The Guns of Avalon (14 page)

With her left hand, she began to toy with her knife, finally picking it up.

“I was mad, mad as hell for having beed packed off again,” she said. “I told him that I wanted to stay here and fight, but he took me riding with him and after a time we arrived at the village. I do not know how. It was not a long ride, and suddenly we were there. I know this area. I was born here, I grew up here. I’ve ridden all over, hundreds of leagues in all directions. I was never able to find it when I went looking. But it seemed only a brief while that we rode, and suddenly we were at the Tecys’ again. But it had been several years, and I can be more determined about things now that I am grown. I resolved to return by myself.”

With the knife, she began scraping and digging at the ground beside her, not seeming to notice what she was doing.

“I waited till nightfall,” she went on, “and studied the stars to take my direction. It was an unreal feeling. The stars were all different. I didn’t recognize any of the constellations. I went back inside and thought about it. I was a little bit afraid and did not know what to do. I spent the next day trying to get more information out of the Tecys and the other people in the village. But it was like a bad dream. Either they were stupid or they were purposely trying to confuse me. Not only was there no way to get from there to here, they had no idea where ‘here’ was and were none too certain about ‘there.’ That night I checked the stars again, to be sure about what I had seen, and I was about ready to begin believing them.”

She moved the knife back and forth as if honing it now, smoothing the soil and packing it flat. Then she began to trace designs.

“For the next several days, I tried to find my way back,” she continued. “I thought I could locate our trail and backtrack along it, but it just sort of vanished. Then I did the only other thing I could think of. Each morning I struck out in a different direction, rode until noon, then headed back. I came across nothing that was familiar. It was totally bewildering. Each night I went to sleep more angry and upset over the way things were turning out-and more determined to find my own way back to Avalon. I had to show Grandpa that he could no longer dump me like a child and expect me to stay put.

“Then, after about a week, I began having dreams. Nightmares, sort of. Did you ever dream that you were running and running and not going anyplace? That is sort of what it was like-with the burning spider web. Only it wasn’t really a spider web, there was no spider and it wasn’t burning. But I was caught in this thing, going around it and through it. But I wasn’t really moving. That is not completely right, but I do not know how else to put it. And I had to keep trying- actually, I wanted to-to move about it. When I woke up I was tired, as if I had actually been exerting myself all night long. This went on for many nights, and each night it seemed stronger and longer and more real.

“Then this morning I got up, the dream still dancing in my head, and I knew that I could ride home. I set out, still half dreaming, it seemed. I rode the entire distance without stopping once, and this time I paid no special heed to my surroundings, but kept thinking of Avalon-and as I rode, things kept getting more and more familiar until I was here again. Only then did it seem as if I were fully awake. Now the village and the Tecys, that sky, those stars, the woods, the mountains, they all seem like a dream to me. I am not at all certain that I could find my way back there. Is that not strange? Can you tell me what happened?”

I rose and circled the remains of our lunch. I sat down beside her.

“Do you remember the looks of the burning spider web that really wasn’t a spider web, or burning?” I asked her.

“Yes-sort of,” she said.

“Give me that knife,” I said.

She passed it to me.

With its point, I began adding to her doodling in the dirt, extending lines, rubbing some out, adding others. She did not say a word the entire time, but she watched every move that I made. When I had finished, I put the knife aside and waited for a long, silent while. Then, finally, she spoke very softly.

“Yes, that is it,” she said, turning away from the design to stare at me. “How did you know? How did you know what I had dreamed?”

“Because,” I said, “you dreamed a thing that is inscribed in your very genes. Why, how, I do not know. It demonstrates, however, that you are indeed a daughter of Amber. What you did was walk in Shadow. What you dreamed was the Great Pattern of Amber. By its power do those of the blood royal hold dominion over shadows. Do you understand what I am talking about?”

“I am not certain,” she said. “I do not think so. I have heard Grandpa cursing shadows, but I never understood what he meant.”

“Then you do not know where Amber truly lies.”

“No. He was always evasive. He told me of Amber and of the family. But I do not even know the direction in which Amber lies. I only know that it is far.”

“It lies in all directions,” I said, “or any direction one chooses. One need but-“

“Yes!” she interrupted. “I had forgotten, or thought he was just being mysterious or humoring me, but Brand said exactly the same thing a long while ago. What does it mean, though?”

“Brand! When was Brand here?”

“Years ago,” she said, “when I was just a little girl. He used to visit here often. I was very much in love with him and I pestered him mercilessly. He used to tell me stories, teach me games . . .”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Oh, eight or nine years ago. I’d say.”

“Have you met any of the others?”

“Yes,” she said. “Julian and Gerard were here not too long ago. Just a few months back.”

I suddenly felt very insecure. Benedict had certainly been quiet about a lot of things. I would rather have been ill advised than kept totally ignorant of affairs. It makes it easier for you to be angry when you find out. The trouble with Benedict was that he was too honest, though. He would rather tell me nothing than lie to me. I felt something unpleasant coming my way, however, and knew that there could be no dawdling now, that I would have to move as quickly as possible. Yes, it had to be a hard hellride for the stones. Still, there was more to be learned here before I essayed it. Time . . . Damn!

“Was that the first time that you met them?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “and my feelings were very hurt.” She paused, sighed. “Grandpa would not let me speak of our being related. He introduced me as his ward. And he refused to tell me why. Damn it!”

“I’m sure he had some very good reasons.”

“Oh, I am too. But it does not make you feel any better, when you have been waiting all your life to meet your relatives. Do you know why he treated me like that?”

