EverythingsAllBetterNow[Continued from You Can't Go Home Again] Gillian waited for everyone to leave before standing to close the door behind them. Feeling rather annoyed at her friends' reactions, she took her ire out on the small window and forced it open with a mighty yank. The rush of mountain air chilled her skin. Across the courtyard, she could see Amber City glowing in the darkness. Its lights – so many – blazed with an intensity she’d never thought possible. "Pretty," she whispered. She looked forward to doing some exploring herself. But first things first. "Your treatment here was abysmal," Gillian fumed as she picked up a shabby chair and set it down near Jonathan's bed. "If I'd had more money it would have been different. I'm sorry. For everything." He began one of his witty replies, only to stop in silence. True concern finally registered on his sunken features. She sat down on the chair and took a moment to smooth her skirts as she collected her thoughts--all ordinary Gillian-like actions. This was Gillian. Except that she wasn't wearing her glasses, and that she was more...curvy...than Jonathan remembered, and her hair less mousy and tangled and more...manageable. Did she also look...older? "Jonathan, I imagine that this has been quite a shock, and I will do my best to answer your questions. Before jumping into things, I must ask what you remember of the night you took me out to buy school supplies. Do you remember?" Jonathan pursed his lips and then sighed. “Okay, I’m going to guess that I’ve been here a lot longer than just a bender. And, no. Not really. I remember the Equinox celebrations. And you wasting our time looking for paper. I, mean, really? Amber City and you’re looking for paper… Then…” He paused and shivered. “Something. Cold.” He curled down into the bed, shivering again. Gillian smiled, remembering her obsession with school supplies. That seemed so long ago, and so much had happened since then. She certainly didn't feel like the same person. But had she really changed all that much? Yes, a part of her answered. Very definitely, yes. "It's been nearly a year and a month since that night," she said briskly, coming out of her reverie. "I'm going to give you the short version of events, for I don't think you'll be able to handle more. As you get stronger I'll fill in more details, if you're curious. "Prince Eric uttered a curse when he died in the Patternfall War, and because the Jewel of Judgement was around his neck at the time, the curse created a sort of wake or underworld that overlapped our world here in Amber. The overlap happened exactly at midnight, every night, where in the space of one minute in Amber, one hour in undershadow elapsed. Are you with me so far? Sort of?" Jonathan shook his head, “Pretty sure I lost you after ‘a year and a month,’ but do feel free to continue.” "Okay. So, certain people who have been given the ability to can stay awake during that hour. I--and the people you saw me pull through the trump gate--were given this ability by Dworkin. Dworkin, by the way, in case you've forgotten your royal history, created Amber in the first place. He is a physical manifestation of the Pattern. "Hey, does that mean I'm one too now? What an interesting thought. Anyway, I digress... "Dworkin surmised that the undershadow Prince Eric had created would eventually subsume or destroy Amber--not sure which. Thankfully we didn't get that far to find out. Dworkin chose us to fix the problem of this undershadow so close to Amber. "So...the thing is, he neglected at first to let us know what we were supposed to be doing. I actually experienced the Dark Hour--that's what we've been calling it--for over a year before he decided to explain things, the annoying bugger. The first time I experienced the Dark Hour was that night with you on the Equinox. Normally, people don't experience it. They're 'asleep' through it, for lack of a better term, and this being asleep protects them. But some--you, for example--were sucked into the undershadow anyway. You were sucked in and remained awake because of your proximity to me when the Dark Hour started, and I remained awake because of what Dworkin did to me. "Now, during the Dark Hour, if we're awake we become prey for the shadow monsters that live in the undershadow. If they catch you, they will eat your soul, and that's what happened to you. Your essence remained trapped in the Dark Hour, while your body remained in Amber. It's like you were in a coma or something--completely unresponsive. "My friends and I figured out how to fix things, so that's what we did. I fixed the damage to Amber's Pattern so that it was no longer overlapping with the Dark Hour, and as a result all those who had their essence separated from their bodies returned to them. Like you. Father will be ecstatic, you know. He was very disappointed that it was you subsumed by the shadows and not me. But anyway. "So that's it in a nutshell. You've been awake now for less than an hour after so long separated from your body and you should have some food and a bath and clean clothes. I can see that you have all those things. Do you have any questions so far?" Jonathan stared up at her for a few minutes, silent, blinking. He opened his mouth, then closed it, repeating the action like a fish out of water. Finally, his face settled on something akin to mild bemusement. “So, uh… what you’re saying is you saved me and Creation from something the Royals screwed up?” She chuckled. "A blunt way to put it. But royals were still involved in the helping. We certainly didn't do this alone. Dworkin put deceased royals in all our heads to advise and lend us their royal talents. Princess Cybele was mine. Is mine. That's why I can do all these things that I couldn't before." <Cybele, you're still there, aren't you? Ginger?