Head 'Em Up

Lucas begins to pass the men through to Amber ...

They go. The Captain reluctantly so, the others with some anxiousness.

When it's done, Lucas stands on the beach with his chosen crew. Solange is some distance away with Kyril. The sun has dried out most of the dampness, although almost nothing in the trunks is untouched by it, or the salt. The parrot flies from a tree and lands on Lucas' shoulder.

Tallow looks at Lucas, his eyebrows up.

Lucas looks up too, squinting at the position of the sun in the sky. (OOC - which is?)

High and over yonder mountain.

"I want to see what my cousin decides to do before setting off to explore," he decides. "Whether she wants to stay here or return to Amber. But we'll use what we've salvaged to make a temporary camp up above the high water mark, near the treeline - unless we see anything more obviously snug and defensible close in. We'll need to scout the nearer forest for fresh water too.

"Be careful with that particular trunk," he adds to one of the sailors (OOC - shall we have names?).

[Cross, Oboe, and Birch, but I don't assume that Lucas looks much at the help if you don't say so. Not unless it's pretty. You haven't been at sea long enough for these chaps. They aren't pretty.]

(OOC - but I'm sure they have many other fine, sterling qualities)

"I'm almost certain that's the one with the wind-up gramophone and my choice of eight records."

[All from Columbia House for 1 cent when you agreed to buy 14 more at club prices over the next 2 years? But it doesn't work in Amber. Random would have had recorded music if it could've...]

(OOC - ok. Clearly this is a purely Brit joke and fell flat. Desert Island Discs is the most famous British radio programme. Celebrities get to choose eight records and a book to be cast away with on a desert island. As a much-loved radio programme, it's up there with The Archers.)

["Whoosh!" [The sound of Brit Pop Culture Reference going right over my head.] Heard of the show, understand the concept, didn't see it. Happy to have learned something...]

Once a simple camp is constructed, Lucas, still with the parrot upon his shoulder, leaves two of the men there and goes with the other two to look for fresh water in the forest.

The forest is verdant and the lagoon is fed from a small stream. Lucas can follow it a short distance upstream to find clear, fresh water.

He does so, and tastes the water himself first, waiting a little while before directing the others to fill any vessels they can with water to take back to the camp.

(OOC - of course, if he keels over clutching his stomach, he won't get around to the last part of this plan)

[Nope, not yet!]

The water is tasty, more tasty than the shipboard water has been, although not as good as the wine, grog, or beer that's normally the beverage of choice. It smells green and alive and is (in the stream) a host to a variety of small animals and plants. Oboe fills up the bucket he brought, and a large jug, and is soon ready to tote them back.

"If this is Asir, My Lord, there's a good harbor on the north side."

Lucas is watching the parrot drink (OOC - and getting a tad worried if the parrot is showing reluctance).

Nope, it seems happy to drink.

"Good," he says. "We'll get these back to the camp, leave a guard there, and then the rest of us will set out. Possibly with my cousin and her companion."

And with no further ado (unless the GMs wish otherwise) they head back to the camp.

[Nope. If you want to go check on Solange, jump into that thread. Otherwise, what's the plan after heading back?]

Lucas appoints two of the men to guard the camp, and prepares to set out with the rest to the harbour Tallow has spoken of.

The men nod and are ready to do what he says.

But first he walks across to where Kyril and Solange are, to see if Kyril is sufficiently recovered for them to join him, or if they wish to stay at the camp.

Once it's apparent Lucas can pass the men through the trump without her help, Solange returns to Kyril.

Kyril is sitting up. He has a stick and is drawing in the sand. He's ripped the sleeve off his shirt and is wearing it as a makeshift bandage on his head. "It's not raining. I supposed that's good. I hear we sank."

She sits down beside him and nods. "Yep. Strange thing. I was very happily shifting the storm front away when we slipped involuntarily to the middle of some storm, not sure if it was the same one or not. I tried to shift us back and we ended up here. Still not sure exactly what happened.

"So what's the last thing you remember?"

Kyril rubs the back of his neck. "Asking Tallow when the ship was going to break up. He'd lashed me to a beam, so I wouldn't go overboard. I'm gonna keep the beam as a souvenir. Why, what's the last thing you remember? Does it involve 'what happened?'"

