YouCantGoHomeAgain[Gillian continued from The Long Walk] "Tic toc, people," Cole said. "We need to move here. I saw some flying things down below, earlier. Maybe if we angle our falls just right we can collide with them and ride them down. But that's all the suggestions I've got." "I think I have it," Temnal said. <Gillian, we need out of here fast before 'here' goes away.> Pelageya let out a breath and watched Temnal carefully. She was disturbed by mother's continued imprisonment. What did it mean? The inability to help them escape was a frustration shared between Binah and Pelageya equally. Alarmed, she quickly opened herself up to the mental connection. <Temnal, send everyone through to me--it's safe here! Um...who's the chick?> <Joao. Sort of,> Temnal replied briefly. <We can explain later, maybe.> He extended a hand to the others. "It's Gillian. Come through!" Around them, walls of fog began closing in – erasing everything beyond them in cleansing grey and mist. Shadows – no, soldiers from Chaos of every breed and type – fell into the void willingly, eagerly. Large sections of the Tower followed them, disappearing into the purify emptiness. Fortunately for the Scoobies, the Trump Gate radiated enough ‘Reality’ through from the other side to maintain the ground’s solidity. For now. The crumbling edge crept ever closer. In the hospice, Jonathan rolled over in his bed – a struggle in his weakened state. He stared at the Trump Gate and the dying world beyond. His eyes widened as people arrived, fear and awe. “Gillian?” he stuttered in shock. Malachi stepped through. The unfinished business here was not his to conclude. Pelageya lingered as long as she dared, curious as to Cole's business. She cast her eyes in his direction before stepping through. Cole gestured for the others to proceed him, hanging back toward the cross upon which Oberon's rotting flesh was gasping its last. Again, Cynwyd grasped Cole's arm before going through the portal. He knew Cole as well as Osric knew Finndo. At least he thought he did. And with that thought, he ignored the macabre spectacle over his 'brother's' shoulder, instead concentrating on the other man. "One day," he said, nodding over Cole's shoulder, "your penchant for the tragic is going to get us all killed. Don't let it be today, eh?" And then, without awaiting an answer, he went through the portal, both dreading and hoping that Cole would do what Cynwyd wouldn't. [Cole] looked upon the man that some part of him acknowledged as Father. A father who had betrayed him to his death, and yet the only father Cole had himself ever known. A father who had sacrificed himself in the worst way Cole could imagine. It was confusing. He didn't know what to feel. "Thank you, Father," he finally said. "Someone needs to say that, even if it's me. And, I think, I forgive you. Be at peace." He couldn't bear to see the man's suffering continue. It wasn't right that he should fall to his doom, or rot to death. As he took Temnal's hand with his own left hand so they could pass through the gate, his right hand stretched out his blood-red sword and pierced Oberon's heart. Oberon’s eyes opened wide as the blade sank in deep – and for the first time humanity echoed behind the rictus mask. The darkness eating into his flesh sped its assault, but the man breathed his last rasping breath, his head hanging loosely, the faint light dying out like an extinguished candle. Temnal didn't dare flinch: he had to keep the gate open. Once Cole was through, Temnal reached out his own hand to Gillian. Gillian firmly grasped Temnal's hand and pulled him through as the last bits of ground beneath his feet crumbled and fell into oblivion. She dropped her concentration and the Gate flicked out of existence, leaving the five of them standing in a shabby-looking room and staring at a young man as he stared back at them from the sweat-stained sheets of his bed. Being the last across, Temnal witnessed Oberon’s final dissolution. The inky corruption consumed the last of his flesh – a hint of white bone showing beneath. The Hanged Man trembled violently; a bloodless rent tearing down his chest, splitting open, revealing a great void beyond. Before the gate closed, something vast and terrible stirred deep within that empty cavity… For some reason, Temnal recalled a nightmare long ago, a lifetime ago. A woman’s words resonating in his soul. ''… and you shall know comfort. No pain. No fear…'' Then the image was gone. She grinned and drew Temnal up in a big bear hug. "We did it! It's done! The Dark Hour is gone! Look!" Gillian released Temnal and pointed at the young man. "It's my brother Jonathan," she said, looking around and beaming. "The one I talked about who had Apathy Syndrome. Look, he's BETTER!" ‘Better’ must have been relative because the once-handsome man looked close to death – hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, ribs showing. It reminded Temnal of his own debilitation after he'd awoken from what had reportedly been his bout of Apathy Syndrome ... but from what Gillian had said, Jonathan had been afflicted for much longer. He couldn't help wondering what sort of dreams this young man had had ... but that was not a question to pursue at this moment. Jonathan smiled vaguely. “Yeah. Hi. Don’t mind me here. Apparently lying in my own stink and naked and all. Soooo make yourselves right at home. In this room that I’ve never seen before.” He glared at his sister and pulled the rank sheets tighter to his chest. He noticed Pelageya and sank lower into the bed, muttering