ItsADeadMansPartyBut the darkness wasn’t absolute. Malachi plummeted without moving. Around him, blue-white light rushed by in rhythmic waves. Flash. Flash. Flash. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that the light was coming through a series of ornate windows. The world beyond them was ethereal and hazy, an indistinct brilliance. With each flash, a dark line of horizon passed by the windows, creating the illusion of an endless fall. Beneath him, the cold cobblestones had been replaced by soft carpeting - navy blue with dark swirling patterns that subtly moved and squirmed. Comfortable enough to sleep upon, the plush felt warm against his back. Nearby a wizened, balding man with a knife-like nose sat behind a dinner table. He wore dark blue suit and white gloves that were folded before him. His bat-wing eyebrows twitched with lives of their own. Beside him stood a platinum blonde woman in a dignified blue dress suit, a leather tome tucked at her side. She possessed a cool professionalism - her keen golden eyes studying Malachi. The old man leaned forward with a calculating smile. “Death is only the beginning.” Malachi retched with the vague but persistent memory of the touch on his tongue. "Who?" he gasped out, unable to manage more. “Better to ask ‘where.’ Or ‘how’, eh? What? Indeed, indeed. Much more incisive questions, mrm-hrm,” the old man cackled. “Who, indeed. Eh, what? Who, indeed.” The golden eyed woman placed her tome upon the table and opened it carefully. A cold shiver trickled down Malachi’s spine as she tapped a page. He could not see the contents from where he sat, but the old man’s eyebrows fluttered with interest. “Oh yes, indeed, granddaughter. A jolly good choice, eh what?” he chimed. “So much potential for entertainment. So many threads to pluck and snip and weave.” He drummed his fingers together and stared at Malachi, “Are you just going to lie there like a dead fish. Ha-ha. Dead fish. Made a joke there, I did, eh what?” Malachi drew himself up painfully and slowly. He was dimly aware that a storybook hero would have something witty or jocular to say. But he was conscious of being neither witty nor particularly heroic. He felt at his chest where the card had so recently protruded. If anything, Malachi’s outfit appeared immaculate - not simply unblemished, but perfect in every regard. Just how he would have dreamt it. "Are you why I'm not dead?" he asked, looking between the woman and the odd old man. He felt angry. In fact he felt furious, but he wasn't sure whether these two were legitimate targets of that fury. With his customary cautious thought, he weighed the unprecedented situation before him. The man gave a barking laugh. “Oh, but you are most mistaken, eh what. Indeed. You’re very dead. As I’ve mentioned. I did mention this, yes?” He looked up at the woman for confirmation. She gave a polite nod. “See?” he proclaimed. “Dead. Not mostly dead. But loose-change dead. Deader than glam rock, eh what? Now do sit, my boy. You’re probably most verklempt. And we have much to discuss and little time to do so.” The large young man scowled and then sat. All this talk of death would have made him even angrier if not for the memory of, well, dying. "Alright," he said. "I'm listening. Only, if I ain't....If I'm not alive, what does that make you? Now no offense, but you don't look much like angels." “Angels. Demons. Derisory concepts from a limited vocabulary, eh what,” the old man chuckled. “I am the Alpha and the Omega. The All and the Nothing. Neither alive nor dead. But you can call me Ted. Or was it Bob?” He shrugged. The golden-eyed woman gave a pained sigh. Ted-Bob tweaked his dagger-shaped nose, “Now. Before the worms settle in, we’d best fix you, eh what? That is if you wish to be fixed. I think it death might be a down note for your date, though. Bad impression. Bad form. Just my opinion. But who am I?” He paused. Waited a moment more. Finally, he stared up at his companion, “Seriously. Who am I, eh what?” The mention of worms drained all the anger out of Malachi. He looked down at his hands as if expecting them to putrefy before his eyes. A sober expression crept over his face. "You can...fix death? Wait, if I'm so dead, why am I moving around and talking?" He addresses the latter to the woman, who seems to hold out the possibility of more sanity, if not more explanations. The woman’s face remained impassive. “You were naught but dust to begin with. A figment of a shadow without substance. For you, death is simply returning to a natural state. We’ve done nothing more than briefly interrupt your progression between states of being.” "Alright, Mr. Ted," he says, returning his attention to the megalomaniacal codger. "Miracle me if you can. I suppose I'd be much obliged to you, seeing as I had plans that being dead would interfere with." “Excellent,” Ted replied, rubbing his gloved hands together greedily. “And you are most perceptive, eh what? You will be obliged to me.” He noted to the woman. She turned the blank book around and pushed it in front of Malachi. She also provided him with a quill… but no ink. “By signing this contract, you agree to do what must be done when the time comes,” Ted explained. “Touch the quill to your hand and sign, eh what? In return, I shall provide you not only your life, but your true destiny. “Perhaps even a little revenge, yes?” Malachi looks suspiciously at the two of them. "I don't see any horns, but I'm guessing I should still ask what you mean by that, Mr. Ted. What must be done when the time comes?" Ted laughed again, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t know, eh what? Could be anything. Could be nothing. Could be everything.” The woman’s brow wrinkled, “Forgive my grandfather, Malachi. His mind drifts through a thousand worlds and only rarely touches upon this one. But he is keenly aware that some disturbance in the Pattern indicates a great calamity in the near future. He refers to it as The Fall. Yet it exists in a future he cannot view. He simply recognizes that certain individuals might prevent