Winds That Will Be — Aedan's Journal
"I've Heard That You Stab People"
Aedan's Journal. Pre-Game Session. 4-30-00.
© 2000 Todd Worrell
I pushed open the iron gate and strolled in. Brand's house was a large villa, white-washed stone with blue wooden trim. Situated in the Northcliffs district, it was a bit far from the hustle of the city. Amber's wealthy urbanites lived here, as far away from the thriving city as possible while still remaining inside the walls.
I stepped into a colorful jungle. The garden was immense, overgrown, and in full bloom. A thousand floral scents competed to gain access to my brain. The lush canopy of leaves and flowers nearly obscured the gardener. Half-hidden on a blue-tiled pathway forty feet away, he looked old and unimportant. I ignored him and pounded the heavy brass knocker against the door.
As I stood waiting for the door to be opened, I wondered. Random had been looking out over his garden. He was King of the Universe. Brand had an immense garden too. He had once been very powerful. Perhaps a garden was a sign of power in Amber. Caine hadn't said anything about this. I would have to look into it.
I heard murmuring from inside, then steps. The door opened part way. A slight young man stood before me, his right side obscured behind the door. He had shoulder length red hair and was dressed in green silks. A few acne spots dotted his face.
"May I help you?" he asked somewhat warily.
"Hello. My name is Aedan." I handed him my card.
|
Aedan Iconoclast |
He took it and stared at it a moment. The moment continued. I studied the interior of the house behind him. A small hallway led directly away from the door. Off to my left a spiral staircase climbed one story. The floor and walls were decorated in blue tiles that repeated the pattern of the garden path.
"Nice garden," I interjected. "Do you have any problems with gophers?"
He blinked and shook his head. Maybe "Iconoclast" had too many syllables for him. "No," he blinked again. "They don't seem to last too long here."
I waited. Time passed. I waited some more. The young man blinked.
"Oh, I'm Gabriel."
"It's nice to meet you. I have heard of you."
"Um." He nodded absently. "You're Deirdre's son."
"Yes." I could almost hear his mind humming.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he lied.
"You live here?" I asked. He nodded and made an affirmative noise. "What's it like?"
"Quiet," he started, then amended his statement. "Relatively quiet. Wait. Do you mean this house, or the city?"
"This house."
"Oh. Yes. Quiet, most of the time." He glanced guiltily upward.
"Do you ever go out?"
"Often." This conversation was going to bore me to death. I stifled a yawn. At this rate I would need to shave again before getting to meet Brand.
"You just arrived here, what a few days ago?" he said. I had, in fact, been in the city for six months. "I could show you around."
"I would like that." I wondered if he would be this exciting away from Brand. He was still standing in the doorway. A bluebottle fly buzzed and flitted into the house.
"You bastard," shouted a man's voice from upstairs. "Find out who it is!" A young, shell-shocked maid came down the stairs and looked expectantly at Gabriel. He went to a small table in the entryway, picked up a quill pen, and scribbled something on the back of my card.
"Eva, take this to him," he instructed the maid, and handed it to her. She took a small silver dish out of a cupboard in the hallway and placed my card on it. After tucking a few mouse-brown curls under her cap, she scurried up the staircase. Gabriel watched her go, tension evident in his shoulders.
"So," I remarked, "I've heard that you stab people."
He jerked his head toward me, his eyes wide. Then he smiled and blushed. "That was old times," he brushed it aside.
"You haven't stabbed anyone lately?"
"Not knowingly," he replied. There were murmurs from the upstairs room. Gabriel leaned slightly toward the sound.
"If you don't stab people any more," I continued, "what do you do?"
"Um," he blinked and cleared his throat. "Garden."
I turned my head and looked pointedly at the old gardener.
"Artwork," Gabriel added, "and I talk to people—around town. I have paintings in several galleries. Would you like to see them?" He inched forward and put a hand on the door. He started to step outside and pull the door closed behind him.
"Certainly."
"Let's go," he said. There was a loud thump from upstairs, as if something heavy had fallen on the floor. Gabriel jumped and winced. Perhaps we had seen the last of Eva.
