Teatime and GeneticsIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | PreGameLogs | Teatime and Genetics Amba had not been surprised when she was summoned by the Baroness a mere half-turning before she was supposed to see Helena. In fact, she had anticipated it in her schedule. Though Tatjana hadn't forbidden her to see Lord Torren, she had strongly suggested that it would not necessarily be a good idea. "So," the Baroness said, as Amba sat in the chair across from her desk. "I take it you are preparing to see Lord Ishtar?" She didn't wait, of course knowing the answer. "The answers you get from Lord Torren may not be what you were looking for, but I've already told you that, haven't I?" Amba remained silent, recognizing the rhetorical nature of the question. She tried her best not to fidget with her hands laid now in her lap. "I have an idea of how much this means to you, and more importantly, I know better than you think why you think it is so important," the Baroness said, her gaze sending a shock up Amba's spine. "But it is not," she said. "That is one of the reasons I never forbade the meeting- no matter what you find, you will always be welcome here. It is just that others are not as forgiving." She rose and came to sit on the edge of her desk, lifting Amba's chin as she sat. "Politics plays a role in every aspect of our lives. And that one gives nothing without considering all of the angles," she said, referring to Lord Torren. She removed her hand, sighing. "I can see it in your eyes, though. You're determined on this path, are you not?" The silence hung between them, until Amba finally realized that she actually wanted an answer and nodded, quickly. "I have to," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked down. Once again the Baroness raised her head. "Then go. And may you find what you seek." At the next half-moon, during Orange Sky when it was time for tea, Helena gathered Amba in preparation to join Torren for tea and test Amba for genetic matches at House Ishtar. Amba was more solemn than normal, as difficult as that seemed to imagine, focussing on Helena only long enough to greet her and thank her once again, then becoming lost in her thoughts, at least until Helena had trump contact. She forced the conversation from her mind, determined not to let Tatjana's words cloud her meeting with Lord Torren. Helena withdrew Torren's trump and concentrated on it. His image came swiftly to life—he appeared to be in his private study, a room Helena knew well, one that was redolent of rich spices and mellow alcohol. He smiled warmly on seeing her. "Helena, my dear." Helena smiled back as she took Amba's hand with her other. Amba squeezed her hand in return as she awaited the transition to the Ishtar household. "Hello, Father. We're ready to come through." Torren extended his hand to draw her (and Amba) into his study. Once they arrived, he looked at Amba with interest, awaiting Helena's formal introduction. "Father, this is Amba of House Heldt. Amba, this is my stepfather, Lord Torren Ishtar." Amba reluctantly let go of the comfortable presence of Helena's hand as she drew herself erect and bowed formally, and deeply, holding it for a brief moment before rising watching Lord Torren. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to see me." "Not at all," said Torren. "I'm glad to be of service to my daughter's friend and companion. I believe the pair of you are beginning to make a reputation for yourselves in the sword dances." He indicated a table to one side, set for tea, with an array of delicious sandwiches and pastries. "Amba is a natural at them," Helena replied as she smiled at Amba and gestured for her to precede her. "I highly recommend the cucumber and watercress sandwiches," she continued to Amba. "They've been one of my favorites since I was little. Here, let me pour tea for you both." Helena picked up the lid to the kettle to check that it was ready and the warm smell of steeped tea filled the air. "Our timing is good, I see," she said to Torren as she filled first his teacup, then Amba's, then lastly her own. "So," said Torren. "In what way do you wish me to help you, my dear?" He was looking at Amba as he spoke, but was not excluding his daughter from responding if her friend were to prove shy. Helena said nothing. After pouring tea, she sat down in a chair between the two of them at the round table. Amba recognized the out for what it was, and was tempted to take it. Lord Torren was more impressive in person than she had been expecting, and though he was doing his best to put her at ease, it seemed, it was not working. But she realized the flash of weakness for what it was, and knew that he would also. "Lord Torren," she began, "as I'm sure you know, I came to the Courts under rather unique circumstances. I know little about my past, and I would like to rectify that- hopefully at the source—by finding out who my mother was. If you could help me with this, I would be most grateful," she finished. She dearly wanted that tea—her mouth was dry, and she felt heavily the request that she had just made. But folding her hands in her lap, she forced herself not to look away as she awaited his response. Helena smiled amiably at her stepfather and shifted her chair so that it was angled toward him, giving the impression that she was on Amba's side of the table and hence completely supportive of her in this matter. It was a small gesture, one that Amba may not have even noticed, but Helena knew it wouldn't escape Torren's observation. Torren nodded thoughtfully. "Do you have any information at all about either of your parents?" he asked