this event.” Ted waggled his finger at her, “Don’t talk as if I’m not here, eh what? The boy will say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ It matters not. Or it could be all that matters.” His strange eyes returned to Malachi, expectant and filled with madness. Malachi picked up the quill, but still hesitated. "I'll sign. I don't understand any of this, but I know I don't have any choice if what you say is true. And I guess if it isn't, I'm still going to try to stop a disaster if I can, and I know how and I can see it coming. Also, I already like you a lot more than..." His voice trailed off. He wasn't sure if he should be speaking ill of Ted's brother, even one as horrible as the man who was master to the Man in White. He rubbed his chin and looked to the woman. "But I do have a question and a...call it a request. You're a princess? I mean a real princess of Amber, is that right? I'd like to know your name, Ma'am, if it isn't too forward. Your Highness." He bobbed his head, uncertain of how one acts in the presence of royalty. The Lady of Karm hadn't required him to do anything special when he spoke with her, but he had always sensed strong disapproval from her seneschal and chamberlain. He supposed it only got more stuffy and rigid the closer you got to the throne. The woman offered a wan smile, “I was called Mirelle. Sister to Prince Random. But I assure you, there is no need to use formalities with me. I am beyond such trivialities now.” Her golden eyes, however, betrayed her gratitude. Mirelle, Malachi knew, died more than a century before even his grandfather had been born. She’d met an unfortunate end walking Amber’s Pattern. Every year since that time, a small ceremony commiserated her death - although the holiday had been overshadowed by the martyr Princess Deirdre. "My request is, if you can do anything about it, I'd like Swanhild to be okay. She doesn't have to know I had anything to do with it. In fact, it'd be better if she didn't. If you can, that is. She's just about the only person here who ever said two nice words to me." He quickly signed the offered book and put down the quill, half convinced he'd vanish the moment he did so. The quill danced over the vellum, leaving wisps of gossamer light in its wake. However, the light soon faded, leaving the pages just as blank as they’d begun. At least, as far as Malachi’s eyes could distinguish. Ted tugged his nose as he considered Malachi’s request. Finally, he gave a nod, “Aye. She will be unharmed tonight, eh what? Ignorance is bliss. So ignorant she shall be.” He picked up the tome and handed it to Mirelle. She glowered at him for some reason, but said nothing. “Our business is concluded, heh heh. Better slip you back into that lump of flesh of yours, eh what? I will call upon you and the others again in time. Check your progress. Check your temperature and all that.” "Wait. Can't you tell me what's happening? No one ever accused me of being the sharpest arrow in the quiver, but something happened in Amber and it seems most ordinary folks don't know it. Seems to me that you and that other fellow are behind it. Even I know that Princess Mirelle died a long time ago, and yes, I know I died, too. So where are we? What are we?" Malachi pauses a moment and thinks in his careful way. "Seems to me you sound a lot like a general, moving his troops. Informed soldiers are better than blind pawns, to my way of thinking. If I've just signed on to a war...and I think I have... then a message for the troops from the general would be a good idea, wouldn't they, your highness?" Malachi is no fool. He heard Mirelle refer to Ted as her grandfather. He doesn't know a thing about her ancestry beyond that she is a daughter of Oberon. Chances are that "Ted" is some form of royalty, somewhere. Ted yawned, “I think I need a nap, eh what? Mirelle, show the Conduit back to his body, would you? No sense in walking on the wrong side before he dies. Again.” His heavily-lidded eyes fluttered close. His body appeared to enter a state of flux - fading and solidifying with every breath. Mirelle gripped her book to her chest, white-knuckled rage burning in her eyes. “Come,” she told Malachi. She began walking toward the darkened end of the room. She did not turn her head to address him, speaking through tightened lips. “You are in The Blue Room. /I/ am Nothing. A reflection of an image. A fragment of information that will not disperse. /You/, however, are a Conduit. This makes you more Real than I shall ever hope to be. “My grandfather does not know what will happen. But your metaphor is somewhat correct. You are a piece on a chessboard. Yet no one knows the players or the rules of this game. All we do know is that my grandfather cannot see beyond a year’s time. This is. . . unsettling.” The room did not appear to have an end, stretching on and on as they continued walking. Finally, Mirelle halted, “Find those like yourself. The Conduits. Those Who Walk Between. Because you are quite correct. This is a war. And failure will mean Oblivion. "Beyond this, I can tell you little else." Malachi nodded. "Yes Ma'am. I don't understand most of what you said, but do understand that you and he saved me back there, so I expect maybe I don't have a right to ask any more questions. If that's all you can tell me, then I'm ready to go where you want to send me." "But I do understand one other thing. Nobody's nothing. We aren't all grand, and there are some as maybe started out grander than they are now. But reflection or not, I know a princess of Amber when I see one. Thank you, your Highness. I hope we meet again." Mirelle stiffened at his words, gripping her book tighter. Her golden eyes clouded; threatening tears. “You…” she began, her pained voice cutting off momentarily. “You should not say such things. I shall never be that young princess again.” She provided him a faltering smile, “Now go. It is time for you to wake up.” She began to fade like smoke. Only her golden eyes - filled with a reawakened sadness - remained as her words echoed… … wake up… wake up… |