"I remember the whole blessed thing. I didn't lose consciousness like you did," Solange replies in a gently accusatory we're-talking-about-you-don't-change-the-subject tone of voice as she pulls out her trump deck. She fishes for the trump of Gerard. "I'd like to have Father take a look at you."

Kyril ignores the advice and stands up, stretching. "Well, this either puts a big crimp in our mission to find the missing boat or we're on exactly the right track. What's his nibs' plan?"

Solange sighs as she looks up at him. "I know what medical advice you'd give someone who'd been bonked on the head twice--go get checked out by a doctor. So why aren't you following it yourself?"

"I'm cultivating the stereotype of doctors being the worst patients. If I have a mirror, I'll see a doctor."

"I can provide that, if you wish," Solange assures him.

He smiles, though. "You think it's that bad? I don't want to get us off-track for something trivial."

She shrugs, unsure. "You're up and about well enough, it seems. Do you have a headache, feel faint or dizzy, or nauseated? After you've answered those, you can tell me what other questions to ask you."

He looks at her, and smiles. "You want to establish my level of awareness. There's a five point set of questions like 'What city are you in, what's your name, what day is it tomorrow,' and such, that amounts to 'Name, Rank, and Serial Number'. I know that answers to both sets, more or less, if you feel so inclined. Suon, Kyril A., Major, LA233438, by the way.

"If Lucas went after water, I could use a drink." He stands up, stretching.

"There's water at the camp," says Lucas, who has quietly come up behind them. "Invigorating, don'cha know. I had some myself. Do help yourself."

Kyril starts, then grins. "Thanks, don't mind if I do..."

[Lucas] indicates the camp a little way up the beach. Once Kyril is looking in that direction (or even better, heading off), Lucas glances at Solange - a look that says plainly Can we have a word?

(If we can assume Kyril heads off to the camp and the water, leaving Lucas and Solange together ... )

[Sure, off he goes.]

"Back in a moment. Do you want some, Solly?"

"I'm good, thanks," she replies.

"How is he?" asks Lucas.

"He doesn't believe it's serious," Solange replies, looking after Kyril as he walks toward the camp. She turns back to Lucas. "So you sent most of the crew back to Amber and kept a handful here. Did the captain or Tallow stay?"

"Tallow stayed," says Lucas. "Doubtless so he could continue to be a little ray of sunshine in our lives."

Solange smiles, apparently having had similar thoughts concerning the man.

"The Captain went back with the bulk of his crew and is no doubt even now holding an audience of cousins and assorted Amber denizens enthralled with his tales of our reckless and desperate battle against the hideous ocean."

He frowns suddenly. "I should have asked him to be discreet. It does rather kill the spirit of adventure if you stagger out of the jungle clad in rags, your legs still marked by the cigarette burns you self-inflicted to remove the leeches, your eyes wild and staring, your hair bleached an unattractive shade of orange and your skin several pantones darker, only to discover a waiting uncle has had the beer on ice for you for several hours, which has given him a chance to really finely hone your dressing down."

"Especially if you have trumps to get back."

Lucas shrugs.

"But no matter. We're planning on striking off through the jungle to find the harbour that Tallow assures us is on the north side. D'you want to come? Will your amoureau be in a fit state to travel or do you leave him here to guard the camp?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself? He is capable of higher reasoning and independent thought."

Lucas looks faintly surprised, as though this had not occurred to him.

"And have you ever tried to hint to him that 'Solly' is a remarkably ugly contraction of a rather beautiful name?"

Solange starts after Kyril. "I wish you'd brought a whore," she says over her shoulder. "You've been even more snarky than usual on this voyage and I can only attribute it to you not getting laid on a regular basis. Perhaps that charming parrot of yours can be of some assistance."

Lucas and the parrot on his shoulder turn their heads and consider each other for a moment in silence. Finally, by unspoken mutual consent, they look away.

"Still," says Lucas. "She's stopped pestering me to only screw Solace. She's even commending bestiality. I think we can count that as progress."

But that's a throwaway mark for the bird ...

Pitching his voice louder, so that it carries to Solange but not beyond to the camp, he calls.

"Solange - wait. We do need to talk."

She stops and turns. "What?"

"Asir," says Lucas. "We're on Asir Island, and even making allowances for Tallow's fixed melancholia, that seems to be a bad thing. The wreck I found back on the island was from Asir ... and Tallow said the sailors were complaining they weren't being paid enough to go to Asir ...

