HeadGamesIndex SB: Swan: Head Games “You have my permission,” Espérance tells her. “You’ll be more use to me and everyone if you’re well rested. Though I for one can rest and converse at the same time,” she tells Cazaril, “as long as it won’t disturb anyone else’s concentration.” “We will speak quietly” Cazaril says. “And allow the others to rest.” Indeed, within a few moments, Kolfa, Swan and Alex all drift off into slumber. Swan isn’t quite dreaming, but as she rests, outside the realm of the waking mind, in a formless borderland between dreamless sleep and the realm of nocturnal imagination, she hears a voice calling her name, reaching out for her response, if she would but answer. A newly familiar voice, too. Uncle Vanyel. "Van?" she calls. She glances about this strange dreamland and mutters, "This better not be some weird Freudian thing." "You out there?" she calls again. "Yes, Swan. It is your Uncle." the voice comes. The voice is surprisingly soft, as well as unmistakably Van. "You may want to lower your voice." Van's voice continues "I do not wish for our conversation to be overheard, etherically, by anyone else." Swan sighs inwardly, “I seriously need a vacation. Me and my moll, some mojitos, and plenty of suntan lotion and other oil-based products.” She tries to conjure a beanbag chair into existence - it’s her damn dream and she has every right to kick her dogs up. A pack of smokes and a brew would be equally welcome. “You took off pretty quick back there. So, I’m assuming this isn’t a social dingle-ling.” The grayish quasi dreamworld is not very amenable to Swan's desires, but it is enough that she does get a chair. No beer or cigarettes, though.. And there is still no visible appearance by Vanyel, just his voice. "I wanted to debrief you before you escape my range by going deep into Chaos. I also did not wish for the Chaosians, any of them, to know that I spoke with you. Thus, a premature departure followed by our conversation, now." "Do you intend to travel all the way to the Courts?" Vanyel asks. “That’s the plan, Stan. I’m to meet with someone called Dara. She’s a big wig in the Grand Scheme,” Swan replies. Then she shrugs and throws up her hands, “At least that’s what they tell me. They pay the bills, so I don’t ask where the cabbage comes from.” She folds her arms and raises an annoyed brow, “Why all the hush-hush?” "Swan, Swan" the tone from Van is relatively gentle. "You are the daughter of Prince Caine. I would have expected a little less naiveté. You are dealing with Chaosians. They may be pleasant. They may be friendly and possibly even being straightforward with you. But they are not of the family of Amber, and their goals and mine are not congruent. Even without trying, they might weaken me if they know too much." "But you are family, Swan, and I did not want to leave without speaking to you, even so." “They’ve treated me better than most,” Swan says plainly. “Family, I got a plenty. Friends? Way too few. Remember that, if you try to take them downtown.” She curls her hands behind her neck, leaning into the chair. “But I’m glad you decided to bump gums before heading into the back o’Bourke. You didn’t seem like the gooseberry lay type.” "Actually, the place I am going back to is called Tsolyáni. No, Swan, I simply do not trust Chaosians, even ones that are being outwardly friendly. Perhaps" the tone in Van's voice is rueful "I am a relic of an earlier, less cooperative age between our realms." "That said, however, Swan, if you are truly going all the way to the Courts, there is a favor there I might ask, if you were inclined to do so." Swan memorizes the name. It sounds exotic, mysterious. A perfect place to have some fun with 'Lex; in the not-so-far future, of course. She does understand his manner though. Living the Noire for so many years, she did pick up a few misgivings about people. She can't fault him for the same feelings. "You're my uncle, Van," she says to his question. "Of course, I'm inclined. What do you need?" "I want to find out if one of my elder brothers is still alive and well. I lent him...an item, centuries ago, before his disappearance. I had thought that I had discovered the truth lof what had happened to him long ago, but the trail had gone cold, in the Courts. If he is there, he hid himself well. But I figure someone with your skills, talents and determination could find him. And he