facing the forest. It was here at the front altar that the prince was busy lighting candles for nearly all his family yet living. They were all of them standing on the brink, it would seem, and there was no room for old grudges or 'bad blood' in this moment. The Temple was filling quickly and soon the middle-aged, white-robed Chief Priest of the Unicorn, Ivor Venway, who had been summoned away from the Shrine on Kolvir expressly for this purpose, approached Gérard humbly about starting the service.
The King of Amber is head of the Church in Amber, vaguely similar to the tradition in England on Shadow Earth, only the degree of perceived separation from the worshipped entity is far smaller due to the Barimens direct lineage (so it was said) from the Unicorn Herself. The king – or any of the royals, at need – could run an entire service without anyone's permission or assistance at all, but the prince begged off, uncomfortable enough not to be flattered by the suggestion, knowing his place; nevertheless, he offered to handle the lectionary readings from the Book of the Unicorn at the proper time. He rather doubted that they would have time to make it through the entire rite from how the sky was already getting strangely overcast on the ride here – from the northeast, which was highly unusual for their local weather patterns. From the direction of Mount Kolvir…
The Temple rang out with soprano and alto voices as the worship began, the few male voices (including the priest's) all but drowned out in an uneasy sea of femininity. The sense of ritual proved to be fairly reassuring and comforting for those accustomed to it, as Dworkin had shrewdly predicted, but by the time Gérard rose to read, faint thunder could already be heard in the distance – continuous thunder, not unlike the steady roar of a waterfall.
The passage allotted to the day and occasion wasn't terribly surprising: it was the old account of the Unicorn wresting the Left Eye away from the accursed Serpent of Chaos and galloping away with Her prize with great joy, knowing what all could be built on that seemingly tiny artifact: Amber. Order. Shadow. Everything of life that they knew and most had ever known, up to the coming of the Black Road War, when their ancient enemy had attempted to seize and 'corrupt' the True World itself. And yet – for all that potential power – She had needed a man's help to enact that Grand Design in the drawing of the Pattern. This was the faithful's main reason for hope: their Great Patron had initially required one of mankind to fulfill Her will here. With any luck, She would continue to require them, and subsequently preserve and prosper them (in this life at least) still.
As the long formulaic prayers began, Gérard was still standing in front alongside the Chief Priest – who, to his credit, was chanting faster than usual – but the sound of torrential rain and that ominous thunder had been gradually getting audibly closer and closer as the service progressed; poor Ivor nearly had to shout to be heard at this point! A few children were crying, and probably more than a few of the adults present, though most of them were hiding their distress better; they could hear the startled animals just outside in the yard. The suspense was perfectly horrific, and Gérard quickly found himself completely unable to concentrate on the staid, distant-sounding phrasing, the aphoristic platitudes he had learned as a child; rather, what remained was the heartfelt desperation and questioning of a man faced with the seemingly ruthless destruction of all he had ever loved. And it felt even worse because he was related.
Grandmother, have pity…what have any of these people done to deserve this?! Why, oh why did you make Order as fragile as the blood you used to design it?! Could you not see what would happen? Did you not care? …forgive me, I do not claim Your place, I only wish there was a reason we should all die today; perhaps it would not be so terrible if I only knew… And if, by Your love and might, you spare us today, how am I to govern this land?! All I've ever been in charge of are sailors and soldiers, often with better men under me, men with quicker wits, with more cunning and skill! How can I run an empire?! How can I keep the place from going to pieces short of martial law?! I have always been content with my lot in life, with one of my brothers receiving our great inheritance… please bring them back safely – all of them; see, I yield You even my bitterness against Brand, if You can make him fit to be saved and brought home. If only-
The prince's eyes had been screwed tightly shut against the sheets of lightning he could see blazing from beneath the far doors at the end of the sanctuary as the very ground they stood upon started to shake, but without any warning he could see…that it was pitch-dark! The candles and lamps had not been extinguished: they were gone!
The Temple was gone!
…he was completely, terribly and utterly alone, floating in the Void…
… then again, perhaps not totally alone: he could see something ahead of him, indistinct, a considerable distance away. As he concentrated on it, he had the unmistakable sensation that he was approaching it, whatever it was! Shadow-men on Earth used to speak of seeing a Light in a pool of darkness in near-death experiences, but Gérard had never expected to behold such a phenomenon himself until just this very moment… and a truly bitter moment it was, if he alone out of all who had gathered there was to be taken to an after-continuance of sorts; this wasn't 'life' – he couldn't feel his body at all in spite of the fact that he was 'seeing' somehow, and he felt certain that it was gone for good. Would Caine and Eric and his dead elder half-brothers whom he had never met be there waiting for him when he arrived at the Light? Would his father? Would they all be set adrift in the fabric of time and space forever by dint of being a Power's progeny: not powerful enough to save themselves from this fate, but just barely stable enough to endure it?