"Solange ... when you shifted, and we ended up here, was it your intention to move to somewhere like this. Or ... were we drawn here?"

Solange walks back over to him. "You didn't tell me you knew where the wreck was from," she accuses.

"As I remember," says Lucas, "we were more concerned with, to quote a phrase, 'Oh God, oh God, we're all going to die'. Mere prattling on my part about the embarkation port of a wreck I'd come across would have have seemed a trifle otiose."

"There was time afterwards."

After frowning at Lucas, Solange turns to look out to sea, pausing briefly to remember the events of the last couple of hours. "While I was shifting the leading edge of the storm away things were just fine. Then we slipped--it wasn't something I did--to the place with the raging storm. I assume it's the same place we trumped you out of.

"Rather than stay in the storm, my intention was to shift us back to where we started, ahead of the leading edge. I shifted, lightning crashed, and we ended up here."

She pauses and her frown deepens. "I didn't shift us here, Lucas. I think you're right. We were somehow drawn."

"Mmmm," says Lucas. "Thought so. It's going to be a good idea to handle with care, don't you think?

"On the other hand, it could indicate that we're rather close to the core of the mystery. Let's collect our gallant band and set out.

"Oh, and Solange?

"Now might be a really good time to share with me any little tricks you might have up your sleeve. Just, you know, in case. So that, if at a moment of high drama I shout, 'Smite him!', it's with the comfortable knowledge that you can do it - not that you will turn to me and say, 'What the hell are you talking about?'"

"I can handle myself with a sword," she replies a bit defensively.

"So I've seen," says Lucas, no doubt rteferring to their sparring sessions on the ship.

Solange gestures with her head in the direction of camp and starts back off in that direction.

Lucas keeps pace with her.

"Can I have my Amber trump back?" she asks as they walk.

"Certainly," he says obligingly, and hands it back as they reach the camp.

"Thank you." Solange tucks it into her case behind the trumps of Lucas and Gerard. "I'm going to go rummage through one of your trunks looking for a sword."

[OOC: That's "looking" in the "highly probable" sense.]

[This works. It might not work if there were other people involved, but in this case, she finds what she's looking for, even if Lucas is absolutely sure there aren't any. Maybe Gaston put them in a secret lining...]

"Now," he says to the sailors and Kyril. "Are we ready to set out for the northside? Who's coming, and who's staying?"

Solange looks through the chest closest to her and pulls out a basic side-sword and fighting knife for herself. She finds a knife for Kyril, and will also conveniently find weapons for anyone else who needs them.

Tallow looks at him. "Shouldn't we all go? I'd rather not get separated from the people with the means to get us back to Amber."

Kyril nods. "Sounds good to me. There's nothing worthwhile here, is there?"

"Tranquility, fresh water, an idyllic beach and an ample supply of coconuts," says Lucas. He eyes his trunks thoughtfully. "And, unless one of them wants to sprout little legs and come trotting along with us, we'll be leaving these trunks with a change of clothes and a seemingly inexhaustible supply of lethal weaponry. I really had no idea I was so very dangerous."

Solange grins at him over her shoulder.

He reaches into the trunk and produces a poachers' waistcoat, padded, and with ample pockets, which he proceeds to fill with various useful things, ranging from a notepad and pencil to a ball of twine, a hip flask of brandy, a medical kit, a sewing kit, a small solas flare, a small torch, more cigarettes, a rather fine Swiss Army pocket knife (with a corkscrew, a tool for taking stones out of horses' hooves and a selection of other useful implements), some birdseed for the parrot and a furled panama hat. He selects a sword for himself - seemingly on the basis that its grip matches his waistcoat. He then nods his satisfaction.

Probablity might be on his side, but Lucas likes to give probability a nudge from time to time.

"Well then," he says to the assembled company. "Let's be off."

And he moves, with Tallow, to take the lead.

Solange passes the knife in scabbard to Kyril. "Were you ever a boyscout?" she asks with a smile.

Kyril tucks the knife into his belt. "Do you mean before or after I was a major in the Pacifican 3rd Medical Corps?" He grins. "I'll do fine, as long as I don't have to navigate. The last time I did that I ended up meeting space aliens."

She pauses to let the contigent follow, then takes the rear.

