IntoShadowTemnal's nose pricked at the organic corruption rising from the Shadow Marches. The wind had shifted that morning, mercilessly drawing the fetid swamp's taint up to the merchant camp. Unfortunately, the camp could have existed nowhere else, due to its strategic location in the lower foothills of the Greywall Mountains. From this connected series of hilltops, a spider web of roads cut through the imposing mountains and to the Ways beyond. All caravans and travelers heading to and from Droaam passed through this House Chanicut-operated camp, just as Temnal now did for his journey to Amber. Hopefully, the wretched stink wasn't a bad omen of things to come. Beyond the Shadow Marches—a vast stretch of brown and green hell—a wall of dead-grey mist erased the horizon. His father—Lord Chanicut—called it The Scar; a grim reminder of the PatternFall War. Beyond the ever-stretching wall of fog and choking mist lay only ruin and endless pain. Some said it marked the last vestiges of the infamous Black Road, but few dared to test that hypothesis. Wherever it touched, death and mutation soon followed. Most feared and avoided it, only using it as an unnerving guide through Shadow. "I could stare at it for hours when I was your age," a rough voice said beside him; his adoptive father. Gaynor folded his arms across his massive chest. "Now when I see it, all I feel is loss and wish to pull my cloak tighter over my heart." "You have lost...kin to it?" ventured Temnal. He stood watching the bustle of the merchant camp, the two brassbound trunks that made up his luggage at his feet. He pulled his voluminous traveling cloak tighter around himself in an unconscious echo of his adoptive father's words. Gaynor nodded. "'In' it to be more exact. Two brothers and an aunt. They were lost when Prince Corwin defeated us at the Valley of Garnath. Whatever curse he inflicted upon our forces that day created The Scar." The man shivered involuntarily. "Now we cannot even bury our dead and honor them, as is our holy right. They are forever trapped behind that wall of mist. A harsh punishment for our arrogance." He trained his stern expression on Temnal, "Remember this above all other things I have taught you, my son. Even the mightiest can fall into darkness. Never believe yourself above those that you might think to be your lessers." Temnal shook his head, a slight, rueful smile curving his lips. "Having been on the other side of that particular division, I'm not likely to forget it, my father." "Very well," Gaynor said. "Your encounters with the Amberites will undoubtedly hold many unpleasantries. Be prepared for them and do not allow them to alter your spirit. I know you will represent our House well, my son." He patted Temnal on the back with his firm hand. "I shall always keep in mind that I am doing so," Temnal replied. Gaynor managed a smile, a real triumph for the melancholy Chaosian Lord. "Is there anything you might ask me before you begin your new life?" "How long will I be gone?" Temnal asked him. "That is, I know the course of study at Faiella University lasts for several years in Amber, but what I don't know is how much time will pass here during those years." He smiled slightly. "I did promise to write once a week..." Gaynor considered this. "Time in our Way is as mutable as the landscape, my son. However, I believe from our frame of reference, roughly a week shall elapse for every day in Amber. So, we will expect a missive every second month. If not, your sister will be most distressed. I am certain her correspondence to you shall be copious." He allowed himself a pleased laugh. "Especially if I'm getting two months' worth every week!" Temnal noted with a smile. Then he added, studying Gaynor's face, "If she could visit me, I'd like that very much." Gaynor's face turned to stone. "Once she has fulfilled her duties to her House, I will most certainly pay for Sekhmet to visit you in Amber. However, there will be much for your sister to do at Court. The alliance with House Swayvill will not be honored until she provides them a male heir. Once she has done so, she will be free to travel as she pleases. "So, I would suggest you pray at the shrine of Renenutet in Amber and ask that her first child is a boy." "I shall do so," Temnal responded somberly, "but even more, for a healthy pregnancy and an easy birth." Gaynor nodded with little emotion. “Indeed.” He set his hands behind his back and resumed staring out at The Scar. Behind them, the camp began to whisper with growing activity. The last preparations for the next journey were underway and people had begun to say their farewells. A faint breeze passed over father and son, stirring the grass at their