Tempest Fugit


Once he is away from the building, [Lucas] begins to move at a steady lope that should bring him to the foot of the mountain - with or without a Sherpa shack - in good time. And when he reaches it, if nothing interrupts, he will start to climb, using any paths that might help. He also keeps a weather out for other people, beasties and ... well, weather.

The night is pleasant, compared to the heat of the previous day, and the moon makes navigation possible. Still, the tropical rainforest is not the easiest landscape to wander through, and several times Lucas has to avoid pools of unknown depth, the odd snake or cat, and dense thickets. However well his clothes survived the shipwreck, they have not passed through the jungle unmarked.

Clearly rockstar chic is going to be The Look this autumn. Young men of a fashionable bent will be vying to match the artful skill in placing rips in their trousers that Lucas effortlessly achieves. And the smear of ochre mud is going to be particularly sought after.

The parrot sticks closely with him, though.

At length Lucas crosses a road. He has no idea where it goes, and it is unmarked. He is reasonably confident that crossing it is the most direct route to the mountain, but it may not be the fastest.

[What's his strategy? Asir is known to have a substantial town and harbor off to the north and east of where you (think you) landed, but going there would certainly not allow you to reach the summit before sunrise.]

Lucas, for all his languid dilettantism, is actually quite focused when he sets his mind to something. The town and harbour can - to his mind - wait. He heads straight across and towards the mountain, still moving at a steady, brisk pace.

From time to time he teaches the parrot more arias from light opera.

As if to spite him, the bird sings only children's songs this night. In his children's voices.

It should be noted here that there are only so many times Lucas can endure "The Wheels of the Bus go round and around", even when piped by Hope (with Phillippe's happy hum as accompaniment). Any attempt on the parrot's part to exceed that number will be countered with extreme prejudice.

One hopes that the parrot has a good range of children's songs.

He rapidly reaches the foothills, which seem to be a surrounding ring or crown rather than a range and crosses them. The moon sets in the early morning pre-dawn, reducing visibility, but it is close enough to dawn that he can press on, and press on he does. Soon, Lucas finds he has reached the foot of the mountain proper. The lower slopes are covered with lush vegetation, but it's clear that the summit rises above the tree-line. There is no snow-cap, and it looks to Lucas' eye as if it has been volcanically active some time in the past. No telling how recently, though. Long enough for plants to grow back, however.

There are two faces Lucas could tackle. One way seems to be a more direct climb, but rockier and trickier. The other is more gentle, but has more jungle covering it. It also may be difficult to avoid some negative sloped free-climbing near the peak. How does Lucas assault the problem?

Lucas heads for the direct climb. He feels a quiet conviction that he will find guide ropes to assist him over the tricker bits - and probably some abandoned basic climbing gear to boot that will look strangely but commpellingly fashionable once he dons it.

Ropes exist where he expects and needs them, as do basic pieces of gear, mostly spikes and a hammer.

[And hanging over a low branch, the most fashionable lederhosen ever!]

[Oh! Ohh! Ohhhh! And does it have a Tyrolean hat with a cute feather too?]

He's also looking out for any telltale signs of impending volcanic activity - steam vents, the strong smell of suphur - out flows of lava cutting into the jungle, recently burned patches. If he finds water, he stops and drinks - cautiously at first until he's sure it's safe, and then more fully.

There are no such telltale signs, and the water is good, but he doesn't see any sources on the mountain proper. Luckily, one of the pieces of gear Lucas discovered is a canteen.

And then he climbs on.

Perhaps halfway up, he smells coffee. A little further along, over a small saddle ridge, he sees a fire in the dawn's glow. The coffee is being brewed over it. There is a small tent beside the fire, perhaps the brewer is inside.

The coffee smells remarkably good, even to one of Lucas's fastidious tastes. He advances towards the fire, therefore, letting out a cheery cry of "What ho the camp!"

He reaches into the knapsack he acquired along with the lederhosen and absently withdraws some rather fine sausage (where there is lederhosen, there is usually fine beer and excellent sausage, after all. And schnapps - although it's a trifle early for beer and schnapps).

Of course, should the hidden happy camper prove hostile, one can inflict a great deal of damage with a skilfully wielded sausage - as Lucas knows full well.

Two heads poke out of the tent, and one pops back in. Lucas is pretty sure it belongs to a young woman or a boy. The man has a few days growth to his beard, or is not quite old enough to grow one properly. "Hello!," he shouts. "I didn't realize anyone else was climbing today. He steps out and picks up a shirt that is lying beside the tent and puts it on. He doesn't have much hair on his chest.

"Coffee?" he offers.

"That would be most kind," says Lucas genially, taking a seat on the far side of the fire. "Might I proffer some sausage for breakfast in return?"

"Thank you, that would be delightful." The voice belongs to the dark-haired woman. She's coming out of the tent, fully dressed. Her hair is still disheveled, but she seems cheerful.

He offers the sausage (and, if necessary, a small camper's frying pan).

She takes it and pulls out a chopping board and a knife and begins to do systematic violence to the casing of it. The parrot squawks in protest, but the woman ignores him.

"So what brings you to Mount Aesir?" [Lucas] asks, once coffee has been served. "I've been staying down there ... " (he gestures vaguely back in the direction of the Paresh community - but could be pointing to a range of other places too) ... "and my host told me that this was one climb I really shouldn't miss."