“These are trying times in Amber,” I said, “and things will get worse before they get better. The fewer people who know of your existence, the less chance there is of your getting involved and coming to harm. He did it only to protect you.” She made a spitting noise.

“I do not need protecting,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

“You are a fine fencer,” I said. “Unfortunately, life is more complicated than a fair dueling situation.”

“I know that. I’m not a child. But-“

“ ‘But’ nothing! He did the same thing I’d do if you were mine. He’s protecting himself as well as you. I’m surprised he let Brand know about you. He’s going to be damned mad that I found out.” Her head jerked and she stared at me, eyes wide.

“But you wouldn’t do anything to hurt us,” she said. “We-we’re related . “

“How the hell do you know why I’m here or what I’m thinking?” I said. “You might have just stuck both your necks in nooses!”

“You are joking, aren’t you?” she said, slowly raising her left hand between us.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I need not be-and I wouldn’t be talking about it if I did have something rotten in mind, would I?”

“No. . . I guess not,” she said.

“I am going to tell you something Benedict should have told you long ago,” I said. “Never trust a relative. It is far worse than trusting strangers. With a stranger there is a possibility that you might be safe.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yourself included?” I smiled.

“Of course it does not apply to me. I am the soul of honor, kindness, mercy, and goodness. Trust me in all things.”

“I will,” she said, and I laughed.

“I will,” she insisted. “You would not hurt us. I know that.”

“Tell me about Gerard and Julian,” I said, feeling uncomfortable, as always, in the presence of unsolicited trust. “What was the reason for their visit?”

She was silent for a moment, still studying me, then, “I have been telling you quite a few things,” she said, “haven’t I? You are right. One can never be too careful. I believe that it is your turn to talk again.”

“Good. You are learning how to deal with us. What do you want to know?”

“Where is the village, really? And Amber? They are somehow alike, aren’t they? What did you mean when you said that Amber lies in all directions, or any? What are shadows?”

I got to my feet and looked down at her. I held out my hand. She looked very young and more than a little frightened then, but she took it. “Where . . . ?” she asked, rising.

“This way,” I said, and I took her to stand at the place where I had slept and regarded the falls and the water wheel.

She began to say something, but I stopped her. “Look. Just look,” I said.

So we stood there looking at the rushing, the splashing, the turning while I ordered my mind.

Then, “Come,” I said, turning her by the elbow and walking her toward the wood.

As we moved among the trees, a cloud obscured the sun and the shadows deepened. The voices of the birds grew more shrill and a dampness came up out of the ground. As we passed from tree to tree, their leaves became longer and broader. When the sun appeared again, its light came more yellow, and beyond a turning of the way we encountered hanging vines. The bird cries grew hoarser, more numerous. Our trail took an upward turn, and I led her past an outcropping of flint and onto higher ground. A distant, barely perceptible rumble seemed to come from behind us. The sky was a different blue as we moved through an open place, and we frightened a large, brown lizard that had been sunning itself on arock. As we took a turn about another mass of stone, she said, “I did not know this was here. I have never been this way before.” But I did not answer her, for I was busy shifting the stuff of Shadow.

Then we faced the wood once more, but now the way led uphill through it. Now the trees were tropical giants, interspersed with ferns, and new noises-barks, hisses, and buzzes-were to be heard. Moving up this trail, the rumble grew louder about us, the very ground beginning to vibrate with it. Dara held tightly to my arm, saying nothing now, but searching everything with her eyes. There were big, flat, pale flowers and puddles where the moisture dripped from overhead. The temperature had risen considerably and we were perspiring quite a bit. Now the rumble grew to a mighty roar, and when at length we emerged from the wood again, it was a sound like steady thunder that fell against us. I guided her to the edge of the precipice and gestured outward and down.

It plunged for over a thousand feet: a mighty cataract that smote the gray river like an anvil. The currents were rapid and strong, bearing bubbles and flecks of foam a great distance before they finally dissolved. Across from us, perhaps half a mile distant, partly screened by rainbow and mist, like an island slapped by a Titan, a gigantic wheel slowly rotated, ponderous and gleaming. High overhead, enormous birds rode like drifting crucifixes the currents of the air.

We stood there for a fairly long while. Conversation was impossible, which was just as well. After a time, when she turned from it to look at me, narrow-eyed, speculative, I nodded and gestured with my eyes toward the wood. Turning then, we made our way back in the direction from which we had come.

Our return was the same process in reverse, and I managed it with greater ease. When conversation became possible once more, Dara still kept her silence, apparently realizing by then that I was a part of the process of change going on around us.

It was not until we stood beside our own stream once more, watching the small mill wheel in its turning, that she spoke.

“Was that place like the village?”

“Yes. A shadow.”

“And like Amber?”

“No. Amber casts Shadow. It can be sliced to any shape, if you know how. That place was a shadow, your village was a shadow-and this place is a shadow. Any place that you can imagine exists somewhere in Shadow.”

“. . . And you and Grandpa and the others can go about in these shadows, picking and choosing what you desire?”

“Yes.”

“That is what I did, then, coming back from the village?”

“Yes.”

Her face became a study in realization. Her almost black eyebrows dropped half an inch and her nostrils flared with a quick inhalation.

“I can do it, too . . .” she said. “Go anywhere, do anything I want!”

“The ability lies within you,” I said.

She kissed me then, a sudden, impulsive thing, then rotated away, her hair bobbing on her slim neck as she tried to look at everything at once.