Hannah has taken a couple of weeks to get used to her new child. She has the basic rhythm of sleeping and eating and feeding the baby and occasionally doing something else sort of down. Baby continues to enjoy good health and so does Hannah, with a little help here and there from the women of the castle and Lady Corvis, who is pleased to act as an extra grandmother in the absence of other women who might do that duty. Doctor Kyril is also keeping a close eye on Hannah's health and that of the baby, though he's the first to admit neither of them need much help as these things go.
He's also been keeping Hannah up on his own work. Kyril has been collecting any paperwork, books, notes, anything he can get his hands on, from the various incursions against the Klybesians. And when Hannah wants something to do, he gives her some of the readings he's been working on, and his notes. His home shadow had additional medical technology that Hannah thinks might have worked in the Blue World but wasn't known there when she learned white people's medicine. He's trying to piece together what their goals are.
Today Kyril has come at a time when Baby is usually napping with another sheaf of typewritten pages annotated in his own hand. He knocks quietly and when a page lets him in, he has news for Hannah. "Buzz in the castle says Martin is back and that someone's brought in a new cousin. Someone besides Martin. Also, I think I have a hand on what the Klybesians are doing."
"I'm definitely feeling like every relative who talked to me about how our family wasn't very fertile was so very wrong. You have a hand on which thing the Klybesians are doing?" she asks.
Kyril snorts in amused agreement at the bit about fertility.
"I mean why they keep kidnapping people and drawing blood and getting genetic material," Kyril says. "I mean, clearly they want something, right, or they wouldn't keep doing it? I think what they're doing is, well, do you know what cloning is?"
Hannah's face goes still. She clearly knows what cloning is. "Hold on," she says. "I just need to let my wékhon [WAY-khawn, One who comforts] know I'm going to be busy."
"Wíuagthábe [WEE-ew-agh-THAH-bay, Windbreak]," she calls quietly at the doorway to the bedroom, and then whispers her instructions to him.
That arranged, she turns back to Kyril. "Do you think they've managed it? Why not just seduce a prince, sequester the sperm, and try to induce a set of pregnancies? So much easier."
"I'd be surprised if they haven't done that. Like, a lot of that. You know how they are. Even--" he trails off there and doesn't name whichever Amberite was about to get that caveat. "Anyhow, basically, they seem to be working with genetics on a level that implies cloning. That's what I take away from this notebook."
He's annotated the notebook in ways that show his thinking, and it seems right to Hannah.
"Agreed," she looks back at him. "But do you think they've gotten anywhere with it? It's not going to do them any good in the unmanipulated generations - I think my next question is, what is the goal, beside perhaps leveling the playing field? Building an army of clones? Everything I've read everywhere about cloning is fraught with failures and difficulties. I haven't been anywhere that I know of where gene therapy would even allow them to change blood type, much less whatever else they'd have to change. Or maybe they're going to use it to make biologically targeted weapons?" She sighs. "Sorry... what are your speculations?"
"Might be the targeted weapons thing. But it might also be medical or therapeutic."
This makes Hannah snort.
"Hard to tell the difference sometimes. Anything they could do by getting your genetic material, combining and recombining, figuring out which bits do what." Kyril shakes his head. "That movie with the clone armies notwithstanding, I don't think they're going for that. That would require levels of tech and probably robotics that--can you really find anything in Shadow? Or can they find anything in Shadow, I guess is the question."
"I'm going to guess two things really limit our ability to find anything. First is imagination. Clearly, they have that. Second is maybe it exists, but only in places where human-types as they are now can't survive. But - and this is a factor in why some people don't want high tech solutions to injuries - even if they find someplace it works, it also has to work here. Or close enough to here that existing paths between worlds can get them here. I'm not saying that's not possible. But I speculate if they have figured out how to edit genes toward immortality, or how to bio-bomb immortals, or... even just how to get around freely in shadow, why do they still keep snatching people? Either they have not figured it out, or they need fresh plasma for the process... or something." Hannah looks into the distance. "I've been so wrapped up in my little world, I've lost track of what's going on. Do I have cousins snatching them back now? Because if not, that's what we need to be doing."
"They got some back a couple of weeks ago, that they rescued along with Huon and the Rebman archivists. A bunch of your cousins went off in Shadow to investigate some leads based on that but none of them have returned to Xanadu yet," Kyril explains. "So yes, you've started with that."
He's clearly still thinking, though, and whatever has come to mind makes him frown. "I'm definitely still missing pieces of the puzzle. But maybe we just need to grab more of them and ask more questions. They still have one of the brothers in what passes for jail." Since Kyril himself spent a while in nominal jail, he has apparently been keeping an eye on things. "Maybe you'll get more out of him than I can."
She shrugs. "Alright then, I'll try. But first, we should go slip into wherever my new cousin is appearing, just in case they have been shot, stabbed, burned or whatever other unlovely injury has happened to them."
"We can do that," Kyril says.
Before anyone can answer, a group filters in from another door, which looks like it's coming from a similar part of the castle. (Brita and Edan know everybody is certainly coming from the family quarters.) It's Folly, with Lark on her hip, then Rowen, and then Martin.
Martin is a young-ish man who also has light hair and eyes, though his hair has been trimmed back to something a little longer than a buzz cut. He's doffed his greatcoat, which he had on the ship, and is in something like eighteenth century naval attire.