"Gabriel! Come here." The upstairs voice yelled. Gabriel paused in the doorway.
"First I must talk with my father," he admitted.
"I would like to talk with him too." I gestured toward the stairs. Gabriel stood back to allow me to enter. He closed the door behind me and preceded up the stairs. I followed him. Toward the top of the stairs, the air smelled somewhat musty and stale.
At the first landing he put his hand out toward me, palm up.
"You should wait here a moment," he whispered. "Please, admire our gardens." He extended his hand toward the far side of the landing. I strolled over and leaned on the railing overlooking an interior courtyard. It was the outside all over again, only more so. No, wait, I thought. The old guy was missing. If possible, there were even more plants crammed into an even smaller area. At least half of the plants were obviously some Shadow nightmare flora, not native to Amber or its environs. The scent was intoxicating, or perhaps nauseating. No, it was some combination of both.
Behind me, through the closed door, I could hear two voices arguing. Actually, Brand was demanding, and Gabriel was placating. It was quite clear to me that the rumors of Brand's incapacity were overrated. He was healthy enough to yell at his son. Looking at the door, I could see that it had a rather large, well-kept lock affixed to the outside. Interesting.
Gabriel emerged, looking a little weary. He came over and stood beside me at the rail overlooking the interior courtyard.
"Father will be ready in a moment. He would like to speak with you."
I nodded.
"Tell me," Brand's son said, "where are you from?"
I told him of Gëalorea, the rocky islands of my youth. Steam vents, stratified skies, and a history rich in storytelling. It was located relatively near to the Courts of Chaos, and a great distance from Amber. In response to my question, Gabriel said he had grown up in a place called the Keep of the Four Worlds. Caine had told me of this place. It was Brand's retreat, and allegedly a place of great malice. Perhaps Gabriel would take me there so I might see it for myself. I would ask him someday, when I knew him better.
"Did you come here on your own?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Without ever having seen the place?"
"Yes," I replied.
He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, his eyes troubled. "I hadn't thought that was possible," he said.
"But I am here."
"I have never been one to dispute empirical evidence," he announced. He stood up straight and glanced behind him. The maid was closing the door to Brand's chambers behind her, carrying a bundle of sheets. She nodded at Gabriel, who ushered me into the master bedroom and Brand's presence.
Dressed in a smoking jacket and silk pants, he was sitting in a large stuffed chair near the unlit fireplace. His feet were propped up on a large ottoman. He looked pale, and a bit jaundiced, but not sick. I tore my eyes from him quickly, not wanting to be caught staring at him.
Books were strewn across every available surface near him. One heavy tome lay discarded on the floor. Light streamed in through an open window. It was a good-sized room, with high ceilings and bookshelves lining the walls. The books were rather disarrayed, piled upon the shelves and leaning against each other in a decidedly haphazard fashion. The bed at the far end of the room had been stripped bare. A faint breeze struggled in from the open window, but failed to conquer the thick, stale reek of sickness and closed rooms.
Brand smiled an unfriendly smile at me and motioned for me to sit in a chair near him. I glanced at Gabriel and raised an eyebrow. He twitched, remembering his manners.
"Father, I present to you Lord Aedan, son of Deirdre."
I enacted a full bow, my arm sweeping low across my shins.
"Aedan, Prince Brand."
With the barest tilt of his head, Brand acknowledged my presence. I sat down on the chair he had indicated. Gabriel stood and leaned on the mantle of the fireplace.
We made small talk. Caine had told me in vehement detail of Brand's annoying manner of speech. The very definition of obtuseness and ambiguity he had said. For once, he was right on the mark. Brand seemed content to chatter on like that forever, but I grew impatient.
"What is it like in the Abyss?" I asked.
His eyes narrowed and he studied me a moment before answering. I felt the hard wood of my chair suddenly, as if it were considering how it could set loose a splinter in my ass without attracting my immediate notice.
"I would say," Brand pronounced dramatically, "that it was dark and cold. My impression was that time was irrelevant. More than that I don't remember." He paused and looked out the window. "My cognizance of my location didn't occur until I was near Thelbane."
"When you were rescued," I prompted.
