“The blood of Amber has power over the Pattern,” she began, and the fog rolled, churned about her ankles. “No!” she cried then, and she bent forward once more.
The vortex rose to her knees, her calves. I felt her teeth upon my wrist, tearing. I knew of no spell to fight this thing, so I laid my arm across her shoulder and stroked her hair. Moments later she dissolved within my embrace, becoming a bloody whirlwind.
“Go right,” I heard her wail as she spun away from me, her cigarette still smoldering upon the pavement, my blood dripping beside it.
I turned away. I walked away. Faintly, faintly, through the night and the fog I could still hear the piano playing some tune from before my time.
VI
I took the road to the right, and everywhere my blood fell reality melted a little. I heal fast, though, and I stopped bleeding soon. Even stopped throbbing before too long.
You got blood all over me, boss.
“Could have been fire,” I observed.
I got singed a little, too, back at the stones.
“Sorry about that. Figure out what’s going on yet?”
No new instructions, if that’s what you mean. But I’ve been thinking, now I know how to do it, and this place gets more and more fascinating. This whole business of Pattern ghosts, for instance. If the Pattern can’t penetrate here directly, it can at least employ agents. Wouldn’t you think the Logrus might have some way of doing the same?
“I suppose it’s possible.”
I get the impression there’s some sort of duel going on between them here, on the underside of reality, between shadows. What if this place came first? Before Shadow, even? What if they’re been fighting here since the very beginning, in some strange metaphysical way?
“What if they have?”
That could almost make Shadow an afterthought, a by product of the tension between the poles.
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Frakir.”
What if Amber and the Courts of Chaos were created only to provide agents for this conflict?
“And what if this idea were placed within you by the Logrus during your recent enhancement?”
Why?
“Another way to make me think that the conflict is more important than the people. Another pressure to make me choose a side.”
I don’t feel manipulated.
“As you pointed out, you’re to new to this thinking business. And that’s a pretty damned abstract line of thought for you to be following this early in the game.”
Is it?
“Take my word for it.”
What does that leave us with?
“Unwelcome attention from On High.”
Better watch your language if this is their war zone.
“A pox on both their houses. For some reason I don’t understand, they need me for this game. They’ll put up with it.”
From somewhere up ahead I heard a roll of thunder.
See what I mean?
“It’s a bluff,” I replied.
Whose?
“The Pattern’s, I believe. Its ghosts seem in charge of reality in this sector.”
You know, we could be wrong on all of this. Just shooting in the dark.
“I also feel shot at out of the dark. That’s why I refuse to play by anybody else’s rules.”
Have you got a plan?
“Hang loose. And if I say ‘kill,’ do it. Let’s get to where we’re going.”
I began to run again, leaving the fog, leaving the ghosts to play at being ghosts in their ghost city. Bright road through dark country, me running, reverse shadow-shifting, as the land tried to change me. And there ahead a flare and more thunder, virtual street scene flashing into and out of existence beside me.
And then it was as if I raced myself, dark figure darting along a bright way-till I realized it was indeed, somehow, a mirror effect. The movements of the figure to my right which paralleled my own mimicked mine; fleeting scenes to my left were imaged to the other’s right.
What’s going on, Merle?
“Don’t know,” I said. “But I’m not in the mood for symbolism, allegory, and assorted metaphorical crap. If it’s supposed to mean that life is a race with yourself, then it sucks-unless they’re real platitudinizing Powers that are running this show. Then I guess it would be in character. What do you think?”