His face is familiar to Tricksey; the arcology has a high price on his head. She's seen video stills and CGI sketches of him many a time. He is a terrorist.
Folly also appears young, with dark eyes and vividly purple streaks in her dark hair. Her attire is what Tricksey might classify as cottagecore-punk: soft knee-length woolen dress and tall brown leather boots, but with what look like vividly tie-dyed leggings peeking out from underneath, and chunky-knit arm-warmers decorated here and there with painted wooden beads. Lark, who appears to be not quite school-aged, has her father's sandy-blond hair and prominent chin and her mother's dark eyes. At the moment she has her fist pressed against her mouth like she's forcibly holding in something she's not supposed to say.
Rowen stands around 5'9", her height accentuated by her slenderness. Though her features are borderline ethereal, she still bears some of the baby fat of her youth. She does not appear to be wearing cosmetics and her nails are unlacquered, but trimmed. Worn up and in a bun, her hair is earthy and radiant in a vibrant reddish-brown. Modestly, she is dressed predominantly in dark greens with ivory highlights and trim, with a form-fitting bodice and a slight flare at the hem of the ankle-length dress. Surprisingly for a newly-arrived foreigner, she is remarkably "in fashion" for Xanadu, by luck or intent.
(Brita immediately recognizes the smell of Rowen as family.)
Martin says, "Hello, Father, cousins." Doing the formality in proper order, he says, "This is Lady Rowen of Weirmonken, whom I believe is our cousin, and I need to talk to you about her line of descent privately. Rowen, this is my father King Random of Amber and Xanadu; Lady Ranger Brita, our cousin; Sir Edan, Knight-Commander of the Order of the Lamp, also our cousin; and I have not yet been introduced to the other lady." And for Tricksey's benefit he adds, "I'm Martin; King Random is my father; this is my wife Folly and our daughter Lark." Each with appropriate gestures to make sure that Rowen and Tricksey can identify all the newcomers.
Random nods. "Thanks, Son, there sure are a lot of us here. Welcome to Xanadu, Rowen."
Rowen curtesys. "Thank you, Your Highness," she says, the R's rolling with a flutter. "It is my greatest pleasure to make acquaintance of the family."
He turns to Tricksey, "Try to remember this. There'll be a quiz later." To Martin and the others he says "Drinking lamp is lit, so serve yourselves. Tricksey was discovered in a place called Tyrell, where she hangs around with birds. Brita says she's a relative, so we played flash-cards to try to find her father, but we need to try an extended deck. Do either of you have any cards that wouldn't be in my card-case?"
Martin starts to say something at the mention of Tyrell but ...
Tricksey pouts, shuffling her foot. "No like test. Crow Girl better at practical." Bedecked in her fashionista collision of punk-pomp and impracticality, she steps forward and performs a twirling curtsey to the newcomers. "Tricksey," she announces, as if this means everything.
She closes in on Martin circling him with corvid half-hops, staring at him down her nose. When she reaches his front again, she nods. "You troublemaker. Anger foxes. Crow Girl like."
Folly, who has been staring at Tricksey rather intently since the mention of Tyrell, says slowly, "Well, to be fair, they angered us first -- if by 'foxes' you mean that awful doctor... wossname... in that hospital that got slightly blown up." She shudders, then tries to shake it off by addressing Random's question. "I've got Ossian, Paige, Brennan, Garrett, and Celina. I could also do quick sketches of a bunch of others. I mean, not sketches-sketches. Pictures." She reaches into one of the pockets of her dress and pulls out a card case, which she offers to Martin since her other hand is occupied holding Lark. "Who do you think Cousin Tricksey looks like?" she asks her daughter.
Martin takes the card case to shuffle out the aforementioned cards.
Lark shakes her head. "I don't know, Mama."
Still hopping, Tricksey sidles to Folly and Lark, smiling. "Crow Girl see. Big boom. Angry foxes. Cause trouble, but end well. Also see Earth. Hospital there burned. Rebuilt soon though."
"If we're lucky," Folly says, "the explosions did away with whatever samples they took from me. And from other cousins." She does not sound like she feels very lucky. On this point, anyway.
As if riding an elevator, she slowly lowers herself to Lark's height. "Is okay. Crow Girls all look same. Or so told." She flourishes her hand in front of the girl. A small candy cane appears from nowhere, wrapped and brightly colored. Tricksey winks knowingly, "Secret stash. Tell no one."
Brita - a tall woman with red hair plaited in an updo and wearing a flowing, green silk formal dress that perhaps looks a little like she has worn it for several days now (getting the most out of this formal attire!) - nods to the all her cousins and gives a little wave to Lark.
Lark grins and waves back.
"Cousin Folly, I Can Also Provide Additional sketches, if Needed." Brita smiles wide at Rowan, "Welcome Cousin Rowen."
Edan is tall for someone from the Land of Peace, very thin, with cinnamon-brown skin, black hair that fades to a dull red at the ends, and eyes that are bright liquid gold. He wears white silken clothing and a crimson sash at his waist. He makes a short little bow at Rowan, "Pleased to meet you."
"A pleasure to meet all of you!" she replies.
"We'll have an impromptu life-drawing class." He nods and a page comes over. "Drawing materials for Brita and Folly, please." The page bows and leaves. "While we're waiting for that, onto important matters. Rowen, what do you know of the music of Weirmonken?"