The man says, "We're going to ask the sages for help."

The woman adds, "We want to get married, you see."

Lucas nods understandingly. In some cultures they insist on blood tests; in others they like to proclaim the forthcoming nuptuals three times in public in case anyone objects. Checking with the sages sounds a reasonable variation on this.

"Do you need the sages' formal consent, or is it more in order to stock up on a planned future?" he asks, interested, even as they all start to devour the sausage. "And are these sort of climbings and questionings something you must do alone, or would you welcome company?

"I'm Lucas Sancerre," he adds. "I don't believe I caught your names ... "

"I'm Detail and this is Mhet," says the woman. "What Mhet means is that we don't want to get married without my parent's permission, and they're not here." To Lucas, It's not clear if that's what Mhet meant or not. The woman's Thari is excellent. "I was stranded here when the sea-lanes were cut off."

"The Oracle will tell us what is right," says the man. He looks at the sun. "We should reach the summit by midday." The woman smiles, and serves the breakfast she has cooked, including the sausage.

Lucas glances up at the peak, and then gives a nod of agreement. He gives no sign of noticing the woman's evasion of his second question - or that the man has made no attempt to answer either - but continues to eat the excellent breakfast with every appearance of good humour. If encouraged, he might even share a few mountaineering stories.

He does not, however, talk about either Amber or the Paresh.

After breakfast is done, he'll take a graceful leave - hopefully avoiding having to do the washing up - and continue up the mountain. Presumably he will be able to reach the summit some time before mid-day.

The woman cleans the dishes without any discussion, and the man, when he finds that Lucas isn't joining them, begins breaking their camp. Lucas leaves them behind and heads out in the sunshine to scale the remainder of the peak.

A few hours later, near the peak, Lucas spies a more permanent structure. It's made of polished stone, of a type he hasn't seen on the mountain, or indeed on this island. Black and marbled and shiny, it sticks out very clearly. It is built out from the side of a small cliff and is easily 20 feet wide. The obvious trail leads to it.

If this is the location of the Oracle, she has good masons working for her.

Lucas pauses a while to admire the architecture, looking for similarities with various religions and cults that he has come across in his time.

It looks like something Brand drew once. But not very much. The scale is wrong.

He also scans the surrounding area for evidence of springs - sacred or otherwise, the remains of incense, fires, sacrifices and all the other detritus that might indicate the life of a religious community.

None of these are found.

He also sends the parrot off to perch in a nearby tree. Some mystics, after all, like to read entrails, and Lucas has already desiginated the parrot as a present for the children. He hasn't gone to all this trouble to refrain from swearing in its company just to have some Seers attempt to predict seismic disturbances from its innards.

After some effort on Lucas' part, the bird perches and starts to sing.

Lucas arches one dark eyebrow.

Once he has satisfied his curiousity and ascertained that they are no flailed victims of human sacrifice stretched in the wind to dry, Lucas approaches the structure with an expression of expectant piety, looking for an entrance - and preferably one that doesn't require the supllicant to crawl in on hands and knees to signify their humility. After all, a disadvantage of lederhosen, no matter how stylish, is that it makes crawling rather tough on the knees.

There is an obvious doorway, covered with a cloth against the wind. Even in summer, there are cool breezes on the mountaintop.

Inside, it becomes obvious that the building continues into the mountaintop, perhaps as an extension of a natural cave. There are thin pillows on the floor and a boy sitting on one of them rises slowly at Lucas' entry. He bows, without saying a word.

Lucas returns his bow with a grave forward inclination of his head. At the court of Louis XVI, where Lucas received his early training in such things, bows were finely nuanced. To the untutored, Lucas's bow would read, "I am politely acknowledging your bow."

Those possessed of the art of reading such things would see, "I am a person of superior worth, but one who is also of excellent breeding and who acknowledges your importance in the scheme of things and the respect that is due to the doubtless arcane mysteries to which you hold the key. And an expression of admiration for the perfection of my lederhosen would not come amiss either."

The bow speaks volumes. Sadly, the young man is not fluent in bow.

Aloud Lucas says, "Might I speak with the Oracle?"

The inner curtain opens, and inside is a room lit by fires in braziers. They seem smokeless, which makes sense since Lucas saw no chimneys when he inspected the building.

Unobtrusively, Lucas inhales deeply. His experience suggests that the people with the best visions also often have the Good Stuff.

Although, to be fair, he's less interested in at the moment in personal intoxication than in identifying whether this is one of those sorts of oracles.

The air is heavy with incense, but it seems to do no more for Lucas than make his nose itch.

"You might," says a girl's voice. "In fact you do. I am she." The girl is perhaps fourteen years old, but her eyes seem much older. The bow of the acolyte is more reverential towards her than his earlier bow.

Lucas bows too - a simpler affair that express respect.

"No one comes to my mountaintop without a question, stranger. What can I tell you of, and what do you offer in exchange?"

"I bring news of Amber and the Sundering. I bring news of a great new land," says Lucas. "If you wish, we can trade question for question. Or you can make a request of me, if you believe it lies within my power to grant."

She nods, implicitly accepting his bargain. "For what reasons might a people establish an Oracle's temple atop a difficult to climb but not impossible mountain?"