suddenly. "Anything that might give us a starting point? A memory—no matter how childish or disconnected it seems to be ... " "No," she said, "no memories. Only a letter indicating that she was a Hellmaid of House Hendrake," she finished somewhat morosely. "Well," said Torren, "that gives a starting pointing. As your training will have demonstrated, there aren't that many hellmaids. We could work that way, and narrow it down .. or we could try a more direct method. The blood will tell, they say. The blood should tell us a great many things. Would you mind if I took a sample? Or is it something that you do not permit?" Amba's blue eyes flicked in Helena's direction for a second before fastening back on Lord Torren. "No, that's fine. More than fine- it's what I expected," she said, struggling to hold her anxiety and anticipation in check. Torren nodded. "Let's have tea first," he suggested. "And you can tell us all that you know about your family. The more informtion I have, the easier this will become." He nodded to his daughter to pour more tea. Helena complied with his request, snagging herself a couple of cucumber and watercress sandwiches while she was at it. Amba had discussed her background with Helena more than anyone else she had come into contact with in the Courts. But, even as fond as she was of the other woman, there were certain things that she had kept from her, both because she was afraid her friend would not understand, and the fact that she didn't want to burden her with the facts. A lot of this trepidation about the little she knew of her past had been seeded in her many talks with Baroness Heldt. But even more of it had been implanted into her by her guardian, re-inforced constantly, through ways that would seem quite harsh and abusive by any other standards. Since Amba didn't have any other standards to judge them by, she just thought that they were the norm. But these lessons were hard to overcome. She looked down, remembering what the Baroness had said about Lord Torren. She respected the man for sure—but did not trust him. But Amba had to, if she was to get any information... she was becoming aware that the Baroness had already known this. "When I was young," she started, still looking down at her tea, "I had only two combat masters. They were of course, the best I ever knew—seeing as I had known no others, and taught me much. As I grew older, I had other teachers, but none as skilled as those first. I know now, that these were only shadows of the men, but even at that reduced level of skill, they remained the best I ever knew. I wondered for a long time who they really were- even knowing nothing of their origins, I felt a kinship to them. Later I found out why." She looked up, not at Lord Torren, but at Helena. "Their names were Gerard and Benedict, and I found out only much later that they were my grand-uncles. Well, at least that much. I suppose one of them could also be my grandfather." Helena blinked, then smiled at Amba. "That would make us cousins of one sort or another." She sounded pleased by this. The tea-cup paused halfway to Torren's lips—and then moved to its destination. "How very interesting," said Torren. "And unusual choices for this end of reality. Who made those choices?" "My guardian," Amba said. "I never called him anything but 'Sir'... Or 'Teacher'. Never 'Master'. But he introduced himself to others as Stempel." The hardest part over, she looked towards Lord Torren again. "I always assumed it was a last name, as he brought someone to me at one time, and introduced her to me as 'Lisa Stempel'." "I don't know what else I can tell you—he was fond of changing his appearance. Not through shifting—he never demonstrated that he could—but through other means. To test my perception, I suppose. "Is any of this helpful?" She asked hopefully. "It's certainly intriguing," he said. He rose to his feet. "If you've finished, we should go to my laboratory. That would be the best place for the test—and for me to analyse the information they produce." Helena stood up along with her stepfather and smiled at Amba encouragingly. Amba stood up at the same time as Helena, trying her best not to seem too anxious. "I am ready, when you are," she said. Torren led the way through the shifting corridors of his House until he pushed open one uncompromisingly unchangeable door, looking rather like the bulkhead door on an ocean-going vessel. Inside was a long, high ceiling room that seemed constructed entirely from brushed pale grey metal—and looking like nothing so much as the inside of a great nautilus shell. "Follow me," said Torren, and he began to lead the way down a central path, past demons working industriously on laboratory benches set with arcane equipment to either side. The path curved, and then began to rise, following the line of the shell, the ridges making steps that they slowly began to ascend. Gravity seemed irrelevant here, for soon they were climbing almost vertically, while more demons continued to work at work benches seemingly attached to the walls and curved ceiling at every conceivable angle. Amba followed, taking in the sights of the areas they passed through, her discomfort reduced by the assuring comfort of Helena's presence enough to simply observe the unusual things before her rather than critically analyze as she had been taught. She looked over at Helena to see if she gave any indication that she had been here before, or whether she was behaving similarly—entranced by the sights. Helena appeared to be familiar with the sights and instead amusingly watched Amba's reactions. Slowly they progressed through the whorls of