Rowen paces slightly as she speaks, using her hands to illustrate. "The music is lovely and and good for dancing our sparring. We have a very strong vocal tradition as we always have our voices. When traveling, you will often find pipes, flutes, and whistles. For those adamant to have them and willing to carry them, drums and mandolins. Those with permanent homes, like nobles, can have larger, more intricate instruments. My guardian, Count Valis, recently acquired a harp." She laughs. "I think it is more of a status symbol. No one really knows how to play it."
Random raises his eyebrows. "Dancing and sparring? Both at the same time? That sounds like it would need musical accompaniment. Your sister Cambina was a pretty good musician. I tried to get her to play the theorbo, but she said she was more interested in playing than in tuning." He paused. "She'd've hated the harp."
Folly chuckles and nods.
"There are too many strings and it is a complex instrument. It's a luxury for when we can stay in one place, but it would be cumbersome to bring one out into the field," Rowen says. "Dancing and sparring isn't so different. It's all a matter of how competitively you want to touch each other."
Random nods. "Definitely puts some of my epic twenty-four hour sparring sessions with my brothers into a new light, or at least onto a new competitive ladder."
With Folly's card case still in hand, Martin has placed the cards she indicated face down the case. "Want to check them out?" he asks Tricksey.
Tricksey stands up from her place beside Lark, crossing the room. She pauses beside Rowan, leaning in close, eyes bright, wide. "Crow Girl think she going to like you." Then, with a fluid flash, she's away again, joining Martin. Staring at the cards, she says, "Please show? Want know who momma-poppa were. If alive."
Like before, Edan waits to see if there's any luck with the expanded group of Family Trumps.
Martin's deck is similar to his father's but also includes extras: Folly, Martin himself, Merlin, a redhead that he identifies as Paige (who is naked with her back to the viewer and her face in profile), a man he identifies as Jerod, and one or two others, but nobody that Tricksey recognizes.
While Martin and Tricksey are going through his deck, a page returns with the drawing materials for Folly and Brita: charcoal pencils and drawing paper. Colored pencils are on the way.
Tricksey shakes her head. Again. And again. "Many faces. But no momma. No poppa," she says. She glances between Martin and Brita, "Maybe Tricksey not Blood? Is Pretty Brita wrong?"
She rubs the back of her neck, shifting her feet awkward. "Maybe Crow Girl not belong here."
Tricksey shakes her head. Again. And again. "Many faces. But no momma. No poppa," she says. She glances between Martin and Brita, "Maybe Tricksey not Blood? Is Pretty Brita wrong?"
She rubs the back of her neck, shifting her feet awkward. "Maybe Crow Girl not belong here."
Brita has taken drawing supplies from the page and has already set to work sketching Cousin Lucas (since he has been in the forefront of her mind given Cousin Misao's arrival). She pauses in her sketching and moves to place a comforting hand on Tricksey's shoulder. She looks directly into Tricksey's eyes and says firmly, "You Are Kin. You Belong With Us.” She releases Tricksey's shoulder and continues with her sketching as she notes, "Cousin Folly can Tell You about How Many of Us There Are and How Convoluted Our Connections. We Will Find Your Parents."
Tricksey looks up at Brita with soft eyes. A child's eyes. Some recent pain lurks behind those pools of midnight. Then it flits away; a startled bird taking flight. "Brita always know right words," Tricksey whispers, more to herself than those near her.
Brita will be sketching Lucas, Reid, and Cambina. If none of those spark recognition, she will take Tricksey to the Trump Booth.
Folly nods. "What do you remember about what they look like?" she asks Tricksey. "Taller or shorter than average? Hair color and skin tone? Any distinguishing characteristics?" Once she hears who Brita will be sketching, Folly sits -- with space for Lark beside her if she wants -- and turns her own attention to sketches of some of the old portraits she stared at for so long when she was still trying to figure out her own heritage, and who wouldn't be in anyone's active deck: Deirdre. Eric. Brand. Mirelle. Then, with a frown, she adds one of Dara.
Time and time again, Tricksey shakes her head. As they draw, she tries to answer Folly's question, "Momma was tall. Dark with eyes of gold. Feathers bright and shiny. They tickled. She Child of Kaze. Wind. Poppa taller. Broader. Darker. Smile wide. Hopeful. Smell of cedar and flame. He Child of Tsuchi. Earth." She taps her forehead, "Sometimes wore velvet. Touch when he kiss Tricksey's nose. So soft."
A spark ignites in her, as if remembering something for the first time. "Stupid Crow-Girl," she chides herself. "Baka-baka!"
She hurriedly grabs colored pencils and begins drawing her parents. She's an artist, after all. And while her recollections are viewed through the gaze of a child, she is still a Living Memory. She knows the lines of her father's faces, the curve of her mother's jaw, as much as she knows every alley and walkway in Tyrell. She recalls the first day he held her. And the last. Both with equal clarity. She remembers their final moments together. As a family. The wisteria petals stuck to mother's cheek. Pretending it was from rain. Not tears. Her tongue half sticks out as she draws, sketching in a blur of movement and color. "Moshi-moshi," she says in a resolved voice, lost in that ancient moment.