something about Gillian, a llama, and olive oil. She pushed through to Jonathan's bed and sat down beside him. "I know what happened to me, but what happened to all of you when I started walking the Pattern? "We did battle." Pelageya says simply, in a spare voice. "Suhuy's forces were strong, as was he. We all did our parts. We continued our conflict around the perilous Pattern, and elsewhere." She gave a glance in Cole's direction. "We won, but it was at cost, and with change." She smiled, briefly and then returned to her more serious mien "Sand holds Suhuy in a Trump Trap. Medea has perished. "And you saved us from reality unraveled, Miss Talbot." "I couldn't have done it without Raina's help. She trumped me and passed through an unsullied version of the Jewel. I was struggling before, and it was a turning point. "When I got the Center, I came here to Jonathan to see if the changes I tried to make had taken affect. They appear to have--" she gestured to her brother, unaware--or perhaps not concerned--with his apparent discomfort, "but I suppose the acid test will happen--or not happen--at midnight tonight." Gillian turned to Joao. "So...what happened to you, exactly?" she asked, eyeing Pelageya's chest. She viewed Former-Joao through the filter of the Pattern for clues. "That's one of the more interesting questions," Cynwyd said. "Along with exactly how you re-wrote the pattern... I mean, not to put this too insensitively... but did Jonathan recover or did you do it for him?" "I'm not sure I understand your distinction," she replied, narrowing her eyes. "One of the conditions I held in my mind as I walked was that for all that were afflicted with Apathy syndrome, that their essence was reconnected with their bodies." <I might need your backup on some of the finer concepts- I know you're enjoying your return to the back seat, but that lack of paying attention to this kind of stuff before now is catching up to me,> Cynwyd thought, even as he formulated his response. Osric replied, far more clearly than he’d ever been outside the Dark Hour. <If Ms. Talbot tweaked the Primal Pattern – which is entirely possible – she could have created unforeseen effects, which would reflect throughout Creation.> He paused, not wishing to speak until he weighed his words. <Also, have you considered the ramifications of her reconnecting all sufferers of Apathy Syndrome?> "That, my dear, is the rub," [Cynwyd] said in his most calming tones. "Your desires, your wants," he continued, trying to lead her back to where he was afraid this was going, "in the root of creation...." "Is this a repaired Amber? Or a new one? And does your Jonathan still sit afflicted? Or is he healed? What were the parameters when you walked?" "All of us were outside... including you... when you walked. If this is a different Amber, you wouldn't know- you asked your rewritten Pattern to take you here. Neither would we, since you brought us straight here." "Add to that the fact that everything was still falling apart in undershadow after you finished. And that we sort of 'accidentally' overloaded the Primal Pattern." "I for one don't know. So I'm not saying anything. I'm just asking the obvious question, and hoping that you brilliant types can follow them to conclusion and tell me that I'm being over-analytical, and too paranoid..." "To answer your question, Gillian." Pelageya shuddered at Gillian's study of her but steeled herself as best as she could. "I was grievously injured in the fight with Suhuy. In healing me..." she favored Temnal with a smile "Temnal provided the opportunity for my true self to emerge. Do you not think that Joao, born to be a stallion to be bred as House Galitizin sees fit, did not secretly wish, and strongly, that he had been born as a true female heir? Temnal's healing merely made that a reality. An accident, in his haste to aid me, but a happy one." She turned toward Temnal. "For which I thank you, Temnal. In time, the part that was and is Joao will not only accept but embrace this changed state of affairs." Temnal did not reply, but he looked troubled. What else could he have done? Would it have been preferable to let Joao/Pelageya die? He didn't think so. "That question aside," she waved a hand, "Where precisely ARE we is a good question." She nodded to Cynwyd. "Is this some shadow of your desire, Gillian? Will this fall apart as all else seems to have?" She then turned to her other companions. "And if the Dark Hour is defeated and the Pattern redone, why do our Others persist?" Gillian held up a finger and opened her mouth to speak as her eyes flicked from Cwynwd to Joao-with-breasts. Her desire to respond to both of them simultaneously showed in the perturbed contortions of her face. She closed her mouth and sat still, looking down at her hands in her lap. After a moment she said quietly, "Joao, I'm happy that you're now who who truly wished to be. Or is it still Joao? I mean, you keep referring to yourself in the third person, and I thought that was a bit unusual..." "You can call me Pelageya now," she replied. "As for the rest, I didn't create another Pattern, but repaired the current one. My parameters were how I remembered Amber before the Dark Hour, with the addition of the Scar in Garnath healed, and the souls trapped in the Dark Hour freed. I felt the cleansing wave of what I did resonate from Amber's ivory towers out through Creation, so I do believe we are now indeed in _Amber_, and not some different version of it out in shadow. What I did was a good work, and yes, at the end, when