"Not quite. It was some weeks before they fished me out."
I let the silence remain for several heartbeats. Brand turned his gaze from the window and resumed his inspection of my soul.
"Your recovery is encouraging to me, for I hope to see my mother again."
"True," he sidestepped, "I am somewhat recovered, but not completely." He snapped his head in Gabriel's direction, then looked significantly at the empty chair. Gabriel sat down. I decided to press on, regardless of Brand's evasion.
"If I were to mount an expedition, would you help?"
"To the Abyss?" Gabriel interjected. I nodded.
"Yes," Brand hissed. "You would have my assistance in any way that would be permitted."
"Thank you," I said. He tilted his head graciously and reached for a teacup on a nearby table. Gabriel leaned forward, grasped the cup, and handed it to his father.
"Tell me," Brand said, "how you find your relatives here. Surely Caine told you of us."
"He did. He told me to fear you all. I have met King Random, and he does not much resemble the person Caine made him out to be."
"And do I?" Brand lowered his feet from the ottoman and leaned forward. I hesitated.
"Prince Brand, I do not wish to offend you…"
"Be certain that you could in no way offend me," he offered.
"Well, then. To be honest, I do not know."
"You do not understand me," he stated shrewdly.
"And so I do not know enough to fear you."
He smiled a tight-lipped smile and sipped his tea. Over the brim he looked intently at his son. Gabriel shifted in his seat. Brand set the cup down on the ottoman. He sat up straighter and addressed me.
"You should fear me, and respect me as well. For although we do not understand the nature of a wild animal, we should still fear a tiger. If we do not respect his ferocity, his hunger, his hunting skills, we may be his next meal.
"You do not fear Random. Do you fear Caine, Benedict, Julian? Perhaps you should. Sometimes, the majority opinion is correct."
He sat back in his chair and stuck his feet up. Gabriel jumped up and removed the teacup.
Brand cast his smug smile on Gabriel. I sensed a long-standing conversation about to resume.
"If one had the time to study the tiger, one could eventually understand it." Gabriel said. "Everything can be understood in time."
"Knowledge is available," Brand agreed, "but only if you go out and seek it." At this, Gabriel's shoulders sagged. He set the cup down on the table. Brand watched him. As Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, his father cut him off.
"Fear is a learning tool," he pronounced with such an air of finality that I knew the lesson was almost over. "If you were to burn to death, you would learn to fear the fire, albeit in a very short time."
Brand wrapped his jacket closer around his neck. "Son, it grows colder," he said.
Gabriel shifted in his seat, then stood and closed the window. He drew the curtains closed. All traces of fresh air vanished immediately. Suddenly, a flame whooshed into existence in the fireplace. The logs crackled and began burning.
* * *
It was late afternoon by the time Gabriel and I arrived at the gallery. Brand had accompanied us on the walk down from Northcliffs, seeming almost happy. He dropped a few vague words about a daughter of Flora, someone I hadn't met yet. Come to think of it, I hadn't known Flora had a daughter. Brand's level of ominousness had dropped somewhat, but his disdain for his son's artwork was evident; he left us as soon as the gallery was in view.
I didn't know what to expect. During ten years with Caine, I had never been to an art gallery. On Gëalorea, visual art was only for decorative purposes. The portrait of my mother that hung in Silvervein Keep was the only picture I had ever seen until I discovered the deck of cards that I later learned were portraits of my relatives.
Gabriel's work was disappointing. It didn't really resemble its subject matter very well. I had to read the titles and guess at the objects portrayed in some of the paintings. It was as if one were looking at something through a distorted lens, or as in a dream, where reality wasn't accurate. I listened to him explain his theories, and tried to appreciate the boy's efforts. I failed. Honestly, Gabriel wasn't a very good artist.
One lesson of Caine's that I had learned was Know when to be silent. I nodded and made appreciative noises as Gabriel droned on about the Purpose of Art in Society. I even laughed at one of his jokes. At least, I think it was a joke. He mouth fell open, though, so perhaps I erred. A meaningless question made him forget my gaffe, and he dove headfirst into another explanation on the Nature of Perception. I smothered a yawn, then another. People who speak in capital letters have that effect on me.