While the others work, Edan moves close to Random. "May I ask you something? Xanadu being you, and you being Xanadu, can you sense what's going on around you? The mountain, say, or the area around it? Patrols have been lacking between here and Broceliande, and I'm aiming to fix that."
"It's not those kind of senses. It's not like my knee twinges and I know that it's gonna rain. Actually it could be that, never mind. It's not like my arm hairs catch on fire when someone starts a fire in Brociliande. I think the traditional method of patrols and riders may be for the best."
Her father's dark floppy hair looks as if it had been fighting a rearguard action to stave off combing for decades and was winning. Stray strands fell beside his face, and there were prominent beads and feathers beside his ears. It was almost a black-haired version of Dworkin's hair, for those who had seen him.
He has a painted streak across one cheek and looks impossibly young, but also old, at least in the eyes. He's wearing a vest that looks like it belongs to a golden circle army, but none of the rest of the uniform.
Tricksey can't see Folly's face peering over her shoulder as she draws, but others in the room can; she looks stricken. For a long moment she is very still, composing herself. Then she lays a gentle hand on Tricksey's shoulder.
"I'm so sorry, sweetie," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "He was our cousin. But... but he died. Sacrificed himself to protect Amber from an invader." She looks up to see if anyone in the room was there and can tell more of the tale.
Tricksey gazes down at the picture, silent and still. Her dark eyes shimmer. A faint frown tugs her painted lips. After a moment, she simply nods. "That him. His way." She carefully rolls the paper up and tucks it away, "Bye Poppa.".
Without skipping a beat, she reaches up and takes Folly's hand, holding it like fine porcelain. "Is Folly okay? Crow Girl worried." She smiles with genuine concern.
Edan starts slightly, glances at the picture, glances at Tricksey, then glances in the general direction of Broceliande. But he doesn't say anything.
Rowen quietly skims around the edge of the crowd to look over Tricksey's shoulder at the picture, taking in the details the face on the page. "Who is it?"
Tricksey looks up at Rowen, grinning. "Poppa."
Rowen smiles back, warmly.
"His name, or one of them," Martin says, "was Daeon. Or Adonis. He had a bunch. He was Julian's son. I'm sorry, cousin," he adds, to Tricksey. "He wouldn't have taken you to Tyrell, though. He didn't like cities." His eyes narrow thoughtfully.
"Daeon," Tricksey tastes the name. She nods. It feels right. "No like cities?" she repeats. "Maybe why Tyrell. Last place people look."
Rowen nods slowly, cataloguing the name and building the mental links.
Lark, who has gotten herself loose and down at some point in all this, gives Tricksey a hug.
Tricksey scoops Lark up, returning the hug. "Thank you, Songbird. Crow Girl feel better. She have niece!"
Folly squeezes Tricksey's hand and then looks up at Martin, meeting his gaze. Her jaw has taken on a hard set. "Yeah, what would they have done to get their hands on a fertility god? Or the child of one."
She doesn't bother explaining who 'they' are. She knows he knows.
Her expression softens again as she turns back to Tricksey. "I didn't know your father well, but I liked him. We were... kindred spirits, in a way. His loss was hard, but I carry his memory and his blessing, for which I am grateful." She glances down at her daughter with her arms around Tricksey, and strokes her hair. "And if I've figured it right, that makes you and my mother's first cousins by your grandfather Julian." She smiles, and it's directed at both Tricksey and Rowen. "Welcome to the tumbleweed."
Tricksey's eyes light up. "Crow Girl is City Memory." She looks around at all the faces, then nods to herself. "Tricksey see echoes. If any Poppa's things remain, may she touch? Learn who he was. Help Folly carry memory. Should be Crow Girl's burden."
Another thought strikes her, "Is grandfather alive? Crow Girl should honor."
Hannah and Kyril slip in the door, staying back from the jumble of folks. She does not have the baby with her, nor the raven.
Brita has been still since Tricksey's last stroke solidified the image of her father. She finally stirs and intones,
"The God Daeon, The God Adonis, Son of The Warden and Daughter of Arcadia. With Him, Seasons Turned but Most Remember His Blossoming Spring, His Bountiful Summer. God of the Fertile Earth, Nurturer, Father, Caregiver, But Also Protector, Defender, and Savior. He Kept His Warrior Heart close Until It Burst Forth in Fiery Defense of His Family." She blinks and smiles sadly at Tricksey.
"I Made a Memorial Spring for Him. You Can Visit it and Your Grandfather."
"Ah, well, this was my experience too," she whispers to Kyril. "except it took me much longer to unravel who my mother was." She skims her eyes over all in attendance, and smiles the smile of a doctor prepared but not required.
Kyril nods. "I'm glad I'm not in your family," he whispers back. "I don't think I could stand the stress."
Hannah sees two newcomers: Tricksey and Rowen. She can tell them apart because one is white-haired and dressed something like a cyberpunk lolita, and the other is red-headed and dressed properly for Xanadu.
Rowen takes note of the new arrival and steps aside slightly to let them into the cluster of people.
Edan acknowledges Hannah's entrance with an incline of his head and the faintest of smiles. He keeps his attention on the main conversation for now.
Hannah gives Edan a grin, and steps into the gap Rowen makes for her.
Random glances at the newcomers and then looks at Tricksey. "Daeon was a lot of things, and one of them was a Fertility God, or maybe Demigod. You're at the very least a HemiDemiGod, but don't let that go to your head. He died heroically, which is not what he wanted, but was better than the alternative. A number of your cousins were there.