The group walks away from the beach and inland towards better shade and better footing. The day is warm and the tropical forest is alive with birds, animals, and insects. Lucas' parrot looks perfectly at home here. There are streams, but no major bodies of water. After a few hour's walk, Lucas and Tallow spot a clearing ahead. It's under cultivation. No one is obviously working at this moment, but there are outbuildings further along.

Lucas falls back a little with Tallow, and then signals to the others to join them with caution. Once they are gathered he speaks in a low voice, pointing out the clearing and the outbuildings.

"I'll go ahead and scout. Solange - can you watch my back? Not as attractive as the front, I know, but I promise a little wiggle of the hips just for you. Tallow - Kyril, are you up to coming with me?"

Tallow nods. Kyril says "Let's go."

"Actually, I'm just interested in your mind," Solange replies, deadpan. "If I contact you on your trump, can you hold up your end of the connection while you're off doing scouting stuff?"

Kyril holds up to wait for Lucas's response.

Lucas considers. "I think so," he says says slowly. "It's not, I will admit, something I've ever done before - but I should be more than capable of holding more than one idea in my end at a time. After all, I've been doing that for years. Let's open the contact now - before we head off. That way you'll have a view on whatever we see."

Solange nods, agreeing. She quickly sets a guard from the men first, then concentrates on Lucas's trump.

Lucas finds he can open a contact and move about without falling on his face, but he wouldn't want to fight or have to make decisions. Foremost in his vision is Solange's face, imposed on all he views.

"Too much information," says Lucas with regret, and breaks the connection. He looks up at Solange and shrugs. "I can't be effective, it seems, and maintain an open connection with you. Ah well. I'll contact you every half hour or so. Contact me only if there's an emergency, yes?"

Solange lowers the trump and regards Lucas. "Every half hour or so? Just how long do you plan to be gone? Go out there, make contact if necessary, come back, twenty minutes tops. I'm not sitting around here playing mumbledy peg while you meet the mayor."

Kyril and Tallow move into the field.

Lucas goes with them.

It's either fallow or just hasn't yet been planted. Around the side of the building they stop. Kyril looks, and says "there's a large building, looks like a dormitory, and some fields. They're growing something low, maybe grapes. There are men working the fields ahead."

Lucas, cheered by the hopes of being in a culture that appreciates vitticulture, takes a look too (and will be able to recognise a vineyard, one trusts. But ... low? That sounds more like strawberries).

[Ground grapes! Or perhaps strawberry wine! Or things are different in this shadow!]

They do not have the expected rows of plant-elevating gear, but they seem to be grapes nonetheless.

Lucas admirably restrains his Gallic instinct to inspect the method of cultivation closely.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Solange looks (in the probable sense) for food nearby for the men to eat, something in the fruit category.

Well, there's grapes in the field ahead, but based on what she's looking for, there are some berry bushes that look to be ripening nearby.

Whoever wants berriers can eat berries. Solange amuses herself (and perhaps the men) by playing mumbledy peg anyway.

"All right," [Lucas] says to Kyril and Tallow. "Wait here. If this goes wrong, go back to Solange and the others."

And he saunters forward easily round the side of the building until he is within clear view and easy speaking distance of the working men.

"Good afternoon," he says politely . "I wonder if I might see the chap in charge here."

"Hallo, stranger. Elder Germaine should be in his study at this hour." He points up to the dormitory.

"Thank you," says Lucas. "And he'll not be averse to a visit, I trust?"

He nods. "The Paresh welcome all to our enclave. You should stay for the midday meal."

He seems remarkably unfazed by Lucas' approach from the direction of the rainforest/beach.

Lucas responds with polite thanks and requests more precise directions to the study.

"Up the Stairs, around to the left, can't miss it."

Once given, he strolls inside the dormitory.

The inside reminds Lucas of the abandoned Paresh temple in Amber. Except for the abandonment part. There is a dining hall on the first level, and rooms as well. It could well have a basement, although that style of construction doesn't suit the tropical conditions. Neither do grapes, for that matter.

If he finds a quiet, undisturbed spot inside where he can trump Solange, he will attempt to do so...

Lucas finds the spot he's looking for.

...just to give her a heads-up along the lines of:

"We seem to have found the Paresh - I'm on my way to see Elder Germaine. I'll bring you in if all goes well. Tallow and Kyril are waiting for me outside."

Solange raises her eyebrows at the news. "Are you going to tell him the truth or an interesting fabrication?"

"What is truth?" says Lucas, but unlike jesting Pilate, he stays for an answer - and even elaborates.