Soon enough though, we were on our way downhill again. Gabriel had said he knew of a good restaurant with loud music. The streets wound around and grew narrower. The sounds and smells of people preparing their dinner wafted across my nose. We walked in the long shadows of early evening down a cobblestone lane. Light and laughter spilled out of a doorway at the end of the lane. The signboard had a picture of a Cat and Monkey dancing.
It was a lively place, and Gabriel was treated well. People called his name and waved. He waved back. The music seemed to be mostly percussion, over which a petite freckly woman with short dark hair chanted poetry. It was actually rather entertaining.
Dinner was adequate. After our plates had been cleared and our glasses refilled, conversation returned to the earlier topics. Gabriel expressed his surprise at my offer to assist his father in finding a healer.
"My father's illness is deeply rooted; no common healer can help him. I have found that most so-called healers are charlatans, and those with some talent are not nearly skilled enough."
"Surely someone has the power to help him," I said.
"Yes, someone does. However, the nature of my father's illness would require a rather deep connection. You see," he continued, "only one of the family could possess the necessary power. My father is understandably reluctant to allow that to happen. In any event, none of our elders has come forward with an offer to help him."
Given Brand's history, that was understandable. "Your father was very engaging."
"He is not always so. Some days are more trying than others."
"I gathered that he can be a demanding person," I said.
"At times. My caretaking occasionally requires all of my attention."
"And time?"
"Well, I did say that my life was 'relatively' quiet."
"The Keep of the Four Worlds must have been a boisterous place."
He agreed. We spoke of our homelands briefly. We toasted them and finished our drinks before moving on down toward the market. The next bar was named The Brass Goblet. It was crowded and smelled of smoke and sweat. Gabriel was known here as well, so we managed to procure a corner booth away from most of the noise.
We had settled in with new drinks when Gabriel turned his head and spoke to the air. He reached forward and an envelope appeared in his hand. He handed it to me.
"From my father," Gabriel explained with a puzzled air. "He said that it had gotten caught on his rings." I opened the envelope and peered inside. I saw a platinum chain and a familiar sapphire. I poured it onto the table. This was my mother's necklace, the one shown on her portrait. It seemed remarkable that the necklace would have stuck to Brand's rings the many years he had spent in the Abyss. I resolved to ask my elders if Deirdre had been wearing any jewelry during the final battle. Gabriel looked inquiringly at me, so I told him it was my mother's necklace.
Our conversation grew more somber after that. We spoke of Amber, of her history. Our family was well-known for its secrets and cabals. We were the inheritors of centuries of intrigue, suspicion, and fear. I told him of my desire to visit the City in the Sky, Tir Na-Nog'th. Gabriel had been there once and advised me to wear warm clothing.
"What was it like?" I asked. He thought for a moment before answering.
"It was confusing."
"Will you go again?"
"Probably," he said, then, "Yes. I will."
"Exactly," I pointed out. "Confusion is not a prohibitive factor."
"I believe that fear and confusion are, at heart, a lack of control."
"I disagree. Fear is a choice. If I do not choose to be afraid, fear becomes irrelevant."
He mulled this over for a moment, swirling his beer. "As my father says, there is effort, and there is wasted effort."
"Brand would say that my visiting Tir would be wasted effort?"
"He seems to think so."
I paused, judging the timing. "So you'll help me then?" I smiled at him. He grinned back.
"Yes."
We laughed and the night grew merry again. When their set ended, Gabriel invited some of his acquaintances to our table. I told them a story of Gëalorea, the Tale of the Goddess and the Old Fisherman. In the end, when the fisherman realizes that the young girl he has been protecting is the goddess Nant, he is so overcome that he faints. The bandits steal all of his newfound wealth and he is left with only the bone fishhook Nant was wearing around her neck. For the rest of his days he is poor, but he never fails to catch enough fish to feed his family.
The night stretched merrily into morning, and when I left Gabriel at the crossroad to Northcliffs, the sun was just peeking over the far edge of the ocean. I climbed the hill in a wash of rose and warm scarlet and made my way to bed.
* * *