"So, remember that 'fertility god' thing I mentioned? How do you feel about siblings? Because you’e got more than a few." Random looks at her slowly. "But most of them aren't as gifted as you are. And by that I mean that we need to tell you some family secrets and let you know what that means."
Tricksey lifts her head, smiling, as if this makes perfect sense. "Crow-Girl," she announces, as this is the only gift she requires... or recognizes. "Knew had murder of cousins. Feathered, though. Not godlings. Will be strange for Tricksey. But easier not being alone."
At the mention of secrets, her ears perk up. "Crow-Girl like secrets. Almost as much as shinies. Almost."
"Secrets are marvelous things. So irresistible," Rowen adds.
Random looks over the room. "Suon?"
"Leaving, Sire," replies the doctor, in his best twenty-years-in-the-army voice. "But I already won all your secrets at poker!"
"Close the doors behind you and tell Gilt to knock before he comes in."
Kyril nods to Hannah, and heads for the door.
She gives him her medical go bag to take with him with an appreciative nod.
Random turns back to Tricksey, and also to Rowen. Somehow, the lights atmospherically dim, as if they knew he was telling a tale. "So, now is the time for Family Mysteries. Welcome to the family. There is a magical ordeal stored conveniently under this mountain here that grants members of our family control over their ability to traverse shadows. You all know what shadows are, you come from one. It’s not that your homes aren't real, but that they have a particular relationship to the anchors of reality, which is the Monster in the Basement, aka The Great Pattern of reality.
"I can and eventually will give you each permission to take the ordeal, because there are very nasty people out there who will take advantage of you, sometimes with scalpels, if you don’t have the ability to protect yourselves, magically. And the Pattern will give you that. That is your inheritance from your family, along with our enemies, effectively eternal life (if you don’t get killed), and more relatives than you should be really comfortable inviting to tea. It also comes with a feudal bond to me, Random, King of Nearly Everything. Luckily, I'm not too tough of a Lord.
"I expect," he says, "that you have questions."
As she listens, Tricksey lightly touches her chin to Lark's head. She holds the girl, as if the connection provides her some foundation, some focal point amidst the wonders and sorrows being shared. A safe harbor in troubled seas. When Random finished, she raises her chin, firm and fierce. A deep, vastly important question building within her. Patterns and Kings and Shadows, oh my!
Lark is happy to sit with Tricksey. Martin is keeping an eye on Lark and Tricksey, but he clearly doesn't think Tricksey is a threat to the child. It's just his way to watch his daughter.
"Yes. Much magic. Many foxes. So. Crow-Girl definitely gets sword, yes? Stabby-stabby?"
Edan taps his chin. Maybe he did mention this before they all gathered here, at that. "I don't have to ride out until the morning. I can take you to the armory today, if you desire, and make sure you have a weapon that suits you best and with which you are the most comfortable. Have you ever used a sword before?"
Tricksey smiles triumphantly; Edan now her new best brother. "Tricksey use many knives. And rebar. And pointy stick. Was good with pointy stick."
Edan smiles, very slightly. This girl will be a parry-lunge type. He nods in understanding. "Whenever you are ready, I can help with that."
Tricksey gazes up at Edan with puppy-dog eyes. "Now?" Fluttering eyelashes. "Now?"
"My mother was Countess Whisper, mother of Cambina," Rowen announces, establishing her placement on the family, at least as far as what is undoubtable. "I was told many stories of the Kingdom of Amber and its place as the center of everything, but she did not speak of this ordeal. What is it and what will we need to do to prepare for it?" she asks, unconsciously rocking slightly on her heels.
Hannah takes a second look at Rowen at this annoucement. It's friendly, and definitely driven by Cambina's name. At the question, she shoots a fond look at Random and her cousins. She knows what's coming, but is going to let someone else say it.
Brita bows slightly to Rowen in acknowledgment, her gaze distant and sad as she recalls all whom they have lost. She remains quiet.
In answer to Rowen's question, Folly says, "It's like sparring while dancing, while the ghosts of your past and future try to distract you into missing a step, which will kill you. And every so often you have to walk through what feels like a stone wall or a whole ocean of water pressing down on you or the force of a hurricane in your face, without stopping, which would also kill you. But if you get through it, the dance remakes you into what you've always been, but more; what you were meant to be. And there isn't really any way to prepare except to know you can do it. To will yourself to do it. And make sure you're well-rested, and well-nourished but not overstuffed, like you're prepping for the longest, hardest race of your life. Because it will take everything you've got."
As she speaks, Random is making those little gestures and facial tics that tell Folly that he's putting her words to music. He's tapping out a rhythm by the second sentence and he's got a look on his face that means there will be a draft by the morning.
Tricksey nods and nods again. Her smile grows with exuberance. "Sound like night-walk between Perdition Towers. All rust and gravity. Tempests and foxfire. Even Crow-Girl feel alive up there."
Random nods. "I have no idea what any of those things are, but it's the most alive I've ever felt, and it's the most dangerous thing any of us can do. It's certain death if you're not in the family, certain death if you're not at the top of your personal game, and possible death if you do it wrong. But it is the cost of the protection and power that makes this family who we are.