I felt Cybele being ripped from me, I desired her to remain and so it was. I believe that's why all of your Others are still with you as well." Temnal nodded. "We saw the souls of the imprisoned being released," he confirmed. "And I remember the ... momentary disconnect with my Other, before the link was restored." "That sounds a bit too... idyllic," Cynwyd said. "And nothing in Amber is that storybook-like. You wish it and it's so? And you're walking the Pattern at the time?" He shook his head, trying to stave off the massive headache that was coming on. "Somehow, somewhere... someone is laughing at us." "This is an illusion, a prison, a trap of some kind?" Pelageya suggested. "Although if Miss Talbot did effect a successful Pattern repair, it would explain some matters." She looked pensive and crossed her arms. "I can think of a way to test that," Temnal offered, "or at least get information. We can try creating a Trump sketch of someone who isn't one of us ... someone Gillian wouldn't have been thinking of specifically when she did her Pattern walk." "I'm no expert on Trump," Cynwyd answered, "but wouldn't it be better to use one already drawn for the same purpose? As the link is already established? Or does it not work that way?" "No reason we can't try both," Temnal pointed out. "Does anybody have a Trump like that in their possession at the moment?" He looked around the group. Cole sat down heavily on the floor with his back against the wall, leaning his head forward on his knees. He looked very tired. His sword lay on the floor next to him, its tip covered with black ichor. In a muffled voice he said, "If you draw a trump, please draw Rhea. I'd like to know if she's okay." Gillian gestured at Temnal to go ahead with the trump of Rhea. "I don't have any trumps on me. I memorize all of mine, which defeats the purpose of this particular experiment." She shrugged and instead brought up a Pattern Lens--seemingly to have forgotten all about her brother for the moment--and sent it outward to take a look at the surrounding area on both a mundane and arcane level. Her senses expanded out across the city, without any of the usual resistance or exhaustion. At first, her bird’s eye view revealed little changed in the Grand City. But the longer she gazed, the more she noticed the very subtle changes. The city appeared brighter, cleaner, and less… rugged. More lights burned, technological and magical, across the cityscape. Roads appeared more linear and structured, architecture more refined. Amber appeared more... modern. Gillian nodded to herself in satisfaction. For her part, still leaning against the wall, the woman who had been Joao scanned and examined the room in a more mundane manner, with far more concrete concerns. What did this room precisely consist of? Where were the exits? Possible weapons? Threats? And, of course, any sign that things were not what they seemed. It was a Spartan bedroom – quite small and stifling. Even more so now that the group had arrived. Only one small window allowed some light in from outside, while one door offered a way in or out. A nightstand had some stale food on it, untouched; as was the pitcher of water. The room stank of old sweat and sickness. This was somewhere people came to die. "I don't know how accurate a sketch I can make of Princess Rhea," Temnal said, a trifle apologetically. "I only saw her the one time." Jonathan blinked again, “AS in the Princess. Just who the hell are you people?” Malachi's brows furrowed as he worked out the implications of that. <Which one was Rhea, again?> he wondered. And wasn't this guy related to Gillian? Her brother, he thought, though he wasn't sure. He'd been sick, from what Malachi remembered. His sister turned to look at him. She opened her mouth to start to explain, but Cole cut her off. Cole chuckled softly. "It's okay, you can ignore us. We're dead." He sighed. "And right now, I feel it. It's okay, Temnal. How about Seabhac? Can you draw him?" Jonathan gave a faint ‘ah,’ nodded, and lay back on his pillow. “Well, okay then.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. Gillian stiffened. "I assume he's dead," she stated flatly, staring at Cole. "Last I saw him, he failed to make it through a trump and succumbed to the Dark Hour. Do you know otherwise?" "I think that's the rub... we don't know anything at this point," Cynwyd said ruefully. Then his brow furrowed. After a moment of silence, he looked to Gillian. In many cases in dealing with each other, there had been an... impatience. At her obvious power, and her lack of a willingness to use it. Or to use it... haphazardly. But this look, it was different. "Why didn't you include Seabhac in your rewrite? To truly see his condition, and make it better if possible? Why wasn't he in your thoughts?" he asked as gently as he was able. Malachi was about to ask Jonathan many questions when Cynwyd asked his question. Both impolite and crucial at the same time. The big man kept silent and listened. Gillian turned her attention to Cynwyd, her gaze becoming unfocused as her thoughts turned inward. Why hadn't Seabhac been in her thoughts? Why was this the first time she'd thought of him since...well, since that trump call closed so abruptly? It was strange... "It didn't feel right," she answered softly. "It was too self-centered, too personal for an endeavor of that magnitude. Does that make sense? I didn't even heal my brother specifically, but focused on healing everyone with Apathy syndrome. "Depending on how the shadows consumed him--mind and