the shell until they found themselves in the final room accessible to the human form—which was furnished, seemingly, as a small prep room, with a great many books and flimsies in shelves against the wall. There were stools to sit on—Torren motioned to both girls to take seats before going to a cupboard and beginning to remove some sterilised equipment including a centrifuge, a rack of test-tubes and a hypodermic. "We'll start with basic bloods. Does your current form resist having blood drawn, and if so, would you mind shifting into something more amenable?" Amba blinked at the question, silent for a moment as she sat. She had never thought of the blood angle—her guardian had not taught her about the limitations, and possible benefits—of blood shifting. Her mind was awhirl with the possibility as she answered, "No." Then bringing herself back from her thoughts, she elaborated. "No, my form doesn't resist having blood drawn," as she held out her untattooed arm. Torren drew some blood, filling the hypodermic, and then began measuring precise amounts into the different test tubes in the rack. "There are certain tests we can do," he said, "tests of a practical kind. There is also blood magic, which is extremely powerful. Once the tests are completed, I shall destroy all the samples in your presence." He smiled. "I am not above obtaining an enemy's blood for my own purposes—I shall not pretend otherwise. But your are my daughter's friend and I respect those bonds." Amba smiled back. She had not thought of these things, but it made a certain amount of sense. And Lord Torren didn't have to say these things, but did so of his own accord, so what reason would he have to lie? "Thank you," she said simply, the smile still upon her face. "Yes, thank you," Helena said as well, her return smile to Torren grateful. "How long will the tests take?" "It varies," said Torren, selecting one tube and holding it aloft. "Some will take longer than others." He shook the tube and the blood, surprisingly, began to glow a rich purple and then to become translucent. "The test for Amberite blood can be performed relatively quickly," he went on—and both girls began to see flecks of gold drifting in the purple. Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, the tube exploded and all three of them—and the room—were showered with fine crystalline dust. Torren made a swift gesture and it all vanished, leaving the room immaculate once more. "But seldom so explosively," he concluded calmly. At the explosion, Amba's heart began to race as she regarded Helena and Torren—not from the explosion, but from not knowing what it meant. "What... what did that mean?" Helena shrugged and looked at her stepfather. "Well," said Torren, "if Helena will allow me to draw a litttle of her blood, I can demonstrate how Amberite blood more usually reacts." He looked at his adopted daughter, one eyebrow slightly quirked. "Sure," Helena replied, extending her arm to him. Amba sat on her hands to attempt to reign in her anxiety and excitement, not realizing that this caused her to bounce up and down like a wee child as she watched Lord Torren draw Helena's blood. Once more Torren drew blood, but only a little this time, enough for one test tube. Again he shook it and they watched as the liquid changed to purple, grew translucent - and the gold motes begand to float in it, twisting and spiralling in intricate patterns. "If I were to spill this out onto a flat surface," said Torren, demonstrating, with a marble slab on the work bench, "you will see that the purple fades to a blueish colour, while the gold motes arrange themselves ... " It was as he said, the gold seeming to melt and meld together. For moyes there can a solid line of gold, twisting and forming itself into a maze-like shape, a Pattern. "That's in your blood," said Torren, looking down at the tiny Pattern that had resulted. "After a while it will fade, and I'll be left with a bloodstain on the marble. Not many people can do this ... I'm one of the few. And the way your blood reacted, Amba ... "I'd say someone has set very powerful wards to prevent people finding out who you truly are." Entranced, Helena smiled and stared at the tiny gold patterny thing on the bench. "It's beautiful," she said softly. Amba absorbed all that Lord Torren was saying in silence. Then she looked down, worrying her lower lip with her teeth, thinking. "So, there's no way to find out," she said, her voice dejected. "I wouldn't say that," said Torren. "My reading of the situation would be more 'proceed with caution'." Helena looked up at her stepfather. "I'm curious about something... What does your blood do? Can we see?" "Very dull," said Torren. He took a new hypodermic for a third time and drew a little of his own blood. This he added to a test tube and shook it. The colour was so dark a red as to be almost black - and stayed that way. "Then the fact that Amba's turned purple and then clear with gold specks like mine would indicate she has Amberite blood in her somewhere down the line?" Helena asked. "Somewhere close," said Torren with precision. "It would suggest, young lady, that one of your parents is an Amberite—and anxious not to have any more than that simple fact known." He considered. "Of course, it could be your Chaosian parent who is at such pains to prevent the truth emerging. I recognised what happened ... because I have seen the phenomenon before." "When?" Amba asked, simply, distracted for the moment from her own discomfort at the subject at hand. "When Suhuy tested Lord Merlin's blood," said Torren. "Lord Merlin's blood exploded too?" Helena asked, surprised. "But