"Dad used to make his kids wait a century or so. On the grounds that you needed to be mature enough to use the power it granted wisely. I don't think that was a great strategy and also we need to give you kids (and there are a lot of you kids) the toolkit to protect yourself.
"Rowen, this is how Martin made the ship go from Weirmonken to Xanadu. You'll be able to do that. Tricksey, the things Fletcher or Brita could do that seemed like magic? Those are mostly applied exercises of our power. It's not easy to explain, but it is easy to do."
"I can't wait," Rowen says, fidgeting with excitement. Throughout this entire time, she has not been still, even pacing a little. "I expect we must be patient, though."
This is the point at which the door swings open, revealing Gerard and Harsh. Gerard rolls himself into the room, which he does easily with his enormous upper body strength, and once he and Harsh are clear of the door, it closes behind him.
Harsh follows Gerard at a short distance that a Golcondan would suspect is "respectful, but not familiar". There are ... slightly more people than he was expecting here, and his gaze flicks immediately to those he knows: Martin, Rowen, Lark. They get a quick nod -- and a little smile for Lark -- and he waits for Gerard to say whatever it is he intends to say.
Random stops talking. "Hey, Ger. We're doing the basement talk. Do you want to introduce everybody to..." Random trails off and looks at Harsh, his eyebrows raised.
"Harsh Majumdar," Gerard says, "who is, among other things, my son."
Someday Harsh will get used to the plain-spokenness of Amberites, and of his biological father in particular, but today is not that day. Thank the divine for years of practice in maintaining his composure; he feels his ears go hot, but he manages to keep a straight face.
"Your Majesty--" a deep bow to Random, "--your Highness--" Martin, "my lords and ladies," encompassing everyone else -- realising, as he says it, that he now has to completely reassess his own rank within this milieu. "I am--" He stops -- to his absolute horror, at a complete loss for words. He clears his throat and mumbles, "Please, go on."
Literally nothing in his life has prepared him for this.
A tall woman in a long formal green dress with a single blond streak adorning her long red hair that appears to be straggling down from a former updo bows to Harsh. Nodding again to Rowen and smiling at Tricksey, she says, "I am Brita -- Daughter of Princess Fiona, Your Aunt, and the God Vidar of Shadow Asgard. It is Good to Have So Many New Kin! Welcome, Cousin Harsh. I Know Cousin Vere will be Pleased to Have a New Brother. Welcome, Cousin Rowen. I am Honored to Know a Sister of Cousin Cambina. I Know Cousin Tricksey Will Help Protect All of Our Kin as She has Protected Shadow Tyrell." Brita casts another glance at Harsh, "I Know We are A Lot to Take In, but Think of It as a Big Holiday when all the Odd Relatives come Out of the Woods working to Take Their Place at the Main Table and Overflow the Kids Bench."
Brita's response goes some way toward putting Harsh at least a fraction more at ease, and he manages a smile of gratitude. "Thank you, Lady Brita," he says quietly.
... and then Tricksey throws him off balance again.
Unable to resist awkwardness, Tricksey waggles her fingers at Harsh. And then stops, her crimson lips quivering in confusion and fear. She grips her right thumb... and silently gasps as it 'detaches' from the joint, and slides down her hand. And then back up and down again. Left. Right. And back and forth. Until it finally reattaches to her hand. She wiggles it and breathes out an exaggerated sigh of relief.
With her Grand Work done, the Crow-Girl arcs her head back bonelessly, staring up at Edan. "Now?"
Rowen glances between Random, Tricksey, and Edan. "What is next for us? Martin has suspicions of my lineage, but is there a way to be certain?" she asks, giving Harsh a playfully covetous glance for having a firm answer.
Random watches Tricksey's antics with bemusement. "Good question. You have, as they say, come to the right place. I can tell if you can't possibly walk the Pattern, and you don't give off that vibe. I also knew your mother when she was in Amber. She was one of Eric's favorites and I was Eric's younger brother. This was before I tried to assassinate Eric and got condemned to have dinner with him for five years as punishment.
"So here's the scoop. The Pattern is in the basement. I can and will take you there when you're ready. And stand vigil while you walk it, if you don't have someone else you'd want there. I recommend getting a good night's sleep and feeling your best before you walk it, just like I recommend other avenues of not dying unnecessarily.
"I can't give you too much instruction, because it is the outward manifestation of an inner ordeal. Which is in turn because our ancestor who made it was amazingly literal-minded. What I can tell you is 'Don't let your reactions trick you into stopping or stepping off, because that's the mechanic of dying on the pattern.'" He frowns, not happy to be discussing that.
"A few things happen when you walk it. One is you confirm and validate your position as a member of this family. Another is you're armed against almost anyone who might challenge you who isn't equally powered. Another is you know how to do the basic family tricks of shifting shadows.
"And finally, since it's my Pattern, you're in a feudal contract with me as your liege. And while it's true that that's already the case, since I am King of everything, it's made explicit.
"So, Harsh, and Rowen and Tricksey, what do you need to be at your best for your pattern walk?"
Tricksey rubs her chin, considering this question with deep reflection and intent. Then with a roll of her shoulders, she says, "Noodles. And energy drink. Prep for parkour sound good for Pattern. Crow Girl never stop. Gravity and cement bad."
She leans forward, eyes narrowing. "Contract. What fine-print?"