"Now," says Lucas, "you disappoint me. I thought we were going to be discussing the eternal verities rather than indulging in Social Anthropology 101 quizzes.

The Oracle's face betrays no sorrow at the disappointment she's dealt.

"An oracle might be established atop a difficult to climb but not impossible mountain for the following reasons."

He proceeds to count them off on his fingertips.

"To ensure that the Oracle is inaccessible to the common hoi polloi who might otherwise pester him or her with the minutae of their daily lives.

"To ensure that some effort is put into reaching the Oracle in the first place which should engender in the queriant a proper respect for the effort involved in the casting in proportion to the effort the queriant made getting there.

"In some cultures, which equate religious devotion with elevation of the body, mind and spirit - cf I shall lift mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my glory - to ensure that their place on high suggests their favoured place among the gods, goddesses, spirits of the aether.

"To ensure that the queriant will be breathing a rather thinner variety of air which can act as intoxicant in and of itself.

"To ensure that you have a convenient altitude from whence to pitch unbelievers and scoffers for the general edification from the masses.

"And, of course, to ensure that queriants arrive sufficiently out of breath that they'll be unable to do anything but gasp with awe. In my case, however, as you will have astutely observed, the breath is not notably diminished. My turn for a question. Shall we press to the heights of ecstasy together in search of enlightenment, or do you prefer to keep things on a business basis?"

She nods. "I rather like the altitude for tossing option; that's one I hadn't considered. There is a truce, of sorts, between the King of Assiria and my people. We do not interfere in governance and trade and they do not burn us alive. Some of our people think this is agreement is outmoded, but I do not wish to burn. They forget, but I remember. I asked this so that you would know why I am uninterested in Amber, New Realms, and the evangelical pursuits of Elder Germaine."

She brushes her robe down her and moves to one of the braziers. "In answer to your question, I do not see what it is you have to offer me, so I will say no to the first and 'for now' to the second part."

Lucas shrugs. It is hardly the first knock-back he's ever had - and there is, moreover, an interesting qualification in the second part.

She nods. "And my turn. You are of Amber, I can hear it in your voice. But you are not of the faith or else you would be asking different questions. What do you expect to gain by coming here?"

"Knowledge," says Lucas. "And the concommitant power."

He leaves it at that. Doubtless specifics will provide more answers to later questions.

"My turn. Tell me about Assiria and why people fear Aesir Island so much."

She smiles. "Do they? How advantageous that would be to our efforts to trade in peace and be left alone. Perhaps the gap between worlds is small here, and people are more likely to come into contact with the other world. Perhaps the Gods pay more attention to what is happening here. Perhaps time does not work here as they expect it to. Perhaps we spread rumors and news of our differentness for our own purposes. If you ask me, I would guess that Asir Island is feared because it changes people, and people fear change."

"I would agree with that," says Lucas, "although I feel I must remark in passing that your desire to trade in peace and be left alone seem rather contradictory. If you're left alone, your trading endeavours will be somewhat limited.

"And rest assured, my lady, I am not one of those who fears the change that knowledge might bring."

Her eyes flash momentarily, and then she smiles. "The bravado of ignorance, or desire for improvement? It does not matter, in the end."

"It may not matter," says Lucas. "But it's still another question. And my answer is ... I believe it to be the latter while having an uneasy awareness that it might be the former. And I'll save my return question for later ... "

She steps back from the brazier and moves towards a cushion nearer to the back wall. "My turn again. Why should I give you knowledge and change you?"

"Because," says Lucas, "leaving aside the metaphysical justifications - on which, I assure you, I could expound quite cheerfully and wittily for the space of several hours - if you truly wish to engage in peaceful trade, I can help you. With three trading centres - one old and in decline, but two new and eager for new markets."

The girl sits, pointing to a cushion near to hers. "I don't know about places that are not this place, but what may suit Asir Island and Aesiria may not always be to everyone's advantage. Your offer would be of more value to those below, but they cannot offer you what I have."

He moves closer to her, not intruding on her personal space, but maintaining a steady distance between them - and also keeping an eye on the braziers (OOC - did she do anything after she moved to one of them?).

[OOC: Stood over it, looking spooky, but then she stepped away.

"My question. How can I save my wife?"

The oracle blinks. "How is she doomed?" the girl asks.

Lucas's dark eyebrows lift.

"Another question," he remarks. "Mmmm ... you are becoming positively profligate in your desire to give me information. That's three answers you now will owe me once I've answered this.

This declaration doesn't seem to bother her.

"And for your answer ... I don't believe she is doomed - to borrow your apocalyptic language - you know, you're going to be fascinating once we get onto the subject of Amber. I believe she is sick and weakened - possibly as a result of bearing my children. By 'saved', I mean that I want to see her restored to full health and strength.

"And now, perhaps, you'll answer my question."

She looks at Lucas and nods. "Her doom is being mortal. Few act to thwart it and fewer still are successful." She stands and returns to the brazier, standing over it and breathing deeply. She throws a pinch of something in, and stares at the burning coals. After some time she speaks. "A pawn advanced to the last row becomes a queen, changed beyond recognition. Would she still dream the dreams of a pawn?"

"Well," says Lucas, thoughtfully, "I hadn't entirely considered the question of Solace obtaining the converse of mortality. And I do take your point about the transfiguration that such a change in her situation might bestow."