> Cybele sighed, annoyed. <You made it thus, and so I remain.> Gillian could almost sense the smirk. <Your Familiar, however, has taken advantage of her new-found powers and moved on as it were.> Gillian expected to feel a strong sense of loss with Ginger gone. It was there, but unexpectedly muted, like it had happened long ago. "Hunh." <Are you genuinely annoyed at being alive?> she countered to Cybele. <I mean, because we just did an amazing thing, and I have a feeling we've just begun.> <This isn’t life> Cybele said flatly. <But I suppose an approximation of life will be enough. For now.> Jonathan frowned faintly, “Princess Cybele? Never heard of that one. And does this mean you’re Royalty now? You do have that smug air entitlement of hovering around you.” Gillian's compulsion to inform Jonathan regarding the lost princess Cybele and her murder at the hands of Fiona did battle with her incredulousness at his outrageous accusation. The need to defend herself won out. "Entitlement? Really? You know that was one of the things about the royals that annoyed me the most, that air about them that they were better than everyone else. We used to joke about it, remember? "No, I'm not royalty now. They'd never accept me as such, anyway. I'm...something else." Jonathan – being Jonathan – kept his next statement simple. “You saved Amber. You’ve got a Royal in your head. Why wouldn’t they accept you?” Gillian gazed back at him, bemused. "Maybe I don't want them." She picked at and smoothed her already tidy skirts and stood up. "I'll find a cute nurse to come up and take care of you, give you a bath and some clean clothes. Some food. You'll like that. Then I'll come back and talk to you in the morning." Jonathan chuckled, and then promptly gripped her hand. He squeezed with all his strength – which was so terribly little. “Thank you, Gilly. I can’t say that enough. I haven’t a clue what you went through. . . but I know. . .” He never finished the words. Only squeezed her hand again; tears forming in his eyes. Gillian smiled and leaned forward to hug him. "It's going to be okay." She kissed him lightly on the forehead, then settled him in with his sheet and blanket before turning to leave. "Mother and Father will be overjoyed that you're back," she babbled. "Mother visited you regularly. I don't know about Father, but I know Mother did." Gillian paused with her hand on the doorknob. This had been a big thing for her--she'd spent the better part of the last year trying to find a way to bring her brother back. She'd done it, and this was her brother, but she found she had even less in common with him now than she had a year ago. The joy she expected to feel at his return was fleeting, leaving her instead feeling rather empty. She mumbled "goodnight" and left. Gillian messed with probability on her way down the hall. She didn't think she was suppose to be able to do anything like that so close to the Pattern, but after all she'd been through, such a restriction seemed silly to her. Why couldn't she? There would be a nurse on shift, she decided, and that nurse would be young and pretty. Gillian felt a stab of pain in her skull. Then a wet splash under her nose. Blood – dark, scarlet. The hall shimmered and shifted, stretched out of focus for a second. It may have been the pain blurring her vision. But something told her it was much more. A young nurse came up the hallway, carrying towels and a bowl of hot water on a tray. The dim light darkened her features, but many of them were just as Gillian had pictured in her mind. She stopped to smile; quizzical at first, then scolding. “Visiting hours are over, madam. I’m afraid you’ll have to return in the morning.” Gillian wiped surreptitiously at her nose. "My apologies, and I will leave now. Please, my brother is awake and in need of a bath and some food. Can you help him? He's in the room at the end of the hall on the left." She half-turned and gestured in the direction she'd come from. <I get the impression that wasn't something I should do. What was that shimmering? Did we change things on a more fundamental level than what normally happens when shifting?> Cybele groaned slightly, having taken the true brunt of the Possibility Shift. <You changed the probabilities of Amber to create that woman. The change was hopefully localized, but we may have shifted into a new Shadow for all I know.> She sighed in pain. <For the record, Creation doesn’t respond well to you tweaking it so close to the Pattern. It’s not like you altered the amount of change in your pocket or the color of your dress. You created a person with an entire history. That makes ripples. And ripples create waves. And waves will break against the rocks. You would do better to learn Conjuration than alter everything. At least, if you want to try that bollocks in the True City. Understand?