his parentage is known. Who would've protected his blood that way and why? Or was this before they knew he was Corwin's son?" Amba was silent as Helena spoke, her mind awhirl with possibilities. Why would someone go through so much trouble to obscure her parentage. And who? She wasn't anyone important—surely not as important as Lord Merlin. So ... why? "When he was growing up," said Torren, "House Sawall made every effort to keep his heritage hidden—from the Amberites, at least. There were always many of us who knew exactly who he was. Mandor...Mandor first encountered your mother, Helena, when she was attempting to discover who Merlin's father truly was." He frowned suddenly. "It might suggest that whoever used this to conceal your blood, Amba, was conversant with the protective wards set to guard Merlin's." "Do you know who set the wards on Merlin's blood?" Helena asked, intrigued. "His mother, I imagine," said Torren. "With old Sawall." "So," Amba said, interjecting hesitantly. "What next?" "Well," said Torren, "we have established one important thing—one of your parents was an Amberite. And there are not too many of those. Shall we see if the other half of your blood is Chaosian?" Helena became aware that he was carefully not looking at her. "Sure," Amba said simply. Helena looked down, suppressing a surge of anger at the unfairness of it. If Amba was half-Amberite and half-Chaosian too, then why could Amba shift and she couldn't? It wasn't fair. But it also wasn't Amba's fault. Instead it was something wrong with her. Helena looked back up and forced herself to smile. "We're cousins, then. That's wonderful!" Amba had not missed Helena's expression, and realized at that point what Tatjana meant about there being other repercussions other than the fact of who her parents where. She smiled back at Helena, happy that they were cousins, but her smile was wistful as she looked at her friend. "A very simple test," said Torren, "is how you shift. It's not infallible, of course, but it's a good starting point. Are you able to shift?" Her smile tightened a bit as she looked at Helena, then back at Lord Torren. "Yes. It was one of the first things I was taught." Her eyes clouded as an unbidden memory came to her. "My guardian knew the theories and principles, though he couldn't shift himself, so I'm sure that I'm missing something not having been taught by someone that knew how." Torren nodded. "You can receive training if you wish," he said. "to improve your technique—and to help you discover more about your own abilities. But, for now, a small demonstration should suffice." Knowing that minute changes were more difficult than wholesale changes—at least in her experience—Amba held up her untattooed arm and flicked her wrist, her nails elongating to filed, wicked looking claws as her arm manifested irridescent scales down to her elbow. She looked up at Lord Torren. "Continue? Or did you want me to shift my entire form?" Helena watched with fascination and admiration. She'd seen Amba shift before, but the process still managed to affect her on a very primal level. "No, no, that should be sufficient. May I?" said Torren, approaching. She nodded tentatively, and reached her arm out to allow him an easier time of observation. He examined her shifted arm carefully. "Interesting," he said. "See this irridescence? That was a particular trait that was bred into certain members of House Hendrake. But I haven't seen its equal in...oh, I'd say nearly a hundred years." He regarded Amba thoughtfully. "How many years to your count, my dear?" "How many..." Amba said, then coloured in a way that required no shifting. "I...I don't know. I'm afraid I don't know much about the nature of shadow," she continued, "but I know that I was in a slow shadow." She thought for a moment. "I do remember that my guardian said something about 'approximately a 7 to 1 dilation', and I know that he was speaking of time at the time, but I don't know if that meant days or years," she said, still thinking. "In the one case, I guess that since I passed my 20th nameday, that would be about 140 years... I guess that makes the most sense," she finally finished. Then after a moment, she said, "Oh wait! I do remember that I was almost 6 when I was brought to Spannan... So I guess that would be right around 100 years..." she trailed off, looking up at Lord Torren. "Around Helena's age," agreed Torren. "Something else that you two have in common, my dear," he said to his daughter. "Both raised in slow Shadows. Presumably both for protection...which raises even more interesting questions about your Amberite parent..." He drummed his fingers on the worktop. "Will you allow me a few days to make some enquiries? I shall share the fruits of them with you as soon as I've learned anything..." As he talked, Amba looked down, her expression a mixture of frustration and sadness, moisture forming in her eyes from repressed emotions. But she knew that it wasn't Lord Torren's fault. By the time he finished, she was looking at him, a thankful half-smile on her face, a lack of tear-ducts helping her to maintain the façade. "Yes, please," she said, unhesitation. "And... Thank you." Helena stood. "Thank you from me, too," she said, then smiled and kissed Torren on the cheek. She turned and regarded Amba, knowing what a disappointment it was for her not to have all her answers that day. "C'mon," she smiled gently, slipping her arm through Amba's. "I can show you around Ishtarways and tell you amusing stories about growing up here—some stories not even my stepfather knows about."
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