may be willing to let you courier the item back to me." "His name is Finndo.." Swan laughs, “I’m a gumshoe as well as a coffin-maker. If he’s there, I’ll find him. Gone to ground or no. You pulled my keister outta the fire back there, so I owe you one. I’ll get your package. But I need to know two things. “What’s the Mcguffin? And how rough can I get, if he doesn’t want to part with it?” "The item in question is a weapon. I call her Nivia. She is an enchanted stabbing sword, niece, backed by the power of the Pattern." "And it is not that I am terribly afraid he will be reluctant to part with it. No. I am more concerned, Swan that the Chaosians around him will try and stop you, by force. Which is, perforce, one of the reasons why we are talking in a dream rather than in front of your friends and lover." Swan shrugs, “Yeah, wetwork on their doorstep probably ain’t gonna go over well. Hell, they were touchy enough about Corwin versus Borel. . .” She quirks a smile, then snickers, finally slapping her knee. “Olympics. . . Heeeeeoooooo. Priceless.” "That story amused me." Vanyel's voice agrees. "It has been too long since I have spoken to my brother." She wipes a tear away, “I’m your button-girl. It’ll give me a chance to try out my new toys. Although you might want to slip me a Trump. Don’t need to lug this thing across Shadow with a bunch of pi$$ed off demons on my tail.” "A trump." Vanyel says. "Well, I do not have the skills to give you one here, not one that you will have when you awaken. That's a skill little Cassandra specializes in, and one reason why this is not really a dream contact. I don't trust *her*, either, Swan, and you should not either." "No, as you say, trying out a toy or two might be the way to deliver a trump into your hands. Your progress through shadow, as I feel it, is relatively gentle. I should be able to get you that trump, Swan. Would you prefer a place trump to one of myself?" “A personalized one is always better,” Swan says. “Cuts out the downtime. And if things turn wiggy, I can just throw your magical pig-sticker through. More options are always better. So, when it becomes my turn to Shadow-walk, I’ll keep things leisurely; give you extra time.” "That is an acceptable arrangement." Vanyel agrees. She cracks her knuckles and smirks, “And don’t worry. I don’t trust anyone, Van. I just give everyone enough rope to hang themselves.” The smirk turns into a dark warning. "Given the color of my red hair you cannot see, you probably should be wise in keeping your options open." Van replies. "And in return, Swan, I am not likely to forget who your father was and what he accomplished and acted. And you emanate a new power I less about than I would like, and I suspect you like it that way. Agreed?" “I’ve been trying to forget my father since I was born,” Swan says. “No easy task.” She stands up, staring out at the ethereal dream world. “We’ll keep this business like. I know your cabbage is green, so you’re good in my books. Get me that trump when you can and I’ll do my best to keep this under wraps from my traveling companions. “Oh. Keep an eye out yourself. We’ve got pieces movin’ on the table. I’ll tell you more later, but if you see a door out up where it shouldn’t. Beat feet.” There is a chuckle. "Indeed. Your cousins Brandeigh and Lorius told me a little about the users of arcane powered Doors, when they visited mother and I in Tsolyáni. Their knowledge of those who used the Doors was somewhat limited at the time, although it appears that you have more and more timely information. Perhaps after this business is complete, we might talk reason together on this subject." "We will speak again soon." Vanyel adds. "And now I shall leave you to your real dreams, Swan." “Yeah, I can tell you how I put the kibosh on one of them,” she replies with unabashed pride. There is a pleased chuckle from the disembodied voice. "We will speak again soon." Vanyel adds. "And now I shall leave you to your real dreams, Swan." “Thank you,” Swan says. “Maybe I can get a little whoopee in before I have to go back to a grind of a completely different - and less scrumptious - sort.” "Diversions and entertainment must be taken when they can." Vanyel's voice echoes. "No one will give them to you without cost..." His voice wavers, and Swan's perceptions fall from this half-awakened state, to a full and complete set of dreams... Backlinks |