"I will probably be economical with la verite in my opening gambit, but I see no reason for subterfuge per se."

"Sounds prudent. Just wanted to know what to expect."

"Do you want to stay out in the woods, or join me? You could send your stout hearted chaps along to join Tallow and Kyril - tell them to be cautious as they move forward and stay out of sight. But I'm not expecting Elder Germaine to rise from his seat with a cackle of maniacal laughter to exclaim, 'Wretched Amberites! At last I have you in my power!' On the other hand, I could be wrong. The choice, sweet cos, is yours."

Solange smiles. "You did that remakably well. Remind me to suggest you for a choice part should I ever produce a drama. I'll bring the men up to join Kyril and Tallow and we'll meet you there."

"Very well," says Lucas obligingly, and he closes the connection.

When he reaches the study door, he knocks politely.

The door opens, and Lucas sees and older man, wearing the same kind of robe that the workers in the fields had. He rises from a chair, where he's been pouring over some very intricate charts which seem to combine coastlines and star charts. "Hello! Who are you?" He doesn't seem hostile, or annoyed at being interrupted, just curious. He also doesn't seem to recognize Lucas.

"I'm Lucas de St Cyr," says Lucas. "Elder Germaine, I presume? In which case I bring greetings from a cousin of mine ... Lord Vere."

Germaine smiles. "Ah, yes. Young Vere. Quite a promising lad. Did he ever finish his studies, do you know?"

"Will he ever finish his studies?" returns Lucas. "Can the quest for knowledge ever find an ultimate answer? Unless ... until it can, I believe Vere's studies will never be completed.

"But perhaps the Paresh have found the answer," he adds. "Here, on this island."

"The answer is everywhere, Lord Lucas, but the will to see it through is only in the hearts of men who choose the difficult path. Here, these people purify themselves and prepare for what is to have been. It is a tranquil life, but not easy. So many need enlightenment, and there is so little time to teach people to discover it themselves.

"But how, then fares Amber? Some here will be pleased to know of our old home, and some will be saddened, but all will want the news." Germaine looks Lucas over, as if seeing him for the first time. "Why do you call yourself 'Lucas the sincere'?"

"The remnant of an ancient variation of Thari," says Lucas. "We called it French, and in that tongue the word is 'Sant' as in 'Saint', not 'sin' - although a failure to distinguish between the two is probably my besetting fault. And the rest is the name of a saint who, for some strange reason, is often depicted as a naked child riding on a boar. One must imagine the bristles would scratch abominally."

"Ah, thank you. I appreciate the information. I would hope that the bristles would act as a purifying agent, leading the rider to a better clarity of mind and wisdom. Yes, Saint Cere seems appropriate." He nods.

Lucas eyes him a little sadonically.

"And I will be glad to share news of Amber - as will my companions, I am sure, for I did not come alone - although we were reluctant to trespass on your hospitality all at once."

Elder Germaine nods. "Not at all. This place exists to give succor and peace to the downtrodden. Adding a few mouths to feed is no burden. We should fetch your companions. Those fresh from Amber often underestimate the strength of our daytime sun."

"An excellent idea," says Lucas. "I am sure they are not far.

"Tell me, if you may ... what is the attraction of the 'what is to have been'. Why have the Paresh turned aside from tomorrow, with its fresh fields and partures new to seek out the past?"

"The past seeks us! It approaches with all due haste, Lord Lucas, all haste!" He stands up taller. "This sayeth the scriptures and this sayeth those of the other realm, those who know."

Lucas nods. "In such matters, one always prefers to have one's beliefs confirmed by those who know," he says agreeably. "And this other realm ... close at hand, is it? Might I be permitted to make the acquaintance of some of its denizens? Or is it one of those places where we may not count her armies, we may not see her king, where her fortress is a faithful heart, and her pride is suffering?"

Germaine's eyes are rather wide open. "The spirits dwell with us always, both beneficent and otherwise. They speak to us all, and influence our actions. Those trained or gifted can see them and hear the advice they are giving. The rest merely react to it. Young Vere was a natural."

"Another country indeed, then," said Lucas. "As is the past ... where they do things differently there ... " He breaks off and regards the Elder thoughtfully a moment. "And these spirits, do they come from the past, or from the future? Or is time itself an irrelevancy that tends to be harped upon rather too much by one of my grosser sensiblities?" He smiles engagingly - and Lucas, when he puts his mind to it, has a smile so engaging you'd swear the ring had slid past the second knuckle. "You must forgive this pelter of questions. I have been seeking you for what feels like a very long time ... ah, that word again!"