And if he had not considered what such a transfiguration might do for his own cosy domestic arrangements, then he is presumably considering that now.

"I was actually more seeking to ensure that her life could be extended to what would constitute a normally alloted span - say, 300 or so. And in good health. Perhaps you can tell me that. Or if not, then how her doom might be thwarted.

"And the answer to your last question is no."

"Sire upon her no further children." The lightest traces of the smoke she has been inhaling are visible on her breath, and her voice sounds oddly masculine. And oddly familiar, but Lucas cannot determine who it sounds like.

The words, however, are more familiar. They are similar to what Gerard told him. Lucas frowns, but says nothing.

He takes another delicate inhalation at the brazier. (OOC - getting anything funny off it yet?)

[ooc, sorry, forgot to answer this. No. I'll let you know.]

"What is the Paresh?"

She nods. "Evangelical Schismatics. They are tolerated, especially at a distance."

"Ah," says Lucas. "The Wee Frees. I should have guessed."

If that suggests a line of further questioning, he admirably restrains himself. Instead he awaits her next question.

She does not reply, but stands near the brazier, waiting.

[How long will Lucas wait for her to say something?]

[OOC - Erm ... that depends on what she's waiting for. If it appears to be the sort of pleasant or expectant silence that expects the other person to speak, he'll say something. If it's the Waiting for Something to Happen (like, getting enough hits from the brazier that she can go into a mystical trance, or for Spririts of a Naked Babe or a Crowned Head to appear and help her along), he'll wait patiently too. Presumably, though, if we have other people like the hopefully affianced couple trailing up the mountain, there could soon be a little queue outside ... ].

If she manifests signs of impatience at his waiting, he certainly will move things along.

Lucas is using every ounce of his Water which is (as is perhaps becoming glaringly obvious - considerably higher than that of his player) to read the situation.

She manifests no sign of impatience and after about five minutes she steps over to the cushions near the wall. She organizes them to her satisfaction and looks at Lucas. "If you would learn, you must first unlearn. Are you ready for that? Can you unmake yourself?"

Lucas regards her thoughtfully. "This does remind me of a conversation I had with my dear little cousin Cicely, when I asked her if she would make it her mission to reform me. I am not sure I can unmake myself without assistance, but I would be willing to try, if that is required - and I trust you will supply adequate instructions on the process. And, with that proviso, I am ready."

Beneath the usual languid manner there is, perhaps, a certain tension.

"Two questions, then, for those two answers," he says, strolling around the braziers towards the cushions with the easy lope of a large cat on the prowl. "A schism implies a split from something else. What are the Paresh in schism from? And can Amber - the eternal city - be saved from the fate that the Paresh predict?"

She shrugs. "The Church Established tolerates them, as they superficially honor the credo and bring income and prestige to Asir. I have heard of their practices in the Outlands, and the claims of Germaine to the mantle of Scale in distant Amber. He is a true seer, but does not use his gifts wisely.

"For example, he has brought your attention on us, which is not what the Church Established would want. That is one reason we do not proselytize and the Paresh do." She nods at the door.

"And as for Amber, if she be truly an eternal city, then no fate awaits her. If a fate awaits her it cannot be prevented, for a preventable fate is no fate at all. Tomorrow I will ask you of this so-called fate, but now you are ready to begin your course of unmaking. Go to the acolyte and direct him to provide you with a robe, and greet the next pilgrims and escort them in to me."

"Certainly," says Lucas, rising with elegant alacrity.

It may well be that lederhosen, no matter how delightfully they grace the Lucan limbs, are not entirely the best garb for sitting about in cool caves. Robes might sound rather more promising, and protective of the Lucan derriere.

As for the menial task he is seemingly being assigned - well, the doorkeeper has a long and venerable tradition in the annals of religions of many kinds. More practically, it also puts one in an excellent position to hear what is going on.

(OOC - moving forward slightly - if this is not acceptable, please cut).

Once attired in the robes (and they definitely take on a certain ex cathedra air when Lucas has twitched them into place properly), Lucas patiently awaits the arrival of his first batch of pilgrims who he will greet with due gravity and decorum before ushering them into The Presence.

(In other words, not with air kisses and rapturous cries of, "Dahlings! Divine to see you! Mmmwa! Mmmmwa!")

The other acolyte does not speak and shortly leaves Lucas as the sole occupant of the anteroom.

Gambling being a traditional requisite of the Doorman, Lucas finds some interestingly carved dice in the recesses of a robe pocket and begins to play a game of fascinating complexity and arcane rules that he makes up on the spot. Left hand against right. The stakes are fabulous.

Shortly, the door opens and the couple who had breakfast with Lucas are blinking into the comparative darkness. They look distressed to see Lucas in the acolyte's robes. The young man's jaw works for a moment, and finally he says. "How long must we serve to get our answers?"

"That is a question you must ask the Oracle," intones Lucas with fitting gravitas. And then he adds, "It is possible that, given the nature of your request, some other service will be required of you."

Bringing your first child to be blessed is also fairly traditional. Or sacrificed to appease the gods, but Lucas is silent on the subject as he ushers them into the Presence.