> <Yes. Sorry.> Gillian looked hard at the blood on her sleeve. She decided to slip into a dark corner. After sitting down on the floor and hugging her knees, she conjured--<See? Not shifting.>--more shadows to conceal herself. Once she was satisfied that she was not visible, Gillian brought up a Lens. Gillian’s senses shifted, expanded. In scant seconds, she found herself flying over the rooftops, drawing higher and higher until her vision encompassed much of city and its surroundings. Although many of the physical and architectural features had changed, she instinctively knew that this was the True City. It glowed like wild-fire in her enhanced vision, much larger and far spread across the countryside. In the distance, she noticed Rebma bright lights radiating up from beneath the waves – the changes to Amber now reflected there, as well. <Beautiful. All of it. I need to go check on Atheneum some time soon and see how it faired.> Beyond the shadow of Kolvir, the Scar’s oppressive wall of fog had dissipated. An angry dark slash, however, had replaced it, stretching away into the distance. The Black Road, or the remnants, shimmered like oil in the moonlight. <Well, the Scar is gone. Mostly. I don't like the bits of Black Road left over, like someone sweeping the middle of a room but missing the corners--it's messy.> Miles away, the sky boiled and flashed, where a Shadow Storm had begun to form. In those angry clouds, Paradigms clashed and fought, trying to find some uneasy equilibrium. She sent her Lens out toward the Storm, curious whether it was moving away or inward toward Amber. Gillian’s mind stretched outward, flying over the Valley of Garnath at tremendous speed. As she drew closer to the storm, her speed increased. And increased. It felt as if the storm was trying to draw her in and add her essence to its churning power. The scintillating patterns and lights were hypnotic, alluring. They represented Shadow in its most primordial state. To ride their winds was to touch the face of Creation itself. All she needed to do was fall into the clouds and… Cybele hissed in her ear, snapping her out of this euphoric bliss. <Focus, girl! Storms are no place for the Mind.> Gillian pulled back the Lens, once again detached and analytical. <If you say so.> <I know so.> Cybele retorted. <Your blasé attitude will get you killed someday. Or worse. Look at my Grandfather. A Mad God.> Gillian smiled. <The universe is filled with things I don't know that I don't know. That's why I have you.> The Shadow Storm continued to flare and spark. But it did not advance, nor retreat. <Don't storms normally move across shadow, hence the name? Why is this one focused in one spot?> <Generally, yes. But they are also more massive and consume entire shadows. This is more like a tempest in a teacup.> [Gillian] swung her Lens around, trying to get an idea of the storm's shape and size. The Pattern Lens revealed the storm’s terminator – a very thin line separating Amber and Garnath. It’s outer boundaries matched the width of the Black Road. She realized it was not a true Shadow Storm, but minor disruption while Paradigms meshed. If such a thing could be called ‘minor.’ As she watched, the storm began to dissipate – Amber and Garnath becoming ‘joined.’ While some Logrus taint remained, the Black Road slowly lost its corruptive nature. She suspected similar storms and changes were occurring along its former path. Maybe even to the very steps of the Courts of Chaos. <That's pretty satisfying to watch, I will admit.> Gillian reeled the Lens back in toward Amber, then headed for the castle. <I want to see how the Pattern looks.> When her attention shifted toward Castle Amber, Gillian’s vision blurred – as if she’d just stared into the sun. It took her a moment to dampen the Pattern’s radiance; the scintillating ribbon of impossible design moving, shifting, existing on this realm and all others. Any corruption had been cleared from its matrix. Even with her new-found expertise, she witnessed changes and shifts that were beyond any comprehension. It would take a thousand lifetimes to understand the mysteries revealed in a matter of moments. Gillian let out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding. <Unicorn on a stick, that's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm itching to just study it, learn from it... I hope Dworkin isn't too annoyed that things got changed. I mean, that's what he wanted, right? I wonder if in getting rid of the corruption, we got rid of his mental instability, too? I want to talk to him about this, but part of me is afraid he'll make me dead again. And then I won't be able to learn new things.> Cybele flinched at this realization, nervous. Or was it Gillian doing so? The emotion felt indivisible. The memories weaving together like a repairing tapestry. She recalled that Dworkin was the Pattern – or intrinsically linked to it. Whatever changes she’d made would also be reflected in his psyche. Exactly what had she done to him? Hopefully good things. It looked promising so far. Things were cleaner and more advanced in Amber, suggesting a tidier mental state. <On a slightly more pressing topic, are we melding together? That wasn't my intent, really.