feet. Gaynor sighed inwardly. “You had best seek the hand-reader, my son. Ilona is her name. You may find her vardo east of the wine-test. Once you have seen her, we shall say our final goodbyes.” Although he had never traveled, Temnal knew of the Chaosian Journey ritual, which required them to consult a Diviner before embarking on major forays through Shadow. Ill-winds and troubles awaited those who ventured off blindly. Temnal gave his adoptive father a deferential bow of the head and began to weave his way through the crowd in the direction Gaynor had indicated. Once past the wine-test he began to look around for Ilona's pitch. He easily found the crimson and gold vardo parked beside a large yew tree. A scarf-rope hung from the tree and led to an impressive bækhesten. The horse-creature raised its white head and gave an annoyed snort as Temnal approached. A moment later, the colorful decorated door to the vardo opened and two women hobbled out. The first was a heavily pregnant peasant woman, who carefully made her way down the short steps to the ground. Behind her stood a woman of strange beauty; the cow tail and bovine features marking her as a huldumaiden. “Think on what I’ve said, my dear,” the huldumaiden said, worried. The pregnant woman rested her hands on her belly, “Thank you Mistress Ilona. I shall speak with my husband.” She placed several coins into Ilona’s three-fingered hand and waddled off. Ilona sighed deeply, watching the woman go, lost in troubled thoughts. Temnal moved into the huldumaiden's line of vision and bowed in greeting. "Mistress Ilona, I have need of your wisdom." Ilona’s eyes refocused, a smile warming her face. “Ah, yes, a pleasure to meet you young man,” she said. “Please, come into my cabin.” She waddled back up the stairs and entered the vardo. Temnal followed. Dimly lit inside, the vardo felt warm and comforting. A hint of spice and sandalwood filled the air, while silk scarves with tiny bells decorated the roof. Ilona sat behind a small table, gesturing for Temnal to grab a cushion. He settled gracefully down, cross-legged, just across from her. “Now what may I do for you?” she said. "I am about to travel through Shadow, Mistress, and desire a reading of the omens for my journey," Temnal replied. Ilona’s broad lips pulled into a smile. “Of course, of course!” She took his hand in hers, flipping it over to examine the palm, which was just as dark as the rest of Temnal's skin. “You have a strange coloration for a Chaosian, crumpet. From what Way do you hail?” "I come from the Ways of Chanicut, Mistress," Temnal replied. Which was true as far as it went, and answered the question she had asked him. Ilona gave a perfunctory nod and returned her attention to Temnal’s hand. Her thick finger traced over the lines in his palm as if reading a map. Suddenly, the finger halted and she quirked a brow, confusion shining in her brown eyes. "Is something wrong, Mistress Ilona?" Temnal asked, feeling a qualm of apprehension. Ilona tugged her floppy ear, perplexed. “Well, that you’re alive and speaking with me now does raise some intriguing questions.” She gave a motherly smile and ran her blunt fingernail along a short line extending from the edge of his palm and arcing toward the wrist. “This is your life line, crumpet. According to this, you should have died a decade ago. See here how your fate line cuts your life thread? Did you suffer a great illness, perhaps?” "Not physically, but..." Temnal repressed a shudder, thinking of the events of ten years ago that had led to his being adopted into House Chanicut. "I suppose you could say that my old self died then." He remembered the roar of water, his body tumbling, his last thought as he was sucked under that if he died at least he had chosen it for himself... Ilona listened to him, still holding his hand. "Well then, I suppose such an event might explain this abnormality. An intriguing hand, indeed. Your life is now intrinsically linked to the Fates." She folded his hand closed. "As for your trip to Amber, I do not foresee any difficulties. However, the same will not hold true once you arrive." "What do you mean?" Temnal asked. "What awaits me in Amber?" Ilona’s tail flicked back and forth as she conducted further study of Temnal’s hand. Her bovine lips frowned with frustration. “Unfortunately, your Life and Fate lines are so intertwined that I cannot tell them apart. Most odd, indeed. “I will have to consult the cards for the answer to your question.” She placed a finely decorated mahogany box on the table and then carefully opened it. From this she removed a pack of cards, wrapped in red silk. The thick, worn cards were shiny black with a bone-white border. “I shall use the