The couple looks grim, and allow themselves to be ushered in. After a moment in reverent silence before her, the Oracle speaks. "Why come you to Aesir?"

Mhet bows deeply and never quite unbows his head. "Oh, wise one, I wish to marry this woman, but her family is worlds and oceans away and I cannot ask her father's permission."

"And does your father consent?" asks the young Oracle.

"He does, wise one," Mhet replies.

The Oracle says nothing for the moment and as the silence lengthens, the young man speaks again.

Eventually Mhet squirms and blurts out a response. "He does not embrace my choice, but will let me make it."

Detail looks uncomfortable.

The Oracle turns to her, a slow motion pounce. "And what of you, outlander? Is this permissible in your lands?"

"Yes," says Detail, forcefully.

Lucas can tell by her tone, and by the fact that she is of Amber, that she's lying.

"Hmm," says the Oracle. She turns to Lucas. "And you, my acolyte? What is your recommendation? How would you have the Oracle of Aesir judge?"

Lucas regards the Oracle limpidly.

"Surely," he says, with becoming deference, "it is not for the likes of one such as your acolyte to presume to offer advice or guidance to the oracle. Like the pebble in the stream that brings life from the heights of the mountains to the peaceful valleys below, it is for him to lie still and be washed with the waters that come from the fount of her wisdom. Or perhaps not a hard integral pebble but, say, a clod of clay, infinitely malleable and eventually to be washed away altogether by the pellucid power of her profound knowledge."

He concludes with a gentle smile and folds his hands in his sleeves.

If he entertains private opinions on the matter, they do not show in the expression of grave expectancy with which he prepares to listen to what follows.

She smiles back. "Perhaps, my protean clod of clay, but I am a smith and not a stream. I would not hit the malleable with my mallet without testing it, seeing what it concealed, where it was firm and where soft, how even the consistency of it. Consider this a lesson acolyte. There is no enlightenment without something for the light to shine upon."

Lucas' dark eyebrows lift slightly - perhaps at the lack of subtlety - in the reference to smithing.

"Then," he says, "if you seek my judgement, your acolyte shall give it. But in order to do so, I must put these visitants to a trial to prove that their love is true and that their relationship is no mere passing fancy, but founded with strength, upon a rock. Have I your permission to undertake such a trial, wise Oracle?"

(OOC - if she says no, it stops here, but if she agrees ... )

He looks steadily at Mhet and Detail.

"And will you trust in this trial of your love for one another that you shall be asked to undertake? For if you refuse, then you will know that one or other of you dares not put yourselves to the test, and that you were not meant to pass your lives together. And if you attempt the test and fail, again you will know that your love was not strong enough to conquer all.

"But if you undertake the trial and succeed, then, whatever may come in life, you will know that you have already faced the greatest of trials, here and now, and that you succeeded. In after years, when the pricks and niggles of everyday life irk and sting you, when one or the other is irritated or out of sorts, and the other less than sympathetic, you will look back to this moment and remember that once you were tested in the fires of the Oracle and proved true steel. And the strength of that steel will support you in the long years to come.

"Will you stand to the trial?"

He concludes, awaiting their response, but takes the opportunity to shoot a veiled look at the Oracle. Meek and mild he appears. It may also be that he's deriving a certain amount of amusement from his allotted role.

Detail says "yes!"

Mhet says "We will."

Detail sounds remarkably like Lucas' late cousin Adonis.

Lucas bows in head in solemn acquiesence. When he raises it again, he is looking directly at Mhet.

"Mhet," he says, his voice admirably grave, "do you love this woman? But how much? Would you endure pain for her, hard, phiysical pain? If I asked you to thrust your hand into the votive fire that burns there so brightly, would you do that - for her?"

Mhet starts to reply, but doesn't interrupt Lucas.

"Would you sacrifice your very life for her happiness at need? Would you test yourself to the limits of physical endurance to prove your love for this woman, and risk pressing beyond those limit - and all to win her?"

He nods. "If needful and just and right, I would." Detail smiles.

Lucas pauses, letting them all weigh what has been said. Then he speaks again.

"This is not your trial, Mhet. I doubt not your courage, nor your love. But I have a harder test yet for you. It is easy to see 'I love you' and to do and dare to prove that love. Those three words, 'I love you' are very much over-rated, you know. They can be spilled carelessly into the lap of any wh0re in a tavern, and will be taken as true with a laugh. But to say, 'I trust you' - that is the true test. And that is what you must prove here, Mhet - that you trust Detail to take the trial for you both. Your trial is to stand aside, and do nothing while she is tested, and proved false ... or true.

"Do you accept your trial, Mhet of Aesir?"

Mhet looks at Detail, then at the Oracle. "We came here to ask how we could be together, to follow our feelings and the law. What... What do we do?"

The Oracle says "You answer his question, Mhet. My judgement will be based on what I hear." She sits back.

Mhet nods at the Oracle and turns to Lucas. "Yes. I am content to do as you say."

Lucas bows his head in acceptance. "Stand back," he says to Mhet. Away from her. Yes, you can stand where she can still see you. It might even be best like that. But clear of her - so that you cannot touch."

He waits for Mhet to take up such a position, his face calm, grave.