Edan starts to answer that, then stops and decides Random would do a better job. "As far as the sword, we can go soon as we're finished here, if you want."
Tricksey grins at him, "Thank you, Cool Edan, He of Swords and Rugged Chin."
This fine new title makes Hannah smile so hard she has to put a hand over her mouth and close her eyes.
Edan's eye roll is that for which all others are but shadow.
"You make the task seem difficult and easy at the same time. Asked what do we need and one might answer 'a good night's rest and a light breakfast' but is that oversimplifying it? Is there any preparation you can suggest to ready our minds, our spirits, or our bodies for such an ordeal?" Rowen asks, edging herself toward the fore of this group of three, eager to jump into the task.
Harsh looks over at Gerard, then back to Random.
"There are people with whom I must speak, sir. The-- my-- my cousins--" the word tastes strange in his mouth, "--need not wait on me. I will take my turn in time, after I am somewhat more familiar with... everything."
Martin gives Harsh a slight smile and a reassuring nod.
As does Folly. Her smile is warm and sympathetic.
Random looks at Tricksey. "Pretty much the standard feudal king/subject arrangement. I tell you things like 'Don't kill your relatives, it's not cool', you tell me 'OK'. If our enemies attack you, I, or more precisely we, defend you. You come to team meetings. You pitch in where you can. Most of those are aspirational. If you decide to naff off and do your own thing, I have enough nephews and nieces to do what we need to do, mostly. It's possible to 'OK, Your Majesty' me and go off to that hole where they arrested and shot at you for fun. And heck, we'd still try to rescue you if you got in a pinch, but maybe see if you want to do that before you take off."
Tricksey nods, "Crow Girl accept fine print." She looks around at all the faces, smiling to herself. "Family," she says to herself, savoring the word.
Random turns to Harsh and Rowen, "same deal, without the shooting part. For what it's worth we want you to take the Pattern -- did I tell you it's called the Pattern? It is. Or the Great Pattern. Or the Thing in the Basement. Anyway. We want you to take the pattern so that people who want to attack us won't kidnap you and tie you to a bed in a fake hospital. We only found the last batch because they accidentally kidnapped your Uncle Huon. There are people who wish he'd get kidnapped more often."
"If that helps find lost cousins, maybe he should. Where is he now?" Rowen asks, not entirely looking for an answer. Glancing between the others, she straightens up a little. "I'll do it, as you wish. If it is my birthright, as you say, and you think I am ready for it, I'll do it." A thought. "Is this a tradition that you pass down orally from family member to family or... might you have a book about it somewhere?"
"It's exactly the kind of thing we don't make books about. Someone would read them if we did." Random pauses. "But you can ask us, any of us, and we can tell you what we can tell you. It's one of those things."
Random looks back at Tricksey. "If I understand it, they sent a hurricane and a firestorm to the hospital they were holding their victims in. And you visited it later?"
Tricksey nods, "Crow Girl go to Earth. Tunnel from Tyrell to hospital. Building burned. Damaged. But still stands. Monks trying to buy it. Tricksey try stop but not enough green. They rebuild soon. Clever foxes." As if an afterthought, "Bailey still there. She go find herself. In California."
Random's eyes seem to focus elsewhere. "Just a moment, a trump call, at this hour? Whoever could it be?" He looks off to the side, and says "Ossian, good to hear from you. I'm here meeting your newest cousins. Are you in need of a quick exit from someone's closet?"
Folly steps closer to Random. She looks poised to receive, pass through, or send for whoever or whatever is needed.
Edan waits, but looks ready to step in if there's trouble.
Hannah glances back the way her medical bag went in both hope and dread.
"Dad," Martin says, "ask him if Jerod's with him. I really need to talk to Jerod."
Random holds up a finger.
"Yeah, we'll send for Tomat. He's hanging around here pretending to study or studying librarians or something. We're definitely going to want a run-down on whatever it was you ran down about the Monks." Random nods towards Folly. "Hey, speaking of Jerod, is he with you?"
Folly nods and moves toward the door to send for Tomat.
Brita stands ready to assist as needed.
Hannah takes this moment to move over to Gerard and Harsh. "Welcome cousin. I see you are staggering under the weight of too many revelations. I recently went through this myself. Still happens that unexpected information attends regularly. For example, I had no idea Random had tried to assassinate his brother." She shrugs. "I found journaling helped. I'm Hannah." She offers a handshake.
Hannah bends to kiss Gerard on the cheek. "Congratulations. If any of you need anything, I'd be pleased to assist."
Harsh smiles with something like relief at Hannah's greeting. He takes her hand lightly in his and bows over it, Albic-fashion. "I have begun taking notes, out of sheer necessity," he says, taking the papers that he started in Gerard's office out of his pocket to show her. "Apparently what I learned from Prince Martin is barely a quarter of everything there is to know."
Hannah's face lights up at the notes. "I did this same thing!" she laughs. "Brennan, a cousin not in this room at the moment, walked me through the family tree, bless him. We'll hit the library at some point - rumor has it Folly," she gestures to Folly, who is heading toward them, "is keeping an updated, I hope, version in there. It will only lead to more questions, of course."
Tricksey stands up, stretching like a frumpy cat. Her gaze drifts from the Random to Edan and then Brita. "We wait for King? Or give privacy? Crow Girl still not get Trump etiquette."