Tetractys spread for this reading,” she explained, placing the cards in front of him. “Please cut these into three piles in honor of the Creator, the Sustainer, and the Destroyer.” Temnal did as she asked, automatically using his left hand to cut the cards into three piles, to the left. Apprehension warred with intense curiosity as he waited to see what the cards would reveal. Ilona collected the cards and turned over the first one; the Fate card. She immediately gasped and recoiled from the reversed card. It bore a skeletal horse rearing up, fire spewing from its nostrils, illuminating both itself and its rider. The rider was a skeleton, dressed in flowing black robes, and holding a vicious scythe above his head. “The Horseman,” she said in low voice. She gazed over at him. “Perhaps we should not continue further.” Temnal knew enough of the Tarokka to recognize the dreaded card, a portent of a horrible death. Although reversed, the card still indicated a serious accident or defeat. He stared at the card for a moment, cold dread fingering down his spine, but then his golden eyes lifted to meet Ilona's. "No, go on, Mistress," he told her. "Please. It is always better to know than not to know." Ilona nodded lightly, unease living in her large eyes. “Very well,” she said. She flipped two more cards, beginning the pyramid structure of the Tetractys. One depicted a crowned puppet dangling from strings held by a hand whose owner could not be seen. The other, reversed, showed nine swords in a wide brazier of burning coals, their red-hot blades ready to be used on the broken prisoner hanging from chains in the background. Once again, Ilona flinched away from the cards. Carefully, as if the cards were coiled snakes, she moved her hand over them. “As the Light card, the Marionette shows that unseen forces of Creation will guide you forward; that your actions will not entirely be your own. While the Dark card, the Torturer, shows that you will be embraced by a consuming evil and you will go to it willingly; that your unspeakable suffering shall be rewarded with the blessing of oblivion.” She reached over and took his hands, her bovine eyes glimmering with tears. “Please, sire. Do not query further. Terrible things await you. I can feel it. But you can turn back now.” Temnal pressed the Huldu-maiden's hands, almost as if seeking to comfort her, while continuing to meet her eyes. "No, I don't believe I can," he told her regretfully. "With darkness both behind and before, I think it is still best to go forward. And closing our eyes won't make it go away. Please...continue." Ilona smiled wanly and squeezed his hand. “Very well, sire. I shall continue the reading until its conclusion,” she said. She took a deep breath and flipped the cards for the third level of the Tetractys. The first reversed card revealed a frightened-looking peasant peering out through the door of his hovel at a mysterious hooded man who had just taken eight coins from the poor man. The next upright card depicted a lone, heavily wounded knight who held a blazing sword above his head while the bodies of his many enemies lay at his feet. And finally, the third reversed card showed a single man sitting on a wooden bench in a simple and featureless room; his head was bowed in prayer and his face was only slightly visible. Ilona touched her bottom lip, silent for a moment. Her relieved eyes sought Temnal’s. “These are your Guides, assisting you with decisions you must make. The Creator card shows the new directions that you must undertake. In this case the Tax Collector, reversed, reveals that a corrupt man must use his powers of deceit for noble and just reasons.” Her hand moved to the second card. “The Sustainer card shows things within you that must be balanced and never change. The Avenger is symbolic of ultimate justice and revenge for past wrongs. Use that strength to overcome the evils gathering against you. “And lastly the Destroyer card reveals that which must be abandoned. The Monk is one of self-reflection and self-reliance. You must abandon these solitary ways or you will descend into arrogance and egoism.” She smiled thinly, studying his reaction. “Are you ready for the Gifts?” Temnal regarded the three cards for a long moment, a thoughtful, inward-looking expression on his face. Then he raised his golden eyes to Ilona's brown ones once more. "Please." Ilona held his gaze for a moment before returning her attention to the reading. She drew four last cards to create the base of the pyramid. The first showed a wizened sage reading a book by candlelight, apparently cloistered away with no outside contact, a large star-shaped medallion hanging from a slender chain around his neck. The