Once Mhet has moved as directed, Lucas pauses for a moment, as though considering. But there is nothing uncertain in his stance - so perhaps he is just allowing Detail a little while to become unsettled, nervous. Then Lucas moves, circling Detail slowly, a vaguely predatory movement, like an animal might circle its prey. The diameter of his circle is judged to a nicety; just on the edge of private space, close enough to make the object just a little uneasy, but too far to make the need to respond urgent. Slowly he circles, widdershins, his pace as measured and controlled as though this were part of some arcane rite ...

And then he moves in, coming close to her from behind, close enough for her to feel his breath on the back of her neck, close enough to touch her ...

His hand reaches out, lifting the dark hair and exposing the smooth white column of her neck, the pink curve of her ear ... close enough for a kiss, close enough to bite ...

If Mhet at this point makes a movement forward, however involuntarily, Lucas lifts his head and stares at him with cold menace until he retreats.

Mhet leans forward on the balls of his feet, but Lucas' stare makes him stand down.

Then Lucas leans forward and ... whispers into her ear.

"I can give you Amber.

Lucas can almost hear the adrenaline rush in her. Her ear turns redder and her breath picks up.

"One word from you, and I can see that you return to Amber, queen of cities, shining jewel without peer, without parallel. I can take you to the new Amber, the Amber that is rising, that is growing in beauty and power. Instead of scratching out a bare living here amidst the alien corn, despised by the native sons and daughters of Aesir, you can hold place of honour among its citizens. All that you could wish can be yours in the place that is your true, your lost home that I can find for you.

"And for all that, all you have to do is step away from Mhet, who can only give you a poor, humble life in the Shadows, a life where you will always be disdained as the foreigner, the one who is not quite good enough ...

"Choose, Detail."

She stands, trembling for a moment, breathing deeply. She closes her eyes and drops her head and steps away from Mhet.

Mhet moans in grief, and his hand comes up to his mouth involuntarily. Detail does not look back.

The Oracle looks at Lucas, a faint smile on her face.

Lucas folds his hands in his sleeve, his expression as meek as a choirboy who has never indulged in a sly fag behind the presbytery.

"My humble advice, revered Oracle, would be that you do not give your blessing to this marriage," he says.

Mhet cries out in anguish and grief, a guttural thing with no speech. In a single act, he lifts the brazier at his side and flings it at Lucas. He does not seem to notice that it burns his hands. Detail stands aghast.

[Lucas could easily duck, and only be showered with smouldering embers. However, the Oracle would be likely to be hit if he did so.]

If Mhet, even under the power of considerable emotion, has the power to lift and throw the brazier so far, then Lucas certainly has the power to knock it to the ground - and he has, moreover, the reflexes of a considerable fencer. He uses his left forearm, shielded by the thick cloth of his robe, to do so, knocking it away from both the Oracle and Detail (he is not so concerned about it landing next to Mhet).

(If that works)

It's effective, if not pleasant. The brazier rings like a cymbal as it crashes to the floor next to Mhet.

With almost the same movement, he pulls off his heavy robe, and throws it over the blazing coals to smother them out. Fortunately he has prudently retained his lederhosen underneath.

Lucas takes a step across to the blazing embers and throws his acolyte's robe over the coals to smother them. This works quite well. It is at that moment that Detail screams and Lucas feels a burning sensation himself, in his arm. Mhet is suddenly atop him, trying to pull back his bloody knife for a second stab at Flora's only child. It takes only a split-second for Lucas to realize that Mhet is no match for a son of Amber.

A twist and a well aimed elbow in the ribs, and Mhet is suddenly sprawled on the floor of the cave.

But not for long because, before he can recover, Lucas has lifted him by the throat and propelled him backwards across the cave until the unfortunate Mhet is slammed into the cave wall, hard enough to daze him and convince him that resistance is futile, his legs some two feet off the ground, with Lucas's hard hand still clasped tight around his gullet.

Despite the drama inherent in the action, Lucas has selected the position with care - he can also keep an eye on the Oracle and Detail lest they should feel inclined to intervene.

"Do you know," says Lucas conversationally, "there are close relatives of mine who would rip your throat out for looking at them a bit funny. You've now attempted to kill me twice, to say nothing of making me drip blood on this rather fine lederhosen, and I must admit that despite my resolution to be a model of saintly forbearance, you're wearing my patience a tad thin. So I'm going to run a short swift vox pop on this and let the people decide."

He raises his voice a little. "Shall I kill him?"

At the same time he increases the pressure on Mhet's throat sufficiently to redden his face and make his eyes bulge.

"No, please!" says Detail, sounding frantic.

The Oracle rises. "Silence, woman," she says to Detail, in a calm voice. "Acolyte Clay, what is enlightenment?"

Lucas shakes his head. "Not a question to ask a Frenchman. And not one which I feel Mhet here will appreciate when he was hoping for a swift vote with no need for recounts."

The fact that Mhet's feet are starting to drum against the wall in desperation suggests that he is in agreement with this.

"I was raised, you see," continues Lucas, "to believe that one could define Enlightenment to mean that reason exists as a means to establishing an authoritative system of aesthetics, ethics, government, and logic, which will allow human beings to obtain objective truth about the universe. Indeed, my tutor, M. Diderot, was quite insistent on it. And I was happy enough to go along with that - although the worst excesses of the Revolution was rather a jolt to the system, I must admit. I mean, who could have been more in favour of reason that Robespierre? And yet look what that led to."