"We should summon your friends for dinner, Lord Lucas." He steps to the door and opens it. "Brother, find the rest of Lord Lucas of Amber's party and invite them to dinner. And please ask the Brother of the Upper Dining Hall for permission to bring strangers to mealtime. Thank you."

He turns back to Lucas. "My apologies, sometimes the mechanics of living the world disrupt spiritual questions. Now, as I recall you were asking of the spirits. Do you have a question of one of the spirits here in Asir Island?"

"Well," says Lucas, with perfect ease, "I was hoping for answers to my questions to you, first of all before the concerns of the mundane world so cruelly interrupted us. But if you want to move things onto ... ah ... another plane, then yes, I would be delighted to question one of the spirits of Aesir Island. Can it be done directly, or must one approach through an intermediary?"

He walks to the window and looks out of it. "Each man has his own path to enlightenment, Lord Lucas. Indeed, all roads lead to it, if you have but eyes to see. If you cannot ask directly, you may ask through me. What do you wish to learn of?"

"The nature of the path I must take to enlightenment," answers Lucas immediately. "The way you speak of it suggests that it is in some way different from the otherwise ubiquitous roads that lead to Amber. At least, one must assume so, for you have chosen to journey in the opposite direction, which I suppose is logical enough, unless we are to envision everything as a great big circle. But perhaps that is what your understanding of time fundamentally teaches.

"So, magister, what is the path I must take to enlightenment?"

He sits back quietly, and birds fly by outside the windows of the rather plain room in which he has been reading. "Do you want enlightenment? What would you do if you were enlightened that you cannot do now? What price are you willing to pay for it? It may be a one-way gift, lad. You may not be able to return to your old ways if you have been enlightened. Make very clear your desire to step on this path before you begin, because to turn from it may mean death."

Lucas smiles faintly. "At least this time I would have a choice in the matter." If he is finding the the metaphors increasingly Amberite, he gives no other sign of it. Instead he adjusts his shirt cuffs slightly, examining the cufflinks with faint disaproval, as though the design is not quite to his taste after all.

"In enlightenment, Elder Germaine, I hope to find an answer for a riddle that troubles me. For my wife is dying, being killed by me as surely as if I had raised my hand and struck her to the ground. And at the moment, I cannot do a dam' thing about it."

"Some say the truly enlightened merely lead others to the path, and each man has his own path to take. I call that claptrap, and dodging the responsibility we each have to one another. When can I see your wife?"

Lucas considers. "A point soon after the birth of our son would be best," he says. "Although during that pregnancy might also be informative. Again, you might wish to observe her during her childhood. I'm sure that could have been arranged.

"Or are you suggesting a future visit?"

A young woman whose head is shaven opens the door without preamble. "We're serving, Elder Germaine."

Germaine looks at Lucas. "Dinner," he says, and leads the way out of the room.

Lucas smiles politely, as though he is looking forward to this treat as much as he would any delicious confection from Gouter's solicitious hands, up to and including a meticulous recreation of Babette's Feast.

He follows Elder Germaine.

Solange replaces Lucas's trump in her deck.

She organizes the men and leads them forward in the direction Lucas, Kyril, and Tallow took. She emphasizes to them to look at ease, look friendly, and not look for trouble.

While the men are doing all of those kinds of looking, Solange looks for Kyril and Tallow.

Solange and her three men walk out into the fields. After a short stretch, she comes across Kyril and Tallow with a third man. "Hey, Solly. This is Brother Pestle. He's from Amber." The man bows.

Solange slips her hand into Kyril's in greeting, then nods back to Brother Pestle. "My name is Solange, and these men are Cross, Oboe, and Birch. We're pleased to make your acquaintance," she says, smiling. "Did Kyril and Tallow mention to you that we've been shipwrecked?"

"Yes, that's how we arrived here, too! Elder Germaine said that we must have hit one of the natural rifts between worlds, because the planned routes all didn't work. But he listened to those who spoke to him, and they led him here, to our home."

"Those who spoke to him?" Solange asks, curious.

He nods. 'Yes, the spirits."

He looks at her and then at the sailors. "Kyril said you didn't need any medical help.