second showed a helpless man pinned to the ground by four chains, the heavy bonds anchored by eight swords, with their points thrust into the earth. The third, in reverse, depicted a werewolf silhouetted before the full moon and howling into the night. And finally, another reversed card revealed a wizard with his arms spread wide above his head. Five stars formed an arch between his palms, shielding him from the bright sun above. All around the wizard was a glen of lush vegetation with a gentle stream running past his feet. “Your Fire card represents your dynamic creative force, ambitions, and personal will,” the fortune-teller explained. “In this case, the Transmuter heralds the approach of a new discovery that will bring hardship upon the land. In other words, thirst for knowledge unchecked by compassion. You must tame your fire or it will consume you and the world around you.” She moved her hand to the next card. “The Air card represents your mind, thoughts, and strategies toward the goal in question. Again, the Dictator reveals an obsessive nature, allowing your thoughts to rule you, even when they will lead to an unpleasant end. You must break these shackles and not continue forward thoughtlessly.” Ilona refused to touch the third card, keeping her hand away from the snarling lycanthrope staring up at her. “The Water card reveals your emotions, feelings, and whims. You have tamed these aspects of yourself, but the beast remains hidden behind your humanity. You must remember to keep that beast in check at all times. As this is a High card, the Beast will be strong in you and have a great influence over you.” A light smile formed on her lips. “And finally, the Elementalist represents the physical realities of day to day life. This reveals that luck is in your favor and nature will bless you, rather than destroy you. Embrace her gifts, do not fear them.” Ilona sat back from the table. “A great upheaval awaits you in Amber, sire. One that can destroy you, if you allow it to do so. Indeed, you will be your own worst enemy.” "I think that's always been true, in some respects," murmured Temnal, studying the cards. He looked up again. "My thanks, Mistress Ilona, for your warning and your wisdom. You have given me much to ponder." “I have given you very little, sire,” Ilona replied. Her frown did not disappear as she turned away from him. She rose and then crossed the room to her herb collection. He could not see around her as the fortune-teller began to poke around. “Ah-ha,” she whispered and returned to the table. In her thick palm she held a small red bag, which exuded a strong scent of onions, garlic, and pine. “I want you to spend the rest of the day collecting things you believe connect you to this realm,” she said, offering him the bag. “Leaves, flowers, pebbles, pieces of parchment, whatever. Put them into the spirit bag and seal it with thread before you leave. Keep it with you when you are in Amber and it shall protect you from the evils within and without.” Temnal's nose, plus his own smattering of herblore, suggested that the evils for which the packet would be prophylactic were more on the order of a cold in the head and an upset stomach than nameless horrors, but he was sure it was kindly meant; and then again, the symbology could be important. "I thank you, Mistress," he said again, taking the bag. "I shall do as you advise, though I am not sure how much time I shall have before my departure." Ilona followed him to the door. Although clouds had obscured the sun, the grey day felt less oppressive than the vardo’s dark confines. “I wish you luck, young sire,” she said, touching his arm. “And stay close to Rhuan, the caravan driver. He will make certain you arrive in Amber unharmed. May the Serpent watch over you.” "And over you, Mistress," Temnal replied, pressing into her hand the traditional pouch of silver. On the way back to Lord Gaynor, Temnal kept an eye out for the kind of tokens Ilona had suggested he use for his charm-bag. He found a white moonflower growing in a cranny in the rock; that was for the Lady. A scarlet feather lying beside the path was for Sekhmet. A rough-hewn pebble with a glinting vein of ore reminded him of Gaynor, with his stern exterior and true heart. What else bound him to this place, apart from the connections he'd forged with his adopted family and his Goddess? Later, his final farewells exchanged with his adoptive father and his place found in the wagon that would carry him to Amber, he retrieved silver needle and red thread from his daypack, and sewed the charm-bag shut. Hung around his neck under his shirt, it nestled next to the silver pendant he wore there, a rampant unicorn within a crescent moon. |
