“In school,” Luke replied. “Berkeley.”
“Where else might a pair of us come together? Not in Amber, of course,” he said, turning away then to face his Pattern fully. “I’ll get your story yet. But come with me now. I want to do an introduction myself.”
He headed off toward the shining design and we fol lowed him, a few wisps of fog drifting past us. Save for our short footfalls, the place was silent.
When we came up to the edge of his Pattern we halted and stared out across it. It was a graceful design, too big to take in at a glance; and a feeling of power seemed to pulse outward from it.
“Hi,” he said. “I want you to meet my son and my nephew, Merlin and Rinaldo-though I believe you met Merlin once before. Rinaldo has a problem.” There followed a long silence. Then he said, “Yes, that’s right,” and after a time, “You really think so?” and, “Okay. Sure, I’ll tell them.”
He stretched and sighed and took a few paces away from the Pattern’s edge. Then he extended his arms and put them around both our shoulders.
“Men,” he said then, “I’ve got an answer of sorts. But it means we’re all going to have to walk this Pattern, for different reasons.”
“I’m game,” Luke said. “But what’s the reason?”
“It’s going to adopt you,” Corwin said, “and sustain you as it does me. There’s a price, though. The time’s getting nearer when it will want to be guarded full-time. We can spell each other.”
“Sounds fine,” Luke said. “This place is kind of peaceful. And I didn’t really want to go back to Kashfa and try to depose myself.”
“Okay. I’ll lead, and you hold on to my shoulder in case there are any funny vibes to deal with. Merlin, you come last and maintain contact with Luke, for the same reason. All right?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”
He released us and moved to the place where the line of the design began. We followed, and Luke’s hand was on his shoulder as he took the first step. Soon we were all of us on the Pattern, struggling the familiar struggle. Even when the sparks began to rise, though, this one seemed a little easier than I recalled from Pattern walks in the past, possibly because someone else was leading the way.
Images of avenues lined with ancient chestnut trees filled my mind as we trudged along and fought our way through the First Veil. By then, the sparks came higher about us and I felt the forces of the Pattern beating about me, penetrating me, body and mind. I recalled my days in school, remembered my greatest efforts on the athletic field. The resistance continued to rise, and we leaned into it. Moving my feet became a great effort, and I realized that-somehow-the effort was more important than the movement. I felt my hair beginning to rise as a current passed entirely through my body. Still, this had not to it the maddening quality of the Logrus the time I had negotiated it, nor the adversarial feeling I had felt upon Amber’s Pattern. It was almost as if I traversed the interior of a mind, one not unkindly disposed toward me. There was a feeling-of encouragement, almost-as I struggled along a curve, executed a turn. The resistance was as strong, the sparks came as high as on the other at about this point, yet I somehow knew that this Pattern held me in a different fashion. We pushed our way along the lines. We fumed, we burned… Penetrating the Second Veil was a slow-motion exercise in stamina and will. Our way eased for a time after that, and images from all over my life came to frighten and console me.
Walking. One, two… Three. I felt that if I were able to take ten more steps I would have a chance to win through. Four… I was drenched with perspiration. Five. The resistance was awful. It took all the effort of running a hundred meters just to inch my foot ahead.. My lungs were working like a bellows. Six. The sparks reached my face, passed my eyes, enveloped me completely. I felt as if I had been transformed into an immortal blue flame and that I must, somehow, burn my way through a block of marble. I burned and I burned and the stone remained unchanged. I could spend all of eternity this way. Perhaps I already had. Seven. And the images were gone. All of memory had fled. Even my identity was on vacation. I was stripped to a thing of pure will. I was an act, an act of striving against resistance. Eight… I no longer felt my body. Time was an alien concept. The striving was no longer striving, but a form of elemental movement now, beside which glaciers rushed. Nine. Now I was only movement-infinitesimal, a constant….