Solange glances at Kyril's bandaged head but says nothing.

I'm sure Elder Germaine will invite you to stay for the evening, and then you can take the road to Altasirim, where the trade ships stop."

She nods. "We'd be grateful for the hospitality, thank you."

He looks back towards the forest. "How are things in Amber? It's been a while since we left."

"King Oberon's children returned from war. The king himself died in the war and his youngest son Random succeeded him. King Random has since settled in a land some distance from Amber called Xanadu. Many people from Amber are relocating to Xanadu and Amber is... is not the glory that she once was."

Solange frowns as she listens to herself, it suddenly hitting her that the beautiful eternal city she spent her childhood in was gone, really gone.

She pauses, lost in sorrowful thought for a brief moment, then makes a dismissive gesture. She asks Brother Pestle, "How long have you been here on Asir?"

"We have just celebrated our fifth harvest, and work here to purify ourselves for the prior world as this one prepares itself to end."

Kyril opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and shuts up.

Solange squeezes Kyril's hand in sympathy. "Brother Pestle, your wording is confusing. 'Prior world' would refer to one that has already come and gone, would it not? Don't you mean 'upcoming world'?"

"The future is that we cannot see, cannot know; what is behind us. The past is that which is laid out before us, as a tapestry. This is the epicycle. The deferent has its own logic of direction and causation. We are blessed to be at the cusp of a new deferent cycle, as this world ends and the prior world starts." He hesitates. "The elders can show you the math, I admit it is beyond me."

"I would like that," Solange replies, her face lighting up. "Is now too soon?"

"I should not think so," says Brother Pestle. "Elder Germaine is in the dormitory, and there may be other elders in residence as well." He squints up towards the sun. "And we should be gathering for mealtime shortly."

"A bit of food would not go amiss, I'm sure," Solange remarks with a smile as she glances at the men. "I'm fine though, and wouldn't mind talking to an elder now if that's available. Is there one in particular who you think is adept at explaining such things?"

"We all find our paths to wisdom, My Lady. And the teacher may be an Elder or a fool, a vision or a memory. The only explanations are the 'how', not the what." He smiles, deferentially. "You should speak to Elder Germaine. He would like that, and may be able to set you on a path."

"Thank you, I will. I believe he's speaking to Lucas right now, though..." Solange says as she looks around. "Kyril, are you interested in hearing about the math with me, or are you in more of a vegetative state of mind?"

Kyril comes in close to her, she can smell him. His lips brush her ears as he whispers to her. "These guys are so full of shit their eyeballs are brown. How does this serve our overall goal?"

Something in Solange's belly flutters as Kyril's lips touch her ear and he's rewarded with a small intake of breath. She smiles a bit self-consciously at Brother Pestle.

Looking away from the brother, Solange answers Kyril, "Words are often unclear and imprecise, but the math will explain things. I hope."

"Bet?", he whispers. He turns to Brother Pestle. "Do we just go up to the house, like Lucas?"

"That is likely the way that your path runs, yes," says Pestle.

"Well, then," says Kyril, offering his arm to Solange. Coming out of the house, they see another man in robes similar to Brother Pestle's.

"Brother Pestle, I would be most appreciative if you would see these others to the meal you offered," Solange says, gesturing to Cross, Oboe, Birch, and Tallow. "Thank you again for your hospitality."

Pestle smiles at the men. "When they ring the bell, go to the house. Ye may wish to go now, as you've no tasks to keep you in the sun. They should feed us soon." The men look at Solange for permission.

"Have at it," she tells them. "Save some food for everyone else."

She takes Kyril's arm and lets him lead, since he saw which way Lucas had gone and she had not. "So what would you like to bet?" she asks conversationally once they're out of earshot, her smile impish.

He grins back. "What are you willing to lose?"

"My virginity? Already gone. My clothes? We've done that. My way? We've done that too. My honor? I'd like to keep that intact. My marbles? A definite possibility. Looks like it'll have to be 'my marbles' unless you can come up with something more interesting."

"A vacation, without any of your cousins, without a mission, without anyone else around." He takes her hand and raises an eyebrow. "Loser cooks."

Solange laughs, her cheek dimpling. "I remember that you despaired of my cooking back in Lauderville. I'll have you know that I finally learned how to make a decent omelet. You're on."

"Egg-cellent, we won't starve then." He leads her towards the house, after the sailors.