essence like the others with Apathy syndrome, or maybe they somehow managed to do actually physical harm--he could be perfectly fine now." Recalling the unfocused look on Gillian's face a bit prior, Cynwyd prodded, "Why don't you loo..." Pelageya listened to the conversations and discussion with one ear as she slowly made her way toward the door. She nibbled her lip with worry and thought as she reached it. Interposing herself between Gillian and what lay beyond, she quietly byt decisively opened the door to reveal what was behind. Noticing the door open, Cywnyd became immediately alert, looking in that direction, his question forgotten. Temnal's sharp ears also caught the sound of the door opening, and he too glanced toward it. Outside, Pelageya could see a gloomy corridor – the elegant passageway lit by a few gaslamps. They were at the far end of it; several other doors visible further down. Each had a metal plaque on each – room numbers. A medicinal scent hung in the silent air. Indeed, the longer she looked, the more convinced she became that they were in some kind of hospice. Pelageya pursed her lips in disappointment, as if expecting something else, or expecting nothing to be there at all. She turned to face the remainder of the group, sliding to the side to show the gaslamp-lit passageway. "It occurred to me," she said to the group at large, "that it was possible that the entirety of this island of reality was confined to this room. I did not wish you in particular Miss Talbot," she inclined her head to Gillian, "to know what I had intended, and thus prejudice or influence the result." Gillian sighed. "This is not an island of reality. This is Amber. " She stood up and made shooing gestures. "Look, go out and explore it for yourselves. I need to talk to my brother." A phlegmy cough passed over Jonathan’s cracked lips. “Oh? You sure? ‘Cause I'm more than willing to continue in total ignorance. Honest. I don’t mind.” He coughed again and frowned at his hand, as if seeing it for the first time. She laid a biding hand on her brother's leg while she waited for everyone to leave. Cole looked down and seemed surprised to notice that his hunting knife was in his hand, poised to throw in the direction of the door. He put it away. "I don't want to go anywhere," he said. "This floor is amazingly comfortable. But there are some people I need to check up on." He stretched and stood up. "Including Seabhac," he said pointedly to Gillian. "I guess I'll go look for him the old-fashioned way." Gillian prickled at the barb and looked into the middle-distance as Cole passed her, her mouth a thin line. Cynwyd had been prepared to finish his question, but decided against it, as he fell in behind Cole as he left. Temnal, deciding that this was as good an idea as any, followed along behind the two. The corridor remained quiet apart from a few muffled snores and distant voices hinting at life in the building. They’d hardly gotten a few feet before Cynwyd felt the tickling sensation of a Trump contact. However, unlike he’d grown accustomed to, it did not cause him any true discomfort – even though the Dark Hour had obvious passed. "Well," Cynwyd said, motioning for Cole ... and Temnal once he saw that he was with them... to hold up. "We might find out some answers sooner than we thought. I'm getting a Trump contact. It feels... different." He opened himself up to answer, prepared for anything. Cole paused, turning to watch what Cynwyd would do. Noticing his sword was still dirty, he took a moment to wipe it on his trouser leg. Pelageya’s stomach began to churn, her head throb. The room’s stagnant nature became increasingly oppressive. She held a brief hand to her head and winced. "I need some air," she announced. Malachi, on the other hand, felt increasingly vitalized. Something stirred in his head; Mirelle yawning like a contented cat. Malachi smiled broadly. "You can all act as nonchalant as you like," he said loudly, cutting through any talk of precipitous leaving.. "But we did it. We beat the Dark Hour, didn't we? Well, didn't we? And we're still alive. I want you all to think a moment about that, because whatever happens when we go out that door, we have this moment. We won, and I'd fight again beside any of you." Turning to Gillian, the big man looked serious. "I don't think I'll ever understand what you did, Miss Gillian, but I know we're here because of you. I want you to know I know that. I'm glad your brother's alright. That's good." "Thank you, Malachi. I did the best I could in that terrible situation. I'm glad someone is grateful." "Now," he said. "Now for a look around and a shower. Maybe a big dinner. But drinks are on me tonight. At that place Cole likes, the Flaming Duck. If it's still here, that is. Meet there, anyway." Hefting his spear, Malachi headed out the door, whistling a shapeless tune. "You're right, Malachi," Cole noted as he passed by. "As far as I can tell, you're right. I think I'm just too tired to acknowledge it right now. And I have this... this dread that something important was lost, and I don't know what. I can't explain it. I need to understand it. But regardless, thank you. All of you." He smiled, but it wasn't the same reckless grin he'd worn in the past. "Amber has changed," Pelageya rasped. "I need to see to things." Thinking was difficult, between her stomach and her throbbing head. Will and strength won out and she walked out of the room, into the hallways, and intent on making her way into the streets. [Gillian continued in Everythings All Better Now] |