But the mysterious Light came into focus the longer he concentrated on it, all the while he was drawing nearer, becoming very, very clear, and blue, until…
If he had had physical eyes yet he would have wept: it was the Pattern, seen from below the rock it had once been carved into, as if through a thin sheet of glass! And hovering above its center was a new emanation that separated away from the main Light even as he watched: it was unmistakably the Unicorn, but as no one had ever reported seeing Her – a highly complicated matrix of brightly-glowing lines, a living geometry more than any physical beast, it was now certain! She was terrible, beautiful, gigantic – bigger than the Pattern! She sensed him watching and turned Her gaze downward to fully face him! Her liquid-like eyes shone with the pure light of Prime Order. Gérard could scarcely think with Her looking through him like that – not judgmental, not kind, merely observant – and he berated his own simpleness, certain that any of his other brothers or sisters would've instinctively known what to do here… and that more than one of them would've readily killed him to be able to stand where he was at this moment!
But Her expression changed ever-so-slightly – and a bolt of knowing shot through him to his core! Approval… reassurance… and not just reassurance, but assurance; certainty! She reared on her hind legs and shot away from him in the twinkling of an eye like a star, hot on the heels of the Storm! But the remaining Pattern was flowing, churning, causing a visible rippling in the Void that quickly gathered strength and brightness, pounding away from the locus-point like a nuclear explosion; the fallout was rushing towards him, there was no time to even panic-
And just as suddenly the world came crashing back to life and reality all around him! He was back in his body, standing at the front of the altar of the Unicorn in the Shrine and the sounds of the thunder were still unbearably loud, shaking the stone structure! But he now audibly recognized that the fury of the Storm was beginning to recede away from them to the west! The high priest standing next to him was still frantically chanting his prayers with his eyes shut as tight as humanly possible; the prince nearly laughed at the sight – knowing what he knew now – but he swallowed it and kindly grasped Ivor's shoulder, interrupting him.
"You can start praising Her instead, if you like," he smiled down at him broadly. "I think we just made it."
An immediate cheer went up from the assembly amid tears of joy and embraces; the curious toward the back of the temple went outside to see, and were soon shouting that the Black Road was gone, along with every last trace of the blight! Anthems of praise were sung, followed by patriotic songs, as the High Priest led the congregation out into the field: it was safe to worship openly once again! Chain-dances, circle-dances, spiral-dances, villagers from the surrounding region bringing food and wine, more people coming and coming and coming: it was quite an inspiring sight. That afternoon and evening were like unto a festival day, like the Celebration of Spring, of the first day of Kanam, when life returns to the land. If this truly had signified the end of the hostilities and the War, Gérard would have enjoyed himself immensely; Lord Rein was certainly making merry, taking happy advantage of the fact that he was one of the only young men present amongst so many attractive and eligible young ladies!
As it was, the prince was already feeling the weight of the new responsibility he had been given, and it was sobering indeed. He was now responsible for the lives and safety of every person here… in the City, in the region. Regent Gérard, Protector of Amber: it wasn't a title he particularly cared for. The sentiment was better suited to Benedict, his eldest living half-brother, who routinely set himself up that way whichever Shadows he ruled over at the time, his people loving and revering him like a demigod…
It feels cleaner, the prince found himself thinking out-of-the-blue, surveying the Valley. The forest here had been mercilessly leveled by both fire and fighting in the long years of skirmishes, but plant life had stubbornly come back in lush field grasses and wildflowers. The entire world looked and felt crisp and new like fresh garments after a long time without the luxury of a change. His father had done a good job on the Pattern, obviously.
His father…
Gérard felt his emotions welling up again, threatening to break the surface this time whether he willed or no, and he quietly removed himself from the festivities with relatively little notice, re-entering the Temple to shed his tears privately.