It would be hard now for Mhet to look at anything; his bulging eyes are starting to glaze over as Lucas hold him pressed to the wall by his throat.

"Of course," adds Lucas reflectively, "that would be in contrast with the Eastern philosophers of Shadow Earth, who see Enlightenment as satori, or moksha, perhaps. That would tend more to Erleuchtung than to Aufklärung, perhaps ... At all events, a sentient being who has developed all positive qualities, and has eradicated all negative qualities. There're different traditions focused around whether or not this is achievable, you know. Perhaps we ought to have this out. After all, you might be holding to the Theravada tradition whereas I, for purely sentimental reasons, might class myself as purely following the Mahayana way. That could lead to terrible arguments down the golden path."

Mhet, as though to express some opinion on this, gargles incoherently.

"But yet again," Lucas muses, "you might be asking me to consider the question in terms of more intellectual enlightenment. And do you know, I realise that there I would be forced to agree with Kant when he says, "Aufklärungist der Ausgang des Menschen aus seiner selbstverschuldeten Unmündigkeit. Unmündigkeit ist das Unvermögen, sich seines Verstandes ohne Leitung eines anderen zu bedienen. Selbstverschuldet ist diese Unmündigkeit, wenn die Ursache derselben nicht am Mangel des Verstandes, sondern der Entschließung und des Mutes liegt, sich seiner ohne Leitung eines andern zu bedienen."

Mhet's face is now purple as the subcutaneous blood vessels begin to burst. His tongue is forcing itself past his teeth to loll out of his mouth. Lucas considers him for a moment, and then releases him to drop on the floor, judging that Mhet is now so deeply unconscious that he is unlikely to put a cramp in Lucas's conversational style in the near future (if, indeed, ever).

"A loose translation," says Lucas, "might be: 'Enlightenment is man's release from his self-incurred tutelage. Tutelage is the incapacity to use one's own understanding without the guidance of another. Such tutelage is self-imposed if its cause is not lack of intelligence, but rather a lack of determination and courage to use one's intelligence without being guided by another.' So, perhaps, I ought to release myself from my own self-incurred tutelage.

He considers the Oracle. "You know, you're pretty bad at this game. You get all this lovely stuff from me, and you can't even manage a simple 'yes' or 'no'. I think the time is come to set aside masks. But first things first."

He glances at Detail. "Do you still want a lift back to Amber, or have you changed your mind and want to throw it all away to play his ministering angel?"

She nods. "I've made my choice. Don't be cruel to Mhet, it's not his fault I'm not who he wanted me to be."

The Oracle looks at her. "Leave the temple. You may wait outside." The girl turns and leaves, looking back at Lucas once.

Lucas nods, perhaps in reassurance. Perhaps in dismissal.

"Enlightenment is many things, Acolyte Clay, but for you, I favor that of your Kant. Enlightenment is that which you hold in your hand and release." She looks at Mhet, lying where Lucas dropped him. "Does that help you deal with your wife?"

Lucas smiles sardonically. "It helps me to see that my wife is not something to be 'dealt with'. But then, I've always been ahead of the game on that one, I think. None of my family has ever appreciated the true worth of Solace. Helping me to deal with the problem of her foreshortened life and my own role in it ... " He shrugs. "Perhaps some things one cannot change and must accept. I must take care to choose more expendable women to breed my children in future.

"And you?" he asks. The meekness of his demeanour as acolyte has been abandoned with the robes. "I said we should set aside masks. You know that I am a Lord of Amber. And you are a being of considerable power for all your outward-seeming. Your fire is all out now, Lady, and the time has come for revelations.

"Who are you?"

"I? I am a fugitive. If Amber is a light, then there is a penumbra, not filled with power but filled mostly with envy. Those who know of Amber and wish what she has. Over the centuries, groups have risen and died who wished to steal the power of the Gods of Amber and give it to mortal man. Call us Prometheans, if you will.

"Some generations ago, I decided it was futile, and came here. For several cycles I have been reborn and re-learned my old memories. My colleagues, or their descendants, would like me dead." She smiles, thinly. "You may now understand why I am not as enamored about the spread of knowledge of the ways of Asir to outsiders."

Lucas bows his head, then raises it to smile at her, his most beguiling smile.

"Do not mistake us for the gods who hold the secret of fire from mortal men, for all we squabble in our Valhalla on Kolvir," he says. "Although if we were, my place in the pantheon might be found by changing the pronunciation of my second syllable.

"But are you resigned to futility? Are you so content to dwell in the shadows, Lady? I offered Detail the chance to return to the place she needed, her soul's desire. I could offer you the power and knowledge that you seek, but you could die in attempting it." He shrugs. "In the legends of my father's shadow there was once a great warrior who sought a weapon of immense power. And for that he undertook many tasks, serving as an acolyte to a wise man. And he did indeed learn the secret after many hard travials - but the wise man found him out and uttered this curse - if ever he attempted to use the weapon, he and all his would be destroyed utterly.

"You can guess the end of the tale. It was, after all, intended as a moral lesson."

He moves towards her, not quite the predator that approached and ensnared Detail. "I can stretch out a hand to you and offer the power you have long sought - but my other holds death. Would such a bargain be worth the knowledge of the ways of Asir?"