> Gillian paused. <At least consciously.> Gillian didn't voice it, but she approved. Having access to Cybele's and memories and extensive knowledge without needing to continually ask--and then have her maybe decide not to answer--would save considerable time and energy. Cybele considered this, until finally relenting. <Yes. The Dark Hour required our arcane connection. The Living and the Dead. Now that the Dark Hour is over, I – we – should have simply dissipated back into the Pattern Matrix. Whatever you affected in there has sealed the bond completely. We will become an amalgamation of both. Gillian and Cybele. The personalities combined into one. The same will happen to the others. In effect, you’ve eliminated our essence and created something entirely new.> Satisfied with that answer, Gillian turned her attention back to the Pattern. But, for all [of the Pattern's] beauty, something… nagged at her. A thin line of energy speared out into Shadow, emerging from the Primal Pattern. It pulsed like a lighthouse, beckoning. Calling. <Any idea what that is?> she asked Cybele. Gillian moved the Lens in to get a better look. <I’m not sure. It’s almost like. . . a Trump Gate. Or Conjuration channel.> Indeed, as the Lens examined the ribbon of energy, it did appear to be some form of link. The Pattern to something in Shadow. Gillian steered the Lens near the line of energy and followed it out into shadow, wanting to know its destination. After several moments, flipping through Shadows like a moving-picture book, Gillian remained ridiculously far from the destination. Whatever it may be was very deep in Shadow. Possibly even into Chaos. It would take her hours, maybe longer, to reach the source. But she could tell that the distance was shortening in both directions. It was coming to Amber, albeit slowly. <So we have some sort of energy link traveling out into shadow to some unknown destination. Any ideas on what that is, or what possibly catastrophic thing will happen when it and the destination meet? 'Cause I got nothing, except that when fixing the Pattern I don't remember creating a Bat Phone to the Courts.> Cybele remained quiet, pensive. Then a stray memory returned; a boy’s cold, crystalline voice echoing in Gillian’s mind. ‘My presence here reveals the Fall. It shall come. The Nyx shall come. Nothing will change that.’ Pharos. He’d spoken with such. . . certainty. Gillian's jaw clenched. <Damn.> She stopped following the energy ribbon and pulled the Lens back to herself and used it to gaze at the Jewel sitting in her chest. She knew the King was going to want his bauble back sooner rather than later and she could only avoid him for so long. Was it going to be possible to extract the Jewel without killing herself in the process? Gazing inward, she felt her chest stir – like the fluttering of a thousand raven wings. As if sensing her Desire, the Jewel emerged under its own power, transparent, insubstantial. It radiant glow illuminated her face; the prismatic lines within its matrix pulsing hypnotically. In a moment, the gem’s cool weight laid upon her palm. Such a simple stone to contain all of Creation. Gillian smiled in child-like delight and took a moment to just admire the Jewel's intricacy and beauty. <Well, that removal process was almost anticlimatic. It occurs to me that my chest makes an excellent hiding place, as it would be imprudent to walk around with the most precious artifact in Amber loose in my pocket. I wonder if it will go back as easily...?> She pressed the gem back against her chest, willing it to return. The Jewel glittered in her hand; the Pattern Within reacting to her Will. But this time, it did not phase – remaining quite solid. If anything, she felt her chest ache and thighten the more she forced the issue. <You may wish to speak with Grandfather, if you want that implanted back inside you. Probably wanted to get out.> Cybele ventured. Gillian gazed at the ruby facets and recalled Lady Coral and her troubles. <I think I'll pass.> <Still, why walk when you can just Trump yourself to the castle?> <Is that where we're going?> Fear of Fiona churned at the edges of Gillian's mind, like a dull ache. At the same time, a different part of her wondered why? Was she really afraid of Fiona anymore, after all she'd already been through? <I wanted to return to my room above the library, but not with the Jewel so exposed. Hell, what does it matter, really? Fiona--or anyone with any degree of Power, really--can find me just as easily there as anywhere. This bauble is its own kind of beacon.> She dropped the hand holding the Jewel into her lap and yawned a yawn that threatened to dislocate her jaw. <The castle is probably the safest place right now, all things considered,> Gillian continued, blinking blearily. The adrenalin had worn off, leaving her feeling...what? Nothing, like an empty shell. <We can give the Jewel back to the king in the morning. Can you suggest a place within? I'm not familiar with most of the layout.> (continued in The Royal Debriefing) |