He had known that this was going to happen – that it had to – but the reality of his father, Oberon the Mighty, first King of Amber, truly being dead had just hit him like an illegal kick to the stomach. And only powers knew what was happening with the rest of his family right now! And what of the Unicorn in his vision? Had that deity-like glance of approval been a small grace in response to his heartfelt plaint just then? Or did it forebode what he feared…
"Your Highness?"
Ivor's calm, kindly voice brought him up short: the high priest had found him in front of one of the smaller altars toward the back in the left-hand corner, in front of a small, pastoral-style oil-painting of their Patron. Gérard quickly dried his eyes, a little embarrassed, his voice momentarily a bit more defensive-sounding than he intended.
"What is it?"
"Forgive me, your Highness, I did not mean to offend, merely to console if I could. Many are yet praying for those on the field of battle. We must continue to have faith, my son."
Gérard swallowed hard at the unexpected word, and turned to face him. "The king is dead," he hoarsely whispered. "He sacrificed…"
A look of terrible recognition came over the high priest's countenance with a gasp, and he quickly blessed himself. Then gravely added, "I will announce it publicly, if that is your wish."
But the giant of a man just shook his head, eying the grass-green carpet. "Not tonight. Let them celebrate; he did this for them, for all of us. There will be time enough for mourning later."
Ivor Venway simply nodded. "Rest assured that he is with his Bright Mother right now; She will never abandon any of Her children. I will leave you to commune with Her." And with that he silently turned to go back out to the throng; one could faintly hear the music even inside, past the heavy doors.
"Wait!"
The priest turned back in surprise. "What is it, your Highness?"
"I…I have seen something you should probably know about," Gérard collected his wits. Of anyone in the entire kingdom, the man standing right before him would have the best chance of deciphering that ominous vision!
Ivor said not a word, but his sudden change in demeanor was an obvious, reflexive reversion to the officiousness of his post, a learned defense mechanism that Gérard suddenly found himself envying (the act instantly commanded respect), as he made his stately way up the center aisle to the altar, the prince following in his illustrious train. Upon reaching their destination, Gérard knelt and the priest blessed him.
"Tell me, my son – oh, my apologies, your Highness; it's an old habit," Ivor gave a quiet, embarrassed laugh.
But gentle-hearted Gérard only gave a wan lip-smile himself. "I will get used to it in time. But… when the Storm was coming, when it got here… do you remember seeing anything? My own eyes were closed when it arrived. Did you look?"
"Merciful Cosmos, no! All my mind, my will, was bent on the Unicorn, on Her hearing us! …what did you see, my child?" he astutely intuited.
The prince gave a sudden, violent full-body shudder. "Nothing. There was nothing, do you hear me?!" he looked up in remembered alarm! "Not even stars! Just an empty black Void! But I saw a light and… I understand not how it got bigger, but it… it was the Pattern… and…"
But something within Gérard that he had never been aware of before brought him up short, stopping him from telling the rest; he firmly closed his mouth with the cold, sure knowledge that the true reality was meant for no lesser being, not even such a devoted acolyte.
It took no imagination to guess the direction of the prince's unspoken thoughts, however. "You saw Her, then. But there was specific information gained that was for you and you alone," the high priest easily deduced, blessing him again. "I am deeply honored that you wished to share this confidence with me, but I well-understand now that you cannot; I have seen this reaction but once before, and from his late Majesty, no less."
Gérard stared up at him in open astonishment! Ivor gave him a secretive little smile.
"I see no harm in telling his son, for I learned nothing on that day, either. It was many years ago, long before his… troubles," he politicly finished the thought. "I do empathize that it can be difficult shouldering such an exalted message alone – would that I could ease this burden, it obviously troubles you – but at least you have seen the splendor that is True Order with your own eyes. You now know that She is for us, that She indeed bends her ears towards us even now, that She will not desert Amber to the nothing of Chaos. We will continue to offer up prayers for your Family, that they may be returned to us here, safe and victorious."
The priest stepped down and Gérard rose, only to sit down in the middle of the front pew, resting his muscular arms over the back.
"Was there anything else, your Highness?"
Gérard only shook his head in reply.
"Should you ever need a confidant for anything less…" Ivor let the sentiment hang, but he got no response and took the cue to quickly excuse himself, sensing the prince's sudden reticent turn in mood.
Gérard was staring at that gaily festooned altar, feeling horribly and uncharacteristically jaded. Beyond any implications for himself, the blunt and rather obvious conclusion of that vision had finally just dawned on him, having talked it all through again. He couldn't tell a soul.
Their 'higher power' had literally just run away…