The Oracle shakes her head. "I am resigned to futility. What I found that was so bitter to my former colleagues was not that we were unique in our special knowledge but that we were just one of a series of similar groups, none of whom could disprove the thesis that the rulers are Amber were privileged because they were qualitatively different. It is quite a blow to radical democrats to find that all are not created equal." She stands.

"Can you make me as you are? I have reason to believe it cannot be done, and thus the futility of my former goals is valid." She gestures at the temple and perhaps to all of Asir. "This is a special place, but it is a small specialness. It is a place of easy perturbation, where the affairs and interests of the unquiet dead speak and sometimes act, a place where time is not a river, but a tempest."

The girl smiles, sadly. "I do some good here. It is where I belong. I will keep it."

"There is one thing that I can give you," says Lucas, "that you will not be trapped in time and see all that you strive for as futile. I cannot make you as I am, but I can give you a child who will be blood of Amber. All my gifts come with a price, and this will be no different. Bearing the child will assuredly weaken you. It may kill you, unless you have power of your own to sustain you. I believe you have that power, and will be able to raise that child to be nobler and greater than I will ever be. Tell your child of me, and when she or he comes of age, let them seek me out and I will do my best to help them acquire the power my blood bestows."

She shakes her head. "Two or three lifetimes ago, I might have been tempted, but now? She would be a target for my enemies and a tool to be used by all those who wanted to get some of what Amber has and they cannot. It is a foolish kind of immortality. Who now recalls the dreams and goals of Dybele or Paulette? Yet in their day, they bore children to the King of Amber, and were elevated to sit beside him on the throne of the greatest city in many worlds."

Lucas smiles faintly. "Time has dealt poorly with the grandmothers," he agrees. "The common assumption is that they had no wishes other than what Grandfather desired, and found that being his partner absorbed all their energies. I've seen that phenomenon in other places. Those with the strength or opportunity to demonstrate otherwise risked - in the culture of the times - as being demonised as harridans." He considers this. "In fact, it would probably still raise a few eyebrows," he says thoughtfully. "Generally speaking, our kind may have lusted after one another, but we've tended to take partners who are seen in some ways to be inferior." His smile twists slightly. "It allows us ao much more choice.

"Mine may be the first generation to decide otherwise."

She walks towards the door, stepping around Mhet. "No, I am happy enough without your child, notwithstanding that my body is still unready for such a trial."

Lucas shrugs as he follows. "I did not anticipate time would be such a problem on Asir. But as you wish.

"But tell me, before I leave. You speak of many lifetimes. How is this renewal accomplished? Is it simply the transferral of wisdom from one Oracle to her designated successor, or is it something more?"

She shrugs. "It is different for me than for most on Asir. When I die, I am reborn. After a suitable time, the spirits lead my acolytes to my new self, who is brought here and raised and trained to be Oracle. I remember much of my past and read my own journals for the rest."

"Ah," says Lucas. "Yes, of course."

(OOC - presumably, as they were doing this as a tracking shot, they have by now reached the cavern door)

[OOC - So let it be written, so let it be cinematographed.]

"Well," he continues, "thank you for your reception. It's been an illuminating meeting. Any last words of blessing on parting?"

He glances around the robing (or disrobing) room where he put on his own (now burned) robes. There would be a certain amusement value in returning to Amber habited as a monk and wearing a pious expression, but Lucas clearly to eschew the pleasure, for instead he selects a rather sharp Paul Smith suit that someone seems to have abandoned there rather unexpectedly, along with Italian loafers.

Once suitably attired, he flicks open the card case, selects a trump, and strolls outside to find Detail.

"Ready to go?" he asks.

Detail breathes deeply of the chilly mountain air and nods vigorously. She doesn't even look back at the door. From the chimney, the incense smell wafts down to the door and in the valley below, Lucas can see the city, but it is too far below for people to even appear as insects.

Lucas focuses on the trump of Solange.

After a few minutes, he looks up and says cheerfully to Detail, "Sod this for a game of soldiers. Are we likely to run into irate putative inlaws of yours if we foray down into town for a drink before we head off? Endearing though Brother Germaine is, I think I'd find his discourse a little rarefied right now. Somewhere that serves drinks, lots of drinks, possibly all together in a big jug - that's the ticket."

"Well, it's a small town, My Prince. Word would go around. And Mhet will come down, too."

If Detail seems reluctant, Lucas, inevitably, has a fallback plan. After all, lonely street corners tend to be more reliable than cousins when being trumped ... and sometimes it is just a bore actually walking all the way to the Red Mill ...

[Detail does, indeed, seem reluctant. It's a combination of not looking back, not having to explain to anyone in town why she was with her fiancee yesterday and some stranger today, and desire to be in Amber.]

[She'll let you decide, of course. But if you go with your fallback plan, go right to your lonely streetcorner...]

Lucas is tactfully silent on the subject of Mhet being willing and able to go anywhere for a short while. But he nods in response to her words, and selects another trump instead - a lonely street corner in the vicinity of the Red Mill ... The trump has been carefully positioned so that anyone stepping through will have a blank wall behind him or her - so undignified, Lucas feels, to step through a trump and then to have to wheel round to see if anyone's spotted you doing so ...


Back to the logs

Last modified: 3 December 2006