"They are hunting foxes on the other side of the connection," Edan says. "I would rather stay and see what is happening. If the king doesn't want us here, he will shoo us off."
Rowen blends in with the crowd, attentively listening in on the half-conversation.
"Ossian is in Paris without Jerod or Vere," Random says aloud, looking towards Martin.
Gerard turns his chair towards the door. "Excuse me for a moment, lad," he says to Harsh, "I'll tell them to get the scholar Ossian wants."
Slightly startled at being so addressed, Harsh only nods in response.
"No, Uncle, I'm on it," Folly says, making her way through the crowd and out the door.
Martin looks annoyed and pulls out his own cards. Lark, who is still with Tricksey, glances toward him as he shuffles out a card and begins to concentrate.
Watching the various folks moving away or aside, Rowen opts to attach herself to her strongest link in the room and moves toward Martin.
Martin holds up a hand to her to stop her from accidentally joining the Trump call. "It's Martin," he says to the person on the other end. "We need to talk, unless you've got a big emergency."
Rowen takes the warning and stops short, staying off to the side to listen, while continuing the track the others' movements. And multiple conversations.
"Things may be about to get even more crowded in here. I don't want to go far, in case they need me, but do you want to step out? Or we can skirt through the side there, to the kitchen, if you want to eat something?" Hannah asks Harsh, seeing two trump connections in one room as one too many.
"Some tea, at least, if that's a thing here," Harsh says. He doesn't have much of an appetite at the moment, but he'll pick up what Hannah is putting down. He's fairly certain that he is now officially In the Way, and had better get out of it.
Edan turns to Tricksey and says, "I think that's our cue."
Somehow he manages a wink at Hannah before leaving.
Tricksey hugs Lark once again, "We play soon. Crow Girl Teach Lark parkour. And cross-site scripting. And noodles. Ta-ta, Little Bird. Listen to Momma. Mostly."
She immediately goes into her feverish interpretation of a fencer's stance. "Ha! Ho-ho! Thrust. Parry. Turn!" Simultaneously, every Shadow of Errol Flynn rolls in their graves. The Crow-Girl remains ignorant to their distress.
Brita smiles at Tricksey and nods to Edan as he takes Tricksey off to find a sword mightier than a keyboard. She notes to Lark, "If Your Father or Grand Father have Need of Me, I am Going to Go Change into Something More Agile." with a wave of her hand at her green couture gown. She nods and waves to her remaining relatives as she exits. She heads back to her rooms to find her more typical attire of pants, boots, shirt, and her long jacket. Her hair is rebraided into a single thick plait down her back.
Tricksey spins deftly, curtseying to Brita. Then to the others. Especially the King. 'Cause, he's the King. Harsh gets a playful wink and raspberry, 'cause reasons.
So done, she lifts her jacket's tails, makes an 'airy' sound, and prances off, circling Edan like a hawk. "We there yet? We there yet? We there..." the voice fades off. At least, for the lucky ones. For Edan, not so much.
Hannah smiles fondly, and perhaps with some sympathy, at Edan as he passes and winks.
She tells Gerard, "Some quick tea?" in way of invitation, and begins skirting the edges of the room toward the entrance to the kitchens. Once they've cleared the threshold she pauses to find the least invasive spot for them in the kitchen. She notices they've shoved some tables and chairs against the wall here by the entrance to capture, she assumes, folks like her wandering in. She gestures to the low one where Gerard can roll up to the front.
Random listens to this and thinks. "So, we think what? A relative, a klybesian, and a trump artist all walk into a bar, and his name is Abel?" He pauses.
"Didn't Fiona and Vere meet some ghost monks under a temple somewhere? I'm thinking of renaming them 'moles', but that may only apply to the ones that infiltrated us."
Not wishing to interrupt Martin in his conversation, Rowen leans toward Folly as she returns from sending for Tomat. "Do the people from the sky realm come down to earth?"
"From what I understand," Folly says quietly, "there's not really anyone up there now. Anyone corporeal, anyway. The ones who used to live there are trying to get back."
She regards Rowen thoughtfully. "Do your people have any stories or legends about them?"
Martin says to whoever is on the other end of the connection. "Two coming through. Folly," he calls, "take care of Lark. We're going to give Jerod a hand winding up Dr. Chew." He takes Rowen's hand and pulls her through the Trump connection. They vanish into rainbow light. Folly's question lies unanswered.
Folly mutters several words she's cautioned Lark not to say in polite company, but manages to call out "Good luck" just before they vanish. She looks pale.
Random, meanwhile, continues his discussion with Ossian. "I heard it second hand. It was during the Regency, and they were ghosts of monks. Might've been on his Paresh hijinks. You should ask him, because I am clearly not up to speed on it all. Anyway, just return Tomat to Rebma when you’re done with him. He's working for The Man now, "The Man" being in this case Celina."
The door opens and Random looks to see who it is. "Hang on..."
Brother Tomat comes in. He looks at Random, who seems somewhat distracted and then at Folly. "You sent for me, Your Highness?"
Random waves Brother Tomat in, and the brother comes forward.
"Tomat, can I send you to go help Ossian? He's in Paris. Someone will get you back to Rebma from there." Without waiting on a reply, Random reaches his hand out and suddenly the monk in question is in the contact.
Last modified: 3 June 2023